Page 4 of Captivating the Countess
Her nephew was the Earl of Ives, Rain’s good friend as well as distant family. Ives had married the countess’s twin, a Malcolm beekeeper.
Having seen a fair share of the weird Malcolm heritage, Rain assumed the countess had mysticalgiftsof some sort, but of a certainty, she’d be another eccentric. Still, the quiet Lady Craigmore didn’t appear the sort to foist herself on him for no reason—which rang alarms.
“Winifred is on her way to Norfolk and Dare’s sanitarium to visit her ill son,” Lady Craigmore explained. “I’m most grateful for her accompaniment. But if the ladies are incorrect and you are no longer in need of a steward, I assure you that I am quite capable—”
Three doors slammed in quick succession. The diva’s fury erupted through the ceiling again. The parrot emitted an unholy cackle.
Startled, the wren toppled.
“Don’t lether stay unconscious. Help her breathe.” Winifred’s familiar voice rattled above Bell.
Unfamiliar male hands efficiently worked at her bodice fastenings. She was face down in a field of hideous purple velvet.
Gasping, Bell drew in a deep breath and struggled to right herself.
“The lady, upstairs,” she choked out, endeavoring to remove improper hands from her person. “She is most distraught. Please send someone to her.”
“It is you who is face down in the sofa,” a male voice informed her with a hint of cynicism. “The lady upstairs is a histrionic opera singer and has been distraught for weeks.” But he blessedly stepped away so she could right herself.
Bell had enough experience to smother her embarrassment and focus on the immediate problem. Upright, she steadied herself with a hand on the cushion.
The marquess, in all his icy, platinum-blond splendor, masculine size, and arrogance, studied her with smoldering gray eyes she remembered too well. Well, there went any hope of obtaining the position.
She probably didn’t want a position in this turbulent household. The caterwauling alone was likely to render her senseless on an hourly basis. She threw a wary glance at the caged parrot and noted a pair of monkeys perched in the draperies above it. How could a man so devoid of emotion live in a zoo like this?
As long as the castle wasn’t haunted by capricious spirits, her spells were generally brief. She had practice in controlling them. Taking another breath, she stood. She preferred a quiet, orderly life, but she was not helpless. “I cannot leave her suffering alone if you will not send anyone to her.”
Winifred began to push her heavy weight from the sofa, but Bell waved her down. Winifred was no longer young and deserved a rest after that bone-jolting journey. “I shall be right back.”
“The screams are simply one of my cousin’s over-dramatic models.” The marquess gestured dismissively. “You are the one who should be resting with your feet up. I’ll send for—”
“I do not refer to the tragedy queen.” She had been running an estate since adolescence. As daunting as the gentleman’s frosty demeanor might be, Bell was not intimidated. Lifting her traveling skirt, she returned to the entrance hall, sifting through her senses to find the true emotional disturbance.
With obvious impatience, the marquess caught up with her and offered his arm. She appreciated his austere attire and clean-shaven jaw. The lack of fashionably bristling facial hair revealed handsome cheekbones and square jaw seemingly carved in ice.
In fact, she had noticed him a little too much at her sister’s wedding. While everyone else had been a blur of excitement and color, the marquess had been an island of self-containment. For good reason, she was drawn to his quiet capability.
She’d been reluctant to come here because of him, but the ladies had insisted she was needed. And the spirit in her head had been desperate.
That wasn’t thedukeweeping, however. She supposed a household as disturbed as this one might be dangerous to an ill man, so perhaps her task was to quiet the inhabitants.
“If your father is ill, you might wish to determine the cause of the slamming doors, my lord,” she suggested, to be rid of his disturbing presence. “It might be better if I look for your hysterical guest.”
“In a household of females, hysteria is a domestic commodity,” he said dryly. “Drama never-ending. You really needn’t concern yourself.”
A gothic horror story was not the peaceful situation she’d been hoping to find. “You might not concern yourself, but I must.” It was not the screeching opera she heard, but she didn’t wish to explain the quiet weeping, probably because she couldn’t. Hearing distant sounds was not part of her experience.
She lifted her traveling gown and started up the stairs. She left the marquess ringing for servants, presumably to stop mysteriously slamming doors. She hoped he realized his castle was haunted.
Obviously, staying here meant more than account books to attend. She was fairly certain she was unable to tolerate this level of spectral and physical disturbance. It was a shame. This was such a lovely home.
She hurried up the wide marble steps to what she assumed were family quarters. The sprawling mansion was immense. She could tell simply from the heavy layers of occupation in every direction. The person she sought was not a ghost or the dramatic diva upstairs but a real and rather quiet person close by. It would make sense to keep family close together in the most easily accessible suites.
The slamming doors had stopped so she could hear with her ears and not just in her head. Bell knew she’d reached the correct door when she heard stifled sobs from the other side. She tapped on the panel. No one answered.
Normally, Bell wasn’t an aggressive person, and certainly not in a strange place, but the plaintive cry ofHelp my sonhad struck her heart. Whatever spirit was trying to reach her had grown stronger until Bell was feeling a little desperate herself. If the spirit meant the duke, Bell didn’t know how a crying woman could be hurting him. But one must start somewhere.
She rapped harder. When no one answered, she steeled herself to the necessity and let herself into a luxuriously-appointed sitting room.
