recall the color of her eyes, the contours of her face. His emotions were a tangled mess, but at least he could reassure Haslemere on this account. “No, I’m not sorry. It’s for the best.”
Given time, he’d likely be grateful for it.
The lines of tension around Haslemere’s mouth eased, and he let out a short laugh. “You’re free of her mother, at any rate. Near escape, really.”
Yes, he was free of his bride, and free of Mrs. Honeywell, but he wasn’t free, because another face had taken the place of Miss Honeywell’s, another pair of eyes, dark and bottomless, another voice…
Low and sweet, singing.
But he wouldn’t think of that now. They were closing in on the tree line. If anyone was wandering in the woods with a lantern, they’d be able to see the light by now. Gideon squinted into the gloom, but not a glimmer brightened the darkness.
He and Haslemere tramped through the woods for some time, bare tree branches tearing at their coats, frigid fingers of wind creeping under their collars, but there were no poachers or pranksters hidden among the trees, no White Lady with a face as pale as death, her white gown trailing along the forest floor.
There was no one.
By the time they turned back toward the castle, their feet and hands were half-frozen, and Gideon’s hopes had faded. “Tomorrow, we search again. We’ve got to find her, Haslemere, before—”
“We’ll find her. I promise you that, Darlington.”
They didn’t speak again as they made their way back to the castle.
In another few hours, the sun would rise. There didn’t seem to be much point in retiring now. Gideon knew he wouldn’t sleep, but he wasn’t sure what else to do, so when he reached his bedchamber, he stripped off his coat, lay down on his bed, and closed his eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
Despite Mrs. Honeywell’s frantic promises the night before, Miss Honeywell had not come to her senses by the following morning. The two of them descended the stairs dressed in their traveling cloaks before breakfast, Mrs. Honeywell red-faced and breathless, and her daughter pale and determined.
Gideon had been informed of their imminent departure and had dragged a reluctant Haslemere with him into the entrance hall to bid them goodbye.
“My lord.” Miss Honeywell swept down the stairs with all the dignity a lady who’d spent the previous night shrieking like a banshee could possibly muster. “I regret our betrothal has come to such a sad pass.”
Gideon, who’d spend a good part of the night wondering why he didn’t feel even a twinge of regret at the loss of his betrothed, offered her a polite bow. “I’m truly sorry for—”
“Lord Darlington.” Mrs. Honeywell grasped Gideon’s arm before he could say another word. “Do talk some sense into the girl, won’t you?”
“Miss Honeywell appears to have made up her mind, madam.” Gideon frowned down at the stout fingers twisting his coat sleeve. “I don’t know what you’d have me say.”
“Why, that you didn’t murder your wife, of course, and thus there’s no reason for her to haunt Darlington Castle. I’m certain the late Marchioness of Darlington has more sense than to haunt a perfectly innocent gentleman like yourself. It’s all a terrible misunderstanding.”
“I beg your pardon, madam, but I believe your daughter has made herself quite clear on that matter.” Haslemere, who’d had more than enough of Mrs. Honeywell, spoke through clenched teeth. “She believes Lord Darlington to be a murderer. Given the circumstances, I can’t think why he’d wish to marry her, even if she did change her mind.”
Miss Honeywell glared at Haslemere, then drew herself up stiffly. “Indeed, Mama, you waste your breath.”
Mrs. Honeywell looked between the three stony faces, and threw her hands up in the air. “You’re a great fool, Fanny, and you’ll be made to realize it soon enough when we return to London, and no one who matters will deign to speak to you. But as you say, I’ve wasted enough breath on you, and shan’t say another word on the matter.”
With that, Mrs. Honeywell swept out the front entrance in a dramatic swirl of skirts, marched across the drive, and with her coachman’s assistance, heaved herself into the carriage. Fanny followed after her mother without a backward glance. Gideon and Haslemere trailed after them and watched as the coach rounded the curve at the end of the drive and vanished from sight.
“I’d wager my pair of matched bays Mrs. Honeywell will find she has a great deal more to say on this matter,