Page 4 of Haunted
Mark laughed. “Don’t be silly. She has me!”
“That must be a great comfort to her,” the stranger said gravely.
“What’s your name?” Mark asked him. “I’m Mark, though Mama calls me Marco sometimes.”
“George.” The stranger set his cup and saucer on the table beside him and delved into his pocket. Holding a visiting card between his fingers, he leaned over to offer it to Francesca. “I meant to give you this when I came in.”
Sir Arthur Astley,she read.Denholm Hall, St. Bride’s, Lincolnshire.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze from the card to his face. “You just told my son your name is George.”
“George is my middle name. My friends use it. But I am officially Sir Arthur.”
This time it was she who blushed, at being over suspicious. “Francesca Hazel,” she murmured, and inhaled too quickly as a clap of thunder sounded closer once more. At least she did not jump or spill her tea. Sir Arthur’s brows twitched as though he had noticed her reaction, but he said nothing.
“My papa is Percival Hazel,” Mark informed him proudly. “He was a great violinist and composer, but he died.”
“I’m very sorry,” Sir Arthur said sincerely, although in truth, Mark hadn’t sounded remotely sad. He didn’t, as a rule. “I have heard of him, of course.”
“Perhaps you heard him play?” Francesca said.
“Sadly not.” He seemed to feel something more was called for, because he added, “I have been away a good deal.”
“Abroad?” Francesca asked, hoping he had been to Italy.
“Some of the time.”
“Of course it was difficult for him to play in Europe during the war, but with the peace of 1814, he played in Paris and Vienna, and all over Italy. But he felt obliged to take us home when Bonaparte escaped.”
“I did not go abroad until 1815,” Sir Arthur said. “Just before Waterloo.”
Curious timing. She did not say so aloud.
“I am returning home from Africa,” he offered.
Her eyes widened. “What took you there?”
“Curiosity. I went to Egypt, originally, to see the tombs. I would have stayed longer, but I have responsibilities at home.”
“Of course. Have a sandwich. Tell me about Egypt.”
He began a little hesitantly, as if unsure what, if anything, she actually wanted to hear, but after she asked a couple of questions, and Mark expressed amazement, his natural enthusiasm seemed to carry him away. He spoke well, with considerable knowledge, a deep understanding, and occasional subtle humor that she almost missed. She found herself transported under the burning sun, among people of wildly different customs and beliefs, swept back into a past that was both fascinating and frightening.
Because she was so spellbound, it was some time before she noticed that Mark had apparently lost interest. He had wandered off to the sofa nearer the window and was sitting smiling, as though at something or someone she could not see.
Her stomach gave one of its uneasy twinges.
Mark laughed. “No, I like him. He’s funny.”
Sir Arthur stopped talking and glanced at Marco, then back to Francesca, who smiled faintly.
“He’s playing,” she said, hoping it was true.
Mark slid off the sofa and ran up to Sir Arthur. Taking him by the hand, he tugged. “Come and meet my papa!”
Chapter Two
George had justgot comfortable. Warm and dry, in quiet, pleasant surroundings, with warm tea and food in his belly and the company of a gentle, beautiful young woman. She seemed so interested in his stories that he had almost forgotten they were strangers. He liked to make her smile, to watch the array of expressions cross her face and know she understood. He liked her voice too, low and musical and intriguingly accented.
