but his friend Lord Haslemere, who’d spent most of the winter rusticating at his country estate in Surrey, had heard the rumors about the White Lady and sent Gideon a note, warning him a ghost was prowling about his castle, and calling him back to Kent.
“I assure you, Mrs. Briggs is expecting me today, my lord.” Miss Gilchrist’s chin hitched up. She was doing her best to brazen it out, but she was beginning to look as if she’d rather plunge into Darlington Lake than spend another moment with him.
Gideon couldn’t blame her, really. Housemaid or not, no young woman wanted to be trapped alone in the dark between the Murderous Marquess and his enormous, haunted castle.
“Mrs. Briggs is expecting someone.” He doubted it was this peculiar young woman who didn’t look or speak like any servant he’d ever seen, and who’d appeared out of nowhere to throw stones into his lake. Still, she was here, and Mrs. Briggs needed the help. “Very well, Miss Gilchrist.” Gideon beckoned her forward with a sigh. “Come with me.”
“Yes, my lord.” She took up the traveling case at her feet, and followed him through the arched doorway on one side of the courtyard and into the long, narrow entrance hall.
“This way,” he said, when she paused to take in the timbered ceiling and carved wood paneling on the walls. He led her down a corridor off the entry hall to his study, which was tucked into a back corner of the castle.
“Sit down.” Gideon waved her to a chair near his massive carved mahogany desk, then crossed the room to pull the bell and summon Mrs. Briggs.
He seated himself behind the desk and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. Neither of them said a word as they waited, each staring at the other until Mrs. Briggs tapped her knuckles against the door. “Yes, Lord Darlington?”
“Mrs. Briggs. Come in, please. Cecilia Gilchrist, the new housemaid, has arrived.”
“Yes, of course. With one thing and another, I nearly forgot.” Mrs. Briggs hurried across the room and held out her hand to Cecilia. “My goodness, you’re a tiny bit of a thing, aren’t you? Welcome, welcome. I’m Mrs. Briggs, the housekeeper.”
Miss Gilchrist rose and dipped into a hasty curtsy. “How do you do, Mrs. Briggs?”
“Very well, very well indeed. Sit down, child.”
Miss Gilchrist sat down.
“I’m relieved you’re here at last,” Mrs. Briggs went on. “I expected you an hour ago. I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind about accepting the post when…” Mrs. Briggs trailed off, and an awkward silence descended.
There was only one reason Miss Gilchrist would have changed her mind about the post. Mrs. Briggs had told him their last prospective housemaid had arrived in Edenbridge, heard the rumors about the Darlington Castle ghost, and turned right back around, leaving that same day.
“But here you are,” Mrs. Briggs went on with a bright smile. “Not a moment too soon, too. We dearly need the help to ready the house for Lord Darlington’s bride.”
“I’m, ah…pleased to be here, Mrs. Briggs. I’ve brought my reference from Lady Dunton, as promised.” Miss Gilchrist reached into her reticule, withdrew a paper, and handed it to Mrs. Briggs.
“Ah, yes.” Mrs. Briggs turned to Gideon. “Miss Gilchrist comes with excellent references from Lady Dunton, my lord. She worked for eleven years as an upstairs maid at Lady Dunton’s country estate in Stoneleigh, near Coventry.”
“Did she, indeed?” he asked in surprise. Miss Gilchrist had the bearing and speech of a Londoner.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Briggs beamed at Miss Gilchrist. “I daresay she’ll be a great help to us here.”
He held out his hand. “May I see the reference?”
“Yes, of course, my lord.” Mrs. Briggs handed him the paper.
Gideon read the page over carefully, paying particular attention to the date and Lady Dunton’s signature. It looked authentic enough, but he wasn’t satisfied. He tossed the letter onto his desk. “Forgive me, Miss Gilchrist, but you look quite young. At what age did you go into service?”
“Twelve, my lord.”
“Then you’re three and twenty?”
“Yes, my lord. Three and twenty.”
Gideon steepled his fingers under his chin, his eyes narrowing on the wash of color rising from her neck to her cheeks. Either Miss Gilchrist didn’t like to own her age, which was unlikely for a woman of three and twenty, or she was lying to him, and doing a poor job of it. “You don’t look to be older than nineteen or twenty, Miss Gilchrist.”
“Um…thank you, my lord?”
Despite himself, Gideon’s lips twitched. “Were you