Crystal Heart Page 4

  “His story intrigued me. I thought if anyone could tell me about it, it would be you. After all, you are the family historian.”

  “Of one day’s standing. You’d do better to ask Lady Honoria.”

  She shook her head. “Not when I’m trying to gain her confidence. She’d be convinced I’m as henwitted as her last companion.” John gave her a look, which she appeared to ignore. “And I suppose I wanted to talk to someone about it, though why I chose you—do you think you could verify his story?”

  “Actually, I came across something about him this morning. He was thrown from his horse on Valentine’s Day.”

  “Yes!” She leaned forward. “Was there any mention of a crystal heart?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A crystal heart,” she repeated, and went on to tell him the remainder of the story, leaving out no detail. When she was finished, John was staring at her with both eyebrows lowered in a frown.

  “So you are to find some Follett descendant and make him see the error of his ways? How do you plan to do that?”

  “I don’t know! I only thought, if perhaps you came across some mention of the family, or the heart, you would tell me.”

  He looked down at his tray for a moment without seeing it, and then pushed it away. “I could do that. Sounds more interesting than listing the various Hart and Valentine marriages. Yes, Miss Sterling.” He smiled at her. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Oh, thank you. I must admit, I’m curious about this.”

  “Mm.” He continued to gaze at her, and, to his amusement, she looked away. “Though you really didn’t need such a ruse, you know.”

  That made her look at him. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Come, Miss Sterling—what is your given name?”

  “Alana,” she said, and then frowned. “What has that to say to anything?”

  “Alana.” He tested it on his tongue. “Unusual. I like it.”

  “How nice for you. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ve taken up enough of your time—”

  “Alana.” He reached out and caught her wrist. “Come, don’t leave like this. I know we got off to a bad start, but we needn’t be at daggers drawn, do we?”

  Alana looked down at his hand, and he suddenly felt impertinent for having dared to touch her. Yet her skin was soft, silky, under his fingers, and he could feel her pulse race. “Please let me go,” she said, in a voice that was meant to sound commanding, but which cracked.

  “Are you sure that is what you want?”

  “Yes. Yes!” She twisted free, snatching her arm back and cradling it in her other one, as if it were injured. “How dare you, sir?”

  John rose and grinned at her, unrepentant. “I dare because I believe it is what you wanted, as well.”

  “What I—! You have a high opinion of yourself, sir.”

  “Yes.”

  That seemed to stop her. She stared at him, mouth agape. “Well, it is not an opinion I share!” she exclaimed, and spun around.

  “Alana,” he said, as she reached the door, and her shoulders stiffened. “This isn’t finished, you know.”

  “It most certainly is, sir!” And, with that, she flounced out of the library, leaving John still grinning. These next six months promised to be far more interesting than he had ever expected.

  Alana stormed into her room, pulling her cap from her head and throwing it down onto her dressing table. “Of all the arrogant, insolent—it was something I wanted. I wanted? Only a man would dare say something like that—ooh! If I could get my hands on him-”

  “Dear lady, what has happened to upset you so?”

  Alana spun around at the unexpected voice, her hand to her heart, to see Sir Gabriel standing there, his hat held before him and a concerned frown upon his face. “Must you continue to sneak up upon me, sir?”

  For the first time, something approaching a smile appeared on his face. “Would you rather I knocked? I am sorry, dear lady. Quite an impossibility.”

  “Oh.” This last was too much. Suddenly tired from her encounter with the odious Mr.Winston, she sank down onto her chair. “Why are you bothering me? And why did you come to the library? You made me look quite the fool.”

  “Dear lady, I am sorry.” He stood before her, looking impossibly solid. Yet, if she reached out to touch him, would she feel anything? “If there were any other way, I would leave you in peace.”

  “I know.” She rubbed at her temples. “At least, I think so. Oh, I don’t know what to believe anymore! Yesterday my life was quite sane, and now, between you and Mr. Winston-”

  “I do not trust that man.” Sir Gabriel frowned as he prowled the room. “Looks like a lightweight to me.”

  “He’s no such thing!” Alana exclaimed, wondering at the same time why she was bothering to defend the man. “He is working for his bread, rather than battening on his family.”

  “Mm. Nevertheless, I do wish you had asked someone else for help.”

  “You stayed?”

  “Little goes on in this house that escapes my notice.”

  “Oh.” Not for the first time, Alana wondered at the nature of this man’s existence, if such it could be called. “What must it be like for you.”

  He shot her a look. “Pray do not worry about me. I am more concerned for you, consorting with that ruffian in the library.”

  “He is not a ruffian. Merely rather taken with himself. Heaven knows I met many such during my season.”

  Sir Gabriel stopped pacing and fixed her with a look. “You had a season?”

  “No, I merely meant, when I was in London during the season, with my last employer-”

  “You had a season,” he repeated. “You were a success. You received, ah, five offers, I believe.”

  Alana stared at him. “How in the world do you know that?”

  “It is one of the few benefits of my position. I see things.”

  “You see things.” Alana crossed her arms and turned away. “This is absurd. Here I sit, discussing second sight with a ghost. A ghost!”

  “I am real, madam. Or do you wish me to demonstrate-”

  “No! Please do not fade on me again. Oh, fustian.” Resting her head on her hands, she gazed into her mirror. Only her own image was reflected there. “I had hoped I had imagined you, from being tired. You have vastly complicated my life, sir.”

  “I am sorry. But it is your own fault, you know. At your age, a woman should be married.”

  A smile curved Alana’s lips. “You make me sound quite ancient, sir.”

  “No, dear lady, I do not mean-”

  “Not one of those five offers came from the heart. All they could see was my position.”

  He shrugged. “That is the way of the world.”

  “Is it?” She turned to face him. “When you have existed as you have for so long, because of love?”

  Sir Gabriel glanced away. “Point taken. But, by the lord Harry, it is different for a man! Why did not your father make you accept one of those offers?”

  “My father is dead.”

  “My sympathies,” he said, after a moment. “And your mother, as well. What of your grandfather? No, ‘tis not the sight this time. You mentioned him last evening.”

  “So I did.” Alana set her cap on her head and rose, bending to check her appearance in the mirror one last time. “I must go, sir. Lady Honoria will be expecting me.”

  “He doesn’t approve of what you are doing.”

  “He doesn’t know.” Alana looked at Sir Gabriel, standing in the middle of the floor and looking as solid as she. “You are not going to let me go until I tell you, are you?”

  “You are troubled. You behave as if you are not, but you are. You miss your grandfather.”

  “That cantankerous, overbearing old man—yes.” She passed a hand over her brow. “I do miss him. Oh, very well.” She sat again. “You may as well know. My grandfather is the Duke of Grafton.”

  “A duke! By thunder, girl, what are you doing w
orking as a paid companion?”

  Alana’s jaw jutted out. “‘Tis my own wish. He is a stubborn old man who will not see sense-”

  “Exactly like you, you mean.”

  Alana stared at him, and then let out a laugh. “Yes, I suppose I am a lot like him, and that is why we quarrel so much. We never have agreed on much.”

  “But this, girl. Working for someone else, when you could have anything you wanted. I do not understand.”

  “Mm.” Alana gazed at her reflection without seeing it. “I wasn’t raised that way. I was raised to believe in other values besides fortune and position. My father was a vicar, you see. My grandfather never forgave my mother for marrying him.”

  “And quite right, too. He was quite beneath her.”

  “My father was beneath no man! He was good, and strong, and brave, and he taught me always to look beyond the surface in a person. He and Mama were so happy together.” She sighed. “It was a true love match.”

  “What happened to them, madam?”

  “There was a fever in the village, and both succumbed. I escaped. I was in London at the time.” Her voice took on a bitter tinge. “Grandfather never forgave my mother, but he did unbend enough to offer to pay for a season for me. Mama thought it was a wonderful opportunity. I was young enough that I thought so, too. I soon learned.” She paused. “Once it became known who I was, the offers came pouring in. Not for me, you understand, but because of who I was, and my dowry. ‘Tis quite substantial.”

  “Your grandfather should have seen to it that you married.”

  “He tried. Oh, he tried, but I fought him on every one. Especially—well, never mind. Then, when I had the news of my parents-” She broke off, and there was silence for a moment. “I went to live with Grandfather, but it was difficult. I couldn’t be what he wanted me to be. I couldn’t be my mother.”

  “My dear lady-”

  “So I left. I went to London, managed to procure a post as a companion, and here I am. To my knowledge, Grandfather does not know where I am, and I prefer to keep it that way. I do not want him ordering my life.”

  “But surely marriage would be better than this.”

  “Would it?” Her smile was sad. “After seeing my parents’ marriage, how could I settle for anything less? Surely you, of all people, understand that.”

  “I do,” Sir Gabriel said, after a moment. “Very well, then, dear lady. I will not tease you about this anymore. But I do wonder what is wrong with the men nowadays. Have they not eyes?”

  Alana looked up at that to see him gazing at her, a definite twinkle in his eye. She could feel her face growing pink. Heavens! He was a most flirtatious ghost. “Fustian,” she said, crisply. “You must excuse me now, sir. Lady Honoria will be waiting for me.”

  “Of course, dear lady.” Sir Gabriel bent low in a bow, sweeping his hat before him, and straightened only when she had left the room. Today’s men must indeed be blind, he mused, because Miss Sterling was a most attractive young woman. If he were alive, she was just the type he would have—well, it were better perhaps that she didn’t know that. She would be devilishly difficult to deal with, much like his Madeleine. He couldn’t afford to offend her. She was his only hope of fulfilling his vow.

  And he could help her. His position had advantages that he usually took for granted. He had lost the ability to touch things; he could no longer enjoy a good meal or a fine brandy, and the real pleasure of his life, the company of women, was forever lost to him. Food no longer mattered, however; nor did the fleeting pleasures of the flesh. Too late, he had learned what was really important, something Alana already knew. ‘Twould be a pity if she kept herself shut away from life forever, and thus lost her chance at true happiness. Perhaps he, with his heightened powers of perception, could help her. ‘Twould be criminal if a woman such as she remained unwed.

  His energy was flagging. It took great concentration for him to reveal himself like this, a force of will he could not maintain for long. He was fading, fading, and there was little he could do about it. His resolution remained, however. Before he faded completely away, he smiled, a smile that would have made Alana most suspicious. God willing, she would find her match. He would have to see what he could do.

  Chapter Five

  Life settled into a routine at Heart’s Ease. Alana spent most of her time with Lady Honoria; John was closeted in the library, working. Occasionally they saw each other, when they met in the kitchen to pick up their trays for dinner or luncheon, but rarely did anything more pass between them. John no longer invited her to eat with him, nor did she ask. It was, John thought, just as well. Someone who believed in ghosts was best avoided, no matter how attractive she might be.

  The only thing to disturb the even tenor of his days was the approach of Valentine’s Day, still some weeks distant. It was hard to believe that Lady Pamela could decorate the house even more than she had, but she did. Hearts of red satin or frilly white lace appeared in the strangest places, on walls and picture frames and hanging from doorways. John closeted himself in the library, ignoring the decorations and reminding himself that the day would soon pass. When red paper Cupids began to appear in the library, however, he knew something had to be done. An appeal to Sir Ronald soon solved that problem. How was a man supposed to work in such a frivolous atmosphere?

  John crouched in front of the fireplace in the library on this chilly winter morning, carefully adding logs and rubbing his hands together. There, he had the fire going. Devilish cold place, Dorset, with the dampness from the sea seeping into one’s bones. He was rising from the hearth when the door opened. “Mr. Winston,” Lady Pamela said, sailing into the room. “A word with you, if you please.”

  “Ma’am.” John glanced towards his work table, piled high with papers. He was planning to start going through the family’s journals today, and he was impatient to begin. Strange, this eagerness for what he had thought would be a dull job. It was far more interesting than he could ever have predicted. He could not, however, command Lady Pamela to leave him in peace. She was his employer. John was beginning to learn that there were certain things one couldn’t do, when one worked for a living. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Yes. Do sit down.” Frowning, she dusted off the seat of a leather armchair, before sitting. “Such a musty, dusty place this is. I wonder you can stand it, Mr. Winston.”

  “I rather like it, ma’am.” John sat at his table. He did like this room. If Danbury and his other friends could see him now, they would laugh themselves to death.

  “Now. You know, of course, that we will be having a masquerade on Valentine’s Day.”

  How could he not know it? “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I have had the most wonderful idea. Sir Ronald and I have decided that we don’t wish to appear in just any costume. This must be special. Sir Ronald is going to appear as Sir Roger Valentine, and I will be Miss Camilla Hart.”

  “I see,” John said, mystified and amused. He knew enough of the family history to recognize the names. From their union descended the current branch of the Valentine family, and with it all the unfortunate associations with the trappings of romance. Miss Hart, he had gleaned from some letters he had read, had been tall, thin, and irredeemably plain, undoubtedly past her last prayers and without a hope in the world of making a match, except for her substantial dowry. Sir Roger, on the other hand, had been a widower, short and portly, who had died just a few years later from an apoplexy. Not the stuff from which grand romances are made. Nor would he have cast either Lady Pamela or Sir Ronald in their roles. “I assume you wish to know more about them, then. Let me see what I can find-”

  “There is nothing you can tell me that I don’t already know, sir.”

  “My apologies, ma’am.”

  “I should think so. No. What I need from you, sir, is an idea of what I should say.”

  “What you should say?”

  “Yes. We are going to have a play, you see, about the first meeting betw
een Sir Roger and Camilla. Oh, how romantic it must have been! Can you not see it, sir?”

  The corners of John’s mouth twitched. “Er, yes, ma’am, I can.”

  “Excellent. I told Sir Ronald that you could write a scene for us.”

  “What? Me?”

  “Yes. A short one, you understand. Sir Ronald would have it that you wouldn’t wish to do it, but I know better. It must be an honor for you, to be associated with this.”

  John’s lips twitched again. “Er, yes. But, ma’am, I’ve never actually written a play before.”

  “You’ll do splendidly. I’d like to see it by the end of the week.”

  John rose as she did. “Ma’am, I don’t think I can-”

  “No, no, no need to thank me. Consider this a privilege of your position. I’ll leave you to it. Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, ma’am,” John said, dazed, and watched as she sailed out again. Outflanked and outmaneuvered. When it came to getting people to do things, Lady Pamela could show even his father a thing or two. A play, by God! As if he didn’t have enough other work to do, work that intrigued him far more. Yet he had to do it, or risk losing his post. That, he was not prepared to do. If nothing else, he was determined to win the wager.

  Sinking down at the table again, he let his gaze roam around the room. So much to be done. There were hundreds of books, some, he had found from a quick examination, old and rare, and all in dire need of being catalogued. The family papers were extensive as well, ranging from estate accounts, to letters, to journals. All in all, there was enough work to keep him busy far beyond six months. Depressing thought. He had no intention of staying in this madhouse a moment longer than necessary. The only things to hold him here were the work itself, and a certain young woman. Alana.

  Frowning, John yanked a leather-bound volume towards him and began to read it, without quite comprehending what it said. He’d been deprived of female companionship for too long, that was what it was. Why else would he be thinking about a tart-tongued spinster who claimed to believe in ghosts? When the six months were up and he returned to London, he doubted he’d ever think about her again.