Page 22 of Four Promises to Love

When it came to schemes, she had a motto: a lie reliably repeated is as good as the truth.

“As a seer, reliving the memories of those who have passed beyond the veil is not uncommon,” Finn said. “For some weeks now, I have been visited by a presence. A woman who goes by the name of”—she paused for effect—“Rose.”

The ladies gasped. Finn hid a smile.

Like taking sweets from a babe.

“Rose was the pet name of Thomas’s lover,” Xenia said in a hushed voice.

“And wife,” Evie added. “They married right before he passed.”

“The three of us have had visions of her as well,” Gigi blurted.

“More accurately, we’ve had visions as her.” Evie fiddled with her watercress sandwich before raising her earnest golden-brown eyes. “We’ve experienced her memories, you see. As if they were…well, our own.”

In Finn’s experience, high society ladies were impressionable. She’d studied mesmerists, and the tricks she’d learned proved helpful for her séances. Yet she was mildly surprised that the Harrington women, who seemed sensible and intelligent, would believe they were visited by a ghost. The same one, no less. Perhaps a life of privilege and propriety made them crave the titillation of the supernatural. As far as Finn was concerned, the more gullible these well-bred fillies were, the better.

“Rose has shared her past with me as well,” she said.

Her audience looked delighted.

“What has she shown you?” Gigi asked eagerly.

“When I commune with spirits, the images are like reflections in the water.” Finn kept her voice misty and vague. “They come in and out of focus…like ripples of consciousness.”

“That is odd.” Evie furrowed her brow. “I saw Rose’s memories quite clearly. Well, except for⁠—”

For some reason, Gigi elbowed her, and she stopped mid-sentence.

“Some visions were clear,” Finn said hastily. “For instance, I had repeated dreams of walking along a path lined with oaks. Eventually, it led to a house…an old country manor with a gabled roof and stone walls. The place had three rows of sash windows⁠—”

“Heavens,” Xenia squeaked. “You are describing Bottoms House to a T!”

“I see myself approaching this manor again and again.”

Finn went on as if she were caught in a memory. She fluttered her eyelids, then stared out the window without blinking her eyes (she’d practiced this until she could do it for two minutes straight). Smoothing her expression, she deepened her tone to a hypnotic register.

“I feel a longing to enter this place. To search for something…something I lost. Until I find it, I cannot rest in peace. I must go inside. But I cannot…unless I am invited.”

Gigi, Xenia, and Evie inhaled sharply.

“I’ve a treat for you, my ladies. Fresh from the oven!”

The cheerful voice broke the spell. Finn bit back a curse as Mrs. Pettigrew trundled toward their table. The middle-aged matron’s cap sat askew atop her salt-and-pepper curls, and her gaze was bright with excitement. She cradled a dish as if it were a newborn babe, holding a small pitcher in her other hand.

“At long last, I have made my great-grandmama’s recipe as she intended it to be made,” Mrs. Pettigrew announced.

Xenia’s gaze shot to the dish. “Heavens, is that⁠—”

“It is indeed, my lady. Bloody Poor Knights of Windsor pudding, as conceived by my Great-Grandmama Esther. Now I may serve it with the original Chuddums cherry sauce—thanks to our very own Countess of Manderly, who revived the cherry crop.”

Evie blushed as Xenia and Gigi raised their teacups to toast her.

“This initial crop was small,” Evie said. “With any luck, the yield will increase over time as the Widow’s Moth population grows.”

Despite her annoyance, Finn had to ask. “What do moths have to do with cherries?”

“You’ve asked the right woman,” Xenia said. “Evie is writing a book on the subject.”