Belmary House Book One (28 page)

“Is it that obvious?” she asked, fanning herself. “I had hoped ...”

“It’s not obvious,” Tilly assured her. “Or, only to me. I think you’re good together,” she said boldly.

Surprisingly, the usually self-contained Serena blushed and looked down. “Thank you. I hope— that is, if things continue, Julian can accept it. He had a difficult time with Camilla’s death.” She winced. “We all did, of course. Do. I feel so guilty.”

Tilly felt cold all over, remembering the reality of the situation, and who Kostya was. Neither Serena nor he knew that Camilla might still be alive in France. Serena only felt guilty toward a memory. If she knew the truth, Tilly had no doubt she would instantly back away from Kostya, no matter how deep her feelings. She inwardly cursed Ashford for not being more forthcoming, at least with his brother-in-law. The poor man was trying to start his life over, and he deserved to be fully informed before things got too deep.

Grateful that it was the early nineteenth century and Serena and Kostya probably hadn’t done more than stand side by side to admire the moonlight, she prayed Ashford would find out the truth before things got out of hand and hearts got broken. She stood there not knowing what to say, finding it impossible to offer any words of encouragement.

“You look a little wan,” Serena said. “You should take a nap before tonight. I know I’m going to. I’m exhausted these last few days.”

“Good idea.”

Tilly gathered up her dress and followed Serena upstairs, not sure if she’d be able to relax enough to sleep.

Ashford finally heard back from Edinburgh that morning. His trusted messenger had visited every church and graveyard. He’d found the record of Donal’s death, but the young man wasn’t buried there, either.

“The physician who treated him said Missus Camilla arranged for the lad’s body to be transported home.”

“Home meaning here, the village,” Ashford reiterated, though he knew there was nowhere else.

“Aye, milord. She escorted the body herself, the man said. He helped her make the arrangements.”

This news chilled Ashford’s bones, knowing his sister hadn’t been home since she originally left with Donal. He’d always assumed she’d sent his body back, but for her to set foot in the village would have caused an outcry that would have probably erupted in an old fashioned witch trial. And if she came straight to the estate, surely Kostya would have told him about it. He dismissed the messenger and called for the woman who’d been Camilla’s maid since she was a young teenager. They were close in age and he knew Camilla had trusted her, and the maid was devoted to Camilla.

When sweet, round-faced Josie appeared before him, twisting her skirts with nerves, he almost couldn’t go through with it. She’d been devastated when Camilla left, and he was sure she somehow blamed herself for not being able to get his sister to come to her senses.

“Around the time that the lad Donal Blair passed on, did Camilla come back here, perhaps only for a short time? Perhaps she asked you to keep it a secret?”

Her face collapsed into tearful shock at his abrupt question, but he was damned if he could figure out a way to ease into things. He supposed he could have taken a moment to ask how she’d been. He half wished Matilda was there to help him, and was half glad she wasn’t, for she’d surely shake her head disappointedly at his lack of consideration.

“I apologize,” he said. “But it’s of the utmost importance that you speak the truth. Please don’t feel you have to keep an old confidence.”

Josie got the same worried look Kostya got when he spoke of Camilla so urgently. It was one of the reasons he stopped sharing information with his brother-in-law. Everyone believed her to be dead, so why was he still digging up the past?

“I wish she had, sir,” Josie said, her voice cracking. “I could have kept her here, I know I could have.” She put her face in her hands and sobbed. “I miss her so, milord.”

He awkwardly patted her shoulder as she mumbled about being tormented about Camilla going into the cold waves, being alone at the last. Goosebumps traveled up his spine, suddenly not so certain his sister had got onto that ship to France alone.

***

Ashford turned the page of the book, then turned it back, realizing he hadn’t registered a word of what he’d read for the last several minutes. He didn’t know what to make of it, and it gave him a headache trying to find anything in his grandmother’s old books. Waves of sickness and fear lapped at him as he scoured the pages, not wanting to think about what he was looking for, dreading what he might find.

He leaned back in his chair and took in the warm surroundings of his comfortable old study, surprised to see it was dark outside. Someone must have come and lit the lamps for him without his noticing. He was grateful to Kostya for keeping this room as it had always been, along with the appearance of his still belonging to this old place.

The way he groaned and moaned every time he had to come here, anyone would think he hated his childhood home, but the exact opposite was true. He wasn’t suited to country life, and would run the estate into the ground if he was in charge, but it was his home, the place he felt most himself.

He’d always known he had a powerful English father, but the day he learned he would have to eventually leave Scotland and take over all that faraway nonsense, had been one of the saddest days of his life. It became easier to stay away, than to deal with the pain of leaving, and he ended up visiting only once a year to lavish presents on his niece and annoy the crofters.

He should have stayed longer after Lucy died, perhaps things might be different now ... He slapped his hands down on his desk and prepared to dive back into his studies, not wanting to waste time on futile musings.

The book had nothing useful, and he leaned down to select another from the pile beside his desk, trying to concentrate. The terrible thoughts he had about the empty grave couldn’t be stilled. No matter how he went over it, he couldn’t understand why Camilla would commission a headstone for her dead lover when he wasn’t buried in that cemetery. If Camilla hadn’t wanted him buried in Edinburgh, there was also no logical reason for her to keep that information a secret from the lad’s family. Having lost a child herself, she had to know how important it would be to them to visit the grave, to mourn properly.

The villagers hadn’t been too keen on him for some years now, and downright shunned the family ever since Camilla’s defection with one of their own, so he couldn’t ask anyone about it. With no other recourse, he continued to try and find answers in the musty old books, desperately wanting to know what had become of Donal Blair.

Once again, he found he wasn’t comprehending a word in front of him and looked up to find Serena standing in the doorway, looking amused and very dressed up.

“My word, you look pretty,” he said, feeling the familiar mix of sympathy and affection he’d always had for her.

Her father was a rigid, cranky old army general who thankfully spent most of his time traveling, leaving Serena in the care of her dotty spinster aunt. His own mother doted on her out of pity, which had led to Camilla’s lack of love for her, and he had always taken her for granted. He’d been avoiding spending long periods of time with her this visit, not wanting any probing questions on the nature of his relationship with Matilda.

She twirled in her blue gown and bobbed a mocking curtsy to show off the gems in her hair. “You know there’s a ball being carried on, right now, in your very own house, in your honor?”

“No one here even likes me,” he said, meaning it to come out sounding cool, but sounding like a whiny ten year old who hadn’t been chosen for a team.

“Don’t be daft, Julian. There will always be those who cling to their silly grudges, but those people won’t be enjoying the lovely cheese assortments or the fine wines we’ve put out. Come out of this hole of yours and see how many people came.”

“I’m certain it’s only for the wine and cheese you’ve just bragged about.” He waved at his stacks of discarded, useless books. “I have work to do. I’ll pop in later.”

“Very well,” she said, with an untrustworthy smirk. “Tilly’s been dancing with the Ballyridge lad. They’re the same age, so have much in common, I’m sure.”

“The Ballyridge lad? I thought he was killed in the war?”

“Goodness, Julian. I can see why you’re so popular in your own home county. He was merely injured. He has a very rakish scar that the young ladies go wild for, and his stories keep you on the edge of your seat, they’re so harrowing.”

He huffed in annoyance, suddenly feeling the urge to see what Matilda was up to. “I have plenty of harrowing stories,” he said. “Matilda is constantly haranguing me for them.”

“I’m certain she is,” Serena said, halfway out the door. “It isn’t just Callum Ballyridge though. I saw Nick’s name in more than one spot on her card.”

How had he completely forgotten about that scoundrel Nick? Blocked him out was more like it. Nevertheless, he felt altogether uncomfortable at the thought of him putting his hands all over Matilda, even in a room full of people. Especially in a room full of people. That tricky bastard could create a scandal within a blink of the eyes, and if he held her too closely or danced with her too many times, tongues would be wagging up and down the coast.

He was going to make an appearance to keep her from making a fool of herself, that was all. If she wanted to dance with him, he would of course consider it. Yes, he really ought to, if nothing else than to keep her out of Nick’s clutches. He stood up, knocking his chair backwards, and raced to find Duncan to make him presentable.

Duncan was waiting for him with neatly pressed clothes and his favorite embroidered waistcoat. He hurried into the outfit and stood impatiently while Duncan looked him over and finally nodded his approval. Feeling like a schoolboy, he ran to the ballroom, composing himself to look dignified when he entered.

The guests were all absorbed in the food and dancing, and no one glanced over at his arrival. Served him right for not greeting everyone as he was sure Kostya and Serena had done. He was grateful to them for not letting his family name fall completely into the mud, and ashamed for not doing more to bridge the chasm that had been ever widening with the villagers ever since he first left for his duties in London. After Camilla went over the edge, it seemed the rift would be irreparable so he was surprised to see how many people came.

He spied Matilda at the edge of the fray, beaming up at that fool Nick, her eyes sparkling and a few tendrils of hair curling around her blooming cheeks. She looked radiant in her pale green dress, perfectly fitted to her lovely curves.

A shock of jealousy nearly knocked him back a step when she put her hand on Nick’s sleeve. A new dance was about to begin and he had the horrified notion that she was going to step out onto the dancefloor with him. He had to put a stop to it. Nodding and bowing here and there as he powered through the guests, he finally made it to their side, sliding in between them as suavely as he could.

“Lord Ashford,” she said coquettishly while curtsying.

He raised an eyebrow at her, but was unable to speak when confronted with her beauty in such close proximity. He’d always thought she was lovely, but something about her tonight almost sent him straight to the floor. Her luminous eyes gleamed when she looked up at him, her pink lips glossy as they turned up in a smile. Tiny sparkling stones at her deep neckline accentuated her delicate bosom and he recalled that other ball with disgust, how he’d put her in that terrible red dress and left her to fend for herself.

He wanted to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness all over again. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that she’d not only forgiven him for that, but against all odds seemed to like him, at least a little. He couldn’t stop looking at her, darting his gaze from her eyes to her mouth to her gorgeous cleavage, then noticing with glee the dangling pearls that accentuated her dainty ears. Even her ears were a revelation to him tonight. He wedged himself further between her and Nick.

“You look amazing,” he said, continuing to let his eyes roam over her features.

Her smile grew brighter and her cheeks pinkened with his heartfelt compliment. Nick tried to worm his way around him, reaching for Matilda’s hand.

“This is my dance, Ashford.”

Ashford shook his head and moved to completely block him from her view. “No it isn’t,” he said without looking back.

Matilda pressed her lips together to keep from laughing and after a moment of huffing, Nick slithered away.

“It really was his dance,” she said, but not sparing Nick a glance.

Ashford wanted to keep her eyes on him, keep the smile on her face and the color in her cheeks.

“Only dance with me from now on,” he said, pulling her onto the polished floor.

***

Tilly placed her hand in Ashford’s and followed him onto the dance floor, feeling as if she were surrounded by sparkling butterflies and singing bluebirds. Everyone else disappeared as he took her in his arms and started the dance. She didn’t know any of the steps, but her feet followed his effortlessly as he continued to look at her with something like wonder.

When he’d complimented her, almost without thought, she’d actually believed him, and the joy that welled up in her made it difficult to stand still. She wanted to do her dress and all the hard work Nora had done on her hair and face proud, though, and stayed composed. When he sent Nick on his way and pleadingly yet forcefully asked her to only dance with him, she’d nearly burst at her carefully sewn seams. She let herself be whirled around, enjoying the dreamlike quality of being in his arms.