Haslemere he’d been woken with an ear-splitting crash, and had gone on to inadvertently expose himself to his housemaid.
Haslemere sipped from his teacup, eyeing Gideon over the rim. “I see you’ve found another housemaid at last. Hails from London, does she?”
“No, from Stoneleigh. She has a letter of reference from Lady Dunton. She’s been with her since she went into service.” Or so she claimed. Gideon still wasn’t convinced.
“Odd. I would have sworn I’d seen her face in London before, though I can’t recall where. What’s her name? You chased her away before I could ask.”
Gideon gave him a sour look. “You’re curious this morning, Haslemere.”
Haslemere smirked. “Curiosity is a characteristic of an active mind, Darlington.”
“A prying one, too, but if you must know, her name is Cecilia Gilchrist.”
“Cecilia Gilchrist! But she’s one of—” Haslemere broke off, leaving the unfinished sentence hanging between them.
Gideon’s gaze narrowed on his friend’s face, his suspicions about Cecilia Gilchrist rushing to the surface. “She’s one of what? Do you know her, Haslemere?”
“No, er…no.” Haslemere ruffled a hand through his hair until the dark red strands stood on end. “How should I know her?”
“I’ve no idea, but it appears as if you do.”
“Her name sounds familiar, that’s all, but I suppose there’s more than one Gilchrist in England. She seems an agreeable young woman, in any case.”
“Agreeable enough.” Gideon glared down at his perfectly poured cup of tea. “Not suited to be a housemaid, though.”
Haslemere helped himself to more cream. “Oh? Why is that?”
“She’s too pretty to be a serv—” Gideon broke off, blinking. What the devil? That wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. But it was true enough, and it wasn’t as if it were a secret. Haslemere had eyes, and he wasn’t one to overlook a pretty face.
“It would be the height of contrariness for you to start chasing housemaids now, Darlington, when you’re a fortnight away from marrying one of London’s darlings. Cecilia is pretty, but I’ll wager she doesn’t compare to Miss Honeywell.”
Gideon wasn’t about to discuss the varying degrees of beauty between his betrothed and his housemaid with Haslemere, but if it was up to him, his friend would lose that wager. There was no question Miss Honeywell had the sort of pale, fair beauty the ton admired. She caught one’s attention, with her golden hair and blue eyes.
Cecilia was beautiful in a different way—in the same way Cassandra had been. It was a rarer, subtler beauty that had more to do with a woman’s expression than her features…not that he’d paid Cecilia much notice, of course, Gideon reminded himself, clearing his throat. He’d hardly spared her a second glance.
“What news of our ghost? Any sightings of the old girl?” Haslemere asked, when Gideon remained silent on the question of Cecilia’s beauty.
“No, none.” Gideon drew in a breath, relieved at the change of topic. He didn’t want to discuss Cecilia Gilchrist. He’d do well to put the girl out of his mind entirely. “The villagers claim she haunts the woods, but I didn’t see any sign of her yesterday.”
“What, nothing? Not a glimpse of a white gown, or a single lock of white hair fluttering on the end of a branch?”
“Not even a single strand.”
“No footprints?”
“Ghosts don’t leave footprints, Haslemere. Anyway, the ground’s frozen.”
Haslemere drummed his fingers on the table. “Yet the rumors persist. I stopped at the Three Crowns in Lingfield on my way here—they do an excellent meat pie—and at least a half dozen of the grizzled old fellows there claimed they’d seen your ghost with their own eyes.”
Gideon snorted. “Half of Kent’s claimed to have seen her, too. She seems to appear readily enough to those who are either ancient or too deep in their cups to tell what they’re looking at. She’s elusive enough, otherwise. Mrs. Briggs did say she’s seen lantern light in the woods at night. Poachers, most likely.”
“Dashed unpleasant business. Not to worry, Darlington. I won’t leave you to chase your ghost alone. Between the two of us, we’ll get to the bottom of this business.”
“I hope so.” Gideon gave his friend a grateful smile. “It’s good of you to come, Haslemere. Once darkness falls, we’ll scour the grounds, and see if we can’t catch the elusive White Lady.”
* * * *
Isabella Olivia Cornelia Rhys, treasured niece of the Marquess of Darlington, had a trickle of drool running down her chin. Her sleepy gaze fixed on Cecilia’s face as Cecilia began another ballad, this one about a beautiful but proud young