Upon returning from his pleasant yet unproductive walk on the beach, Vincent was delighted to find that his valet and luggage had arrived in the rented carriage that had followed him from London.After sleeping in the hayloft above the stables last night, he was more than happy to give care of his clothing and person over to the ever-efficient Lawrence.Stray bits of hay in his clothing were worth the tradeoff of having more room to stretch out than the library sofa, but they had begun to itch.
The other benefit to choosing the loft was avoiding the potential risk of encountering guests in other bedchambers.
“This was delivered moments after you left London, my lord.”Lawrence handed him one letter, then another.“And this one arrived just as I was departing.”
Vincent sat on the edge of the bed while Lawrence relieved him of his boots, and broke the seal on the first note.It was an invitation from his friend Matthew Huntley to join him at their club for dinner the afternoon he left.Intrigued by Aunt Gert’s note about the ghost, Vincent had moved up his plans already in place to leave for Italy, and hadn’t taken the time to notify any friends of his change in itinerary.Poorly done, that.With a twinge of guilt, Vincent opened the second letter.
V,
Wherever you are, I sincerely hope you are having more fun than I am.My cousin, and now myself by association, have become bywords for licentiousness.The tabbies want their pound of flesh and you are not here to distract them.I hate you.
M
Vincent chuckled at Matthew as he sank into the bath, regretting again that he never remembered to send to Hobart Grange a bathtub large enough to accommodate his adult self.This tub fit the ladies who’d occupied Hobart Grange going back well into the previous century, but his knees bent uncomfortably close to his chest.As usual he made the best of it, and let Lawrence pour a bucket of water over his head to rinse his long hair when he was done washing.
Was he having fun, as Matthew hoped?Interacting with Miss Walden so far had been fun.Tracking down whatever entity tried to pass itself off as a ghost could be fun.Aunt Gert had confided that she’d seen a female personage on the beach at night two other times, dressed all in grey.
He was in a hurry, though.Visiting here was only a stop on his way to Italy.His investigation could proceed at twice the pace if Matthew were here to help him.
Shaved, dressed, and sitting before the fire while his hair dried, Vincent penned a note of apology to Matthew and invited him to come to Sidmouth.
* * *
Once everyone was seated at the dining table, Vincent held up the letter as he explained his intent.“You truly don’t mind?”
“Of course not!”Aunt Gert waved Kendall over to take the letter.“Your friends are quite welcome here, Vincent.I’ve always enjoyed their company, even when still young and mischievous.”
“Bickford will take it to town tonight so it can go out with the morning mail coach,” Kendall said, handing the letter off to the footman.
“Is Mr.Huntley the one who sings like—” Aunt Agnes waved a hand as she cut herself off.“Doesn’t matter.All your friends have lovely voices.”She smiled at Miss Walden, who had been quiet, then addressed Aunt Gert.“Imagine the music the three of them could treat us to!”
“Do you sing, Miss Walden?”
Finally she looked up from her smoked haddock to meet Vincent’s gaze.“I’ve been told my voice is passable.”
Gert and Agnes instantly protested, talking over each other in praise of her voice.Angelic, sweet, and other similar adjectives floated out.
“I had the best voice at the Academy,” Miss Walden finally said, addressing Aunt Gert.“Is that sufficiently lacking in humility?”
“Better,” Aunt Gert said with a broad grin.
“Perhaps we can play together this evening.”Vincent raised one eyebrow to acknowledge his double entendre.
Miss Walden met his gaze, her head slightly tilted, mischief in her light brown eyes, which sparkled like a glass of sherry held up to the sun.“Perhaps.”
“And I’m sure Matthew will be of great help in tracking down our fake ghost,” Vincent added.
“Indeed.”Aunt Gert raised her wineglass in a toast.
Miss Walden dropped her fork.“How clumsy of me,” she murmured as the footman picked the fork up from the floor and Kendall handed her a clean utensil.Instead of resuming her meal, however, she set the fork on the table and hid her hands on her lap as she studied the floral pattern on her plate.
How odd.
Busy discussing which songs they wanted to hear and thought Vincent and Miss Walden might both know, Aunt Gert and Agnes paid no attention.
He didn’t think Miss Walden was frightened of a ghost, real or fake.What made her retreat this time?
* * *
