“That book ye mentioned last night…it’s a romantic book?”
“Mrs. Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho? Oh, yes, it’s terribly romantic, and also wonderfully terrifying. Why do you ask?”
Duncan dropped his gaze. “Young lasses like romance, don’t they? Do ye suppose Miss Amy might like that book?”
“I daresay she would, yes.” Cecilia struggled to hide her smile. “You might even like it yourself, Duncan.”
Duncan’s cheeks burst into flames. “Ach, well, I only asked on Miss Amy’s account, but if ye had a mind to read that book aloud to her, mayhap I could listen, too?”
Cecilia reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Duncan. You’ll be outside my door again tonight?”
“Aye, Miss Cecilia. His lordship said so.”
“Very well, then. We’ll fetch Amy and read a chapter tonight after Isabella falls asleep, shall we?”
Duncan beamed at her. “Right then, Miss Cecilia. I’ll see ye tonight.” He stuffed the rest of his tartlet into his mouth, then snatched two more off the plate and shoved them into his pocket before ambling out of the kitchen, whistling under his breath.
Well, that was one problem solved, anyway. Cecilia sat at the kitchen table for a bit, eyeing the plate of tartlets and willing her stomach to cease its uneasy roiling before giving it up for lost, and going in search of Amy.
Amy wasn’t upset with her as Duncan had been, but she was nearly expiring with curiosity, which was much worse. “Duncan says Lord Darlington brought you back to the castle himself last night after he caught you creeping about the grounds, and he looked angrier than Duncan had ever seen him. Is it true?”
Cecilia dropped the pile of linens she was carrying on the settee at the end of the bed with a sigh. “I wasn’t creeping. I was…” Sneaking, or prowling, or spying? “…innocently looking around.”
Amy snorted. “Were you, now? Is that what you told Lord Darlington?”
Cecilia hadn’t had much time to tell Gideon anything, but she kept her lips stubbornly sealed. The less information Amy had about last night’s, er…activities, the better.
Amy took up a sheet from the pile on the settee. “I did warn you not to follow him and Lord Haslemere out there, didn’t I? Honestly, Cecilia, I can’t think why you’d want to prowl about in the first place. What did he do with you once he caught you?”
Kissed me senseless.
“Brought me back to the castle, just as Duncan said.”
Amy snapped the sheet open over the bed with an impatient gesture. “What, that’s all? There must have been more to it. What did he say? Did he scold, or lecture, or—”
“Threaten to dismiss me? No.” Cecilia paused, her hand clutching a corner of the sheet. Now she thought of it, why hadn’t he threatened to dismiss her? He’d done so before, and for a far less drastic infraction. Instead he’d taken her to his wife and son’s grave. He’d confided in her, and let her comfort him.
Amy cocked her head to the side, considering this. “Lord Darlington’s not one for threats. If he was going to dismiss you, you’d be gone by now, and I’d be making these blasted beds all by myself.”
Cecilia tried to return Amy’s crooked grin, but everything she thought she understood about Gideon had tipped sideways in her head until she could no longer make sense of anything.
“Here, give me that.” Amy pulled the end of the sheet from Cecilia’s slack hand. “What were Lord Darlington and Lord Haslemere doing when you found them?”
Cecilia shrugged. “Chasing the ghost, I presume.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “There is no ghost, for pity’s sake. You can’t truly believe otherwise.”
Cecilia didn’t know what she believed anymore. “What about Miss Honeywell’s claim a ghost in a white gown with a deathly white face was lurking beneath her window? Do you suppose she invented it?”
“Who knows what she saw? I’ll tell you what, that one’s pretty head is as empty as a bellows. Like as not she had a bad dream, but whatever it was she thought she saw, it wasn’t a ghost. Of all the rumors the villagers in Edenbridge have put about, that’s one of the most foolish. Not the most foolish, mind you, but close.”
“Oh? What else do they say?” Cecilia didn’t care much what the gossips claimed, but just this once, she welcomed the distraction.
“They say Lord Darlington’s the Murderous Marquess. Pure nonsense, put about by that awful Mrs. Vernon. You’d think they’d have more sense than to listen to a wolf in