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“And he was writing to who?”
“To whom.”
I glare at him until he rolls his eyes. “You really haven’t read much family history, have you? Read the letters, everything will become clear. But don’t take too long over it, things are afoot that you haven’t even begun to imagine. The letters are something you should read.”
“What’s that supposed to—come back here!”
I watch as Dalton walks out through the doorway, ignoring my summons. Damn lawyer knows I can’t fire him. This family is so wrapped up in will conditions and red tape I have very little control over anything where the staff are concerned.
“Should we read them?” Carolyn asks, and I turn to find her looking shaken. Neither of us had any idea about these letters. Who is this Cordelia? And why does she have the same name as Delia’s great-grandmother?
“Yes. You take half and I’ll take half, then we’ll compare notes.”
Both of us are fast readers, and Dalton’s last words about not taking too long lit a fire under our collective asses. In ten minutes both I and Carolyn are sitting staring at each other, barely able to believe what we’ve been reading.
“So our great-grandfather,” Carolyn begins, and I nod. “And the final contestant—this Delia Anderson—her great-grandmother…”
I nod again. “The head cook for the estate.”
“Having an affair?”
“Hardly. They were going to get married. I think it’s pretty clear they were in love. This wasn’t torrid, Carolyn, it was…”
“Romantic,” she supplies.
“And tragic,” I agree, looking at the floor as I think about the fate that befell the pair.
The letters make everything clear, with an addendum from my great-grandfather’s surviving heir detailing the tragic circumstances surrounding their deaths on the day they eloped. The light wasn’t good enough, they took a wrong turn, their carriage overturned into the river.
Their whole story was like a grand romance from the beginning. My great-grandmother dying in childbirth, leaving my great-grandfather alone until Cordelia came into his service. Taking her on when she already had a young daughter was almost a social faux-pas on its own in those days, but his diary entries, included with the letters, make it clear that he saw something in her that changed everything for him.
It was a love affair from the very beginning. The father of Cordelia’s child had run off, breaking all his promises. Cordelia regretted the relationship immediately, but when she found out she was pregnant she always felt it was a blessing. Mr. Parker Worthington the First took her in, loved her, cherished her daughter and was going to marry her. Until fate intervened.
“Silas, what did…”
I look up to find Carolyn staring at me. She gulps before she continues.
“What did Dalton mean when he said that things were afoot we hadn’t begun to imagine?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. But I’m not going to sit here and find out. I’m going to find him and have it out with him.”
“But the ball. The contestant. Silas, what are we going to do about the inheritance?”
“I don’t care,” I tell her finally, tipping my hand. “I don’t care, Carolyn. It’s off. All of it. She’s won. She gets the estate. Agnes Cordelia Anderson is the new tenant here, with a trust fund large enough to give several millionaires I know a heart attack.”
“But why? What’s changed?”
“Everything! Everything has changed, I…” Love her.
The words echo in my head, and I’m not sure if I just thought them or said them out loud. But they’re true. I love her. I’m in love with her. She means more to me than any of this. For the first time in my life I care more about another person than I do about money and business and always winning at everything life throws at me.
“You what?”
“I have to go,” I tell her. “I’ll talk to you later, sis.”
And with that, I’m out of the door.
What brought me to this part of the house, I’m not sure, but I know that it was right.
Because all hell is breaking loose.
Possibly literally.
The noises coming from Delia’s room are like nothing I’ve ever heard in my life. Like a freight train is rushing through. Like a whirlwind is blowing. Like…like…
Voices.
Low, insistent voices.
“Delia!” I shout, breaking into a run as I head for her door. “Delia!”
“Go away! Stop all this! You’re not going to scare me out of the house!”
Her voice is frantic. Terrified. But strong. She thinks I’m doing this, which means…
I try the door, but the handle won’t budge. It’s not like it’s locked, it’s more like someone is holding it from the other side. Or something. No. No, this can’t be real. One of the ghost machines must have malfunctioned and started going off in her room on its own.
“Delia, let me in!”
“I know everything, Silas! I heard everything, all about your plans for the contestants, scaring them away and… How could you? How could you break my heart? For what? A house that’s already yours? It’s not going to work. It’s not going to—” She shrieks, and I hear her sob, needing to go to her. “Stop it! I don’t want to hear it!”
