Page 4 of The Lady in White
“What IthoughtI saw,” she stressed. “It was very late, or very early depending upon one’s perspective. It was very warm last night, so I moved to the window hoping for a breeze. There was someone walking through the garden and then along the lane here. Wearing white.”
“Someone. Not something?”
Her lips firmed into a thin hard line, her expression revealing just how dubious she found that option. “I realize that many people are given to flights of fancy and succumb to superstitious notions. I am not one of those people, sir.”
“Indeed, I can see that you are not. I would caution you, Miss Jones, about asking too many questions to servants or to those in the village—assuming they would speak with you at all,” he said. “The Blackwell family is not thought very kindly of here. You will find that out soon enough.”
“You make it sound as if they see you as some sort of villain!” she protested.
“Not me, Miss Jones. All the Blackwells, but specifically any who reside at Rosehaven. Our history with the village is not a pleasant one, and they are entitled to view us as such. You will not receive a warm welcome there, I am afraid.”
“My lord, I am the illegitimate child of the disgraced daughter of a baronet. My mother’s family has refused to acknowledge me, and my father’s family is entirely unknown to me. I have not been warmly welcomed anywhere. I daresay that I will survive their snubs,” she answered.
Her tone was matter-of-fact, her delivery of that sad statement revealing the pragmatism that was likely responsible for her decision to agree to his proposal. “Yet you have thrived, Miss Jones. Where most would have crumbled, you have risen above your humble origins.”
“They are less than humble. Some would even call them ignoble,” she pointed out. “Most people in the upper classes tend to frown upon those in the lower classes rising above anything.”
It wasn’t an accusation, but simply an observation. And it was an observation he could not refute. “Perhaps my years in the army, seeing more of the world than simply what exists here, has given me a more egalitarian view of things.”
“Perhaps it has,” she mused. “So who is this phantom people speak of?”
“Her name is unknown,” he replied. “But for the last century, there have been tales of her wandering the grounds here and even being seen in the village. The White Lady of Rosehaven is presumed to be the tragic love of one of my ancestors... a woman who paid the ultimate price for loving unwisely.”
“Or the guise of a phantom affords young women an opportunity to sneak about at night without anyone being the wiser,” she countered.
A smile tugged at Douglas’s lips. “You are very suspicious of your own sex.”
“I’ve lived in a school with other girls for the past decade. I know precisely how sneaky we can be. I also know we have no choice but to be sneaky because so many limitations are placed on us by society,” she pointed out. “Such ruses are not unheard of.”
“No, they are not. But do not be so certain it’s a ruse that you blind yourself to the dangers it might present. Many think that seeing her is a harbinger of tragedy to come,” he warned. “And on that note, I have the license. I’ve spoken with the vicar at the local church, and he’s agreed to perform the ceremony tomorrow morning at nine. Mr. Hatton and the vicar’s wife will act as witnesses. If you have no objections, of course?”
“No. I have no objections.”
Douglas nodded. “Mr. Hatton will meet with you later today to discuss the terms of our arrangement and the support that will be afforded to you once you leave Rosehaven.” And imagining that she would leave Rosehaven in a year, that for an entire year, he would face the temptation of her daily—both of those things were a source of unease. “I shall see you at dinner, Miss Jones. Do not wander too far. The ground is uneven, and the rain has left pockets of mud that are quite treacherous.”
*
Louisa watched himwalk away, leaving her standing in the middle of the lane. Alone. And as puzzled as ever. This man who was to be her husband was a mystery to her—a puzzle that demanded solving.
“My own curiosity will be the very death of me,” she murmured. But even as she continued her exploration of the gardens and the surrounding grounds, she was mindful of his warning.
When she reached the back of the house, where the formal and decorative gardens gave way to the more functional herb and vegetable gardens of the kitchens, she caught sight of a maid sneaking a rest. Leaning against the side of the house, well away from the windows and the prying eyes of a strict housekeeper or cook, the girl’s face paled when she caught sight of Louisa. But Louisa offered a reassuring smile to the young woman. Instantly, the girl’s expression changed. It became closed, guarded—perhaps even hostile.
They all knew, Louisa realized. Everyone in the house would know what sort of marriage she had entered into.That she was not there to stay.And that meant she would have little authority there. He, her betrothed, couldn’t possibly understand the dynamics at play. But she’d known there would be problemsof that sort. The servants would not respect her. In truth, she wondered if she would still be able to respect herself.
She was one of them—one of the serving class, and she’d dared to rise above her station, but not for any reason so noble as love. It was a mercenary agreement, and they would all know. The next year would be interesting, indeed.
Retreating to the house once more, she made her way to her chamber. She would wait there until her meeting with Mr. Hatton. But eventually, she knew the issue would have to be addressed.
Chapter Four
“It’s too much.I couldn’t possibly accept such a generous settlement,” Louisa protested. The amount of funds that Mr. Hatton had named was more than she could even imagine. The number was positively astronomical.
“Miss Jones, Mr. Blackwell is aware that you are sacrificing a great deal to enter into this... arrangement with him. Trust me when I say that he has considered the settlement he offered very carefully and has reached a more than reasonable figure,” Mr. Hatton offered in a placating tone. “Take the offer, Miss Jones. Accept it. You may renegotiate the terms with Mr. Blackwell at the time you part—if you still feel that you need to do so.”
Need to part or renegotiate? Hatton’s meaning was not clear, and she had the impression that it was intentional. Surely the thin, bespectacled little man was not attempting to play matchmaker! But if he was, if he had some vision of there being a happily ever after for them, he was at least an ally. And she needed one.
“There is one thing, Mr. Hatton... the servants.”
