Forever (Book #3 in the Fateful Series) (36 page)

“Am I a prisoner?” She watched in irritation as the plump little bird happily returned and left again, as if taunting her.

She
could not leave this place! The realization baffled her deeply.

With a sense of panic seizing her, she spun back toward the castle, forgetting about what might be on the other side of the wall. Then as she neared the kitchen garden, her eyes widened in surprise. There, bent over the herbs, was a female maid. She’d bunched up her apron to create a makeshift basket to hold the clippings of thyme and rosemary.

“Hello!” she called, waving her arm as she sped toward the blonde girl in the black and white dress.

There was no reaction from the maid. Of course there was no reaction!

She spoke anyway, knowing a pout controlled her mouth. “Hello, I am…well…I’m so very pleased to see you,” she said, desperate to speak to anyone.

Still, she received no reply or any physical response to her speech at all. The young maid simply hummed a sweet tune as she worked—obviously oblivious to the spirit next to her.

Keeping the frown firmly fixed upon her expression, she went inside to see who else had returned. Drifting through the door to the kitchen, she paused, and then watched as servants bustled about hastily preparing a meal. A meal for one. A plump woman was spooning stew into a bowl, whilst an old, slender man held out a tray for it. Another maid set a hunk of bread next to the bowl, along with a porcelain cup and another little bowl with white, sparkling cubes in it. Then the older man shuffled through the doorway with the loaded silver platter.

The realization settled in. They had only just arrived and were rushing to feed their master.

Him.
The lone man who occupied the great bedchamber!

She had to see what he looked like, even if he could not see her.
Perhaps I can haunt him
, she thought with a pixyish smirk forming about her lips that swept the pout away.

Chapter 2

The Earl of Krestly Castle

Christian Henry Sparks dropped himself, with a gusty breath, into the head chair at his lonely and long dining room table. He’d been here, at his newly acquired estate, for only a few days when he’d been summoned back to the city. His insufficient numbers of servants were forced to accompany him and abandon their duties as well. They hadn’t even had time to fully restock the shelves with food or the grounds with livestock at this older, medieval castle. Though there’d been many upgrades, it had stood empty for a few years until being handed down to him from his father’s many holdings.

Even so, while this castle was empty, but for himself and a handful of servants, he preferred this country estate over the city. Regardless of the fact that he was more accustomed to urban life. In fact, he despised London.

It wasn’t so much the geography that irritated him, but the people living there. The snobs. The ones utterly concerned with fashion, and gossip about who was wedding who, and when the next soirée would be, and if they were invited…. For now he was the earl, but, as the rightful heir, he would someday replace his father as marquess. Because of that, Father expected him to return to London for study in his future responsibilities. Even though it irked him to revisit, he went and did not speak of his internal displeasure. He would not show ingratitude by complaining about it. At least not out loud.

Underneath the pride of ownership, however, he was simmering. Curse his father! How could the man give him this enormous charge only to withhold the funds needed to run it? Christian laughed humorlessly. This was likely another one of his sire’s challenges.
Let’s see how Christian manages that huge estate without his allowance.
Oh, the laugh he must have had.

His father had supported him financially up until now, and he knew he was due to gain an increased amount when he turned six and twenty. He certainly hadn’t expected to be cut off when his father gave him Krestly.

Christian did not want to look the fool in front of his sire or peers, but he feared he would not be able to maintain the place and hire the needed servants. And because of that, he worried this castle would fall into disrepair and dwindle under his care if he did not receive the money soon. He knew there was some condition to ascertaining it, but he didn’t yet know what that was. He hoped that his father would send his solicitor quickly to clear up the matter. Until then, there was nothing he could do about it, but try and manage with what he did have.

Footsteps echoed through the people-sparse room to his ears, announcing the arrival of his dinner. Which he knew would also be sparse since they’d only just returned. But he didn’t mind. “Thank you, Jackson. That will be all for now,” Christian said as the gray-haired, ashen-faced man settled the tray onto the table with a trembling grip that caused the china to rattle.

“You’re very welcome, Lord Krestly, it is my pleasure to serve you.”

Christian couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. Just the sight of the man brightened his sullen mood, but, it was the formal address that made him chuckle. Jackson had served him since he’d been an infant. The man felt like an uncle to him and was dear to his heart. Therefore, he did not expect such proper conduct from the loyal manservant, but Jackson had persisted in calling him “lord” instead of “little lad” once he’d been given this castle. “You know there is no need for such formalities.”

“But I insist, my lord.”

“Jackson,” he said, his tone a gentle reprimand.

Jackson waved it away, offered a quick bow, and then shuffled slowly toward the exit. “I insist. Now be a good boy, and eat your supper.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and laughed when that got the reaction he was hoping for: A cringe and another sharp wave of the elderly butler’s hand. “You’re the best, old man. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d survive.”

No, I wouldn’t
, Christian thought to himself as he listened to the doors close behind Jackson. Well, at least not as comfortably. And he’d be lonelier than he already was.

He knew he needed to fill this cold dwelling with the warmth that only a wife and children could provide. His lips cracked a smile at the images that fond thought conjured. The cacophony of a chattering wife with rambunctious youth clutching her skirts would brighten these hollow walls nicely. But the smile slipped, he couldn’t even consider looking for a bride until his finances were settled, and he wondered how long his father meant to torment him. It could take days or months or...who knew? He certainly didn’t.

His finger hooked around the handle of his teacup, and he sipped
at his tea.
Chamomile
, he thought, and then he noted, as the bland liquid warmed his taste buds with temperature and not flavor, that they’d rushed the process a bit. Again, he didn’t mind. Tasteless tea was the least of his worries. He dropped two lumps of sugar into it.

While the cubes dissolved, he reached for the stale bread brought in from the city no doubt, since Cook truly had not had time to bake it from scratch. Smiling, he broke off a hunk and dunked it into the fragrant hot soup. The
ton
would frown on him for that, but here, in his home, he could do whatever he liked, even if it wasn’t entirely civilized behavior. There was no one here to see it.

Spooning up the last bit of potato from the broth, Christian caught sight of movement near the door. He lunged to his feet. A lovely young woman in an exquisite gown was moving across the room to the chair opposite him. Her glide appeared utterly graceful, so much so, that it was unnatural. She then sat down and studied him with the most intense green eyes he’d ever seen. His spoon dropped from his fingers and clattered to the bowl. The impact sent droplets of soup popping into the air.

He gaped, and she gaped, both of their eyes rounded. It seemed she didn’t expect him to be surprised that a woman he didn’t know sat in
his
home, at
his
table. Unannounced.

He lowered back into his chair. “Excuse me,” –he cleared his throat when his voice croaked— “might I ask who you are?”

She turned to look behind herself, her eyes still wide. Then, when she apparently saw no one else around but her, she twisted back toward him, and set one hand on her chest, then said in a voice that sounded like a melodic breeze, “Me?”

“Yes. Are you a guest whom no one told me about?”

“I, uh…y-you can see me?”

At that his brows tugged together. Because now that she mentioned it, she did look slightly
transparent
. He could see the tapestry-covered chair through her bodice. Christian stood abruptly, his chair tipped backward with the sudden movement and rocked to the floor with a loud bang.
She’s not solid!

Jackson opened the door and popped his head inside; clearly he’d heard the commotion. “My lord, is everything all right?”

Christian held a shaky hand out, pointing in her direction. “Do-do you see?” he sputtered.

The butler followed the line of his straightened finger and frowned. The ghost looked at the old man as though she prayed he’d be able to see her too. “See what, my lord?” Her face fell. “Is there a rodent? I’ll fetch Nathan to take care—”

“No, the woman seated right there!”

Jackson looked again and squinted. “Sorry, no one is there. Son, you must be tired. I suggest you retire early.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it realizing he was the only one who could see her, and muttered, “Yes, thank you for supper. It was divine and really hit the spot. Please tell Margaret for me, would you?”

“I tasted the tea; surely you’re exaggerating when you say it was divine.”

Exhaling and reluctant to remove his gaze from the lady, who smiled bashfully, yet pleasantly, Christian addressed the old man. “I’m grateful for the meal; now please deliver my thanks….” He fell silent for a moment as her honeyed tresses were stirred to life from an unseen source. The colored ribbons adorning her curls also drifted with an otherworldly effect. The fabric of her dress moved along with her hair as though a gentle breeze had set upon it. However, he felt no draft that could be causing it, and the windows were tightly shut. Her image shimmered and she was bobbing, as if she were only attempting to create the illusion of actually sitting.

 
A ghost
. He swallowed and waved a hand in her direction again. “You’re certain you see—?”

“Nothing, Christian. I’m sorry. It must be fatigue wearing on you. I’ll bring you some warmed milk to help—”

“No, thank you. I’m too old for that,” he snapped, and then cringed because he hadn’t meant to be so short with the age-frail butler.

After passing one more nervous gaze in her direction, Jackson nodded slowly, his mouth almost gaping, and then he left.

Christian scrubbed a hand over his face and wondered what he should do next. He knew troubled thoughts had been taxing him when he’d first sat down to dinner, but he couldn’t recall much else besides his name at the moment.

She spoke again. “Can you truly see me? I’ve wanted so badly to talk to someone—anyone.”

“Yes, I can see you. How long have you been here?” He couldn’t believe he was actually starting a conversation with an apparition, pretty though she may be.

“I know not. I awoke and have been wandering this empty demesne for days now.”

Nervously, though he tried to hide how nervously, he stepped toward her, took hold of a chair in the middle that was closer to her end of the table, and sat down.

She may’ve been dead, but she was a breathtaking sight to behold. The candlelight picked out the strands of bright-gold in her hair, and he wanted to touch it, but knew that may not be acceptable. He didn’t want to frighten her, then chuckled internally at how silly it was that
he
didn’t want to frighten
her
.

“You’re the earl?” she asked, and her words brought him back from his thoughts.

“Yes, my name is Christian.” He knew it wasn’t exactly proper to introduce himself in such a casual way, but the last thing he needed was someone else calling him
my lord
. “And your name?”

Somehow, she actually paled at that seemingly simple question. “I, well, I do not know it.”

“You cannot remember?” This baffled him.

The ghost shook her head.

“And do you remember how—I mean, do you recall who—er—” Christian wasn’t sure how to broach the touchy subject of her death. He halted his questions and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Do you mean to inquire about how I died?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.

“I suppose, but I didn’t wish to be unkind.”

“I have been wondering the same thing myself.” That quiver in her voice was also reflected in her bottom lip.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t know your name, and you don’t know how you…?”

“Or where I am. I have never been to this castle before, at least not that I recall.”

“You’re in England, the northern part. And to me you sound English. Your speech is not touched with any hint of an Irish or French lilt.”

“Oh.” Her face screwed up with a cute frown as she appeared to be considering that. “I-I wish I could remember more.”