“Perhaps he drinks so seldom that wine affects him more powerfully.”

  “Perhaps. But then, how would he have known so much about the vintages?”

  Eurydice shrugged, having no ready answer for that.

  Grandmaman took her place in the carriage then, and began to dictate orders to Nelson about their stop that night. The girls ceased their conversation, Daphne looking out the window and Eurydice returning to her book. Jenny’s sniffle was louder and the girl blew her nose with increasing frequency.

  Daphne was thinking furiously. The fact was that her impressions of the duke did not fit together. On the one hand, he appeared to be a frivolous fop, concerned only with his own comfort and desires. On the other, she felt a strange thrill when his gaze met hers, and those blue eyes carried an intensity that did not match his words. His belly was large as if he were fat, but his legs were most fine, and his face—when she ignored the rouge—was both masculine and handsome.

  It made no sense.

  Perhaps she was wrong. Eurydice was the clever one and she thought the duke was precisely as he appeared.

  In the end, it mattered little, though. He was interested in her and she did not care why. Daphne was more than delighted that she would have the opportunity to see the Duke of Inverfyre again, and very soon.

  Chapter 2

  “It’s a remarkable piece,” Rupert said, his admiration a perfect echo of Alexander’s own. “But then, you’ve seen the original.”

  “The resemblance is uncanny.” Alexander turned the replica in his hand, letting the candlelight catch the facets of the cut stones. They shone brilliantly, and he was impressed by the workmanship. “I’ve never seen so fine a fraud. I could only tell them apart when I had the genuine Eye of India in one hand and this counterfeit one in the other, and then only with close examination.” He didn’t tell even Rupert about the small mark on the back of the forgery, made so that they could be reliably distinguished. Cushing was nothing if not diligent.

  The two men were in Alexander’s rented quarters at the Mermaid’s Kiss. The hour was so late that the tavern had quieted below and they kept their voices very soft as they conferred. Alexander had shed his disguise with relief and sat at the table before the fire in his shirt, boots and breeches. Rupert had drawn the drape and locked the door before Alexander removed the pin from its hiding place.

  The pin, which was a duplicate of the one being sent to Lady Tamsyn, was oblong in shape and filled Alexander’s palm. In its middle was a large cut oval sapphire of deep blue color, as large as the nail of Alexander’s thumb. It was surrounded by cut diamonds in glittering ribbons, the whole set in platinum.

  At least, the original was a sapphire with diamonds set in platinum. The one Alexander held was glass and paste set in tin. He tilted it toward the light and smiled. “Look. Even the eye portrait has been faithfully reproduced.”

  “Eye portrait?” Rupert leaned closer.

  “It’s a piece that was originally exchanged between lovers. That’s why it’s called the Lover’s Eye. The original recipient was given the gem by a lover, and this is a portrait of his eye.”

  “Who was he?”

  “No one knows, but Cushing has contrived a tale that Jonathan Hambly had it made for Emily Hawkins but never gave it to her due to her early and sudden death. That’s why he’s sending it to the bride, who is the oldest daughter of the current earl.”

  “Quite a generous gift.”

  “Remarkably so.

  “Won’t she be suspicious?”

  “Cushing is believed to be eccentric and, in my experience, people are most willing to accept rich gifts, even with meager explanations. Cushing is a distant relation.” Alexander slipped the gem back into its velvet sack, knotted the drawstring, then placed it into a second velvet bag. Even the bags containing the real gem and the copy were perfect replicas, which made his task much simpler. “You confirmed that it was delivered today?”

  “By Cushing’s great-nephew, as anticipated. Nathaniel Cushing.”

  Alexander nodded. “Then the exchange must be made tonight.”

  “Are you certain you should go alone?” Rupert asked, peeking around the window shade. The evening was clear, the moon nearly full. Alexander might have wished for a few clouds to better hide his activities, but he would make do.

  He donned his dark jacket, a large soft hat and his hooded cloak. He tugged on his boots and shoved his gloves into his belt. “Absolutely. You may have to pretend to be me in my absence.” Alexander smiled at the very thought.

  “Good Lord!” Rupert exclaimed, imitating Alexander’s foppish tone very well. “Is there no decent flame to be had in this hovel?” He raised his voice, sounding shrill. “This chimney smokes beyond belief and the bed is as cold as ice. Go and fetch more wood for the fire, Haskell. I don’t care what these barbarians have to say of it!”

  The men exchanged a glance and a nod, then Alexander unbolted the door. “Aye, Your Grace,” he said gruffly, knowing he was not as good a mimic as his friend. “Immediately, Your Grace.”

  “Well, don’t stand there, letting in the draft,” Rupert whined. “I already have a sniffle and you know I can’t tolerate a chill. Hurry, man!”

  Alexander strode from the chamber, but he fetched only one load of wood for the fire. He descended as if to gather a second load, but left the tavern instead. It would take him a good half hour to walk to Castle Keyvnor by a circuitous route, and he could only hope that there were few souls abroad at this hour to notice his passage.

  Daphne awakened when Castle Keyvnor was dark and quiet, her heart pounding and her palms slick. It had been her familiar nightmare again, the one in which Grandmaman passed and they were left close to penniless.

  Again.

  Eurydice did not recall that fortnight between the news of their parents’ death and Grandmaman’s return from Bath, when uncertainty had filled young Daphne’s every moment. She was determined to never be so vulnerable again.

  But Grandmaman grew older and still Daphne wasn’t married.

  Everything could change in a moment. She clutched the linens and wished again that her Christmas wish would come true.

  It had been a long time since Daphne had vowed to take care of Eurydice forever, and perhaps her sister had forgotten the pledge. Daphne never would.

  She had to marry well and soon.

  Her wish had seemed to show promise when they’d unexpectedly encountered the Duke of Inverfyre—even more so when he watched her so intently—but his carriage had passed theirs that afternoon and they hadn’t seen him again.

  Daphne had liked him, too. Surely the opportunity wasn’t lost forever?

  Jenny’s cold had grown steadily worse as they journeyed south and Eurydice had a slight sniffle by the time they arrived. She’d gone to bed early and was still sleeping deeply in the room when Daphne’s dream awakened her.

  Daphne stared at the ceiling and feared for the future.

  She wished she was the clever one.

  The one kind of tutelage to which Daphne took naturally was her grandmother’s instruction about the management of finances. She had expressed curiosity and her grandmother had explained, apparently thinking that a taste would suffice. But Daphne had been curious and more interested in following the path of money than conjugating German verbs. Their lessons had continued ever since, and it was Daphne who was summoned to help her grandmother with the accounts. She knew the sum of the inheritance left to herself and her sister, and recognized that it was a pittance.

  Their grandfather had stipulated in his will that if he pre-deceased his wife, she might remain in the smaller house now known as the dower house for her lifetime. Of course, he had passed away before Daphne had been born, before even her father and heir to the estate had taken a wife. Once Grandmaman passed, Daphne and Eurydice would have no home, unless their cousin, the viscount, chose to be charitable in Lady North Barrows’ absence.

  Daphne would rather be reliant upon a husband than a cousin, and thus she was resolved to marry for both money and title. Her sister thought this was a foolish whim, but it was an utterly practical choice.

  Eurydice was right on one account: the title was a whim. Daphne didn’t truly need to be a duchess. People were more accepting of an ambition to marry a duke than one to wed a wealthy man—and she knew that her grandmother would never permit her to marry an untitled man, independent of his financial situation.

  A duke with a fortune it would have to be.

  Like the Duke of Inverfyre.

  Who had ridden onward, as if he’d forgotten her.

  In the night, with uncertainty lingering from her dream, all horrors seemed possible.

  Daphne tossed and turned but could not go back to sleep.

  At home, she often went to the kitchen after her nightmare.

  Her belly growled, as if to encourage the idea.

  Daphne rose and donned a robe. She debated the merit of ringing the bell, but knew that Jenny needed her sleep to battle that fearsome cold. She didn’t want to awaken Nelson or Eurydice either.

  Surely no one would mind if she went to the kitchen here?

  Surely it would ease her fears to do something, rather than lie abed and fret?

  Feeling very bold, she slipped out of their chamber and into the darkened hall. Castle Keyvnor was quiet and cool, filled with shadows. Daphne struck the flint when she was in the corridor and lit the candle she’d brought from the chamber.

  The flame blew a little in a draft. Daphne put the flint in her pocket and cupped her hand around the flame, then hurried quietly down the hall.

  It seemed the only sound was the rumbling of her stomach. She had a strange sense that she was being watched, which was ridiculous.

  Daphne paused at the summit of the stairs, listened and felt her heart skip. Had that been a swishing sound behind her, like the swirling skirt of a taffeta dress?

  Of course not. She continued a little more quickly.

  A clock chimed somewhere far below her. If it was right, the hour was three in the morning. She retraced their path of earlier in the evening to the foyer, then tried to guess the location of the kitchens. At the end of the corridor on the main floor, there was a smaller door tucked into the corner. It looked as if it led to the servants’ quarters, as it was too plain and small to lead anywhere else.

  Daphne opened the door with care and discovered another staircase. This one was less ornate, a very functional staircase that led both up and down.

  The servants’ stairs. The kitchen would be down.

  She held her candle high and hurried down the stairs. She could smell roast meat then, soap, herbs, and baking. Her nose led her to the darkened kitchen, which was clean and empty. Banked coals glowed on the hearth and a dog was curled up, sleeping there. Its tail thumped at the sight of her but it didn’t abandon its cozy spot.

  On one long table, there was a basket with a cloth over it. That was just as Cook left extra baking at home. Daphne lifted the cloth and smiled at the sight of the scones.

  Triumph! There were a dozen. She would eat just one. She wouldn’t leave a mess.

  Daphne reached in just as someone spoke.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  The words were uttered softly, but Daphne was still surprised. She jumped, dropped both candle and scone, then spun to face the person who spoke. The candle extinguished itself, then fell out of the holder and rolled. “I am Daphne Goodenham,” she confessed, a little breathless. “I was hungry.”

  A young girl stepped out of the shadows. She was a few years older than Daphne and clearly a maid. “Didn’t you ring for your maid?”

  “Jenny is sick. I couldn’t think to trouble her at this hour.”

  Her companion seemed to be surprised.

  Or suspicious.

  “I often go to the kitchen at home. I didn’t think it would be any trouble here.”

  “It’s not.” The maid nodded toward the basket. “There are plenty left from today, and they’ll be making new ones in a few hours.” She picked up the candle then set it into the holder again. Daphne used the flint to light it again, and had a better look at her companion. She had curly brown hair and looked to be just as wide awake as Daphne.

  She was glad to not be alone.

  “I’m Mary,” the maid said with a quick smile and a curtsey.

  “How pleasant to meet you,” Daphne said, thinking it would be rude to eat in front of the other woman. Maybe she’d take the scone back to her room.

  “You might as well eat here. I won’t tell, and there won’t be crumbs in your room, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let me get the butter.” Mary also poured Daphne a glass of milk. She then stood on the other side of the heavy table.

  “It’s the middle of the night,” Daphne chided, making a gesture of invitation. “You need not stand as if we are at dinner.”

  Mary smiled and bobbed a curtsey, then took a seat. Daphne pushed the basket of scones toward her and the girl glanced over her shoulder as if fearful of being caught.

  “Tell them I had two,” Daphne said and Mary took one. The girl ate quietly and Daphne chose to take advantage of the opportunity to learn more. “Can you tell me who has come for the wedding?”

  “Certainly. The castle is full of guests and so is Hollybrook Park.” Mary ticked off on her fingers. “There’s....”

  In the long list, she made no mention of the Duke of Inverfyre, much to Daphne’s disappointment. Daphne smiled. “What a large and merry wedding it will be, with so many guests come to wish them well.”

  “And there are more in the village, too.”

  “Truly? Is there a tavern there, then?”

  “Two of them. The Mermaid’s Kiss is where the gentry will stay, to be sure. The Crown and Anchor is more for sailors.”

  Daphne finished her scone, thinking furiously. She was sure the duke had mentioned the Mermaid’s Kiss. Could she find a way to see him again? “I’m curious about Bocka Morrow. We didn’t have time to visit during Samhain. Isn’t there an apothecary’s shop I might visit?”

  Mary laughed. “There is, and the witches are there.”

  “Witches?”

  “Aye, they make love spells.” Mary finished her scone. “But you didn’t even ask about the ghosts.”

  Daphne didn’t much care for ghost stories—her recurring nightmare provided sufficient fear—but she knew those at Castle Keyvnor were much taken with their ghosts. “When we were here before, they said there was a young boy, named Paul, who cries in the night.”

  Mary nodded. “The earl’s young son.”

  “And Baron Tyrell, who killed himself when his beloved Lady Helena wed another. Isn’t her portrait in the gallery?” Daphne said, remembering.

  Mary’s eyes shone. “But now Lord Snow has arrived wearing a ring, called the Grimstone, which banishes the ghosts.”

  “That I do not believe,” Daphne said firmly.

  “That’s only because you weren’t here when he arrived. There was a sound like a crack of lightning and ghosts were cast into the sky.”

  “Did you see it?”

  “I heard about it. My uncle is the groom, and he said there was such a commotion in the stables as you have never seen.” Mary’s eyes shone. “He told me about the Grimstone, which he never thought was real until he saw it this day.” She sobered and sighed. “I can only hope that it doesn’t banish Benedict.”

  She must have been referring to yet another ghost. “Why not?”

  “Because I love him, and I could not bear it if we were parted forever.”

  Although the other woman appeared to be convinced of her tale, Daphne remained skeptical. Ghosts thrown into the sky? If they were banished and thrown anywhere, it would be into the great beyond. She thought it would not be prudent to note that this Benedict was dead and Mary was not, thus they were already parted.

  The girl had been kind, after all.

  Daphne stood and picked up her candle. “It will be morning soon enough. Thank you for the butter and the conversation. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps you will. Have a care on your way back upstairs, my lady,” Mary said. “The ghosts are not always friendly at Castle Keyvnor, and after today, they may be very angry indeed.”

  “I thank you for the warning.” Daphne retraced her steps, climbing the servant’s stairs to the main floor, thinking that worldly concerns were more worrisome than ghosts.

  She peeked around the door at the summit and realized she’d already taken a wrong turn. This wasn’t the foyer she recognized. There was a staircase in the shadows ahead, but it was smaller than the one she’d descended.

  She looked back down the stairs but it was silent and dark below. Surely she could find her way once she was in the main house? The servant’s corridors would be like a maze—that she’d already gone the wrong way meant that she was likely to become even more lost.

  She stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind herself. The sole illumination was a shaft of moonlight. A clock chimed the half hour. It sounded like the same clock she’d heard before, but it was more distant. She hurried up the stairs to find that the hall above was lined with closed doors, all of which looked the same.

  Was that the little alcove near the room she shared with Eurydice? It was too far away to be certain, but Daphne thought it might be. She hurried toward it, her heart beginning to pound. Instead of being silent, the house also sounded to be full of whispers. She was certain that she heard the swish of taffeta again, the scuttle of mice, the stealthy step of someone following her. She remembered the story of an old wing of the castle being out of use and the whispers that ghosts and madwomen lived there. She thought about ghosts and walked a little more quickly. She glanced over her shoulder but saw no one.

  Daphne was sure she heard someone else breathing.

  Was it a ghost?

  Nonsense! Still, she hastened on.

  The alcove wasn’t the one she recalled. The corridor bent ahead and Daphne hurried toward the corner. Sanctuary must be just ahead. As she approached the corner, she felt a chill and heard a moan that made the hair stand on the back of her neck. Ghosts! There was a gust of air and her candle was extinguished.

 

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