“A sword fight?” she repeated, puzzled. “Very well.”
They read silently. Finn kept glancing up. Once he caught her looking too, and smiled.
“Here’s a tale,” she said finally. “Listen.”
She read out loud, “‘Witnesses have reported seeing the ghosts of two men, who are seen dueling on the castle’s battlements on dark winter nights. The fight is hard fought, but the ghosts usually fade before any witness can determine who won, or who the men were. Some descriptions suggest that the men might be costumed in the style of those living during the Jacobite Risings, or perhaps a little earlier.’”
Finn’s heart leaped. “Go on,” he urged.
Camellia nodded. “‘It is assumed the men both delivered mortal blows, and are thus doomed to reenact the fight for eternity, damned by their murderous actions. At least one tale hints the ghosts betrayed each other, fighting in a manner not worthy of gentlemen…’ It says poison was used, though not by whom.” She broke off when she saw his distant expression. “Mr Ryder? Are you well?”
“May I?” He held out his hand, and Camellia quickly gave him the book.
“This tale has nothing to do with the one Hortense told about the Welsh Ghost,” she said. “Though they are described as being dressed in the same style of clothing as the Silver Lady.”
“Yes, they are. That’s fine,” Finn murmured, lost in the brief narrative in the book. “It’s helpful.”
“Why?”
“Because…” He paused. How could he explain it to Camellia without explaining everything else? “I think it’s important. Everything is connected somehow.”
“I’d still like to know what Hortense was about. She suggested her father would tell another after dinner tonight.”
Finn felt a sudden flash of intuition. “I’ll bet you anything it will be this one.”
“You ought not to gamble like that, sir. It’s very unlikely.”
“Then take the bet. Name your stakes.” Finn’s heart beat faster, the way it did when he was dead certain about something.
Camellia stared at him for a moment. Then she said, “Very well. My stakes are that you’ll tell me what scandal caught you on the Continent.”
He recoiled. “No.”
“You offered the wager.” She crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly. “Will you withdraw it?”
He took a breath. “All right, you’ve got your wager. Besides, I won’t lose.”
“I worry for you, Mr Ryder. You will lose someday.”
“If I lose to you, Miss Swift, I’ll count myself lucky.”
She shook her head. “I should go.”
“Wait.”
She turned back. “What?”
“May I speak very plainly, if you will not be insulted?”
She gave him her attention. “On the contrary, such a preface assures my interest.”
“You’ve turned down marriage proposals already, true?”
“You’ve been asking about me?” she wondered. “Yes. I have.”
“Why?”
“Because the proposals were tendered by gentlemen I had no wish to marry,” she said.
