Authors: Rhonda Woodward
The book promised to be intriguing, and Celia thanked him sincerely. After browsing a bit, she found a biography on the Plantagenets and took her treasures to the proprietor's stand to pay. Gazing around, she noticed a table with an assortment of books at reduced prices. The title
The Haunting of Henchley Manor
caught her eye. Rechecking her funds, Celia decided there would be enough left to include the book in her purchases and set it on the table to be wrapped with the others.
“Ah, here is the gothic,” a teasing voice said behind her.
Celia turned to see the duke examining
The Haunting of Henchley Manor
with a raised brow.
She laughed, remembering the comment he had made the day they had walked home from the village. Celia forgot to look at the scar on his cheek and found herself smiling into his eyes. The duke held her magnificent gaze until it occurred to him that he could easily drown in their brownish green depths if he did not have a care.
Another moment passed and he decided to dismiss this unsettling notion.
“I confess to a penchant for melodrama on occasion. Miss Forbisher has me read them to her occasionally. She enjoys them so,” she explained as the proprietor handed her the package of books.
Celia had never spoken of herself in so personal a manner, and the duke pressed the advantage as he took the package from her.
“What a soothing way to spend an evening. I am sure you must have needed a brace of candles at night to keep the monsters at bay,” he said in his most engaging tone. They left the shop and stepped onto the busy sidewalk with Imogene trailing behind.
“Oh, no! Never leave light in the room when you are scared,” she admonished as if everyone knew this. “Monsters lurk in the shadows. If the room is pitch-black and you hide your head under the covers, the ghouls can't find you,” she explained sagely, stepping lightly over a puddle.
The duke could picture Celia as a charming little girl afraid of ghosts, and her mama telling her they couldn't find her in the dark. He was beginning to think that Miss Langston was not only beautiful, but also unique.
“How silly of me to think that you would be afraid of the dark.” The twinkle in his eye belied his serious tone.
Celia laughed as they walked along the crowded sidewalk to the awaiting phaeton. “Once, I was reading a particularly suspenseful passage to Miss Forbisher. The ghost was about to speak to the heroine. The ghosts always turn out to be smugglers or crazed aunts, you know. Anyway, as I was about to read what the ghost had to say, a log in the fireplace gave a deafening crack and Miss Forbisher and I jumped a yard and shrieked. Matthews, her maid, ran in wielding a poker in our defense. We explained that all was well and she said, “Well, ye look as if ye've just seen a ghost!' “
Imogene, walking behind them, observed her brother and her dearest friend. Drake's dark head was thrown
back in laughter, and Celia looked so happy and relaxed. A speculative light entered her eyes.
On the way back to Severly House, the duke and his sister chatted as Celia watched the fashionable people, crested carriages, and intriguing sights of London. She tried to absorb everything so that she could write of it to Edna.
What an unexpectedly wonderful day
, she thought with a contented sigh.
Porter, the duke's very tall butler, opened the massive double doors as they walked up the steps and immediately asked for a word with her grace. With a surprised glance at Celia and Drake, Imogene obligingly stepped into the blue drawing room with the butler.
Shyly, Celia turned to the duke to thank him for the outing, but before she could begin he said, “Thank you, Miss Langston, for accompanying us today. Perhaps another day you and Imogene would be interested in one of London's fine museums.”
Dumbfounded, Celia struggled with how to respond. “Why ⦠thank you. How lovely ⦠er ⦔
“Fine then. Now, if you will pardon me, I must attend to some business matters.”
She thanked the duke for a lovely outing and with a curtsy excused herself from him before walking across the foyer.
On the entry table, Celia noticed a letter addressed to her in Edna's scrawling handwriting. Picking it up with an anticipatory smile, she started up the stairs, when Imogene emerged from the drawing room.
“Drake, will you please step in here for a moment?” she asked her brother quickly, walking toward Celia with outstretched arms. “Let us go up to your room, my dear.” Imogene grasped her surprised friend's arm and ascended the stairs with her.
A horrible, frightening feeling swept over Celia. She glanced back to see the duke moving to the drawing room with his dark brows drawn together in a frown.
They reached Celia's chamber and Imogene pulled her friend down beside her on the bed. The duchess gazed sadly into Celia's wide, frightened eyes.
“There is no way to ease this blow, dear Celia.” She grasped her friend's hands tightly. “I have just been informed that Miss Forbisher died the day before last. I am so very sorry, my dear,” she said gently.
Celia stared a moment, then looked down at the letter in her lap. Edna could not be dead. She had just received a letter from her. It must be a mistake.
“How do you know?” she asked in a very calm voice.
“Her solicitor, a Mr. Whitely, arrived a short time ago. Porter wisely thought that I should be the one to tell you this sad news. I know how much you cared for her, Celia.”
“I've just received a letter from her.” She picked up the missive and clutched it to her chest.
“Are you all right, Celia, dear? Do you wish to be alone?” She noted that the color had completely drained from Celia's face, and the fingers that held the letter trembled.
“I'm quite fine. I just can't comprehend that Edna is gone. How can she be?” There was a stricken look in her eyes.
“I hate to ask it of you, dear, and I will ask Mr. Whitely to return in a few days if you aren't up to it, but he is hoping to have a word with you now.”
“Why, of course, I must thank him for bringing the news.” She stood, still clutching the letter from Edna.
The duke and Mr. Whitely stood in the middle of the dark-paneled room, conversing quietly as the ladies entered. Mr. Whitely, a thin, bespectacled man in a dark brown woolen suit, turned toward the ladies as they entered. Celia vaguely thought he looked just as a solicitor should.
“Celia, this is Mr. Whitely,” Imogene said.
Mr. Whitely bowed deeply and looked at her with polite, yet saddened, brown eyes. “May I extend my deepest sympathy to you, Miss Langston. I sincerely apologize for imposing on you at this time. I hope you will understand after I have explained.”
Celia inclined her head in understanding, not trusting her voice at the moment. It was all too real. Edna must,
indeed, be dead. Even though Dr. Rayburn had prepared her, it still came as a shock. Celia and Imogene moved to sit on the settee; Mr. Whitely sat opposite and the duke stood by the fireplace, watching Celia's pallid face closely.
“Thank you for bringing me the news, Mr. Whitely,” Celia began, surprised that her voice sounded so clear. “May I ask the circumstances of Edna'sâ¦?” Speech failed her then.
The duke could see that Celia was deeply shocked. Going to the liquor cabinet, he poured Celia a snifter of brandy. She accepted it without a word, feeling his fingers warm upon hers for a moment. She barely noticed the heat that coursed down her throat at the first sip.
“Matthewsâher maid, I believeâentered Miss Forbisher's room on Tuesday morning. May I say that Matthews imparted to me that Miss Forbisher had a very peaceful expression. I do not believe there was any pain involved,” he assured her kindly.
Celia looked down at her hand, still clutching Edna's letter.
Mrs. Chambers entered with a tea tray and the duchess offered a cup to Mr. Whitely.
“Thank you, your grace. Now, Miss Langston, there is the matter of the will and a letter that Miss Forbisher wished to be read immediately after her death.”
He sifted through a sheaf of papers he had extracted from a leather portfolio.
A will? Celia could think of nothing of worth that Edna owned. Harford Abbey, Celia assumed from things Edna had said on occasion, was entailed to a distant relative.
“Ah, here is the letter. She wished me to read it before the will,” he said, glancing at Celia over his spectacles.
“I beg your pardon. I must ask Miss Langston if she wouldn't prefer to hear this privately,” the duke interrupted quietly.
Celia lifted her head and met the duke's enigmatic gaze.
“I would rather that you and Imy stay, please,” she
said simply, refusing to examine why she did not want him to leave. The duke inclined his head and she turned her attention back to the solicitor.
Mr. Whitely cleared his voice. “The letter is dated February eighth, eighteen hundred and sixteen. It reads as follows.
“My dear Celia. It is very strange to think that when you hear this I shall be dead. It is my request that Mr. Whitely read this to you. As I am sure your friend, the Duchess of Harbrooke, will also be present, I know you will not be able to ignore what I have to say.
“First of all, I positively forbid you to wear black for me. I am not a relative and I believe the practice, except in the case of immediate family member, is unnecessary. I know, because of the friendship we have shared, that you shall grieve for me, and that is enough. Even in this, do not allow yourself to become maudlin.
“Furthermore, I wish you to purchase a complete wardrobe immediately. You may think this is silly, but clothes give a woman confidence, and confidence is important.
“Lastly, Celia, I encourage you to rely upon Mr. Whitely. I have known him for more than thirty years and have found him to be of impeccable character. I know he will be enormously helpful to you in the future.
“You have been a delight to me these past years and I ask our Lord to watch over you and keep you. Sincerely, Edna Forbisher.
“Postscript: From what I know of the duchess, I believe her to be a woman of intelligence and kindness. I feel confident that she will help guide you in the future. I regret that I never had the honor of meeting her, but if I had received the Duchess of Harbrooke, I would have had to receive the whole county. Please convey this to her grace.”
Despite her shock, Celia could not help smiling at the last bit, it sounded so like Edna. Mr. Whitely folded the
letter and handed it to Celia. She accepted it with trembling fingers. He then proceeded to the will. Celia absorbed only half of the words she heard as tears began to pool in her large eyes at the thought of never seeing her friend again. She sat there, slowly sipping the brandy the duke had given her, while Mr. Whitely's correct voice flowed over her.
An astonished gasp from Imogene pulled her from her reverie.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Whitely, I didn't quite catch that. Could you repeat it, please?” she apologized after glancing at Imy's wide eyes.
Mr. Whitely, after many years of reading wills and dealing with grieving people, had grown accustomed to repeating himself.
“I have just reached the main part of the will, Miss Langston. If you prefer, I shall dispense with legal terminology and explain it in lay terms.”
He looked to see if this met with her approval, and continued. “Miss Forbisher has left you Harford Abbey and the forty-two acres it occupies. There is approximately thirty-five thousand pounds in capital at Coattes Bank that shall be transferred to you after I receive your signature on a few documents. There are various other stocks and investments that total approximately fifteen thousand pounds. Other real property, such as works of art and jewelry, are worth over twenty thousand pounds.”
He paused to pick up a red leather box by his feet. “I have brought with me Miss Forbisher's jewelry. She wished you to have it immediately,” he explained to a stunned Celia as he handed her the box. Imogene took the case as Celia made no move to take it from the gentleman.
The duke stepped forward to rescue the crystal goblet in danger of slipping from Celia's lax fingers. He frowningly scanned her pale face, fearing she was about to faint.
Mr. Whitely continued, “I will not take much more of your time, Miss Langston. If you will be so good as to
sign a few papers, I will leave a duplicate of the will and various other papers for you to review. When you are felling better, I hope I may explain everything in greater detail.”
“Yes, of course,” Celia said faintly, finally able to move and take the papers he wished her to sign. The duke procured a quill and ink pot.
“May I say, Miss Langston, that Miss Forbisher asked me to personally convey her wish that you enter Society and not mourn her death unduly.”
Celia closed her eyes. The world seemed to be whirling around her, and the piquant smell of the irises on the mantel suddenly seemed sickeningly sweet. After taking a few deep breaths, she managed to choke out a few words: “Thank you, Mr. Whitely, I am having difficulty comprehending all of this, but I'm sure I will have many questions.”
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Whitely said, “there is no hurry, and I am at your service.”
Imogene, unable to contain herself any longer, spoke up. “I just have to ask how Miss Forbisher managed all of this, Mr. Whitely. None of us had any idea that she was anything but an eccentric old lady.”
Nodding his head in agreement, Mr. Whitely stated baldly, “Miss Forbisher was a miser. She had virtually given up on life in her youth, until she discovered some property and capital left to her by her father in a codicil to his will. Over the years, I believe that one of her few pleasures was seeing her wealth grow. I came to realize that it was almost like a game. She was not interested in the wealth, just the numbers. I grew to respect her business acumen greatly.”
Celia looked up at Mr. Whitely then and examined his expression closely. She realized that the quiet solicitor was grieving for Edna, too. Celia was very glad to know that Edna had had another friend in the world.