The Secrets of Colchester Hall: A Gothic Regency Romance Read online

  “Did you enjoy the meal?”

  “I did, although I’m not especially fond of leek soup, veal, or flummery.”

  He frowned. “Was anything else served?”

  “The vegetables were good, especially the potatoes.”

  A grin caught the edge of his mouth, softening his features. “What would you have preferred?”

  Angelica smiled. She appreciated his question and his lack of annoyance with her since most hosts would have been appalled by her criticism. “To start, a smoked filet of trout served with dill and lemon. Next, oven roasted duck stuffed with apples and prunes, accompanied by sugar glazed potatoes and sautéed red cabbage. And lastly…a lemon syllabub, I should think.”

  “I would not have thought it possible, but I’m actually getting hungry again.” The warmth in Lord Sterling’s eyes as he said this was unmistakable. “It is certainly a menu worth trying one day.”

  Good heavens. What was wrong with her stomach? It felt as though it was spinning around like an out of control top. Angelica sucked in a breath. Her cheeks felt warm and her legs seemed to struggle with keeping her upright.

  “Tell me something,” Lord Sterling said once they’d passed the spot where the mothers and chaperones had chosen to gather. “How do you find Colchester Hall?”

  “It’s impressive. But I’m not sure I’d want to live here.”

  Lord Sterling jerked on her arm. Did he trip over something?

  “I beg your pardon?” For the first time since she’d met him, he sounded affronted.

  Ah well. Angelica supposed his tolerance of her until this point was bound to meet with an end sooner or later. “It’s not a home.”

  “It’s my home,” he snapped, then catching himself, gently added, “it will also be the home of the future Lady Sterling.”

  “You mistake my meaning,” Angelica told him because really, why stop now? “It’s too big and vast, too cold and drafty, completely devoid of cozy homeliness.”

  Oh dear. He was now staring at her as if her hair had suddenly decided to turn a bright shade of blue. “Cozy homeliness?”

  “Take this room for example. It’s got to be ten times the size of any other parlor I’ve ever seen.”

  “Space is important. I always find small rooms too cramped.”

  “Certainly,” she agreed, acknowledging his point with a dip of her head. “But look at how far apart all the pieces of furniture have been placed. If you choose to sit in that sofa over there, you cannot possibly carry on a conversation with the person opposite without shouting.”

  “Naturally, I would converse with the person sitting beside me,” he said as if she were the most thickheaded woman he’d ever encountered.

  Angelica bristled. “It isn’t practical, nor does it offer the sort of welcoming atmosphere I would be drawn to. You’d be much better off moving that sofa over there and then adding one more seating arrangement over here. A gaming table would work well too as an alternative, and…”

  “And what?” he asked her tightly.

  She swallowed, unsure if it was wise of her to continue. Then again, she had come this far so why on earth not? “Rugs. Preferably in burgundy tones to complement the pale green upholstery.”

  “Right.” They’d arrived back at the spot where they’d started. He released her arm, took a step back. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about, my lady. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” Upon which he strode away, directly toward the door leading out to the hallway.

  Mrs. Essex stood there and Lord Sterling soon joined her. They exchanged a few words and then, with one swift backward glance and no parting words to his guests, he left the parlor with her. But what struck Angelica as particularly odd was the look in Mrs. Essex’s eyes when she’d met Angelica’s gaze. It was almost as if she’d been laughing at her.

  “How was it?” Lucy asked.

  Angelica shook off the uneasy feeling the housekeeper gave her and turned to her friend. “I fear I ruined my chances.” She returned to the seat she’d vacated earlier.

  “Surely it can’t have been that bad.” Lucy was carefully nibbling on a small chocolate-covered biscuit.

  “Well,” Angelica told her with a sigh, “I told him I disliked the food and found his home lacking. Frankly, it’s a wonder he didn’t insult me in return.”

  “Hmm… There’s always a chance he likes honest women.”

  “I was blunt to the point of rudeness, Lucy. And I don’t even know why, but it couldn’t be helped. Once I started talking there was no stopping the words. It was awful.”

  “Perhaps another cup of tea would make you feel better?”

  “Thank you, but I think I’d prefer to retire for the evening. I’ll just inform my mother.”

  “I’ll come upstairs with you.” Lucy brushed the crumbs from her fingers and stood. “No sense in me staying here without you or my host.”

  Ten minutes later, after pointing out to her mother that Lord Sterling had abandoned them all in favor of lord knew what, Angelica said good night to Lucy outside her bedchamber door and went to prepare for bed. The same maid who’d unpacked her things earlier responded when she rang the bell pull. She didn’t say much while she worked, which was fine with Angelica since enough things had happened today to occupy her brain without her having to engage in small talk with a servant.

  “Will that be all?” the maid, whose name turned out to be Emma, asked once she’d finished combing Angelica’s hair.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Then I’ll wish you a pleasant night, my lady.” Emma bobbed a quick curtsey and departed, shutting the door behind her.

  Angelica stared at it for a moment, then glanced toward the door connecting her room with her mother’s. She was tempted to open it, but resisted the urge. It was just that the feeling she’d had in here earlier – of cold fingers creeping over her skin – was back.

  She shook her head and laughed at her silliness, then glanced at her book which lay waiting for her on the bedside table. Clearly she’d become too engrossed in her English translation of Fantasmagoriana if elements were becoming part of her own reality.

  Still… She bit her lip, then grinned as she climbed into bed and picked up the novel. She simply had to know what happened next. Settling back against her pillows, Angelica opened it and started to read. She liked how the book was compiled of short stories that were reasonably quick to get through. Right now, she was in the middle of “The Death Bride,” right at the point where Marino had gone in pursuit of a masked woman.

  Angelica turned the page. The woman seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Intrigued, Angelica kept reading until she reached the spot where Marino’s fiancée, Ida, returned to the ball in search of him, only to be told he’d just left with her. Good heavens, how was that possible? Unless…

  The flame from Angelica’s oil lamp flickered, distorting the golden light. A melodious chime from the clock on the fireplace mantle announced the hour. Angelica flexed her toes. Her feet felt like ice, and the feeling seemed to be travelling slowly up her legs. She pulled the blankets more firmly around her entire body, cocooning herself.

  The flame from her oil lamp flickered again, then guttered as if struggling to stay lit.

  “No, no, no,” Angelica muttered. She had to finish the story. She had to know what had happened to Marino and how there could possibly be two Idas.

  Ignoring the chill which had now seeped into her fingers, she strained her eyes to see the black print. Until the flame gave one last burst of light and died.

  The room transformed into a collection of gray and dark purple tones. With a sigh of frustration, Angelica climbed from her bed and hugged her arms around her body. Padding across the floor, she approached the connecting door, intending to listen for her mother’s presence. If she was still up, Angelica could simply read the rest of the story in her room.

  But as she passed the window, a breeze swept over her ankles.

  Angelica tur
ned to see the curtains move ever so gently, perhaps on account of a draft? She decided to check by carefully pulling the fabric aside and running her fingers along the edge of the window. Nothing. Only darkness. The glass itself was streaked by water, distorting her reflection.

  A prickly sensation spread like a rash across the nape of her neck.

  Something moved in the window’s reflection – a shadow behind her.

  She instinctively turned.

  Her breath filled the air like smoke and her fingers grew rigid like twigs. Swallowing hard, Angelica stared at her bedchamber door, certain she’d locked it. Yet now it stood open.

  She blinked. Someone had been in her room while she’d been standing here lost in thought. Mrs. Essex perhaps, or the viscount himself? Angelica crossed the floor in search of an answer and reached the hallway just in time to glimpse the fluttering hem of nightgown as it disappeared round a corner.

  Barefoot, she ran toward it, desperate to chase down the person and give them a piece of her mind. But when she reached the stairs, there was nothing. Heart pounding and with her bones aching from cold, she glanced down into the foyer.

  A shadow crept slowly across the wall.

  How had the individual managed to descend the stairs so quickly?

  Determined to catch the elusive person, Angelica balled her frozen hands into fists and quickened her pace. If only she’d thought to put on her robe and slippers to ward off the ever-increasing frigidity.

  By the time she reached the foyer, she was trembling from head to toe.

  She glanced around. The chill had dug its claws into her chest. She struggled for breath. A movement, right at the edge of her vision, caused her to turn.

  A hallway was there.

  Angelica started forward. “Wait,” she called out, even though the person was clearly intent on escape. A whisper of air fluttered over her shoulders. She glanced back, certain she’d see someone there, but all she found was empty darkness.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered to herself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” Yet there was a feeling, right in the middle of her heart, that told her something wasn’t quite right.

  Ignoring it, Angelica kept going, following the shadow through twists and turns until she arrived at a tall wooden door.

  She blinked.

  The space was empty.

  She glanced around, searching for someone who’d hidden in the darkness. Nothing caught her attention. Not one single movement. And then she heard it – a hoarse cry for help, so thin and desperate it curdled her blood. She stared at the door. The sound was coming from the opposite side, accompanied by…

  Angelica’s heart thumped.

  It sounded like scratching.

  With a shudder, she took a step forward.

  Someone was there. Someone who needed her help.

  She reached for the bolt with frozen fingers and unlocked the door. It flew open, yanked from her grasp on a blast of cold air as wind and rain whipped her face. Angelica searched the darkness, but no one was there. And yet she knew she’d seen something…heard a distinct voice crying for help.

  It made no sense.

  Unless she’d imagined it all.

  Maybe she’d failed to close her bedchamber door properly. She blinked, still staring through the rain, unable to understand. In the distance, she glimpsed the outline of the pavilion she could see from her bedchamber window.

  Her heart lurched as she recalled Mrs. Essex’s words from earlier.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  Angelica spun around with a jolt. Lord Sterling’s glare was harder than granite as he yanked her away from the door and shut it.

  He crossed his arms and leaned forward just enough to meet her gaze at eye level. “Why are you here?”

  “I, um…” It was difficult to gather her wits when he looked at her with such menace.

  “Yes?” He took a step forward, forcing her back, until she met the uneven stone wall behind her.

  “I thought I saw someone come this way.”

  “Nobody comes this way,” he told her harshly. “Not anymore.”

  “I—” He grabbed her unceremoniously by the arm and proceeded to escort her back the way she’d come. “My lord. Please. You’re hurting me.”

  “Did Mrs. Essex not tell you specifically not to venture into this part of the house?” He practically dragged her up the stairs, heedless of her plea for him to loosen his grip.

  “I—”

  “You are forbidden from opening that door. Is that clear?”

  Her toes caught the top step, causing her to stumble. “Yes. Yes, I promise.” She didn’t understand his reasoning much less the rest of this night’s events, but she would adhere to his wishes. It was the least she could do as his guest.

  “And for God’s sake,” he added as he deposited her outside her bedchamber door a while later, “put on a robe and some slippers if you really must leave your room at night. Otherwise, you risk catching a chill.”

  “Of course. I didn’t think.”

  “Clearly not.” The rugged planes of his face were emphasized in the darkness. His mouth was just a harsh line. “Good night, my lady.”

  “Good night.” Angelica wasn’t sure if he heard her since he was already walking away.

  Unable to make sense of what had transpired, Angelica climbed back into her bed. Her mind was a muddle. It all seemed so real but how could that possibly be? She snuggled deeper under the blankets and yawned. Tomorrow she’d look for some answers, because one thing was certain: there simply had to be a logical explanation.

  Randolph burst into his bedchamber with such violence he almost managed to unhinge the door. Struggling for breath, he crossed the floor and poured a large measure of brandy, downed it, and poured himself another. God help him, it had been two years! Two bloody years and all it took for rage and guilt to grip him once more was seeing Lady Angelica standing in that cursed doorway.

  He’d thought he was past this. He’d thought he’d managed to put Katrina to rest. Yet here she was, haunting him from beyond the grave by reminding him of the fool he’d once been and of how he’d failed to save her.

  Christ!

  His fingers tightened around the glass. Blood rushed through his veins. A sharp stabbing pain ripped through his skull. The glass shattered with a dissatisfying crunch that brought a sting to the palm of his hand.

  Damn.

  Randolph reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. The white piece of linen was soon covered in blotches of red. He sighed and lowered himself to the armchair that stood before the fire. He’d removed himself to this part of the building after Katrina’s death, because he couldn’t stand being anywhere near the spot where she’d perished, her cries for help blocked out by the howling wind.

  His chest rose with uneasy movements. And now there was Lady Angelica. As his heartbeats settled into a steadier rhythm and the anger roiling inside him abated, he recalled how she’d looked when he’d found her. His body tensed in response to what his brain was only now letting him realize. She’d been delectable, clad in only her nightgown, the fabric so fine it revealed her shapely curves and the hem so short he’d caught a glimpse of her ankles.

  Perhaps if she’d not been in a state of confusion and he’d not gotten so angry, he could have used the situation to his advantage. He could have kissed her, if she’d let him.

  Would she have?

  He wasn’t entirely sure.

  Her criticism of Colchester Hall made him wonder if she’d ever want to accept an offer of marriage from him. Of course, the biggest problem was she was now the only woman who interested him remotely. Her bluntness intrigued him. It superseded her perplexing desire to explore his home at night, wandering into places that didn’t concern her. Especially since he had a feeling she would respect his wishes from now on. But personality and character, those were things that couldn’t be changed, and although it had only been one day – or really j
ust one evening – he could not deny the pleasure he’d found in her company.

  She’d been more than just blunt, he acknowledge with a slow smile. She’d been fun and entertaining – a breath of fresh air he so desperately needed.

  Chapter 3

  Angelica stared out of her bedchamber window the following morning at the spot directly below, where Lord Sterling’s wife had allegedly perished. She touched her fingertips to the windowpane, pressing gently against the glass while wondering how such a thing could have happened.

  When she’d woken, roughly half an hour earlier, her first instinct had been to dismiss last night’s occurrence as a dream. Or a nightmare. Perhaps Lord Sterling had found her walking in her sleep. According to her mother, she’d done so as a child. She nodded. That had to be it. She must have fallen asleep reading “The Death Bride,” only to dream up a ghost story of her own.

  Considering Colchester Hall’s history, it wasn’t so odd. In fact, the manor served as the perfect backdrop for any terrifying tale. Satisfied with this explanation, Angelica blew out a breath and allowed herself to relax. She’d head downstairs for breakfast, and if she found Lucy there, she’d invite her for a walk now that the rain had stopped.

  Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, Angelica left her room and started toward the stairs. She hadn’t gone more than three paces, though, before she was forced to stop and glance over her shoulder. No one was there, yet it felt as though someone were watching her every move. A shiver raced down her spine and her heart beat faster, sensing what she couldn’t see.

  Some…thing was there.

  No.

  No. No. No.

  It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t real.

  She quickened her pace until she was almost running. The stairs were right there, she just had to reach them. She just…had to round this last corner.

  “Heavens! Is everything all right, my lady?”

  Mrs. Essex suddenly stood before her, studying her with keen curiosity.

  “I’m sorry,” Angelica gasped. She’d nearly barreled straight into the woman. It had taken supreme force of will to reverse her direction. But at least the dreadful sensation creeping up behind her had finally vanished.