Tempting the Footman (House of Devon #5) - Lauren Smith Page 0,17
of gray and yellow stone, and they form disciplined lines around the village square, which is shaped a bit like the letter L. Most of the townsfolk are miners and their families.”
“Miners? Like for silver?” Venetia’s eyes widened with curiosity.
“Nothing so romantic as that. They mine for lead. Most of the houses were built a century ago, and the village itself is very old. Twelfth century, in fact. The village square used to be the location of an old abbey.”
“The abbey isn’t there now?”
“No, sadly not. You see, Blanchard lies deep in a valley near the river Derwent, surrounded by bleak moorlands. Local legends say the seclusion of these moors prompted the Scots to visit during their raids across the border in 1327.”
Venetia’s eyes brightened. “Now we are discovering some intrigue. What happened in 1327?”
“Well, the monks were so relieved to have been delivered from those brutal Highland raiders that they rang the abbey bells in celebration, but the bells tolled so loudly in the valley that the Scots heard, turned around, and came back, sacking the abbey.”
“How dreadful!”
“It is, rather. We do not even know what the abbey looked like. Only rubble was left after the raiders left, and eventually that was used for other structures, until the foundation was the only thing left. It now makes up Blanchard’s village square. But Blanchard was not yet done with the Scots or their legends.” Adrian had to admit he was rather enjoying this discussion. He tossed the pillow playfully back at Venetia. She ducked with a giggle.
“More Scots? Pray, tell me.”
“Blanchard was the home, at least for a time, of General Benjamin Forster, who led an unsuccessful Jacobite uprising in 1715. He escaped after he was captured at Preston, and he hid in Blanchard in a priest hole behind the fireplace in his home. The hole is still there today. And some say that Forster’s sister, Dorothy, haunts the area around the fireplace.”
“A ghost?”
“Yes. She is said to appear to visitors, asking them to take a message to Benjamin, who fled to France.”
“What message?”
“I don’t believe anyone knows. I believe most who have seen her simply run away before she can elaborate.”
Venetia laughed. “I suppose I would run away too. One never knows what a ghost intends. Some can be pleasant, others quite frightening.”
Adrian leaned forward and propped his arms on his knees. “You’ve seen a ghost?”
“Oh yes. At our old country house in the Lake District. We lived in Wetheral, in Cumbria.”
“You don’t live there any longer?”
Her happiness began to melt away. “No, we don’t. My father, the late Earl of Latham, passed away last year. My cousin is now Lord Latham, and he sold our country estate, Latham House. We were forced to live with him in our London townhouse.”
“Why? Were you in need of money?” He realized too late that the question was inappropriate. “I’m sorry, please do not answer that.”
“No, I don’t mind,” she assured him. “I have no need of money, but my cousin is . . . well, Gran calls him a wastrel. He prefers games of chance to other pastimes and came into the earldom with a large number of debts. The sale of the Latham country house paid them off, and he lined his pockets very well, but . . .” Her tone softened as her voice trailed off.
“But it cost you your home.”
She sighed and wiped the sadness from her expression with false cheeriness. “That house had a fair number of ghosts, like the shrieking bride.”
“The shrieking bride?” Adrian chuckled.
“Oh yes. And she did shriek too. She would chase you down the long picture gallery, wailing something dreadful, her eyes glowing red. I was very scared of her as a child. One night she chased me, and I don’t know why but I turned about and shouted at her to be quiet. She simply vanished, and I have not seen her since.”
“A sensible ghost! How thoughtful.”
This time Venetia’s answering smile was genuine, not forced. “But you distracted me. Tell me about you, please.”
“I have not lived a life worth discussing, I fear.”
“I don’t believe that. All lives hold something of interest in them.”
He glanced her way, saw her determined curiosity. He could not avoid the discussion, which only served to irritate him. “My mother was unwed, and my birth was of a scandalous nature. There, does that prove interesting enough?”
He didn’t mean for his words to come out so harshly, but they did. There was so much inside him that still