Chapter Two
“Jack Clarke! How wonderful to see you again.”
The cheerful greeting was pronounced by Colonel Arthur Blackwood, a tall, broad-shouldered widower in his early fifties who had recently retired from the Royal Army, and whose thinning, auburn hair was peppered with grey.
Selena had briefly made his acquaintance when he had arrived with the second group of guests.
The grandfather clock in the hall had just struck seven and most of the party were assembled in the elegant, spacious drawing room, Selena’s favorite room in the house.
Ancestral portraits and landscapes adorned the sage-green walls.
A multitude of mirrors in gilded frames reflected the flickering candlelight from the ornate bronze-and-crystal chandeliers.
Sofas and chairs upholstered in shades of blue and green faced each other in small groups and multi-colored Turkish carpets were scattered across the polished oak floor.
The immense Yule log that burned in the carved marble hearth added a soft, warm glow to the room, which was as festively bedecked as the great hall with multitudes of holiday garlands.
The footmen circulated with drinks in crystal glasses on silver trays. The guests had dressed for dinner and the hum of conversation and gentle laughter filled the room.
“And what a pleasure to see you, sir,” Mr. Clarke was saying, as he and Colonel Blackwood heartily shook hands.
Selena stood alongside the two gentlemen, warmed by her cocktail and by the obvious affection between the two.
She felt pretty in the black velvet gown with silver trim that her benefactress had generously ordered from Paris.
The gentlemen had both dressed for dinner in well-tailored black suits, white ties, and white satin waistcoats.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to join us, Clarke,” Colonel Blackwood remarked. “You’re such a busy man.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this house party for the world.” Mr. Clarke turned to Selena with a smile. “The last time I saw this man was in Dublin—what was it, eighteen months ago?”
“Indeed,” the colonel replied. “We ran into each other by the purest chance.”
Mr. Clarke shot the colonel a grin. “How can you cross Dublin without passing a pub?”
Colonel Blackwood raised his cocktail. “You must stop in at every single one.”
The two men chuckled at the joke and clinked glasses. Selena laughed along with them.
“We certainly put that theory to the test, didn’t we?” Mr. Clarke grinned.
“We did and yet lived to tell the tale,” the colonel replied. “So, my friend, what have you been up to?”
“No good, as usual.” Mr. Clarke waggled his eyebrows.
“But seriously.” Colonel Blackwood gave him a direct look. “You always seem to have some new business venture or scheme in the works.”
Mr. Clarke’s smile faltered. “I have been working on something. But …”
“I knew it,” the colonel replied. “Do tell.”
“I’m not at liberty to talk about it at present.” Mr. Clarke lowered his gaze.
Selena sensed that Mr. Clarke was avoiding the colonel’s gaze and wondered why.
A flash of impatience crossed Colonel Blackwood’s features and then it was gone. “You can tell me anything, old fellow.”
Shaking his head, Mr. Clarke gave a sigh and said, “I’ve reached that age—like you, I’m thinking of retiring.”
“I highly recommend retirement.” Colonel Blackwood bobbed his head. “All the time in the world to see and do things.”
“And to take holidays like this one.” Mr. Clarke sipped his drink.
“We ought to meet again next summer,” Colonel Blackwood suggested, “at the Worthing Seaside Hotel.”
“Marvelous spot!” enthused Mr. Clarke. “I have such fond memories of the place.”
“How did you pass your time there?” Selena asked, curious.
“Lots of long walks on the beach,” Colonel Blackwood replied, “swapping stories and watching the boats sail by.”
“Mrs. Goodwin ran that hotel like a tight ship,” Mr. Clarke said. “She was a good soul. Served fine meals—and the best wine. How many nights did we end up drinking ourselves under the table?”
“Too many to count.”
The two men exchanged another laugh.
“Speaking of which. Mrs. H!” Mr. Clarke called out to Mrs. Hillman, who stood nearby in conversation with Mrs. Whitlock. “Why isn’t Flora Goodwin here? We all liked her so much. I thought you planned to invite her to this reunion?”
An awkward silence filled the room. Selena shifted her feet uneasily. She knew why Mrs. Goodwin was not here and judging from the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of everyone except Mr. Clarke, they did too.
Mrs. Hillman cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to say, Mr. Clarke, that Mrs. Goodwin passed away a few months ago. I’m sure I wrote to you about it?”
Mr. Clarke’s eyes widened, and his cheeks grew pink. “Ah. I do seem to recall now that you mentioned something about that. Forgive me. Things seem to fall out of my head these days. I’m sorry that she is gone.”
“So am I.” Colonel Blackwood’s brow wrinkled. “I was shocked, Mrs. Hillman, when you wrote with the news. Mrs. Goodwin couldn’t have been more than fifty years old, am I right? And she seemed to be in perfect health.”
Mrs. Hillman nodded. “It is very sad. I know we will all miss her.”
“I suppose that hotel will go to rack and ruin now.” Mrs. Whitlock heaved a sigh.
“I hope not,” Mrs. Hillman retorted sharply. “Mrs. Goodwin’s daughter, Nancy, has been helping to run the place the past couple of years, and she has now taken over. In fact, Miss Goodwin is here now, along with the man to whom she is engaged, and they will be staying for the holidays.”
“What? You invited the daughter?” Mrs. Whitlock sounded aghast.
“I did,” Mrs. Hillman answered.
“Why?” demanded Mrs. Whitlock.
Mrs. Hillman took a breath as if struggling to remain calm.
“Because, my dear Mrs. Whitlock, when I sent Mrs. Goodwin the invitation, her daughter replied with the sad news of her mother’s death and mentioned that she was newly betrothed.
Knowing that the hotel would be closed for the winter and thinking it might cheer Miss Goodwin up to have a place to go for the holidays, I encouraged her to come in her mother’s stead, and to bring her husband-to-be. ”
“But this is supposed to be a reunion!” Mrs. Whitlock exclaimed. “None of us know the daughter or this gentleman!”
“Miss Goodwin was away on holiday with friends, I believe, when we all stayed at the hotel that summer?” Colonel Blackwood asked.
“Yes, she was,” Mrs. Hillman confirmed.
“It is most uncouth for an unmarried young woman to come unchaperoned with a man who is not yet her husband,” decried Mrs. Whitlock with a frown.
“She’s a working lady,” Mr. Clarke pointed out, “and they do things differently than ‘proper ladies’ do. So, I say it’s quite all right.”
“I agree. And I think it was sweet of you to include them,” Selena told Mrs. Hillman.
“I understand they came on the late-afternoon train?” Mrs. Hillman asked Selena.
“They did.” Although Selena had greeted the young couple and the colonel upon arrival at the house, Mrs. Hillman had been napping, and the others had been sequestered in their rooms.
“Excellent,” Mrs. Hillman said. “I look forward to meeting them.”
As if on cue, a couple who appeared to be in their mid-twenties entered the drawing room and paused just inside the doorway.
“Here they are!” Selena beckoned to the pair to come forward. “Mrs. Hillman, everyone, allow me to introduce Miss Nancy Goodwin and Mr. Graham Davis.”
Miss Goodwin was petite, svelte, and raven-haired with pleasant features and a pale complexion. Her high-necked, long-sleeved, black bombazine gown, an indication that she was in mourning, was devoid of any ornamentation. “How do you do?” She curtsied with her head held high.
The tall, slender young man at her side was attired in a plain, black suit. “Good evening.” He bowed, ran a hand through his dark hair, and glanced around, wide-eyed. “What a lovely house.”
Selena gestured to the lady of the house. “May I present our hostess, Mrs. Rose Hillman?”
Mrs. Hillman offered her hand to each of the newcomers in turn.
“Miss Goodwin, how lovely to meet you. And Mr. Davis? This young lady spoke of you so fondly in her letters. Welcome to Darkmoor Park.” In an earnest tone, she added quietly, “Pray accept my deepest condolences, Miss Goodwin, on the passing of your mother. She was a fine woman.”
“Thank you.” A tear sprouted in the corner of one of Miss Goodwin’s eyes. “It has been a difficult time.”
Mrs. Hillman tilted her head. “I thought you would resemble your mother, but you don’t look a thing like her. She was so fair. You must take after your father?”
“I’m told that I do.” Miss Goodwin nodded. “I don’t remember him, though. He passed away when I was just a little girl.”
“That’s right. Your mother told me.” Mrs. Hillman sighed. “I’m so sorry. And again, I’m sorry for your mother’s loss. I can only imagine how much you must miss her.”
“I know she would have loved to be here.” Miss Goodwin withdrew a handkerchief from her handbag and used it to wipe her eyes. “But since she cannot …”
“I admit, Nancy and I feel a bit like interlopers.” Mr. Davis fidgeted with his hands. “We appreciate you including us in your holiday plans.”
“I am delighted that you could come.” Mrs. Hillman smiled warmly. “And now allow me to introduce you to those whom you’ve not met.”
She presented the other guests in turn, who expressed their own words of sympathy on Mrs. Goodwin’s passing. When Mr. Clarke shook the couple’s hands, his brow creased. “Wait. You two look familiar. Were you at the White Hart Inn in Warwick last night?”
Miss Goodwin nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“We were at the next table from where you were dining with Mrs. Whitlock and her companion,” Mr. Davis put in.
“But we had no idea who you were at the time,” Miss Goodwin said quickly.
“What a shame!” exclaimed Mr. Clarke with a grin. “Had I known, I would have invited you to join us at our table.”