Shades of the Past Page 9

  It was the end of her first day at Deveril House as Marianna’s chaperone. She wore an olive green taffeta evening gown, a few years out of date, as Miles had planned. It was plain and unostentatious, and with it she had a simple cream silk shawl. Her hair was in a Grecian knot that she had somehow pinned in place herself. Regency Laura was clearly very nimble-fingered.

  She wasn’t alone, for Stephen was at her side, and they’d just returned from an after-dinner stroll in the gardens. Blair’s spaniels had accompanied them, while Blair himself was down at the tunnel consulting with the canal engineer, who’d arrived post haste from London. Marianna was writing a long letter in the drawing room, having been instructed to do so by her brother, who felt that such a letter to an elderly cousin in Scotland was disgracefully overdue.

  The walk in the gardens hadn’t gone well because Laura knew she’d spent most of it trying to make Stephen see reason over Marianna, and now she resumed the argument. “Stephen, I still say you’re being reckless beyond belief,” she said, her voice low so that Harcourt and the footmen couldn’t hear.

  “I wish you didn’t know anything about it,” Stephen muttered.

  “Well, I do know. Stephen, the future Lady Sivintree is most definitely out of bounds, so it’s madness to continue what you began at the New Year in Weymouth. You must stop. If it should all come out, you’ll not only ruin Marianna’s reputation, but will have Sir Blair’s justifiable fury to face as well, and he’s unlikely to be understanding.”

  “I don’t need reminding of the dangers,” he replied, running a hand slowly through his hair. He wore a corbeau-colored coat and white silk breeches, and looked tired and anxious, as well he might under the circumstances. But his pallor was also a reminder that he was neither hale nor hearty. He looked earnestly at her. “What do you think Blair would say if I went to him and confessed about my feelings for Marianna?”

  Her eyes widened. “I think he’d throw pieces of you to the dogs,” she replied bluntly, bending to pat one of the spaniels.

  Stephen sighed. “You’re right.” He changed the subject. “Have you thought of anywhere else we might look for the necklace?”

  They’d used every spare moment that day to look in all the likely places, but to no avail. She shook her head. “It’s obviously kept somewhere very safe indeed, and to be honest, I don’t know how we’re going to find it. If Sir Blair has a safe, which he is certain to, he has wisely put it somewhere no one else knows about or can happen upon by accident.”

  Stephen glanced at her. “Maybe we should simply ask him.”

  She was exasperated. “At the dinner table, maybe? How excellent this mulligatawny soup is, Sir Blair, and by the way, where are the diamonds?”

  “I wasn’t envisaging it quite like that. Come on, Laura, you’ve clearly made considerable progress with him—indeed I’d go so far as to say you’ve definitely aroused his interest—so what harm would there be in mentioning the necklace? No, don’t look at me like that, for I was going on to say that as Celina is wearing it in the portrait in the library, I’m sure you could naturally refer to it.”

  “So could you,” she pointed out, and then fell silent. Yes, she’d aroused Blair’s interest, it was there in his glance— the desire, the exciting shadows, the hint of sensuality that promised so very much—but he hadn’t said or done anything to take things further. The anticipation was suspense beyond belief, but Celina’s ghost filled the house, and she it was that he saw when he looked at Laura Reynolds. The beloved shade, not the living woman.

  The ticking of the clock seemed loud as she glanced regretfully at Stephen. “I don’t think it would be wise for either of us to mention Celina’s portrait. She’s still mistress of this house. And of its master,” she added quietly.

  “He wants to forget her, why else is he selling this place?”

  She looked quickly at him. “You know about that?”

  “He told me last night, and that he’d told you.”

  “What of Marianna?”

  He shook his head. “He’s waiting until her own plans divert her.”

  “He’s wrong to do that,” Laura murmured.

  Stephen leaned against the newel post and returned to the matter of Celina. “Have you seen the portrait yet?”

  “No, I haven’t been in the library. There seem to be so many painters and plasterers that I presumed it was closed.”

  “You can still get to the books, and you can certainly see the portrait. It’s on the wall above the chimneypiece, and you really should take a look. It could be a picture of you, Laura.”

  A reproachful female voice suddenly addressed them from the top of the staircase. “Where have you two been? I’ve been looking for you.” It was Marianna, pretty in cherry silk, her pink ruby earrings sparkling as she came down toward them.

  Stephen smiled adoringly. “Forgive us, but it was such a warm evening we went for a walk in the gardens. We thought you were intent on letter-writing.”

  “My brother was intent upon my letter-writing,” she corrected. “Oh, I’ve composed quite a lot, and will finish it later.”

  There was a clatter from the entrance hall as the footmen finished lighting the chandeliers, and folded the stepladders to carry them away. The spaniels immediately pattered over to Harcourt, for it was their mealtime.

  Marianna looked at Stephen again. “Will you play cards with me? Oh, and you too, of course, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  Laura smiled at the lack of enthusiasm for her presence, and was about to politely decline when Stephen accepted for her. “Cards? Yes, we’d both love to join you, Miss Deveril.”

  Marianna sighed. “I’m so enjoying this time before Alex and his horrid father arrive from Ireland. My life won’t be my own once they’re here.”

  Laura shifted uncomfortably, aware of her duties as chaperone. “I don’t think Sir Blair would approve of such sentiments,” she warned.

  “Well, the earl is horrid, and Alex isn’t much better.”

  “If you feel so strongly, perhaps you should speak to Sir Blair.”

  “I’ve tried, but he won’t listen.” Marianna paused. “Will you speak to him for me?” she asked suddenly.

  Laura was startled. “Me?”

  “Yes. He’ll pay attention to you.”

  Color entered Laura’s cheeks. “I doubt that very much. Besides, it’s hardly my place to speak to him on such a subject.”

  “It is if I ask you. Oh, please, Laura. You remind him of Celina, and he always listened to her,” Marianna replied with painful honesty.

  Laura colored still more. “Paying attention to his late wife is rather different from accepting advice from a hired chaperone.”

  “Maybe, but will you help me?” Marianna pleaded.

  Laura gave in. “I’ll try, but I doubt it will make the slightest difference, and in the meantime, please try to show more restraint. It really distresses Sir Blair when you constantly refer to how like the late Lady Deveril I am.”

  “But—”

  “Please, Miss Deveril.”

  Stephen came to her aid. “Mrs. Reynolds is right, Marianna.”

  “Oh, I suppose she is,” Marianna conceded ruefully. “I just get carried away. It’s very immature, I know,” she added, with unexpected insight.

  Perhaps Blair’s little sister was growing up after all, Laura thought.

  Marianna turned to Stephen. “Let’s get to the cards then,” she said, and her cherry skirts rustled as she hurried back up the staircase.

  Stephen looked at Laura. “We’ve been dragooned, I believe.”

  “You’ve been dragooned, I’m merely a necessary adjunct,” she corrected. “Besides, I’d rather take a look at Celina’s portrait now the library is empty, provided I can trust you alone with Marianna. Can I?”

  “Of course!” he replied indignantly.

  “See that you mean it. I’ll join you in a while.”

  He hastened after Marianna, and Laura followed more slowly, pausing at the top
to select a candle from the table where a number were kept in readiness and could be lighted from a night lamp placed there at dusk. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but she wished to examine the portrait properly.

  Stephen and Marianna could be heard in the drawing room as she crossed the landing and paused to look into the ballroom, so vast and empty now that it was hard to believe how many guests had thronged it for the ball.

  The library was dark, and the smell of paint and fresh plaster was very strong as she went inside. Dust sheets loomed eerily in the darkness and as she closed the door behind her the candle flame shivered. Glass-fronted bookcases reflected the leaping light as she stepped carefully around a decorator’s trestle to pick her way past the sacks of plaster, buckets of paint and varnish, and other paraphernalia littering the room.

  Apart from the bookcases, most of the furniture had been moved to one side and protected with more sheets, but the covering over a large pedestal desk had been dragged aside. On the polished green leather surface stood a decanter of cognac and a glass.

  She saw the portrait facing her from the chimney breast, and her breath caught, for everything she’d been told was true. She and Celina Deveril might be one and the same person. She went to look more closely, placing the candle-holder on the mantelshelf before gazing up at the canvas. Celina was seated in the Deveril House rose arbor, with a basket of flowers on the table and more blooms loose on her lap. She wore a low-necked white muslin evening gown that clung to her figure, and her hair tumbled in chestnut profusion over her bare shoulders. She looked charmingly informal, except for the dazzling three-string diamond choker gracing her throat. The Lowestoft diamonds, if Miles was to be believed.

  The candlelight swayed over the exquisite brushwork, and Laura’s absorption was complete. There was something uncanny about looking at someone who was so like her she might have been looking in a mirror.

  There was a step in the doorway behind her. It was Blair.

  Chapter Nine

  Blair’s hair was windswept after riding back from the tunnel, his dark blue coat was unbuttoned, and he’d loosened his neckcloth a little.

  He came toward her, and Laura felt her cheeks redden at being caught so obviously studying the portrait. “I—I’m sorry, Sir Blair, I didn’t mean to...”

  “There’s no need to apologize, Mrs. Reynolds. The portrait is hardly a secret, nor is the fact that you and my late wife might be twins.”

  He stood beside her to study the portrait. “That necklace looks as if it were fashioned for her, don’t you think?” he said softly.

  “It—it’s a very fine piece of jewelry.”

  “I wish it had been made for her, but the truth is more mundane. I fear it was won at the card table.” He reached up to touch the painted diamonds. “She loved that necklace more than anything else, and wore it at every opportunity. I vow, society must have wondered if I was a miser and it was the only piece she possessed.”

  “I can see you loved her very much.”

  “I still do,” he murmured.

  His words were painful to her, and she spoke of something else. “I—I trust the engineer didn’t report too badly at the tunnel. Sir Blair?”

  “I fear he and I are at odds. He says the damage can be ignored as nothing further will develop, but I have reservations. What if he’s wrong?”

  He is, a roof-collapse happens here in 1818, she thought, remembering what Gulliver had said. “Perhaps you should follow your own judgment, Sir Blair.”

  “It’s better to be safe than sorry?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled. “Probably, but I have to consider the livelihoods of those who work on the canal. Closing the tunnel for unnecessary repairs means severing their income. It’s one thing if I have no choice, quite another if I merely have vague doubts.”

  “It can’t be easy for you.”

  “It’s part of life’s rich tapestry,” he murmured, and then looked at her and sighed. “Life’s tapestry is also what Marianna must soon face up to properly, Mrs. Reynolds, and I’m anxious that she should be prepared. As you know, Lord Sivintree and his son will soon arrive from Ireland, and the betrothal will take place soon afterward. May I speak frankly?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “As a widow, you’re accustomed to how things are in this world. Rightly or wrongly, a wife is supposed to obey her husband, but I’m afraid Marianna will confront Alex Handworth on everything. To say she lacks subtlety is to make a monstrous understatement, and she’s making it clear she doesn’t hold her future husband in particularly high esteem. Storm clouds loom on all horizons, and I’d appreciate it if you did all in your power to impress upon her that she’ll achieve far more if she toes the line. Defiance and the stamping of pretty feet don’t succeed, but charm and circumspection often do.”

  Remembering Marianna’s request, Laura held his gaze. “Forgive me for saying this, Sir Blair, but is this match the best thing for Marianna?”

  “It’s what my father wished.”

  “It isn’t what Marianna wishes.”

  He met her gaze. “Your solicitude for my sister does you credit, Mrs. Reynolds, but you trespass upon that which does not concern you. I’ve employed you to attend to Marianna’s introduction to society, and that is all I’ve employed you to do.”

  The rebuke washed icily over her, and she wished she’d held her tongue. “I’m sorry I caused offense, Sir Blair.”

  “I’m not offended, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “I fear you are, sir, and rightly so.”

  A glimmer of humor touched his lips. “Mrs. Reynolds, I strongly suspect you’d have said nothing at all if my sister hadn’t prompted you.”

  She flushed a little.

  “I thought as much.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t agree with her,” she added.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

  “At the risk of trespassing all over again, I have to say I fear Marianna is so firmly set against the match that nothing will dispel the storm clouds you mentioned a moment ago.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I’ll bear what you say in mind, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said then.

  “I do hope you aren’t too angry with me.”

  He looked into her eyes, and then suddenly put his hand to her cheek. “It’s impossible to be angry with you,” he said softly.

  His touch seared her skin, and she came within a heartbeat of closing her eyes and moving against his fingers.

  Another heartbeat passed, and he lowered his hand in some embarrassment. “Now I’m the one who trespasses,” he murmured, and moved away from her. “Where is Marianna now?”

  “In the drawing room playing cards with Mr. Woodville. I was about to join them when you came in.”

  “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll honor you all with my company in due course.”

  Their eyes met again, and then she turned to hurry away.

  Blair gazed after her, and then turned to the portrait. “Oh, Celina, why do you still do this to me?” he breathed, but the painted eyes gazed sightlessly back, and the sweet lips remained in their eternal smile.

  He went to the great writing desk to pour a large measure of cognac, and drained the glass in one mouthful before pouring another. Then he turned to the doorway where last he’d seen Laura, and raised the drink in salute.“I wish I’d never met you, Mrs. Reynolds, but here’s to you anyway,” he muttered, and then emptied the second glass. A wry smile played upon his lips as he reached for the decanter again. To hell with cards; tonight he intended to drown his sorrows. And lay ghosts.

  There was no sign of Blair when the three card-players abandoned their game at past midnight. Candle in hand, Laura crossed the landing to go to her room on the third floor, but she paused at the foot of the secondary staircase, right opposite the library, because she couldn’t help noticing the faint light shining beneath the door. After a moment she went on up.

  Her room was at the back of the house, in a wing that
wouldn’t survive to become part of the hotel. It overlooked the kitchen garden and part of the stables, and in daylight she could see the windows of the low outbuilding that would one day be converted into the Fitzgeralds’ private apartment.

  Moonlight flooded everything as she placed the candle on the bedside table and then drew the curtains. How and when would this adventure end? Would she have to bring it to a close herself by going back down the main staircase? Or would it just happen?

  The olive green taffeta whispered as she stepped out of it to slip into a voluminous white silk nightgown with pink ribbon ties at the throat. She got into the bed, and lay back between the lavender-scented sheets. For a moment she was afraid to close her eyes, fearing to trigger the time travel, but when at last she did so, she remained in the past. She lay there in the darkness, her thoughts of Blair and the way he’d suddenly put his hand to her cheek. What had it signified? His attraction toward her for herself? Or the temptation to touch someone who momentarily brought Celina back? Common sense told her it was the latter, but oh, how she wished it were the former...

  Sleep overtook her, but she awoke with a sudden start. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up expecting to find herself in her hotel room, but she was still in 1818. What had disturbed her?

  Flinging the bedclothes aside, she went to the door to look into the passage. Everything was dark and deserted. Many of the upper servants slept on this floor, including Harcourt, but no one else seemed to have heard anything, for all the doors remained closed. Gathering up her nightgown, she hurried to the secondary staircase and looked down toward the landing.

  Slowly she descended, and as if to emphasize the lateness of the hour, the clock in the entrance hall began to chime three in the morning. The notes drifted gently up through the silent house as she saw the faint waver of candlelight still shining beneath the library door. Was it Blair?