“Wherein Belinda makes a decision.”

 

“He’s dreadfully handsome, isn’t he?”

Belle followed the gaze of the Bridgeford twins as they watched the marquess cut Lady Scranford dead. It was Caro who had spoken, though it was hard to tell, as they were two peas in a pod. But Caro’s blue eyes were rather lighter than Dinah’s, though Belle felt sure she wouldn’t be able to tell unless they were side by side.

“Not very gallant, though,” Dinah said, her pretty face full of disapproval. “Not to say Isabella didn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, she deserved it and more,” Caro insisted, looking positively gleeful. “The marquess has quite made my night. I think he’s wonderful.”

Her twin gave an unladylike snort of amusement that implied she didn’t actually disagree.

Belle watched the glowering figure as he found another solitary spot in the room, obviously hoping everyone would leave him be. She felt a rush of compassion for the man and wondered if he truly wanted to be left alone, or if at heart he believed he wasn’t fit company. Either way, it seemed a horribly lonely way to live.

She looked away as Lord Nibley came to stand beside her. Belle smiled up at the gaunt young man and Violette’s rather dashing husband, Mr Russell.

“How are you enjoying yourself, Miss Holbrook?” Mr Russell asked. “I hope this terrifying house hasn’t put you in a quake? I have to say, it has me, I’ve been lost three times since breakfast.”

Belle laughed, finding herself immediately at ease in the charming young man’s presence. “It is rather daunting, I have to admit,” she said, trying not to notice her appalling aunt edging into a conversation with Lady Russell’s sweet natured sister, Lady Sinclair, and the Countess Falmouth. “But I have memorised the route back to my room and intend to go no further without a guide.”

Mr Russell chuckled. “A fine idea, and one I should have considered myself. I implore you to stick to it, Miss Holbrook, for if not for the fortuitous intervention of a kindly footman, I’d be stumbling around in the dark avoiding ghosts even now.”

“Ghosts?”

Belle sighed as her sister cut Lord Stanthorpe’s conversation off at the knees and walked away from him.

“Are there truly ghosts, Mr Russell? I felt sure there must be.” Crecy’s lovely face was alight with interest, her grey eyes wide and sparkling, and just for a moment Belle was struck with just a tiny, unwelcome prickle of envy. Oh, to command such attention without even trying. Even Mr Russell, who was very obviously in love with his wife, looked just a little dazed.

“Ah ... yes, actually. According to my wife, there are quite a few, some friendlier than others.”

To Belle’s amusement, Mr Russell looked rather troubled by the fact, whereas her sister looked positively enraptured.

“Oh, where? Where may we find the ghosts, Mr Russell?” she demanded, practically bouncing on the spot as her admirers watched her with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

“Erm” Mr Russell cleared his throat and gave a shrug. “You’d have to ask my wife,” he said, quite clearly wondering why anyone in their right mind would want to go out of their way to find a ghost. “I admit, I intended to ask for the information myself, but simply so that I could be sure to avoid them.”

“Oh,” Crecy cried. “How hen-hearted you are!”

“Lucretia!” Belle exclaimed in horror as Crecy flushed.

“I do beg your pardon, Mr Russell,” Crecy said hurriedly, looking mortified.

Thankfully the charming Mr Russell simply laughed. “No, Miss Lucretia has the right of it. I am hen-hearted where ghosts are concerned. I find have no desire whatsoever to see one.”

“Oh,” Crecy said, looking as though she thought this quite incomprehensible. “I think it would be splendid,” she said with a longing sigh.

Quite predictably, there were then a raft of invitations from the gentlemen offering to give Miss Lucretia a moonlit tour of the castle. Sadly, Aunt Grimble had overheard this and bore down on them, implying with a shocking lack of propriety that Lord Stanthorpe would make an admirable guide. The implications of this were only too clear to Belle, who flushed with embarrassment and rage.

The sweet-natured Lord Stanthorpe stuttered acceptance, if perhaps Belle would accompany them? Belle rejected the idea with a firm rejoinder that ghost hunting was not a suitable past time for a young lady. Sending her aunt a look of pure venom, which she would no doubt pay for, Belle disengaged Crecy from her ardent admirers and drew her aside to give her a stern talking to. Crecy accused Belle of being a crashing bore, when one of the only reasons she had wanted to come in the first place was to see the ghosts, and stalked off to find someone more amusing to talk to.

Belle let out a frustrated sigh and then started as a deep voice spoke behind her.

“The ghost of one of the housekeepers is supposed to roam the west wing. She was murdered by a footman a few hundred years ago. You could placate Miss Lucretia by telling her she has every chance of seeing her walk in her very own room, if that would please her.”

Belle turned in alarm, not sure if she was more astonished by the fact that the marquess had voluntarily spoken to her, or horrified at the idea of a ghost visiting either Crecy’s or her room!

“It may indeed make my sister the happiest of young women,” she replied, watching the marquess with a wary eye. “I, however, shall not get a wink of sleep for my entire stay,” she added with asperity.

She thought she saw the man’s lips twitch just a little, but other than that, he betrayed no reaction, his dark green eyes on her with little interest that she could discern. She shifted under his cool, indifferent gaze and didn’t know what next to say. With horror, she realised he would now leave her standing as he had Lady Scranford, when Mr Russell joined them and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Good evening, Edward, I see you have met Miss Holbrook. You may be seeing much of her, as I am informed by my wife that she has every intention of making her a close friend.”

Belle could have kissed the man at that moment, so great was her relief at not being cut dead by the marquess. She sent Mr Russell a grateful smile, and as the marquess was still silent, filled the conversational space he’d left gaping.

“That is so very kind of your wife, Mr Russell. I pray you convey to her how very grateful both I and my sister are for her kind attentions. Indeed, I very much look forward to knowing her better.”

Aubrey nodded his approval of this, and they both looked around in surprise as the marquess did speak.

“What happened with this project of yours, Russell?” he demanded, with the wave of one hand, a rather disinterested and superior look glinting in his eyes.

Mr Russell’s face closed off somewhat, though Belle could see fierce pride blazing in his hazel eyes.

“Extraordinarily well, actually, Edward,” he replied, and Belle got the distinct feeling that the marquess’ Christian name was very deliberately spoken, even though the marquess had not used his. Though of course they were brothers-in-law and Christian names ought to be perfectly normal, she felt instinctively that there was no little animosity between the two men. “In fact, I’m sure you’ll read all about it in the news sheets over the next few days.”

There was a glimmer of surprise in the marquess’ eyes and Belle grinned inwardly. Well done, Mr Russell, she silently applauded.

To her relief Mr Russell turned to her and explained what the project was, as she could never have asked and was dying to know.

“Have you heard of George Stevenson?” he asked, clearly expecting a reply in the negative, as such things were not generally of interest to young ladies. Well ... most young ladies. Belle however was delighted.

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed, quite unable to hide her interest as she might have done if she’d thought about it. “The Kilmarnock and Troon railway! Is it true they have carried passengers all that distance, and at such speeds?”

Aubrey looked at her in surprise, his handsome face creasing into a wide smile.

“Why, yes, indeed, Miss Holbrook. In fact, I had the honour of travelling on it myself.”

“Oh!” Belle stared at him in awe and couldn’t help herself as the questions tumbled out. “What was it like? Was it terribly fast? How many passengers were there? What did it feel like?”

“I’m sure if you pause for breath long enough, Mr Russell would be delighted to answer you.”

The words were icy and cutting and Belle flushed, her pleasure quite taken from her. Mr Russell sent the marquess a quelling look of cool dislike before returning to her.

“Miss Holbrook, you have no idea how refreshing it is to find someone as interested in my project as I am. Perhaps you would care to join myself and Violette. She accompanied me on my visit, and I am sure she would also be delighted to discuss it with us.” He held out his arm and the two of them walked away without giving the marquess a backward glance.

For a moment, she felt a surge of pure triumph, as the wretched man had been odious and appallingly rude, but rather later she noticed him still alone, still forbidding, and quite obviously troubled, and her heart went out to him nonetheless.

***

“I’ve made up my mind,” Belle said to Crecy, smothering a yawn as the two of them sprawled over her bed later that evening.

Crecy looked up, her grey eyes full of hope. “You’ve decided to come ghost hunting with me?”

Belle tutted in disgust and suppressed a shudder, looking at the dark corners of her bedroom with misgiving. “No,” she replied, her voice brooking no argument. “And I told you, just stay in your room and if you’re really lucky you’ll see a murdered housekeeper,” she said, her tone dry.

Crecy gave a happy sigh and Belle rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, as I was saying ...” she continued, sliding her satin slippers from her feet and rubbing her toes. “I think it will have to be Lord Nibley.”

Crecy blinked and stared at her, obviously shaken from daydreams of murdered servants long enough to turn her attention to her sister. “What will have to be Lord Nibley?” she asked with suspicion.

Belle tutted and flung a cushion at her. “Really, Crecy, can you keep your mind from the dead for one moment and attend to the problems of the living? Why are we even here? I have to find a husband!”

Crecy gaped at her and then gave a determined shake of her head. “Oh no!” she exclaimed, quite surprisingly vehement in her objection. “No, no, he won’t do at all.”

Belle slid off the bed and gestured for Crecy to undo the lacing at the back of her dress.

“Why ever not? He’s very wealthy and seems a rather kind man. I think he’d do very well,” she replied, trying to sound enthusiastic about the idea, though in truth, it didn’t appeal to her greatly either. Part of her hoped Crecy had heard he was a committed gambler or libertine and she could put the idea from her head. It seemed rather unlikely.

“B-but he’s so ... dull!” Crecy objected. “And if he went out and found some curiously shaped rock or something, he’d probably forget to come home at all!”

Belle tutted at her sister in a disapproving manner, but conceded privately that there might be some truth in the words. She had spoken at length with Lord Nibley earlier. Well, they had stumbled around an appallingly stilted conversation for the best part of fifteen minutes, until she’d been so utterly desperate that she’d uttered the fateful words, “I hear you’re interested in geology, my lord.” Well. There had been plenty of conversation after that, all right, all of it one-sided and most of it utterly incomprehensible. After the first twenty minutes Belle had admitted to herself the rather unkind thought that if one of his blasted rocks had been to hand she’d have thrown it at him.

“He isn’t dull at all, he’s ... he’s academic,” she said with dignity, hanging her dress up with care and turning her attention to Crecy’s. “And it’s not as if I have any other options. He’s the only single man who so much as acknowledged my existence.”

She undid the fastenings of Crecy’s gown as her sister made a disparaging noise, and mentally thanked Violette for being so thoughtful as to give them connecting rooms. They couldn’t afford the services of a lady’s maid, giving the excuse that theirs had been taken suddenly ill if anyone asked, and always saw to each other’s toilette.

“The marquess spoke to you,” Crecy said, turning her head and giving Belle a diabolical grin. “You’re the only female he spoke to all night, you know.”

Belle felt an unaccountable lurch of something in her chest at the idea that the imperious marquess might have taken note of her, and then gave a bark of laughter.

“Yes, he went out of his way to try and frighten me off, not just from him, but out of the castle itself!” she replied, shaking her head in amusement.

Crecy went off into peals of laughter and sat back on the bed in her shift and stays, leaving her dress where it had fallen. Belle sighed and picked it up.

“Well I think you would do him good, Belle, but I’m afraid you might be right,” she admitted as Belle hung it beside her own. “I heard him muttering to Lord Falmouth about the peculiar Holbrook girls and their vulgar aunt. I believe he referred to me as the pretty, odd one, though I think he may have meant, the pretty odd one,” she corrected with a grin. “And apparently you’re a blue stocking with too many opinions.”

Belle gaped at her. “He ... he said what?”

Crecy tutted and began to repeat herself. “He said Aunt Grimble was vulgar ...”

“Oh, I don’t give a damn about Aunt Grimble, everyone can see she’s vulgar!” she cried in fury, as Crecy gaped at her outburst in astonishment. “What did he say about me?”

Crecy swallowed and gave her a wary look. “Umm, he said you were a blue stocking with too many opinions.”

“Well, of all the ...” Any sympathetic feelings she made have harboured for the damaged marquess went abruptly up in smoke as Belle seethed with indignation. How dare he!

Of course, she should never have shown such an interest in Stevenson’s locomotive engine, usually she knew better. But meeting a man so recently having seen the project first-hand had lit her enthusiasm, and Mr Russell hadn’t seemed to mind at all, nor Mrs Russell, come to that.

With fury, Belle made herself a solemn vow that if ever she should have words with the marquess again, she would stand up to him and not, under any circumstances, back down. A blue stocking she may be, but hen-hearted she wasn’t.

On the other hand, she also decided that - if at all possible - she’d go a long way out of her way not to speak to him at all!