“Agreed.” Beaufort clapped Roxburghe on the back. “I hope you’ve stocked your kitchen.”
“Your Grace.” Mr. Kendall met them at the door with a sharp bow, his eyes sliding over Beaufort’s gray visage. “I’ll have some food prepared immediately.”
“Chambers as well,” Roxburghe said as he entered, “for…”
He glanced at Levi, raising his eyebrows in silent question.
“Three guests,” Levi said, a hard edge in his voice.
Warwick smacked the back of Levi’s calf with his cane. “I agreed to reside with you for the season, not Roxburghe.”
“Mr. Philbert?—”
“Already showed himself to me!” Warwick said, jutting out his chin. “If you return to your haunted lodgings, then I will accompany you, and I’ll hear no further argument on the subject.”
Levi looked to Roxburghe for assistance, but he shrugged as if saying nothing could be done to sway Warwick’s mind.
“Two chambers,” Roxburghe said to Mr. Kendall, holding up the same number of fingers.
Mr. Kendall nodded once, turned on his heel, and strode from the foyer, leaving Roxburghe to lead them toward the dining room.
Hanging back, Levi fell into step beside Warwick. “I will not attempt to sway your decision. I’m merely curious why you’ve eschewed a comfortable bed in favor of a ghost-stricken abode.”
Warwick stabbed his cane into the carpet and glanced at Levi. “When the truth of my encounter is revealed, you won’t host another function this season. You’ll want some company.”
Levi’s eyes nearly popped from his head. “You intend to tell people?”
“Certainly not.” Warwick snorted, limping toward the dining room. “However, Beaufort isn’t one to keep secrets.”
Levi’s gaze flicked toward the doorway from which poured Beaufort’s riotous laughter. “Damn.”
Warwick shrugged. “The details of our ordeal could appear in today’s newspaper.”
He must be joking…
“Where’s the paper?” Levi asked, striding into the dining room.
“Why?” Beaufort snatched it off the table. “Is there something interesting printed this morning?”
“Warwick hinted you may have inadvertently revealed details of your supernatural encounter last night,” he replied, reaching for the newspaper.
Holding the page away from Levi, Beaufort’s eyes slid over the type. Then he crumpled the paper in his fist and dropped his hand to his lap.
“Nothing of note,” Beaufort said, reaching for his cup of coffee.
“Then you won’t mind if I read it.” Levi held out his hand, palm up, and wiggled his fingers.
Beaufort grimaced, then shook his head. “Not everything written is true.”
“Dear Lord, man! Give me the newspaper!” Diving at Beaufort, Levi snatched the crumpled newspaper and flattened it out.
His eyes slid over the first sentence, and the blood drained from his body.
“What does it say?” Mansfield asked, leaning back in his chair.
Levi didn’t recognize the hollow, metallic sound that came from his throat.
“Miss Helena Rowe is new to Wiltshire but not new to love. Whispers surrounding the woman suggest she may—or may not—have abandoned her fiancé while in possession of a valuable gold ring and absconded to our town in search of another victim. Gentlemen, beware.”
