Are we there yet, my lady?”

Lady Barton kept her eyes closed. Verity was trying her best to nap and the last thing she wanted was to be drawn into conversation.

But her maid, the tall and angular Lucy Mull, had other ideas. She repeated herself in a louder voice and added, “I vow but we’ve been in this coffin of a coach for nigh on ten hours now! We must be close.”

That was too much, even for Verity, who prized her naps almost as much as she did her morning cup of hot chocolate. She opened her eyes and favored her maid with a sullen glare. “Is the coach still moving?”

Lucy sniffed. “It is, as you well know.”

“Then we are not yet at Nimway Hall! Now hush, you pestilent maid, and let me sleep!” Lady Verity tugged her feathered hat further down so that it shaded her eyes and then snuggled deeper into the puffy squabs.

Lucy gave an irritated sniff. “If you ask me, we will never get there what with the rain has been pouring down, and on roads so poor it’s a disgrace to even call them such, while this box sways and swerves as if it’s missing a wheel and—”

“For the love of—” Verity shoved her hat from her eyes and sat upright, scowling at her ungrateful maid. “Stop this caterwauling at once. I cannot sleep for the noise.”

Lucy folded her thin lips. “I was not caterwauling. I was just saying—”

“Lud, don’t repeat it! We will arrive when we will arrive. And you have not been in this ‘box,’ as you call my lovely coach, for ten hours. We didn’t leave the inn until well after eleven this morning and it’s barely three now, plus we stopped for lunch for over an hour.”

Lucy said in a grumpy tone, “Well, it feels as if we’ve been in here for ten hours.” The whip-thin maid with her tight brown curls and permanent scowl was as cantankerous as a recovering drunk, but she was also as loyal as the day was long and possessed an almost uncanny genius for repairing gowns and designing coifs. For those reasons, as well as the fact that Verity shuddered to think of the effort she’d have to expend to train a new maid, Lucy’s complaining was tolerated. Lady Verity loved many things, but expending herself was not one of them.

She wilted back into her corner of the coach and delicately covered her yawn with a gloved hand. “I wish you hadn’t awoken me. I was having a lovely dream involving lemon cake and Lord Rackingham.”

Lucy’s irritation vanished. “Was it a naughty dream, my lady? Lord Rackingham is as handsome as they come.”

“Lud, no!” Verity patted her mussed curls. “Not this time, anyway.” More’s the pity.

Lucy looked as disappointed as Verity felt. The maid said in a wistful tone, “I had a dream about Lord Rackingham once. He was naked, he was, and bold as a pirate, too.”

“I’m sure he was, for he seems to have tendencies in that direction, but please, do not share another word. I have to meet that man in public and I’ve no wish to think of—“

“So there I was, in a stone tower, locked behind a huge door, and reclining on a divan like a princess in a cream silk gown that was open from my chin to my ankles. Wide open it was, too!”

“I daresay you were chilly.”

“I think I was, now that you mention it,” Lucy admitted. “And then Lord Rackingham arrived. He kicked down the door and, sword drawn, burst into my room naked as the day he was born—”

“Wait. He was already naked? Before he even entered the room?”

“He was.”

“And yet he broke down a heavy door? With his bare hands?”

“Aye, so he did.”

“Was he bleeding, then? I can’t imagine he could break down a door whilst naked and not bruise or at least scratch himself. And why was his sword drawn? Did he expect to fight you? I vow, Lucy, but that dream makes no sense.”

Lucy sputtered. “But you dreamt last week that you owned a tiny elephant that fit in your teacup!”

“A tiny elephant. Which is why it fit. I didn’t, however, dream about a naked man knocking down a heavy wooden door without marring his skin and running in with a drawn sword for no reason at all. I mean, how did he knock down the door if he wasn’t even wearing stiff boots in order to kick—” The coach slowed and Verity brightened. “Ah, the drive to Nimway Hall!” She pushed back the curtain to expose a beautiful forest. “Balesboro Wood, so we’re close. We shall be having tea soon, which is good, for I’m famished.”

The maid peered out the window, her eyebrows lowered. “There’s a darkness to this wood.”

“Woods are notoriously unfriendly places to be. They’re damp, and dirty, and contain all sorts of creatures, some of whom bite. Fortunately, we shall only see it when we come and go, and then from the safety of a coach.” Verity dropped the curtains back in place. “The house itself is quite lovely, and I hear my sister-in-law Olivia, who is the guardian of Nimway, has been redecorating it, so it’s vastly improved from the last time I was here.”

“That’s nice to hear, my lady. But ah . . . Mrs. Harrington is the guardian and not your brother?”

“Correct. The whole thing’s quite complicated, and I won’t pretend I understand, but Nimway Hall is always held by a female. Something to do with the entail or – Lud, I’ve no idea. Anyway, it’s Olivia’s, and one day, I suppose it will belong to Charlotte now that her sister Caroline is—” Verity closed her lips over the rest of her sentence, unable to give voice to the thought even eleven long months after the fact.

“Now that Miss Caroline is no longer with the living,” Lucy offered helpfully.

Verity forced a smile. “Yes. From what Olivia has said, Nimway’s line of succession was determined in ancient times. In fact – and do not ask me if this is true, for I’ve no idea – but some of the villagers say the house and lands have something to do with Merlin.”

“The sorcerer?” Lucy gawped. “You cannot mean it!”

“Oh yes. Local lore says that the love of his life was a witch called Nimway, so the house must have been hers, although I don’t think it’s that old, so perhaps she owned the land or—or—Well, I’ve no idea. It’s all rumor, of course, but a fun one.”

“You don’t know it’s a rumor,” Lucy cocked her eye at her employer. “My lady, you said yesterday that you’d visited this hall many times. Have you seen any magic whilst staying here?”

“Lud, no. I never saw anything untoward. Well, except—” Verity wondered if she should mention that day, for it had been long, long ago and, to be honest, over time she’d come to wonder if her memory hadn’t been compromised by wine or—or—well, she wouldn’t say ‘age’ as that would be too much and she was only 30(ish).

Lucy’s eyes widened. “What did you see?”

“Nothing. At one time, I thought—” A strand of light broke through the crack in the curtain, so Verity flipped it open. “And there is Nimway Hall!”

Lucy peered at the house sitting on a faint rise before them. “It’s nowhere near as large as Chatsworth.”

“Few houses are,” Verity returned sharply. “Nimway Hall is not as large, but it’s still quite, quite pretty.” Her family pride roused, she added, “In fact, I would even say it’s prettier than Chatsworth.”

Lucy wrinkled her nose, and then muttered something under her breath that sounded like “I can’t imagine that!” but must have been something far less impudent.

Verity sniffed her disapproval. Her beloved brother and his dear wife had found their happiness within the walls of Nimway. Besides, who wouldn’t adore such an old, stately house? The real problem was that Lucy had no appreciation for architectural majesty.

Verity smiled at the house and admired its position upon a wide bluff, a silvered pool of mist swirling at its feet. The house was built of local stone that shimmered under the wan sun. It was three stories high with an expanse of jewel green lawn that rolled gently down to the wood that encircled this aspect. But as beautiful as the front lawn was, Verity knew the back lawn was even more beckoning with its green grass and beautifully cultivated gardens, all framing sparkling Lake Myrrdin. Ah, how she looked forward to seeing it all from the comfort of a settee near a large, open window.

The coach continued to the house, the scent lifting from the lavender bushes that lined the drive and lifting Verity’s spirits. As they approached the forecourt, the mist curled away from the drive as if making a path for them. It was enough to give one the shivers, if one believed in such nonsense, which Verity most certainly didn’t. Besides, her real concern wasn’t with the house or the silly rumors one heard about it, but with the person waiting on them. Oh Charlotte, my favorite and now only niece, I wonder how these last few months have changed you?

“My lady, you look sad. Missing Miss Caroline, are you?”

“It is odd, being here without her. But as difficult as it is for me and the rest of the family, I’m convinced it’s been a hundred times harder for her sister Charlotte. They were twins and no two sisters were closer.”

“I didn’t know they were twins! It’s tragic, when someone so young dies.” Lucy hesitated, and then said, “If you don’t mind me asking, how did Miss Caroline die?”

“She was out riding in the wood late at night and something must have startled her horse. She fell and hit her head upon a rock.”

“Riding after dark?” Lucy shook her head. “Young people can be so foolish.”

“‘Foolish’ is not a word I ever thought to use to describe Caroline. The child never broke rules, said a cross word, or did anything other than what was expected.”

“Then why was she out in the middle of the night?”

“No one knows. It was so unlike her. A thorough investigation was done, and for a time we all thought the answer would be in Caroline’s diary, for the child wrote in one every day, but no one could find it.”

Lucy gaped. “It disappeared?”

“No, no. Not disappeared. We just couldn’t find it. It must be somewhere, I mean, who would take it?”

“Someone with an eye on murder, that’s who,” Lucy said grimly.

“Well, it wasn’t a murder, so you can keep those thoughts to yourself,” Verity replied testily. “The family was traumatized enough without such nonsense. I’m just hoping things are better now. Which is why we’re here. My brother and his wife are in London visiting their son John, who is a captain in the Navy and has been temporarily brought to dock while awaiting repairs on his ship. So I’m to chaperone Charlotte until their return.”

“It’s quite kind of you to do so, my lady, but I still think—”

“Then stop. We are here to help, not make things worse. Do not sulk at me, Miss Hull! I’ve never had a child, you know, so my brother’s children are like my own and I won’t hear any more of your nonsense.”

Lucy sniffed, to show her displeasure, but after a long silence, she asked, “Does Miss Charlotte look like her sister?”

“Oh no, not at all. Although they are twins, they are—I’m sorry—they were as different as day and night. Caroline looked just like my sister-in-law Olivia, blonde with silver gray eyes, and just as lovely and proper. Meanwhile, Charlotte has my brother Jack’s coloring, auburn hair and deep blue eyes, and she has . . .” Verity pursed her lips thoughtfully, searching for the right word. “Charlotte has character.”

“Character?” Lucy looked unconvinced. “What does that mean?”

“It means she has a great deal of spirit and far too much intelligence for a girl her age.” Verity hesitated, and then added, “She’s not perfect, of course. There are . . . things that aren’t quite as they should be with Charlotte.”

“Things, my lady? It sounds to me as if there’s something wrong with Miss Charlotte.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Charlotte! It’s just that Caroline was so annoyingly perfect, at least by society’s standards. Poor Charlotte was forever being compared to her sister the paragon which was massively unfair.”

“By society’s standards, eh?” Lucy’s thick brows rose. “But not by yours, my lady?”

“Never by mine. Charlotte was always my favorite. She has a restless soul, never lets her problems keep her from accomplishing things, and is always searching for . . . well, I don’t know what. But something. Of course, that was before her sister passed.” Verity stared out the window at the approaching house, a weight on her heart. “Her mother says Charlotte is quite different now. She’s settled down, and is even engaged to be married.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Verity said without conviction. “She’s marrying a viscount. He’s been a friend of the family for quite some time. He’s the grandson of a local landowner, and is quite handsome, well bred, and very plump in the pocket.”

Lucy nodded her approval. “A love match, then.”

Verity didn’t answer. To be honest, the engagement was one reason she’d so quickly accepted Olivia’s request for assistance. Normally, Verity found the responsibilities of serving as chaperone too taxing, and she usually made excuses to avoid such pressures. But the news of Charlotte’s engagement within months of her sister’s death had been unsettling. Charlotte had experienced enough pain over her life time and Verity wasn’t about to let her favorite niece make a mistake that might bring her yet more grief. And sadly, Verity feared that Olivia and Jack were too bruised from Caroline’s death to properly see what was occurring with their remaining daughter.

The coach rolled to a stop in front of the house, and a footman leapt down to open the door and put the stepstool in place. Verity drew her cloak closer, turned her panniers so that they would fit through the door, and then stepped down onto the drive. A faint wind fluffed her skirts while her boots crunched upon the gravel. Behind her, Lucy gave instructions to the footmen about the many trunks tied to the back of the coach.

Verity eyed the house before her. The mist, oddly enough much thicker now even with the sun well overhead, rolled over their boots like waves, breaking against Nimway’s silvered walls and then dissipating into the damp air.

Lucy came to stand beside Verity, her thin nose almost quivering as she looked around. “There’s an odd feeling to this place,” she announced. “I can see why the locals tell tales. It feels enchanted.”

“Oh phooey! It’s not enchanted, and you’d be wise to remember that. Now come, let’s find my niece and—"

The door to the great house opened.

Verity stepped forward in expectation, but no young lady came flying out to greet her. Instead, a tall, pinch-faced servant padded into the courtyard. He bowed as soon as he reached Verity. “Lady Barton, how are you? We’ve been expecting you.”

“Thank you, Simmons.” She looked over his shoulder at the open, empty doorway. “Where’s Miss Charlotte?”

His thin lips folded in displeasure. “I fear she is out riding. She’s been gone a few hours now and I’m not sure when she’ll return.”

“Heavens! Should we send someone to look for her?”

“I’m sure she’s fine. She rides every morning and mentioned she might stop by the vicar’s house and leave some flowers. I daresay the vicar’s wife invited her to stay for lunch.”

“Playing Lady of the Manor while her mother’s gone, is she? Well, good for her.”

Simmons didn’t look as if he agreed. Indeed, he looked more as if he’d just swallowed a lemon, but after a moment of pained-faced struggle, he gave a short, polite nod.

Verity laughed. “Enough of your doom and gloom, Simmons! I’ve just spent hours in a coach and I haven’t the stomach for it.”

Simmons’s mouth twitched, and a faint smile slipped out. “Yes, my lady. May I say that it will do Miss Charlotte good to have a visitor? It will do us all good.”

“It will do me some good, too, for I’m quite fagged to death from attending balls and dinners and soirees. If I do not see another glass of orgeat until next year, it would please me greatly.”

Lucy returned from where she’d been overseeing the unloading of the luggage. Verity gestured toward her maid. “Simmons, this is my new maid, Lucy Hull. She’ll need to know which rooms are ours.”

“Of course, my lady. Miss Hull, welcome to Nimway Hall.” He gestured to a footman, who dashed up and, bowing, escorted Lucy toward the pile of luggage. Simmons turned back to Verity. “Lady Barton, I hope you don’t mind, but when I saw your coach pulling up, I took the liberty to request a tea tray be sent to your bed chamber. I assume you still take a daily nap?”

“Why yes, I do. Thank you for remembering. You know how I enjoy my naps.”

The butler’s smile softened. “That I do, my lady.”

“Good. Now come, let’s get out of this damp air. It’s making my curls sag, and that I cannot stand. Besides, I should at least find a comfortable chair while I’m waiting on Charlotte’s return.”

Still smiling, Simmons bowed and led the way inside.