My Lady Ghost Page 2

  Delphinia drew herself up proudly. “Impossible. Even if Thorne were so lost to decency as to offer such an insult to his own kin . . .”

  “It is a very distant connection, Mother.”

  Delphinia continued as if she hadn't spoken. “Which he is not, for a more upright and moral man I have yet to meet! He would not dare to do such a thing with me under his roof. No, my dear. He has been most particular toward you. And do you really think if I had been a widow alone, he would have taken quite as much interest in my plight when that wretched William neglected me so?”

  Allison did not want to get her mother started on the sins of her father's cousin William, now the third Baron Catherton. Not that his sins against her were undeserving of censure. He had refused either to remit to her mother the money due her as part of her marriage settlement, or to give her all of her dower rights, maintaining that as her husband, the second Lord Catherton, had deliberately bankrupted the estate, William had no obligation to her.

  “Many men think widows may take lovers with no disgrace to themselves,” Allison said, moving the conversation in a direction she knew her mother could not resist following.

  “Now that I have never understood, for may not a widow sin? And it is a sin, my dear. Forgive me for showing my religious upbringing, but...”

  “Pax, Mama. You long ago convinced me on this subject.”

  “And if that were not reason enough, there is always the danger of a child, for at twenty-four you cannot be said to be past the age of childbearing, which is all to the good since Thorne will want an heir.”

  Allison nodded, a familiar, unwelcome pang gripping her heartstrings. If only Charles had wanted an heir. She turned away from the mirror and rose to kiss her mother on the cheek. “I expect I do have a bit of a headache. Or perhaps I am missing Charles again, for after dancing with Lord Bertland, how can I help but remember how light on his feet my husband was, how very unlikely to tread on my toes.”

  Delphinia frowned. “He is a worthy man. If Thorne does not come up to scratch, he would do very nicely for you.”

  Allison grimaced. Lord Bertland was indeed a worthy man, and a kind one. But he was patronizing and self-important and stout and fifty and . . . Must she marry? If it were only herself, she would supplement her small income with a position as a governess or companion rather than marry for money. But clearly her mother expected her to find a husband who could provide for them both.

  Allison turned away as a familiar anger swept her. How can I ever forgive Father for not paying Charles all of my dowry? For gambling it away as he did all of Mother's portion? She had found it difficult to mourn her father properly after learning the straits in which he had left her mother and herself. She tried to tell herself that he would have mended his ways and made up her dowry if his death had not followed so quickly on the heels of Charles’s. It was what her mother always said, but Allison thought she did not believe it. that acknowledging the truth of her husband's lack of concern for them was just intolerable for her.

  Delphinia put her arm around Allison’s shoulders. “Do not fret, love. You do not have to accept Lord Bertland, or anyone else for that matter. I am sure that when Thorne completes his research into my legal position, I shall have a comfortable income.”

  Allison smiled and allowed her mother to think she was reassured. but she strongly suspected such optimism would not be justified. She had thought from the first that Thorne sponsored them this season in the expectation that she would make an advantageous marriage.

  Lord Silverthorne looked at his reflection in the mirror and frowned. Why are you so blue-deviled? It was Thorne’s wont to conduct dialogues with himself when he needed to sort through problems. Since when do you worry so about a woman '.v moods? And when did your minutes alone with her become so important to you ?

  His reflection regarded him somberly. Face the facts, man. The widow of your good friend has become your treasured friend.

  There is naught in that to be so down-pin about, though.

  Lust? His reflection showed a sardonically lifted eyebrow.

  That, too.

  But there's more? You aren't falling in love with her, are you? For you know where that leads, at least with a woman of your own class.

  Not for me it doesn't. No marriage for me, and most particularly not a love-match. I learned my lesson well, at my father's knee.

  Then you must bed her. Lust flames out quickly enough once satisfied, and the wench is not unwilling, I think.

  Thorne frowned even more fiercely. Had he really allowed himself such a thought? Not a very honorable thing to do. She is a lady, my kinswoman, and a houseguest.

  Not to mention tiresomely well-chaperoned, for Delphinia is still too much the parson's daughter to turn a blind eye on even a well-managed affair.

  Thorne nodded agreement to his reflection and turned away. So we stay friends, and that is that!

  Hmmph! Thorne’s internal opponent couldn’t resist a parting shot. Something tells me a chaste friendship will be exceeding difficult for you to maintain with her living under the same roof. Best gel her married off as soon as possible.

  Thorne had no answer for that. It was clearly the correct solution. And until she is married. I'll be taking a great many ice-cold baths, he thought grimly as he rang for his valet.

  Chapter Two

  “Jamie!” Allison jumped up from her chair by the window and flew into the arms of James Betterton. “How wonderful to see you!”

  “Heard you were staying with Thorne, thought I’d pop in to see you and Aunt Delphinia.” James returned her hug, then stood her away to study her face. “It’s good to see the bloom on your cheeks again, Cuz.”

  Thorne watched the two greet one another with no great enthusiasm. He felt left out by this evidence of their closeness. James and he had once been as close as brothers. Drat Uncle Leo for making me James's guardian, Thorne thought, not for the first time. Thorne had been twenty-one, James nineteen, when Leonard Betterton died, leaving Thorne in charge of James’s finances until the age of thirty.

  After James hugged Delphinia, he offered his hand to his older cousin. Well might you look wary, Thorne thought grimly. He had ordered James to stay in the country until all his debts were retired.

  Once they were seated, Allison quizzed James on his late arrival in town for the season. “I made sure there was a pretty young lady in it,” she teased, “for what else can have kept you in the country so long?”

  James’s eyes darted to meet Thorne’s briefly, and he smiled ruefully. “Had to take a repairing lease, you see. A stroke of bad luck put me all to pieces until quarter day.” He had come to London to renew his request that Thorne purchase colors for him. In the army he might find some purpose for his life, as well as an escape from Thorne’s control.

  They chatted happily in the brief periods between visitors, for this was Allison and Delphinia’s afternoon to be at home to callers. Thorne surprised Allison by staying all afternoon. Usually he did not put in an appearance at all, being much too busy with his estates, charities, and political activities.

  One of their visitors was Claude Springfield, of whom he heartily disapproved. He had not bothered to warn Claude off as he had Jason Westingham-Jones and Ronald St. John, because until this day Allison had never shown any signs of encouraging him. But today she flirted most charmingly with the man, who was an accredited rake. He noticed that Delphinia, too, was frowning a little as she watched the two.

  Just as Springfield took his leave, Mrs. Pendleton and Mrs. Larchmont and their daughters Catherine and Mary were announced. Both Allison and Delphinia were surprised by their arrival, though for different reasons.

  I had not thought the minxes would have the nerve! Allison greeted these visitors coolly, reluctantly acknowledging their introduction the night before. Her mother was even more frosty. The reason soon became apparent.

  “Lady Catherton, you may perhaps remember my sister, Antonia, now Lady Dyshart,” Mrs. Pe
ndleton said.

  “I daresay I remember her at least as well as she remembers me,” Delphinia responded.

  Here was unexpectedly plain speaking. Mrs. Pendleton decided to meet it head-on. “She does remember you, and longs to renew the acquaintance. It quite broke her heart when Dyshart made her cease writing you. But Lord Catherton's unseemly behavior . ..”

  “My husband’s heavy gambling and the resulting bankruptcy were indeed unseemly. Some people were unable to make allowances for the fact that he had recently lost his only son and heir.”

  Allison turned her head to one side and bit her lip. The death of her younger brother, Phillip, in a carriage accident had hurt her no less because she was with Charles on their honeymoon when it happened.

  “It was a terrible loss for you both,” Mrs. Larchmont inserted, hoping to smooth the troubled waters. “We all felt for you. What mother could not?”

  Delphinia’s rigid posture relaxed slightly. “There is nothing so devastating as losing a child. But it is different for fathers than for mothers. We feel the loss of the dear flesh that we carried beneath our bosom and brought into the world, the merry, delightful child, the promising young adult. But for a father, the loss of a son is all that and more. It is a loss of his posterity, his chance of immortality in this life. My husband never quite recovered from it. While I could weep, gaming and roistering were his only way of dealing with grief.”

  Tears stood in Allison’s eyes. Her heart contracted with pity and love. I never looked at it quite that way. My poor father. Suddenly, the anger that had gripped her whenever she thought of him fell away.

  Gratitude and a desire to give her mother time to recover her composure made Allison join the conversation, encouraging the young girls to talk of their experiences in their first season. Mary Larchmont boldly launched into a humorous account of her presentation at court, addressing herself particularly to Thorne, who listened with an indulgent smile.

  Catherine was more reticent, but Allison noticed that her eyes frequently strayed to James’s profile. And why not? He is almost as handsome as Thorne, Allison thought. For his part, James had been caught up in some private reflections and was clearly woolgathering.

  Mrs. Larchmont brought him back abruptly by her sudden exclamation. “I just realized that all three of the Silverthorne heirs sit here in front of us. Mary, Catherine, have you heard the tale of the Silverthorne treasure?”

  Both Mary’s and Catherine’s eyes grew wide with fascination. “I didn’t realize Mr. Betterton was one of the three.” Catherine said. ‘Tell us, Mr. Betterton, have you ever seen the ghost—what is she called? The Silver Lady?”

  Delphinia shook her head sternly. “That is merely a folk tale, Miss Pendleton. Everyone knows there is no such thing as a ghost.”

  “And very likely no Silverthorne treasure either.” Thorne added, frowning at James as if daring him to disagree.

  “Will you be attending the balloon ascension tomorrow, Jamie?” Allison interrupted before Thorne and James could fly at one another as they always did when the subject came up of the lost wealth of their common ancestor. Not only was this a controversial subject, but also a painful one for Thorne.

  The distraction did not work. “Is it a very romantic tale? I should love above all things to hear it.” Catherine sat forward on her seat, eyes fastened hopefully on James.

  “James, I don’t think—”

  Thorne interrupted Allison. “It is quite all right. By all means satisfy the young ladies’ curiosity, James. I must see to some business anyway.” He stood and formally took his leave of them.

  Mary pouted. “Did we say something wrong? Lord Silverthorne is not angry, is he?”

  “His father and brother were killed trying to find the Silverthorne treasure,” Delphinia said. “It is not a romantic tale to him, but a tragic one.”

  “Oh!” Mary put her gloved hand to her mouth. “It seems I have put my foot wrong again.”

  Allison primmed her lips and said nothing. She longed to go to Thorne, to comfort him. But under the gimlet eye of the two matrons and their gossiping daughters, she didn’t think it wise.

  James made a soothing response, obviously thriving in the sunshine of Catherine Pendleton’s smile. “Not at all. It was years ago. He’s long since recovered. And it is a romantic tale. Shall I tell it?” Ignoring the silence from both Allison and Delphinia, he launched into his recitation.

  “The founder of our line, Thorne D’Aumont, was one of those bold gentlemen sailors known as privateers who helped England drain Spain’s treasury during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. He was named “Silver” Thorne not just because he captured two rich Spanish prize ships, nor because he owned a king’s ransom in silver, but because from childhood he had a thick mane of silver hair.”

  “Like yours, Mrs. Weatherby,” Mrs. Pendleton observed. “I’ve heard it said that prematurely grey hair crops up from time to time in the bloodline.”

  “Allison’s hair is not grey,” Delphinia inserted. “It is pale blond, and—’’

  Having little interest in the color of any woman’s hair, much less one as old as Mrs. Weatherby, Mary interrupted to demand of

  James, “Catherine spoke of a ghost, a lady ghost. Pray tell me about her.”

  “The story is that after the reinstatement of the monarchy following the civil wars, Thorne D’Aumont’s granddaughter and two grandsons disappeared while searching for the treasure that their father, the first Baron D’Aumont, had hidden from marauders. Various explanations have been offered, from their having found the treasure and fled the country to keep the king from confiscating it, to their being killed when the north tower of Silverthorne, D’Aumont’s castle, collapsed. As Baron D'Aumont’s sons were unwed and his grandchildren by his daughter were all females, his title passed to his brother, who spent the rest of his life trying to find the treasure—in vain.

  “Through the years, numerous people have claimed to see the daughter wandering the ruins. And yes, Miss Larchmont, she is called the Silver Lady. She is thought to be the ghost of Elena, the first baron’s daughter. Some say she guards the treasure from intruders, others that she tries to show where it is hidden, and still others that she deliberately lures to their deaths those who seek it.”

  “Which may be a romantic story, but quite a ridiculous one. Thorne is convinced that the treasure, if treasure there was, has long since—”

  interrupting Delphinia, Catherine asked, “Have you ever seen the ghost, Mr. Betterton?” She looked hopefully at James.

  Allison bit her lip to keep from reprimanding the chit. Both of them as rude as they can stare, she thought, glowering darkly at them, for all the good it did her, for they both were looking at James, eager for his answer.

  James sighed. “Unfortunately, no, but not for want of trying. As a boy I believed she would appear and lead me directly to the treasure.” Then he grinned mischievously and, slanting his eyes briefly toward Delphinia, said, “Allison has seen her, though. Haven’t you, Allie?”

  “James!” Delphinia huffed, reacting just as he thought she would.

  Allison shook her finger at him. “Shame on you! You know I was a very imaginative child, and Silverthorne is a very romantic place. It is easy enough for a child to see any number of ghosts and mythical beasts there.” She smiled and spread her hands. “As an adult I have seen nothing but picturesque ruins.”

  For good measure, Delphinia added, “Dangerous ruins, too. No one is allowed there since Thorne’s father and brother were killed.”

  “Which means the treasure will never be found.” James’s mood underwent a sudden transformation. “Pity. My purse could use an infusion of silver, gold, and precious stones. I must go. I have an appointment.” He stood abruptly, his expression closed. He bowed politely and said all that was proper before taking his leave. The other four guests suddenly realized they had stayed far past the acceptable half hour allotted for a social call, and hastily made their retreat.

  A
llison was glad to see the back of them. They had managed to irritate or upset everyone, and doubtless were preening themselves on a successful visit. Still, the afternoon had not been a total disaster. Her plan to make Thorne jealous as a way of precipitating a proposal had been well launched. She had flirted shamelessly with Claude Springfield, surreptitiously studying Thorne’s reaction.

  Your face is too expressive for your own good, Thorne, she thought, smiling to herself. I saw that look in your eyes.

  She would prefer to flirt with Ronald St. John, though, for there was little chance he would take any hurt by it. as he had no interest in matrimony. Claude had made hints that his rakehell days were over, so he might be looking for a wife.

  “I wonder why St. John did not call,” Delphinia said, voicing Allison’s next thought. “He did not dance with you last night, either. And what has happened to Mr. Westingham-Jones? He had been most attentive.”

  Thorne spoke from the doorway. “If you hope to see your daughter married again, you should be grateful to m ... ah, pleased that they have both concluded Allison is not suitable game. I am afraid neither of them would wish to be leg-shackled.”

  “Oh! I didn’t know. They both seem such nice gentlemen.” Delphinia rarely saw flaws in handsome men, particularly if they had generous incomes.

  “And whom do we have to thank for their reaching that conclusion, my lord?” Allison asked in a sweetly lethal voice.

  “Why, ah, I may have had a word with them. My duty as your kinsman, you know, to see that their intentions are honorable.”

  “That was very good of you, Thorne. I’m sure we are both very grateful to you, aren’t we, Allison?”