Page 3 of The Lady in White
“Not intentionally. The failing lies entirely with me, Miss Jones. I am well aware of how peculiar all of this is. But my time is limited. And while you do not meet the parameters I set forth for Mr. Hatton, I would still offer you this opportunity. It could mean a life without being in servitude to anyone else.”
“But no chance for love or even contentment in marriage,” she pointed out. There was a hint of response. A slight tightening of his jaw that made her wonder if perhaps what he’d described wasn’t what he wanted but what he thought he should have. “What about children?”
“There will be no children. The marriage will be consummated so that no one can challenge its legitimacy, but precautions will be taken.” He didn’t elaborate, and she hadn’t the nerve to ask. So he continued, “In return for your sacrifices, you would have financial security, an elevated position in society, and a kind of independence few married ladies—or unmarried ladies, for that matter—enjoy. I will have a room prepared for you, Miss Jones. You will remain here for the night and you may consider the offer. If you choose to accept it, I will obtain a common license and we shall wed immediately. If you elect to disdain this offer, I will arrange for your transportation back to London and see that you are well compensated for your time.”
He sketched a slight bow, then turned on his heel and left. Once more, she was alone in the library. With the dagger still in her hand, she turned and replaced it carefully on the shelf. On unsteady legs, she returned to the chair she’d occupied before. How she wished she could talk to Effie! Or even Alexandra. The young girl had become a confidant of sorts over the years. Of course, given Alexandra’s obsession with gothic novels, heropinion could hardly be counted. The whole thing sounded remarkably like the plot of one of her fanciful books!
What am I going to do?It was insanity to even consider it. But he’d offered her something that she had craved throughout her life. Not simply independence or security—but independencewithsecurity. To have financial security without having to work for others was a fantasy for most young women of her class. She could hardly imagine what it would be like to live her life with no threat of being sacked at the whim of a capricious employer. No fighting off unwanted advances. No bowing and scraping in the face of unreasonable demands. She could have her dignity and her pride as well as a roof over her head. And all she’d have to sacrifice was the possibility of things she might never have anyway—or worse, things that never lasted and only led to bitterness and heartache.
Chapter Three
Louisa had awakenedfrom a fitful sleep. The air was still and thick in her chamber. The curtains at the open window did not flutter at all. And yet her skin was ice cold. The sensation was so similar to what she’d experienced earlier in the library that she knew it could not be simply her imagination.
Alexandra, if she were there, would blame it on a spirit. And perhaps it was, but Louisa wasn’t brave enough to call out to it in the dark of night. Instead, she lay there in her bed, willing the sensation to go away. At long last, it did—the cold receded. No. It did not recede. Rather, it moved away from her. It didn’t simply dissipate. It moved over her body like a caress.
The shiver that racked her was not born of that cold but of fear. What was it? If it were a spirit, what could it possibly want with her?
The absurdity of it all was too much. “It’s not a spirit. Such things are nothing more than fiction,” she said aloud, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s been a trying day with a great deal of...upheaval. You are overwrought and questioning the decisions you have made.”
And she had made her decision, if one could even term it that.
Married. But not really married. A wife for one year, and then a wife in name only.She had accepted Mr. Blackwell’s proposal and would be his bride—living in his home for one year.
However much she might have weighed it, measured it, and turned it over and over in her mind for dozens of times that day, she was still confounded by it all. Each time, she had come up with the same answer. It was the best opportunity she’d ever be presented with in her life. And she wasn’t about to let a drafty house and an overactive imagination get the better of her.
When she’d come to Kent seeking employment, she’d never imagined that the course of her future might be altered so dramatically. While it wasn’t something every girl dreamed of, it was something that a girl such as herself—one who had known the misery of true poverty—could not ignore. Even if it wasn’t in the normal way of things, it was still beyond anything she might have imagined for her future. But it wasn’t the wealth, the position, or even the very enigmatic man to whom she’d found herself betrothed. Instead it was that indefinable feeling which she sometimes had, an intuition of sorts that led her down the paths she was supposed to go. It was that same feeling she’d had when presented with the option to attend the Darrow School on Effie’s charitable nature. She’d known it was the right thing to do instantly. It had been the same with the proposal. Rational arguments aside, she’d heard that voice inside her urging her in that direction.
But now, in the dark hours of the night, alone in the great house save for the servants two floors above and an elderly woman at the opposite end of the corridor, one she had yet to even meet—and her prospective husband, wherever he might be—that certainty wavered. Doubts crept in, along with dozens of questions. Not least of which was why a man who was handsome, well connected, and on the verge of being incredibly wealthy would need to marry a woman with no pedigree and nothing beyond a grasp of etiquette and decorum to recommend her. The nonsense he’d uttered about wanting an orderly life rang hollowly. Men who truly wanted an orderly life gotthemselves a wife to make it so. To marry and then just eschew it to live like a bachelor—it was nonsensical.
Rolling from her side and onto her back, she stared up at the canopied ceiling of the bed. She was wrestling as much with the decision she had made as with the prospect of informing Effie what she had done. And she was wrestling with the realities of being married to a man she knew nothing of.
In the end, the mystery of whatever the problem was that required such a drastic solution pricked at her mind in a way that left her decidedly unsettled. Too unsettled to even think of sleep.
Pushing back the sheet, she rose and padded on bare feet to the window. There, she looked out at the garden below. Movement caught her eye, and as she turned her head to see what it was, her breath caught. She blinked, rubbing her eyes to be certain that they were not deceiving her.
A wraith-like mist moved through the garden. Stark white against the darkness, it drifted to and fro, winding around hedges and bushes in a serpentine fashion until it simply vanished. There was no gait. No steps. It appeared to simply float until it vanished beyond the hedgerow where it flanked the lane.
“It is a mere trick of the light,” she whispered to herself. “Nothing more. There are no phantoms here... nor anywhere else.” And yet, even as she backed away from the window and retreated to the confines of her bed, she was not fully convinced of that fact. Certainly not as convinced as she ought to have been.
A cold chill snaked over her skin, despite the oppressive heat. And yet it was different from the cold sensation she’d experienced before. This came from within. A warning from her own intuition. It was accompanied by a sense of foreboding. There were ominous goings-on afoot—not ghostly, but ominous—at Rosehaven Manor. What they might mean for her future there was as yet unknown.
“Please let me know if I have made a terrible mistake,” she whispered in nearly silent prayer against her pillow. “Let this not be the first time my intuition leads me astray.”
*
It was mid-morningwhen he returned. He’d left at first light to make all the necessary arrangements. Now, Douglas bore the common license tucked inside his coat as he led his mount up the graveled drive and toward the hulking shape of Rosehaven Manor. But he hadn’t reached the house when he drew up short. There was a lone figure walking along the lane. No phantom, but a flesh and blood woman who was poking and prodding at the bushes with a stick.His betrothed.Miss Louisa Jones.
“Did you lose something?” he asked, as he neared her.
She looked back at him, wide eyed. There was a leaf stuck in her hair. “No, I... well, I was just admiring the foliage.”
Lie.That was immediately apparent. Why? And then it simply came to him. Had she heard the stories of the White Lady of Rosehaven? Or had she seen her? “Foliage,” he mused. “Or perhaps some remnant of a white gown trapped in the brush?”
Her guilty flush was confirmation. With a heavy sigh, Douglas dismounted and approached her. “Did you see Rosehaven’s infamous phantom, Miss Jones?”
“I saw something,” she countered. “I do not believe in phantoms.”
Her reasonable response was not unexpected, but it was very welcome. It was also not entirely convincing. But Rosehaven was no place for anyone given to hysterics. “Perhaps I can aid you in your search, or answer any questions you may have about what you saw.”
