My Lady Ghost Read online

  Allison flushed.

  “There’s no use arguing about it, Thorne. I won’t be your pensioner, you won’t have me for your wife, and I won’t take a lover. It would be best if you left now.”

  Thorne folded his arms and glared down at her. “Be sensible, Allison. A beautiful woman like you cannot live on her own without a man to protect her.” He turned her around and held her pinioned by his strong hands on her shoulders. “I swear I would never dishonor you,” he growled.

  Allison struggled in his grasp. “I am sure you have no intention of doing so. But now that we have become aware of the potent attraction between us, can you honestly say no danger exists? That we won’t ever be gripped by passion? For if you are that sure of your self-control, I am not!”

  My Lady

  Ghost

  by

  June Calvin

  This book is dedicated to the on-line community that has been of so much help to me while writing this book, especially the loop-troops of the Beau Monde, the members of the Georgette Heyer list, and the English Civil War reenacters;

  To my niece Wendy Toscani, for helping me with my rusty French;

  And to my son, Craig, for smiling at just the right moment.

  Prologue

  Sputtering torchlight illuminated a scene of grisly chaos in the courtyard below. The gates had opened: Silverthorne Castle’s garrison was surrendering. Tears ran down Lady Marpold’s face as she turned from the window slit at the urgent request of her maid. “My lady! Come quickly. Your father is injured.”

  Her face as pale as her silver blond hair, the dowager Baroness Marpold left her observation post high in the castle’s keep. She hastened down the wooden stairs to the great hall, where two soldiers struggled to carry an older man to a bench before the fireplace.

  “Father!” She knelt by him, her hands already seeking to lift away his blood-soaked shirt.

  “No, leave me be, Elena. The wound is mortal.” Baron D’Au- mont raised a trembling hand to prevent his daughter’s ministrations. “No time for tears, either. Sir Broderick has surrendered, at my command. One more cannonade and the north wall would have been breached. This way my people will not be put to the sword. Armstead, Geoffrey, go back to your posts, and send Sir Broderick to me.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “Blasted Roundheads. Damned Royalists. To think of Englishmen killing Englishmen, and I with a son on either side. Which side was I to serve, pray tell? Regicides or Papists? Bah! Neither of them worth shedding blood for. All I care for is to keep what is mine!”

  “Shhh.” Elena took a flagon of water from her handmaiden and began bathing his bloodstained forehead. “Do not excite yourself; you’ll only bleed the more.”

  “Nay!” He brushed aside her hand. “Dismiss the servants.”

  With a glance and motion of her head, Elena sent the watching group in retreat.

  “Your daughters are safely away?”

  She nodded.

  “I would have you go, too. This minute.”

  “I’ll not leave you thus!”

  “You must!” He grasped her sleeve, pulling her close to him. “You alone know where the treasure is hidden—the treasure that will restore the house of D’Aumont once this cursed war is over. It is to preserve my father’s hard-won legacy that I have fought off all attempts upon this castle. You’ll keep my secret?”

  “You know I will—to the death.”

  “And what good would that do, pray?” The baron’s voice cracked with an ironic chuckle. “You must live, to pass the treasure on to my grandchildren when England shall be at peace again. Now, swear to me you’ll go this instant.” He fixed her with piercing grey eyes.

  Tears streaming down her face. Elena nodded. “It shall be as you say.”

  “God go with you, daughter.”

  “And you, father.”

  “Nay, daughter, this day I go to God. Broderick!”

  Elena turned her head. Her father’s second-in-command. Sir Broderick Ramsey, had joined the servants standing at a respectful distance.

  The tall, ferocious-looking soldier strode forward. “My lord?”

  “Take Elena to safety. You know how. She may have need of your sword. I will live long enough to surrender, but not long enough for them to torture into giving up my wealth. When once you are safely in France, you have my permission to marry her.” He handed a long, round ivory tube to the attentive knight. “My testament. See that my property passes to my children and their children, never to that traitorous brother of mine!”

  “It shall be as you command.” The two men’s hands joined briefly, before Baron D’Aumont’s fell weakly to his side. Sir Broderick raised Elena to her feet, saluted the baron with his bloodstained sword, and half dragged the weeping woman away from her father’s side. The sounds of horns and marching feet lent urgency to their steps as the two fled into the dim interior of the castle’s keep.

  Elena turned for one last look. “I’ll guard your treasure with my life,” she whispered, her tear-blurred eyes focused on the supine form in front of the fire. “Your children will restore the castle, and the D’Aumont name and heritage will blaze forth in glory once again.”

  Chapter One

  The tinkle of glasses mingled with the buzz of dozens of voices as Allison Weatherby stood talking with, or rather listening to, her dance partner. Victor Mangus, Lord Bertland, was holding forth on his favorite subject, the need for sterner vagrancy laws. The other members of the small conversational circle echoed agreement. Allison turned her attention elsewhere, for if she continued to listen, she would surely say something pointed about the way such laws would affect disabled soldiers, veterans of the late war, many of whom now begged for coins to keep themselves alive.

  Thus it was that she chanced to listen in upon a conversation between two elegant and very young ladies standing next to her.

  “Silverthorne has twenty thousand a year. Mama says. And though he is old, he is well enough looking, you must agree.” Thorne old? Allison smiled. Well enough looking? She glanced across the room to where he stood in conversation with two of his political allies. Lord Langley and Lord Pelham. Both handsome men, they were put quite in the shade, in her opinion, by the tall, broad-shouldered marquess. Hair the color of rich, dark chocolate threatened to escape its careful arrangement in the Brutus style and break into ringlets. In profile his nose hinted at the Roman. Thorne stood in his habitual commanding posture, one long leg forward, arms folded, looking down gravely at his companions.

  “He has an air about him, that I will allow,” responded the second girl, causing Allison to think sardonically. Once those piercing grey eyes looked down into hers, and that sensual mouth gently touched her hand, the foolish chit surely would realize how ridiculous was her faint praise.

  “But I do not think you should set your cap for him,” the high breathless voice continued, “for Mama says he has never shown the least inclination to marry, and besides, he will soon be involved in a scandal.”

  “Oh! Do tell me, Mary. You know my mother will not allow me to gossip.”

  “He is living with his mistress, you see. A Mrs. Weatherby, a widow. Very pretty, they say. Doubtless she hopes to marry him, but Mama says such a high stickler as Lord Silverthorne will never marry his mistress.”

  Allison stiffened and felt heat coloring her cheeks. Is that what the tabbies are saying? She looked more closely at the speakers. Judging by their white muslin dresses, the two young women were in their first season. The real scandal is that someone has discussed such matters with you, Allison thought. She turned her back on them.

  “Living with her? How shocking! But I am persuaded you are wrong, for are not Lady Catherton and her daughter, Mrs. Weatherby, his house guests? They are related
to him, I believe.”

  “Distantly related, yes, but.. . Oh, good evening. Lady Langley.” Allison could hear the slight crinkle of muslin as the two gossiping minxes curtsied to their hostess.

  “Good evening, Mary,” a pleasant female voice responded. “And Catherine. You are both in looks tonight. But where are your partners? Shall I look about me for someone to stand up with you for the next set?”

  “Thank you, Lady Langley, but they have merely gone to bring us some lemonade. Such a delightful party, ma’am! We have just been talking about your charming decor.”

  Little cats! Allison turned to catch Lady Langley’s eye. Immediately Gwynneth excused herself from the young ladies and hastened to join her friend.

  “Allison, there you are! Your mother is looking for you.”

  “Thank you, Gwynneth. Before I go, will you present me to your two friends?”

  Lady Langley looked a little puzzled, but agreed. Allison had the satisfaction of seeing the girls blush as her name was spoken. “Is this your first season?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

  “Yes, Mrs. Weatherby,” they both chimed.

  “Ah. Delightful. I remember my first season so well. I always went in terror that I might commit some terrible faux pas, but found it was as my mother said: ‘If you never speak ill of others, you need never fear the malice of the tabbies yourself.’ ”

  The shame-faced looks of the two young women before her told her that the medicine had been unpleasant. I only hope they swallow it right down and that it may do them some good! Allison bade them good evening. They made haste to retreat to their mothers’ sides.

  Laughter danced in Mrs. Langley’s eyes. “What was that all about, Allison?”

  “You know what they say about never eavesdropping, lest you hear something bad about yourself...”

  “I do beg your pardon for neglecting you, Mrs. Weatherby.” Lord Bertland interrupted them. “I know that such political discussion is incomprehensible to the female brain, and therefore quite boring. Shall we take the floor again?”

  “Thank you, Bertie, but I must decline,” Allison replied through clenched teeth. “Lady Langley tells me my mother wishes to see me.” She escaped gratefully, linking her arm in Gwynneth’s as they went in search of Delphinia, Lady Catherton.

  Allison was silent as the carriage rattled through London’s streets, carrying them home to the Marquess of Silverthorne’s town house on Curzon Street. Her mother required few responses as she recounted the highlights of her evening of whist. I can never understand how she remembers every card played in every hand, and yet cannot recall how many debts she may have incurred. Glad enough to be left to her own thoughts, Allison nodded and murmured occasionally in response to Delphinia’s chatter.

  Across from them Thorne looked at her through hooded eyes, that look he often gave her that spread a slumbrous warmth through her entire body.

  A man ought not to look at any respectable female in such a way unless she be his wife or fiancйe. It was precisely that look which made her mother so sure Thorne would offer for her before the season ended. But Allison's view was less sanguine. There was no doubt that Thorne desired her, just as she was powerfully attracted to him. But he had never even hinted at any interest more particular than helping the two widows return to society after their period of mourning.

  So the tabbies think I am his mistress. Allison turned her head away and frowned at the rainy streets passing by her carriage window. I wonder if he thinks along those lines?

  Allison lifted her chin proudly. Many men thought she would, as a recent widow, be desperate for a man in her bed, but she had quickly set them to rights. If Thorne thought to make her his mistress, he would find himself very sadly mistaken. She might feel desire, but she would never be a slave to it.

  And if it is marriage, as mother thinks? Allison would have been satisfied to remain single, for unlike her mother, she liked her independence, though to be sure it would be much more agreeable had she a better income. Yet her feelings for Thorne went deeper than mere desire, much deeper than a wish for the security and status that marriage to a marquess would bring.

  She had been acquainted with him forever. In addition to their family ties, their fathers had been friends from school days, so she, Thorne, and his double first cousin James had been playmates during their early childhood. Thorne, older than she by four years, had made a warm place for himself in her heart by allowing a very young girl to play with him and James, always seeing that she took no hurt from their sometimes rough-and-tumble games. James, two years her senior, had followed the example of his adored older cousin. As a result, she and Jamie had been as brother and sister long after their fathers’ estrangement had separated Thorne from his playmates.

  In the few weeks she had been living in his household, her feelings had ripened from friendship to admiration to deep affection. She had never known a kinder man, nor one more devoted to his duties to family, land, tenants, and country. Nothing would make her happier than marriage to him.

  If they had become objects of gossip, though, she must consider her future. Thorne had always maintained he did not intend to marry; that he had reached the age of twenty-eight without being leg-shackled indicated he meant to keep this resolution. It is tone to bring the Marquess of Silverthorne to the point, she decided, or leave his household, before my reputation is ruined.

  * * *

  Adrian Thorne D’Aumont, 9th Baron D’Aumont, 5th Earl of Riggswheel, 3rd Marquess of Silverthorne, let Delphinia's flood of words wash over him as he studied Allison in the flickering light of the carriage lamp. He enjoyed looking at his distant cousin, who was an attractive woman, though her beauty by no means fit the classic mold. She was tall and slender, with the small high bosom of a miss just out of the schoolroom, in spite of her twenty-four years. Her straight, narrow nose was more pert than classical in profile. She hadn’t the perfect oval face, either—heart-shaped, rather, with her wide forehead and small, rounded chin.

  A phrenologist would say that forehead hinted at intellect far in excess of the ideal for a woman, and he would be right. She had an almost masculine understanding and loved to dispute with him on almost any subject from politics to music to literature.

  Still, she enchanted him. He liked that nose, and the brilliant sapphire eyes. He liked the way her full mouth slanted higher on one side than on the other when she was amused. She enjoyed laughing and frequently teased him into laughing with her. There had not been enough laughter in his life. As for her intellect and tendency toward argument, to his surprise he had begun to look forward to their lively discussions. No stranger to argumentative females, he had been amazed to find one who could use reason to carry her point, rather than tears or tantrums. Better still, and even more surprising, she could admit to being wrong and seemed eager to repair the defects in her education.

  He longed to kiss that pert nose and run his hands through her silky silver blond hair, which always seemed to glow. As if sensing his wayward thoughts, Allison suddenly turned her head away, staring moodily out the window. He had seldom seen her in the megrims, at least not since he had rescued her and Delphinia from the decaying dower house they had been forced to live in since Lord Catherton died.

  Has anyone insulted her? he wondered, clenching his hands at the thought. Or is she upset that neither Jason Westingham-Jones nor Ronald St. John asked her to dance tonight? His conscience twinged at that thought. He had sent away two of her most ardent admirers with a flea in their ears, because he suspected they wanted more from her than friendship, though less than marriage.

  He had encouraged Lord Bertiand, however, for he could find no fault with the man except that he was a Tory, and boring. Allison would say that was a redundancy, he thought, smiling. Perhaps after Delphinia went upstairs, he would tell her of the plans he, Langley, and Pelham had made to prevent the passage of more legislation limiting the freedom of England’s people to peacefully assemble and seek redress of their
grievances. She always took a lively interest in politics.

  Thorne allowed the ladies to exit first, into the capable hands of his first footman, who had carried a huge black umbrella out of the house to shield them from the light rain. Indoors, he stopped them at the foot of the stairs to ask if they wished to join him for tea or sherry before they went up. As expected, Delphinia declined. She always pretended to be exhausted, yet he suspected she wished to give him and Allison time to be alone together. That thought made him uneasy, though his mind shied away from examining it.

  Unexpectedly, Allison also declined. She often lingered with him when they returned from the evening’s entertainment, discussing the day’s events. He had come to look forward to that time.

  “Not tonight, Thorne. I ... have some letters to write.” Allison had often made mistakes when she acted impulsively. She wanted to think matters over for a day or two before taking any steps either to head off scandal or bring Thorne up to snuff.

  Thirty minutes later, Delphinia entered her daughter’s room to find her brushing out her long hair absentmindedly. Her maid had already brushed it once.

  “What is it, dear? You were so quiet in the carriage, and didn’t join Thorne for a sherry. Have you the headache?”

  Allison jumped a little, for she had not even noticed her mother’s entrance. “Not at all. Mama. I just needed some time to think.”

  “I wish you had stayed below with Thorne. He looked quite disappointed. Perhaps this was the evening he was going to offer for you.”

  “Hmmm. If so, he will find another time. The way he looked at me in the carriage, I declare I wonder if he had some less honorable proposal to offer me.”