Chapter Three
Lucy slept soundly most of the night, but towards morning, her dreams were invaded by creaking floorboards, echoing voices, and visions of wraiths hovering by the roadside. When soft footsteps woke her, she could not tell if the sound was real or merely part of her dream.
Her eyes flew open when a soft thump followed the footsteps. Was there someone in her room? She sat up and clutched the blanket to her chest.
“Oh, miss, I am so sorry!” The maid kneeling by the hearth looked thoroughly abashed. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to stoke the fire.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you.” Lucy’s racing heart slowed down.
It had been a long time since she’d last been woken by a housemaid on a cold morning. Neither the guestroom at the vicarage nor the room she’d been assigned when she was Miss Denney’s companion contained a fireplace. In fact, she hadn’t had a fire in her own room since she left Brambleton Manor.
“Miss? Would you be wanting your chocolate now? Or would you rather wait?”
Chocolate? Lucy had experienced shivers of apprehension, but until now, she hadn’t realized it was possible to shiver from anticipation.
“Yes, I would love a cup of chocolate.” Yesterday’s anxieties melted away in the glow of a warm fire, a cup of chocolate, and the luxury of a half-hour’s rest. When was the last time she had enjoyed a half-hour all her own?
She could not even remember.
*
After chocolate and biscuits in bed, breakfast seemed almost superfluous.
But the maid, Kitty, assumed Lucy would want to join Sir Devlin for breakfast. Lucy did not disabuse her of that notion.
It would take all day to get back to Surrey, and she wanted to waste as little money as possible.
The food sold at railway stations was so expensive!
A hearty breakfast would go a long way to sustaining her on the journey home.
The breakfast room was like the rest of the house: clean to a shine, but a little outdated.
The walls were hung with a silk pattern that had been old-fashioned even when Lucy was a girl.
The only piece of furniture that looked like it had been made in her lifetime was the sideboard laden with breakfast options.
Lucy served herself buttered toast, a poached egg, and a strong cup of tea. She’d just settled down to enjoy them when Sir Devlin entered the room. Lucy’s eyes widened as she studied him. Was this really the man she met last night?
She had remembered Sir Devlin looking tall, dark-haired, and saturnine—almost satanic. It was true that he was tall, and he did have a strong aquiline nose. But by the light of day, his features looked patrician rather than diabolical.
Moreover, his hair was not, as she had thought, jet black. It was a dark brown with chestnut highlights. And he looked at least a decade younger than her estimate. His hair had not even started to gray. She guessed him to be only a few years older than herself.
“Miss Halliwell.” He nodded politely before loading up his plate. He took a chair across from her. “I hope you slept well? The ghost did not bother you, did she?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, inviting her to share his amusement.
But Lucy did not care to be made the subject of his jokes. “Ghost?” She arched her eyebrows. “I thought we established that there was no ghost at the crossroad last night.”
“Indeed.” He added a generous helping of milk to his coffee.
“However, Hethersleigh Hall is said to be haunted by a ghost called the Veiled Lady. It is rare that anyone actually sees her, though. Most of the time she contents herself with opening doors, moving objects about, and making noise in the middle of the night.”
Lucy lowered her teacup. He didn’t seem to be joking. “I heard no sounds last night. Not until the maid came to stoke the fire.”
He frowned. “Which maid? Our housemaids usually know better than to disturb the family.”
“Oh no, she did nothing wrong!” She did not want Kitty to get in trouble on her account. “I am not used to having a fire in my room anymore, that is all.”
“Anymore?”
Under his too-keen gaze, she shifted in her seat. “Since my father’s death some five years ago, I have either lived with my sister or in the home of an employer.” She sat up straighter as she added, “I possess only a small fortune of my own, and lack sufficient income to live independently.”
At least, not genteelly, she silently added. There were, no doubt, many spinsters in England who lived on fifty pounds a year. But they were not expected to keep up appearances. According to Lucy’s sister, a Halliwell of Brambleton Manor could not eke out a living in cheap lodgings.
Sir Devlin nodded. “Hence, your need to seek a position as governess or companion.”
“Yes. Unfortunately, the position I thought I had secured has. . . fallen through.” Lucy’s throat tightened as she remembered her disappointment last night.
Not only had Mrs. Macrae moved away without informing Lucy that her services were no longer needed, but the new tenant at Starnhold had slammed the door in Lucy’s face rather than aid her.
“I suppose I must return to my sister’s home and look for a new situation.
” She did not look forward to that homecoming.
Florence would worry and scold. Florence’s husband, Geoffrey, would play the part of the superior male and shake his head at this new evidence of Lucy’s supposed folly.
And if Cousin Ezra found out, he would worry about damage to the Halliwell name.
“As to that.” Sir Devlin put down his coffee cup and leaned forward in his chair. “I may be able to help.”
Lucy eyed him warily. “I thought you said you had no need of a governess?” If he had neither wife nor child, he could have no use for her services.
“I certainly do not need a governess,” he agreed. “But after thinking it over, I’ve realized that I might indeed be in need of a companion—of sorts.”
Lucy did her best to restrain her hope. “For whom?”
“As it happens, I need a companion for myself.”
A sick weight filled Lucy’s stomach. Gentlemen did not hire ladies as companions. Not proper ladies, anyway.
“No, thank you.” She broke out her coldest, starchiest tones. “I am a respectable woman.”
He blinked at her. “Obviously, or you wouldn’t be a governess! Why—oh!” A flush rose up his neck. “Not that kind of proposition, madam. A perfectly respectable offer.”
“Of employment?” She wrinkled her forehead. Was she missing something here?
He ran a hand through his hair. “Not exactly employment, but certainly a comfortable situation.” He drew a deep breath, then spoke in a rush. “I happen to need a wife by the end of the month. I wonder if you would be interested in the position?”