old as this one must have several secret passages.”
“And ghosts,” Lord Destry added. “Excellent!”
Everyone laughed at Destry’s boyish enthusiasm. Even Lord Jess, whose expression was now more relaxed, though he did keep glancing at Lord Crenshaw with an air of interest, if not calculation.
The countess nodded to the butler. “Mervis, open the door to the hidden passage.”
With some effort, the older servant pulled on a ring that decorated the edge of the mantel. Soundlessly, the entire bookcase swung out to reveal a short flight of steps and a passage that dissolved into darkness.
“It would have been better if it had creaked,” Lord Jess whispered into Beatrice’s ear.
“I find it reassuring to know that someone has maintained it,” Beatrice answered.
“You’re not afraid, are you?” he asked with a laugh.
“Only of breaking my leg,” she answered. She took a step away from him. He was standing too close, so close that she could feel him even when he was not touching her.
He matched her movement, restoring the nearness of their bodies. “It’s your scent,” he whispered, bending down so that his breath tickled her ear. “The fragrance you wear, it’s …” He paused and thought for a moment. “It’s captivating.”
Like his eyes, she thought, and could not decide whether to abandon her new perfume or bathe in it.
“I should like to go first,” Lord Belmont announced, stepping to the front of the line.
“I knew this would capture your interest, my lord earl,” the countess said, “but one of the footmen with a lighted torch will take the lead and I will follow. Marquis Destry, will you be the last of our party with the other torch behind you?”
Destry bowed with a flourish.
“If anyone should prefer not to follow this route, Mervis will show you a more conventional way to the small banquet room.”
Mrs. Wilson stepped closer to the butler, but was the only one to do so. Her daughter looked doubtful, but with an encouraging nod from Lord Crenshaw, she took his arm.
“This is not my idea of entertainment,” Cecilia whispered to her sister. “But I am not going to act like some old lady.”
“Bravo, Ceci.” Beatrice patted her arm. “I will go in front of you and Lord Destry will be behind you, so there will be help should you need it.” It would give her sister a chance to be near him without needing to maintain a conversation.
“His idea of help would probably be dousing the torches so that we could only feel our way through the passage.”
“Ceci, he is right behind you.”
“Indeed I am, and what an excellent suggestion, but since it is your idea, I do think I will have to come up with one of my own.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Cecilia said, sounding both embarrassed and annoyed.
“No need, Miss Brent. You have my measure already.” He would have gone on, but Mrs. Wilson began a soliloquy on why she could not join them, as if everyone wished to know.
Beatrice pulled her sister close and whispered. “I do believe the marquis forgives you all real and imagined insults.”
“Do you think? He does not seem to mind.” Cecilia let go of a sigh and Beatrice could see her mood lighten considerably.
When Mrs. Wilson finished and the countess sent her on her way with Mervis, the rest lined up as Beatrice suggested, with Lord Jess in front of her. Better than being in front of him and pretending she did not care how she looked from the back.
The lead footman descended the four steps into the passageway that sloped gently but inexorably down. They moved slowly and, as she stepped into the passage, Beatrice lifted her skirt with one hand and reached out the other to touch the wall. It was dry and smooth and cold to the touch.
When she reached the bottom of the short flight of steps, Beatrice noticed that lit torches were set high on the wall for as far as she could see, but they just cast confusing shadows, adding to the haunted feel of the dim space.
“This is not so bad,” Cecilia whispered.
Apparently the whisper carried in the narrow space.
“No, no, Miss Brent,” Destry said. “A comment like that is just asking for trouble.”
No sooner had he spoken than Beatrice heard the scuttling sound of something small and four-footed.
Destry’s “You see? What in the world was that?” was not at all reassuring.
Lord Jess turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Have no fear, ladies. I am sure that sound is only for effect.”