scratching claws and a dark, furry, darting thing—
“Ah, ha. Just as I thought. Where did you come from?”
A black cat was sitting right in the center of the thick Aubusson carpet spread across the floor, calmly licking its paw. It looked up when Cecilia spoke, regarded her for a moment with disinterested green eyes, then went back to its grooming, as cool as you please.
Cecilia couldn’t recall ever having been so summarily dismissed in her entire life. “I beg your pardon, madam, but if it weren’t for me, you’d still be trapped inside that clothes press.” Because of course, that’s what the noise had been—the cat scratching on the door to escape. “I believe I deserve your gratitude. At the very least, you could introduce yourself.”
The cat lowered its paw to the floor, abandoning its toilette to consider Cecilia. This mollified her somewhat, as the cat’s sleek, shiny black fur indicated a preoccupation with cleanliness.
“How did you get in here, madam?” Cecilia wasn’t certain how she knew the cat was a madam rather than a sir, but she did, perhaps because the cat’s regal air reminded her of Lady Clifford.
Cecilia perched on the edge of the bed and stared at the furry creature, at a loss as to how to proceed. “Well? What am I meant to do with you?”
The cat seemed to consider this for a moment, its green eyes gleaming, and then, to Cecilia’s surprise, she padded daintily over the carpet, leapt up onto the bed, and settled herself on Cecilia’s lap without so much as a by your leave.
“What, you mean to say I’m to pet you?” Cecilia reached out to stroke the cat’s silky head, and within seconds it began a loud, contented purring. “Yes, it’s all very well for you, isn’t it? Lord Darlington isn’t going to dismiss you for being in here.”
But she sighed and gave in, scratching behind the cat’s ears, soothed by the rumbling purr vibrating against her legs. She couldn’t leave the cat in the marchioness’s bedchamber. What if it got trapped in the clothes press and took up that infernal scratching again? It wouldn’t do any harm to bring the troublesome little creature into her room tonight, then take her outside tomorrow morning.
Her mind made up, Cecilia tried to gather the cat against her chest, but before she could get her arms around it, it leapt from her lap and prowled to the dressing room door, which was still cracked open.
Cecilia let out a weary sigh. Of course, Darlington Castle would have a haunted cat. “Very well, then. Let’s get it over with, shall we? What do you want? You want me to go in there again?”
At this point Cecilia wouldn’t have been surprised if the cat answered her, but thankfully it didn’t. That is, not in words. It indulged in a lazy stretch, but didn’t move from its place by the door. It stared at her expectantly, until at last Cecilia gave in. “Well, if we’re meant to be partners in this, I suppose I’d better name you, hadn’t I?”
She considered calling the cat Amanda, which was Lady Clifford’s given name, but in Cecilia’s fond opinion there could only ever be one Amanda, and so she discarded it in favor of an extravagant name worthy of any swooning gothic heroine.
“I’ll call you Seraphina. Come along then, Seraphina, and be quick about it, will you? If Lord Darlington catches us in here, he’ll have both our heads.”
* * * *
“Cold out tonight.” Haslemere crossed the study to the fireplace and thrust his hands out toward the blaze. “It would have been much pleasanter if your ghost had appeared in the spring or summer, Darlington.”
“Or hadn’t appeared at all.” Gideon poured a generous measure of port into a tumbler and handed it to Haslemere. “Here, this will warm you more quickly than the fire.”
Haslemere took the tumbler and dropped into a chair, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t deny Darlington Castle is the first place a ghost would choose to haunt, but I believe we can conclude the White Lady is a figment of Edenbridge’s imagination.”
“I never suspected otherwise.” Gideon’s lips twisted into something meant to resemble a smile. “It seems my neighbors aren’t pleased with the idea of my marrying again. What better way to chase off my betrothed than with a haunting?”
Haslemere grunted. “Bloody nonsense. Why can’t they just leave you in peace?”
“Because they think I’m a murderer.” Gideon sipped at his port. “A murderer must be punished, one way