November 2
At breakfast, Mabelannounced that she and the girls would move into the dower house at the end of the week.
“Oh, will the house be ready that quickly? Most impressive.” Dev might have replied a little too cheerfully, because the corners of Mabel’s mouth turned down.
He hastened to show a respectful, albeit imaginary, regret. “Naturally, you will be missed. You and the girls will be welcome to dine with us anytime.”
“Of course,” Lucy echoed. “I look forward to getting to know my new family.”
“I daresay you look forward even more to making Hethersleigh your own.” Mabel eyed Lucy over her teacup. “I hope I did right in putting you in the Oak Room. Were you comfortable enough?”
Dev put down his coffee. The clink of cup on saucer sounded abnormally loud.
“It is a most comfortable room,” Lucy said. “It did get surprisingly cold, though. Do you suppose the window lets in a draft?”
“Oh no!” Mabel covered her mouth, as if shocked. “Do not let the servants hear that. The ones who have been in the family thelongest say the Veiled Lady sometimes shows her displeasure with a ghastly chill.”
Lucy lifted wide eyes towards Dev. “Is that so?”
He frowned. “I have heard that story,” he admitted. “But in my experience, the ghost usually expresses her displeasure in more obvious ways. Mysterious rapping sounds, for example, or pictures falling off the wall.”
His wife gasped. “You didn’t tell me that!”
“It has never happened tome. Only a few unwelcome guests have experienced it.” His uncle, the Reverend Mr. Charles Devlin, had come in for a surprising amount of harassment. The Veiled Lady evidently showed no partiality to men of the cloth.
Mabel pursed her lips. “Perhaps I ought to have put you in one of the guest chambers after all, Lucy. If you wish, we could—”
Dev cut her off. “Lucy will do perfectly well in the Oak Room.” He did not want to move his wife farther way. Not when things were going so well. Bad enough that a closed door stood between them!
An idea teased at the back of his mind. What if he was not the only one who objected to the door? It seemed ridiculous. Probably just wishful thinking. But then again...
“Devlin? Is something wrong?” A wrinkle of concern creased Lucy’s forehead.
“Hmm? No, merely thinking about some matters of business.” Dev took a bite of now-cold toast and turned his mind away from pointless speculations about the motives of spectral beings.
*
If Dev hadimagined that he and his wife would have time to sit down and talk, he soon found he was mistaken. He spent mostof the day in meetings. The meeting with his solicitor took far longer than he expected, in part because Mr. Mosley had a great deal of marital advice to impart.
Then Dev had to settle matters with the dowager. The terms of Mabel’s marriage contract made it clear how much money she should receive after Sir Graham’s death, so there was no need to negotiate an allowance. But Dev’s stepmother wasted a good deal of his time by telling him how foolish he’d been.
“I can only hope you do not regret this hasty marriage.” She shook her head, looking solemn. “I really believe that Miss Saunders would have suited you if you had given her a chance. Who knows what this Miss Halliwell is really like?”
“One thing I do know,” Dev said firmly, “is that marrying Lucy could not possibly be a greater mistake than marrying Elisabeth. Now, if you’ll excuse me—?” He looked pointedly in the direction of the door.
Mabel took the hint, though she did not like it. She pressed her lips into a thin, angry line, pushed back her chair, and swept out of the room.
Devlin leaned back in his chair.Whew!At least that was over. She would move to the dower house soon enough. Maybe then the newlyweds would have a moment to themselves.
*
As the daywore on, Dev never found the time for the heart-to-heart conversation he’d meant to have with Lucy. The vicar paid an unexpected call after dinner and did not leave until the hour had grown quite late.
So late, in fact, that when Dev turned in for the night, he did not bother summoning his valet. He undressed himself, washed, and pulled on a nightshirt.
Before he snuffed his candle, he glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was probably too late to pay a visit to his wife’s chamber, he regretfully concluded. Best just to get some rest. His wife would still be there tomorrow; he could talk to her then. He extinguished his candle and climbed into bed.
Only to jerk back the moment he touched the blanket. “What the hell?” He explored the counterpane in growing horror. Why was his bedding soaking wet?
