Chapter One #2
He had to ensure she did not tell anyone else about what she had heard on her balcony. That was, in truth, purely his own selfishness. No one here was really a true believer, anyway.
Everyone returned to their low, candlelit conversation.
Some of the guests had attended the party in the past. He knew Mr. Andrew Wormwood and his wife, Sarah.
The husband was tall and blond and the wife short with black hair.
Mr. Wormwood was one of several brothers to the Earl of Castleby, with whom Quinton went to Eton.
Then there was Lord and Lady Henry Baker, baby-faced relatives of some sort to the hostess.
Always smiling. They had been newly married last year.
Lady Henry’s swelling belly this year was evidence they got along well enough.
Which also meant they likely would not join the hunts.
For the briefest of moments, Quinton wondered what it would be like to have a wife with a swelling belly, but as that was not even near the horizon of his life, he pushed it out of his mind.
Just because he was forty years did not mean he had to marry a woman he found boring, or vice versa, and didn’t love.
Vice versa again. Had he been open to marriage over the years?
Certainly. But when the women’s eyes glazed over whenever he debated the existence of creatures like faeries and dragons, he knew he could not marry them.
The door to the room opened and the gray-haired butler stepped in again while the footmen assisted. “Mr. Ogden Hall and his daughter, Miss Lillian Hall.”
Quinton watched the duo enter the dark room in their eveningwear, thanks to the bit of light let in from the hallway. The father, portly and fully gray, always wore confidence upon him that made the man irresistible as a conversation partner to Quinton and his peers.
Father and daughter looked around with furrowed brows, perhaps wondering why the room was so dark.
That was what he had wondered at his first of these dinners several years ago.
However, he could not help but hold his breath upon seeing Miss Hall as she reached the threads of the table’s candlelight.
The blue sapphire of her dress seemed to sparkle under the golden light, and the enormous jewels at her ears and around her neck winked at him in an enticing way.
Miss Hall’s father, who looked about ten years older than Quinton and wore a black tailcoat and silver brocaded waistcoat, found his place setting and the duo exchanged glances when they realized she had not been seated across from him, as was usual, but down the other side of the table.
The men stood as she made her way to her chair and stopped in her tracks upon seeing who was to be seated at her left. He grinned down to her, a grin she did not return. Once she’d seated herself, the men sat again.
Quinton had crossed paths with Miss Hall countless times over the past season.
He found her amusing and would seek out conversation with her and her father whenever he had the opportunity to do so.
Her father was far more familiar to him, an acquaintance for years now thanks to invites to Whites’s from various peers during Mr. Hall’s business trips to London.
But the daughter had caused a ruckus amongst the ton this year.
An American not only attending their balls and parties thanks to invitations from amused peers, but seeking a husband with one of their sons?
Oh, what scandal! The duke was not surprised when he had heard no one had offered for her.
“Good evening, Miss Hall,” Quinton said in a low voice.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Good evening, Your Grace. How interesting that I seem to be sitting beside you, of all people, tonight.”
“What luck I possess,” he replied. He wanted to speak with her about the woman she had heard earlier, which was why he’d had her sit beside him. At least, he tried to convince himself of that.
Miss Hall looked down the table toward her father before turning to him. She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “I have a question to ask, but it’s a bit embarrassing.”
He leaned toward her as well, closing the gap between them even further. He noted she somehow smelled like a sunny, spring day. “Ask away.”
She swallowed. “What is going on here?”
He resisted the urge to laugh as the final guests were announced and took their seats. He rose for the women and sat back down. Finally, they had another moment to talk. “You know there is a hunting season, yes?”
She nodded.
“This, my dear, is a ghost hunt.”
She frowned deeply at him, her brow following the movement, and he grinned back. “Are you joking?” she asked.
“Not at all. I’ve been coming here for years now, desperate to find the ghost myself.” Again. But he didn’t mention that part.
“You believe in ghosts.” It wasn’t a question, but more a statement of disbelief. She sighed. “Of course you do.”
He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he didn’t worry, either. Perhaps she would leave this party with a different view.
“And do we know who this ghost is? Why they roam around the house scaring everyone?” She lifted one eyebrow at him.
“The house isn’t haunted.” He paused, debating what to share. “You’ll find out in a moment.”
She noted the empty seats at the ends of the table. “Where are the hosts?”
But before he could answer that, there was a deep scraping noise in the shadows of the room. Everyone immediately went silent.
Quinton sat back, waiting. Instead of watching what would happen next, he hung on to every expression that crossed Miss Hall’s face.
The scraping sound, slow and steady, came closer and closer to the table. It sounded as if something heavy were being dragged. Miss Hall’s pretty, dark eyes widened more and more with each approaching scrape.
Finally, a man wearing a floor-length black cape jumped into the reach of the dim candlelight with wide maniacal eyes and a “Boo!”
Everyone screamed, except for Quinton. He had seen this show too many times now.