Chapter One
North York Moors,
Blackwood Hall
“’Twould be nice, Eloise, if for once you spent a night away from those wretched books.”
No doubt Great-Uncle Mallory would feel differently if he’d known about her adventures at Enfer’s Gate, exploring the family’s darker history.
“An archivist’s work is never done, Uncle.” And probably never will be now that poor Edmund had been murdered in that despicable rookery.
“Pish,” Uncle said. “Even your mother pursued other interests, and she was one of the hardest-working archivists ever.” He paused, his gray-eyed gaze softening.
“I know it hasn’t been easy inheriting her position, but I’m certain she didn’t mean for it to consume you, lass.
Perhaps you should spend a few hours on more leisurely interests.
Maybe stitching me those quaint little squares you fancy making? ”
The man truly had no shame. “How many shall I stitch? A pair? A dozen? Maybe a set to match the two dozen I made last year in Pomona green?” she teased.
“I think a half dozen will do if it gets your nose out of those damn books.”
Those books were her rightful inheritance, no different than the quest for proof that the Knights of All Hallows descended from the Fae had been Edmund’s.
“Is something troubling you, lass?”
“No. Why?”
Uncle slipped his gold-rimmed spectacles down his nose. “You’re tapping your foot against the floor again.”
Fickle little conscience. “Am I?” She steadied her leg. “It must be the trip tomorrow. You know how I feel about weddings ever since…”
“Pish, child. No one views you as a jilted bride. War shattered that poor man.”
“That may be. But it didn’t make the matter any less agonizing for me.
” Delving into Edmund’s quest had lessened that pain.
Now all she had was guilt about keeping secrets from Uncle.
He deserved to know what she’d been up to.
He’d been the father figure in her life since that horrible carriage accident claimed her parents’ lives.
But upsetting him now, after it had been discovered Edmund was murdered, seemed worse.
If only she still had Lucian to confide in. He was her rock before going off to war.
Slumping against the chair, Eloise took in a crisp breath. The sweet essence of melted beeswax floated across the table.
With precise detail, Uncle Mallory sealed the folded paper he’d just blotted, then glanced her way. “May I impose upon you to deliver a letter to the Duke of Graves, on your way to Abigail’s?”
“I don’t see why not, his estate is a stone’s through from her father’s. Shall I expect a reply?”
“No. ’Tis a matter best suited for Graves to resolve on his own from this point.”
Closing her book, she absently traced its tattered edge, the memory of her and Lucian reading the tale of the roaming lovers, resurfacing. “Tell me Uncle, do you believe in ghosts?”
“What Knight of All Hallows, doesn’t? Why?”
Her stomach clenched. “I seem to have caught the attention of the pair of ghosts Mother was researching when she died. During last night’s storm, I could have sworn I heard them calling out for one another.
” Not that she didn’t sympathize with the star-crossed lovers—she knew all too well the pains of heartbreak.
But true ghosts did not exist. “Surely there must be a logical explanation for what I heard.”
“Ghosts are peculiar, dear. Especially those of the roaming lovers. That poor lad nearly went mad from war, an infliction that led to his death. The Knights believe he and the lass he was to marry appear when they have a message for one of the families associated with the Order. Similar to how a Banshee warns the family she’s attached to. ”
“Well, if that’s true, then I’m sunk. Both the Blackwoods, and the Winters descend from the Order’s founding members.
” The men of Father’s family had belonged to the Knights of All Hallows for as long as the women on Mother’s side had been the Order’s archivists.
Sir Tavish Blackwood had a long line of descendants.
Uncle harrumphed. “Perhaps you should keep your nose in those books. Maybe the legend is coming closer to being solved.”
For centuries, the Order, along with its archivists, had been searching for the sacred stone proving the Knights of All Hallows descended from Fae. To date, Edmund’s research had been the most revealing, despite him taking his final findings to the grave.
“I doubt we’ll ever prove any of our ancestors were actual Fae.
Though I have come across documents that are making me think Father’s death was no accident.
I think it might have pertained to the falling out he had with Cousin Hamish concerning the Knights.
I’ve found vague notes in Mother’s ledgers mentioning an argument between the two. ”
Uncle tsked. “I have my own misgivings about Hamish, and I insist you stay away from him. Only Lucian can put that sorry excuse of a man in his place.”
If only Lucian hadn’t become such a recluse. “I’ll keep my guard.”
Uncle rose and slid the letter across the table. “Give Abigail my love.”
“Will do, Uncle.” Attending a wedding so close to the one-year anniversary of her own disastrous day brought back memories of Lucian’s letter.
He truly didn’t deserve the horrid view in which he saw himself. But there was no changing his mind on the matter.
Just like there was no changing her mind that ghosts did not exist.