Page 21 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
Jonathan captured one of her hands. “My dear, if you knew how I worry about you. The things you write border on treason. It could be the ruination of both you and your grandfather. If anyone discovers you are this Robin Goodfellow, it would be assumed that Weylin provided you with your information about the doings of parliament.”
“And how would anyone guess?” she interrupted. “Not even my publisher knows the identity of Goodfellow. My cousin Gilly is the only other person I have trusted with the truth. Unless you mean to betray me.” She meant it as a jest, but she forgot that Jonathan never jested.
His eyes darkened with reproach. “My dear, however could you think such a thing? I owe my very life to you. Do you think I could ever forget the risk you took for me?”
“Nonsense. What risk? You know my Irish blood is enough to scare off almost everything-including the pox.” She averted her face to hide her feelings of embarrassment and guilt. Five years ago she had nursed him through an attack of the smallpox, and Jonathan had been devotedly grateful to her ever since. But ithad been no noble gesture on her part. Disillusioned with her marriage to Ewan, she had little cared whether she lived or died.
She slipped her hand from Jonathan’s grasp, his gratitude making her uncomfortable. “Pray, don’t look so solemn,” she said with forced gaiety. “This supper party promises to be grim enough entertainment. Grandfather has ordered up so many courses, the poor marquis may be obliged to?—”
She broke off, her attention caught by Lucy’s timid face peeking inside the salon door. When Phaedra glanced her way, the young girl beckoned frantically and closed the door.
Phaedra excused herself to Jonathan. She inched her way toward the door as quickly as she could without attracting attention, but the company seemed too absorbed by the marquis to even notice when she slipped from the room.
She found Lucy in the hall, wringing her hands.
“Lucy,” she asked. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Oh, milady, I thought you’d want to know. Your cousin is here, trying to see you, and Mrs. Searle won’t let him in.”
“Damn that woman.” Phaedra bit her lip in vexation. She could not be gone long, or her absence would be noted, Armande’s fascination notwithstanding. But Gilly would not have ridden all the way out here at night unless he had something important to tell her. Something he had learned about Varnais.
Her heart thudding with excitement, she instructed Lucy, “If my grandfather comes looking for me, tell him I have torn the flounce on my petticoat and will return as soon as I’ve mended it.”
She did not wait for Lucy’s solemn nod of agreement before raising her skirts and running toward the front hall. She brushed past the suits of armor, which stood like a row of silent, sentries. The padding of her slippered feet seemed to raise a fearsome echo off the rafters towering overhead. But Phaedra doubted ifthe two who struggled near the mansion’s open front door would have noticed her approach if she’d been wearing iron-heeled boots.
The pale circle of lantern light spilled across Gilly’s cheerful features as he pressed his shoulder up against the door in an effort to keep Mrs. Searle from closing it.
“Come now, Madam Pester, there’s a sweet colleen. Just whisk to the dining room and be telling my cousin I’m here.”
“Out with ye, ye Irish wastrel,” Searle screeched as she was inched backward, losing in her struggle to bar the door. “Get out afore I scream for John and Peter to toss ye on yer ear.”
“Mrs. Searle!” At the sound of Phaedra’s shout, the woman paused to look back.
“Admit my cousin at once.” But the command was unnecessary, for Gilly had already managed to force the door and slip past her.
“But yer ladyship, being as ye are now naught but a poor widow, ye ought to have more of a care for yer reputation than to be receiving the likes of him. What would the elegant company in the salon be thinking?—”
“I care no more for their opinion than I do for yours,” Phaedra said. “Be about your business.”
The housekeeper dipped into a sullen curtsy, but she made no effort to conceal her resentful glare before disappearing into the shadows beyond the stairway.
“Whew.” Gilly straightened the black solitaire knotted around his neck. “That creature pounced at me like a daft cat. With all his wealth, I should think your grandfather might hire a butler.”
He rolled his eyes toward the collection of halberds and swords mounted upon the walls, their sharp edges glinting in the candlelight. “It is bad enough stepping into this dungeon, without being greeted by a witch at the door.”
“Pay her no heed.” Phaedra eagerly embraced him. “Where have you been? I have been expecting you for days “
Gilly ignored her question, gazing about him with morbid fascination. “What a place this is at night!” He lowered his voice to a sinister pitch. “Can’t you half fancy that old Lethe’s ghost yet hovers in the shadows, ready to bash his next victim?”
Phaedra felt the hairs prickle at the back of her neck. “Gilly, will you stop teasing?” Seizing her cousin by the arm, she dragged him into her grandfather’s anteroom. The chamber, now devoid of its morning throng of satin-clad beggars, was as solemn and silent as the hall beyond. Phaedra hastened to light an oil lamp.
“Now tell me,” she demanded, “what have you found out? What did you discover about Varnais?”
Gilly swept off his cape. “Ah, and to think I had a notion it was myself you were missing, you were so glad to see me at your door.”
He mournfully shook his head. “Well, if tidings of Varnais is all you are after, my darlin’ cousin, I fear you are doomed to disappointment.”
Phaedra frowned. “You’ve been gone nigh a week. You must have learned something. Who is Armande de LeCroix?”
