A Loving Spirit (5 page)

Phillip sat alone in the library long after Cassandra left, long after the embers faded in the fireplace and a late-night chill crept in from the tall windows.

What a very odd young woman Miss Cassandra Richards was. She did not behave as any other young lady of his acquaintance did. She did not shriek and scurry away when she found him there in the library, even though it was quite an improper situation. She did not back away from his questions about life in Jamaica. Instead, she faced him directly and unflinchingly, not at all awed by his title or position.

Very unusual.

Phillip gave a little, self-mocking laugh. His experience with well-bred young ladies was admittedly not wide. He escorted his mother to Town when the occasion warranted. He squired her about to stultifying Society balls, and met with his publisher and other scholars. He enjoyed the discussions and debates, but could distinctly do without the balls.

All the young ladies there would cluster about him like so many pastel-clad butterflies, giggling and chattering on about fashions and parties. It gave him a headache just thinking about the superficial chaos of it all.

He always felt such an outsider at those occasions, as if he were speaking a different language from the people around him, and he longed to be home at Royce Castle, with his books and studies.

He knew very well that one day he would have to marry, to carry on the family line and add to the portraits that clustered on every wall. But he had always imagined he would find a sensible woman when the time came, a widow or spinster bluestocking, who could share his interest in antiquity and bring up equally sensible children.

Miss Richards was obviously
not
a sensible bluestocking by any stretch of the imagination. She did not know much about classical history, nor did she scruple to admit her interest in the so-called supernatural. She had worn a most daring gown of canary-yellow satin to supper, along with dazzling beaded earrings and a carved stone pendant. She had chattered brightly with his mother about ghosts and popular novels.

All the things he usually so disliked. But he had
not
been bored in the least. Rather, he had been quite fascinated and had wanted to listen to her more, to lean closer to her and breathe deeply of her exotic perfume.

It was all most odd. If he were to subscribe to the ideas of Miss Richards, her enigmatic friend Miss Duvall, and his mother, he would say he was under a spell.

But more likely it was the lateness of the hour, he thought, as the clock struck three. And the fact that he had been working so hard of late. It was making him tired and distracted. Perhaps his mother was right. Company would do him some good.

He would just have to spend more time with Miss Richards—and Lady Willowby and Miss Duvall, of course—and see if that helped cure these fancies. No doubt once he spent more time with Cassandra Richards, her exotic appeal would wear off and his life would return completely to normal. No more talk of ghosts, no more rich perfumes, just ancient wars and philosophy.

On that comforting thought, he closed his books, blew out the candles, and left the library for bed.

* * *

Two unseen "people," perched atop the rolling library ladders, watched him go with great interest.

"Oh, this
is
going to be amusing!" said Louisa, twisting one long, golden ringlet about her finger. "He is infatuated with that girl already and will not admit it."

"He cannot admit it," Sir Belvedere said, his armor clanking as he turned a page over in the book he was perusing. If Phillip had still been in the library, he might have looked up to see a volume floating about in midair, but he would have put it down to fatigue or a bad cheese at dinner. Just as he always did.

This amused Sir Belvedere and Louisa to no end, brightening their endless days and nights in the castle. And now it looked as if the amusement was about to increase.

"I like that Miss Richards and her tall, strange friend. I should not have been so mischievous about making the portrait move, when they are so very nice!" said Louisa in a most chagrined tone. "They believe in us; they know we are here."

"Not as of yet, my fair lady. But they will know when we reveal ourselves to them." Sir Belvedere's visor fell with a loud thud over his face, and he pushed it aside impatiently.

"Oh, no!" Louisa answered, fluffing up her lace-trimmed blue satin skirts. "They already know, I am certain. And they will soon make that stubborn Lord Royce see. Why, he is every bit as obstinate as my husband was!"

Sir Belvedere chuckled. "It will be vastly amusing to watch them try to make him see, Louisa.
Vastly
amusing. 'Twill be the most enjoyment I have had since I overran castles in my mortal life!"

"It is simply too bad Lady Lettice is not here to see this. She was always so wonderful at matchmaking, at helping people to see how perfect they are for each other. Do you remember what she did for this Lord Royce's grandfather and that Miss Sutcliffe?" Louisa smiled at the memory. "I think Lord Royce and Miss Richards will need a great deal of help as well."

"I, too, miss Lady Lettice," said Sir Belvedere. "It has been a long while since we saw her. But if anything can bring her back, it is two people falling reluctantly in love."

Chapter 6

Cassie awoke from a dream of Jamaica, of walking along a warm, sandy shore with the bright morning sun shining down on her, to find herself not sunbathed and cozy but chilled and shivering. Sometime during the restless night she had thrown off the bedclothes, and her bare feet stuck out into the cold room.

"Wretched!" she muttered, yanking the blankets back up over her shoulders and rolling over onto her side. The fire was long-dead in the grate, but the draperies at the window were drawn partially back, letting a bar of yellow-white sunlight fall across the floor.

The room was so quiet that she could hear, very faintly, the rush and roar of the sea, far below the cliffs. It reminded her of her dream, and drew her out from the warm cave of the bed. She slid her feet into her slippers and padded over to look out the window.

She
could
see the sea, but it was not like the violet-blue waters of the island. It was gray, almost black, roiling angrily against the steep cliffs beyond the castle's manicured gardens. The sun that was struggling so valiantly through the slate-colored clouds did not even seem to penetrate them at all. Scrubby trees grew along the cliffs, bending gaunt limbs toward the sea like hands in the wind.

Cassie had never felt so far from home before. She shivered and crossed her arms tightly in front of her.

Then, out of the starkness, she saw a flash of movement. A figure on horseback riding along the cliffs, sweeping past the trees and creating a veritable whirlwind of energy.

He was quite a distance away, but she could see the banner of dark hair that flowed in the wind.

Lord Royce.

Cassie had decided when she went to bed that he was just a fusty scholar after all, interested only in his books, but he certainly did not look
fusty
this morning.

He looked like a dashing poet. Or a pirate, against the backdrop of that dark sea. He rode along fast and furious, his horse's hooves churning up the earth. His white shirt billowed, adding to the illusion of piracy.

Cassie smiled. Perhaps her strange fascination with him was not so odd after all.

There was a quick knock at the door, dashing these fanciful thoughts. Cassie turned away from the window and called, "Come in."

Antoinette entered the room, majestic in a blue-and-green swirl of a gown and a matching turban. Despite the early hour, she looked rested and regal, as usual.

"Cassie!" she tsked. "Here it is time for breakfast, and you're not dressed."

"I did not sleep restfully," Cassie said with a little shrug. "I had such odd dreams."

Antoinette came up beside her and peered over her shoulder out the window. Lord Royce was just disappearing from view, his hair still flowing in the wind. "Um-hm," she murmured. "And I see what those dreams were about."

"Antoinette!" Cassie cried, jerking the draperies closed. "It was not like that at all. Lord Royce is not even my sort of gentleman. He is—is narrow-minded, and cares only for books, and..." She struggled to remember what it was she had not liked about him, but the image of him riding along the cliffs kept interfering.

Antoinette laughed. "And just what
is
your sort of gentleman? Men like the ones back in Jamaica?"

"Yes!" Cassie said firmly. She went over to the dressing table and picked up her hairbrush, pulling it through her hair and detangling the night's plait.

"Planter sorts?" Antoinette's voice was sardonic, her accent thick.

"Yes," Cassie repeated, but more doubtful this time. Antoinette made her remember how some of those men had truly been, careless and unrefined, caring only about getting foxed on rum.

"Then why did you not accept Mr. Bates' proposal?" Antoinette teased. "With his big plantation and all. Why, he would be just your sort."

Cassie laughed, acknowledging the truth of her friend's words. "Oh, all right! So they were
not
my sort. But neither is Lord Royce."

"Is he not?"

"No. I wouldn't think
you
would like him, either; he doubts your sight. And why are we talking about this at all? I'm not interested in finding a suitor here. I am interested only in the ghosts."

Antoinette nodded. "Then you should hurry up and get dressed. Lady Royce is going to give us a tour of the castle after breakfast, and tell us all the tales."

"What fun!" Cassie cried, and ran over to the armoire to find a morning dress. "I presume her son will
not
be joining us."

So she would be able to enjoy herself without the distraction of his presence.

"Presumably," Antoinette agreed. "But you must bear up under the disappointment, Cassie. I am sure you will see him at supper; I foresaw it in the cards."

Cassie threw a pillow at Antoinette, who just ducked and laughed.

* * *

"That particular Lady Royce, Louisa was her name, had a very sad history," Lady Royce said, enthusiastically spreading marmalade on her toast. "Very sad indeed. Her husband left her alone here at Royce Castle while he fought in the Civil War, and even when the king came back he was away at Court often. They say Louisa took a lover in her loneliness, but he betrayed her, and she threw herself off the cliffs in despair."

"What fustian!" Louisa muttered, peering down from her perch atop a decorative cornice in the breakfast room. "I was in my cups after that ball, and
fell
off the cliffs."

"Ha!" scoffed Lord Belvedere, his armor clanking.

"It is true! No lover ever betrayed me."

"Methinks, fair lady, that the years have clouded your memory. I was right here, as I have been for almost five hundred years, and I saw you that night. You were indeed 'in your cups,' but if you had not quarreled with that Lord Ponsonby and gone running down to the cliffs..."

"Oh, hush!" Louisa interrupted, reaching out a hand and shoving him off his own cornice. "I want to hear what else she has to say."

"What was that clattering noise?" said Lady Royce, her toast held up halfway to her mouth.

Antoinette looked directly at Sir Belvedere, causing him to gasp and vanish altogether, leaving only Louisa high on her perch.

"Probably only one of your footmen," said Chat. "Now, what were you saying about the sad Louisa?"

"Sad, hmph," whispered Louisa. "I am
happy."

"Oh, she is not sad," said Antoinette, taking a serene sip of her chocolate.

"Exactly," Louisa agreed.

"Perhaps once she was, but now she enjoys her existence here."

"She is here, then?" Cassie said eagerly. "You can feel her presence? Can we find her?"

"Really, Cassie," said Chat. "It is too early in the morning for hauntings and ghosts and such."

"And everyone knows that midnight is the time for such endeavors," a deep male voice said from the doorway.

Everyone's gaze, including Louisa's, turned to Lord Royce. She eyed him with some approval; he looked a bit like her husband, William, who had not been an unhandsome man by any means. But this Lord Royce, like her William, was bent on his own ends, which left little time for romance. With William it had been advancement at Court, with this man it was his studies.