The Ghosts of Greenwood by Maggie MacKeever

Author:Maggie MacKeever [MacKeever, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 2014-11-21T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

“What a to-do!” concluded Livvy. “Rosamond succumbed to vapors, and Amanda was nearly as surprised. Mrs. Halliday — Barbary, she said her name is — was the only person present who remained calm. I daresay she anticipated her arrival would cause a dreadful fuss.”

Jael sat beside the Baroness on the green damask-upholstered sofa, laying out a deck of gaudy cards on a table drawn up by her knee. “What does she look like?”

“Honey-blonde hair, a good complexion. Of medium height and figure. She’s probably quite attractive when not wrapped up in widow’s weeds.”

“We have a superfluity of widows.” From somewhere Dulcie had produced a ball of scarlet wool and knitting needles, which she was wielding with remarkable dexterity. “I find myself curious as to the length of this particular widow’s bereavement, and how that bereavement came about. It is a pity, Lavender, that you are so excessively polite.”

“Would you have had me outstay the other guests?” Livvy inquired crossly, from her seat on the Gothic pew. “I could hardly hide myself behind a curtain to overhear her explanations. I’m not sure I would have heard them, even had I remained behind. When I took my leave, Rosamond was being dosed with burnt feathers and vinaigrette, while Amanda was playing hostess in her stead and causing the servants to trip over themselves. Who will inherit now? The widow of Sir Wesley, or Cade?”

Dulcie ventured no guess, but glanced at the cards Jael was arranging in a Celtic cross.

The ladies were alone in the solar. Austen had retired to the library, accompanied by Casanova and Bluebeard, there to read, had Livvy but known it, not The Memoirs of Dick the Pony but Tom Jones. Hubert was in the little Norman chapel, adding the final touches to his wall-painting repair. Sir John was off about official business, while Ned and Dickon— But Livvy was determined not to dwell on her spouse, who had announced his intention to henceforth sleep in his dressing room before going to vent his temper on the local wildlife.

Jael finished laying out her cards. In the center was the Queen of Wands, a staff in her right hand and a sunflower in her left, at her feet a sinister black cat. “You’re born to luck in some things, lady, but not all. You trust where you should not. You have a friend who is not a friend. Beware.”

“And she will meet a tall dark gentleman,” scoffed Livvy, burrowing deeper into her pretty silk shawl.

“I have already met a tall, dark gentleman.” Dulcie glanced at the door. “There is no use hovering in the hallway, Crump. We shan’t say anything of interest. Lavender, ring for tea.”

Ah, but they had already said several things of interest. No whit abashed at being caught out eavesdropping, the Runner strolled into the room. Lady Dorset was looking wan in a loose-fitting blue dress; Jael was feral in pale grey silk. Lady Bligh appeared almost unexceptional, with that ginger hair — unexceptional, that was,

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