Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

LEVI OVERTON, DUKE OF LENNOX

G risham's hand closed around Levi's arm, preventing him from creeping closer to the specter-like shadow hovering on the gazebo stairs. "Tell me you see what I'm seeing."

"I do," Levi replied, his throat tightening.

Warwick limped past them, accompanied by Mansfield, who clucked his tongue and said, "Don't surmise what that thing is until we are close enough to make the observation without question."

Releasing Levi, Grisham took a step backward toward the exit. "I prefer to make the assumption from this distance."

"Alone?" Twisting around, Mansfield raised both his eyebrows. "It's quite courageous to eschew the protection of your companions. Unless you expect Lennox to remain with you…"

He and Grisham turned their expectant faces toward Levi.

Levi shook his head. "Spirit or no, I'll not have an uninvited houseguest residing here."

Muttering a curse, Warwick hobbled back toward them, his face straining from the effort. "Did you not bet Roxburghe for your wedding date? You cannot perform an exorcism from this distance."

Grisham swore, then nodded his agreement. "I didn't expect Mr. Philbert to watch me exorcise him."

"None of us did," Mansfield replied and, gasping, jerked his chin toward the gazebo. "Did the shadow float down the steps?"

Levi's eyes whipped to the dark blob hovering at the base wooden staircase. "It must have seen Roxburghe and Beaufort."

"We need to run before it vanishes." Mansfield glanced to his left. "Warwick…"

Warwick waved his arm. "We've already established I'm unworthy of possession."

"If I were a spirit?—"

"Go!" Warwick slashed his cane at Mansfield.

They rushed down the pathway, their shoes scattering pebbles of soft sand into the long green fronds lining the trail, and overtook Roxburghe and Beaufort, who, without explanation, increased their speed, keeping pace with the trio. The quintet exploded through the low-hanging branches of a beech tree and rushed toward the gazebo.

The apparition was gone.

Mansfield reached the steps first, skidding to a halt and spinning in a circle, his eyes scanning the conservatory. "Where did it go?"

Bending over, Beaufort placed his hands on his knees and drew in several shallow breaths before raising his curious gaze to Mansfield. "Where did what go?"

"The shadow."

"I'll need a better explanation than that."

"When we entered the conservatory, we noticed a dark entity floating in the gazebo." Mansfield placed one foot on the bottom step. "Unfortunately, we were not quick enough to reach the structure before Mr. Philbert vanished."

Grinding his teeth, Levi strode toward Mansfield. "We did not determine the shadow was the ghost of Mr. Philbert."

"Nor did we disprove the theory," Mansfield said, ascending the staircase.

He swore.

Roxburghe chuckled. "An empty gazebo shouldn't bring that type of language to your lips."

"It isn't empty," said Mansfield.

Those three words caused a flurry of activity. At the same moment, the four men outside the gazebo converged on the staircase. They exploded into the structure, pushing each other to squeeze through the narrow entrance.

Mansfield pointed at a small silver object winking in the darkness at the rear of the gazebo. "It appears to be a knife."

Roxburghe exhaled a low whistle. "Mr. Philbert was killed with a knife."

A shiver racing the length of Levi's spine, he glanced over his shoulder at the pathway, oscillating between the desire to inspect the knife and to rush from the conservatory.

"Perhaps we shouldn't have left Warwick to Mr. Philbert's malevolent whims," he said, frozen with indecision.

"We'll retrieve him," Roxburghe said, eyeing Grisham as he strode toward the gazebo steps.

Nodding once, Grisham silently followed.

"That's an unfair assumption." Mansfield withdrew an off-white handkerchief from his pocket and scooped up the knife. "Mr. Philbert may only have good intentions."

Growling, Roxburghe turned at the base of the staircase, fury darkening his features. "He didn't have them for my fiancée."

Beaufort leaned toward Levi and loudly hissed, "Is Roxburghe referring to the bourdaloue incident at your Christmas ball?"

Levi's lips twitched, the image of Mr. Philbert covered in shattered porcelain and droplets of urine flashing into his mind.

"He is." Levi's eyes flicked to the pathway down which Roxburghe and Grisham disappeared, then returned to Beaufort. "Apparently, he didn't find the situation as amusing as the rest of society."

"Had I known there would be such a scandal that evening, I would have attended your function." Beaufort winked at Mansfield.

"As would I," Mansfield replied, holding out the handkerchief square.

A short internal debate occurred before Levi reluctantly accepted the knife, ensuring his fingers only touched the portion of the cloth handkerchief wound around the handle. He peeled back the edges of the fabric, revealing the weapon's dull blade, which glinted in the moonlight streaming in through the glass ceiling.

"No blood," Levi said, surprised by his immense relief at that observation.

"Do you recognize the piece?" Mansfield asked, bending close enough to the knife that his breath fogged the metal.

Even the pragmatic Mansfield had reservations about actually touching potentially cursed cutlery.

"I'm quite certain the silver is from my collection." The admission was like chewing up ground glass.

Beaufort took one giant step backward. "Wasn't the blade the elder Miss Philbert used to kill her brother also from your kitchen's knife box?"

His question caused Mansfield's head to jerk up, and Mansfield, too, took a tiny shuffle away from the utensil.

"First," Levi snapped, pointing the blade's tip at Beaufort, "the weapon used was a butcher knife, which was never returned, as it's evidence for Miss Tabitha Philbert's trial. Second, this gazebo was searched many times after Mr. Philbert's death. A knife would have been discovered."

"Then how do you explain"—Mansfield gestured at Levi's hand—"what you're holding? Unless your staff is prone to taking their meals in the conservatory…"

Grimacing, Levi shook his head. "I cannot."

"I see two options," Beaufort said, rocking back on his heels and tucking his hands behind his back. "Either allow Grisham and Roxburghe to perform the exorcism tonight or retreat from society like Warwick."

"Why are those my only choices?"

"What lady wants to spend her evening in a house haunted by Mr. Philbert?" Beaufort shuddered. "What gentleman would, either?"

"You're here," Levi muttered, his jaw clenching.

"I never claimed to be a gentleman," Beaufort said, his stoic face dissolving into a wide grin.

Mansfield snickered.

Muttering a low curse, Levi raised his eyes toward the gazebo's roof. "If allowing the exorcism will prevent gossip from spreading about the absurd notion that Mr. Philbert's spirit has taken residence in my home, then I select that option."

"You still don't believe?" Mansfield asked, indicating the silver utensil in Levi's hand.

"As a man of reason," Levi replied, catching the moonlight streaming into the conservatory with the knife's blade, "I wouldn't expect you to believe so easily, either. There's been no proof of any supernatural occurrence."

"You have yet to explain the knife's manifestation or the strange noise we heard earlier this evening."

"Neither have you." Levi lowered his arm. "However, I find no issue with performing the task as?—"

Beaufort clamped his hand on Levi's shoulder and gestured at the blade. "You'd rather not share your home with a spirit."

"Consider it merely a precaution," Levi said, shrugging off Beaufort.

"Warwick has been located!" Roxburghe pushed through the beech tree branches. "And I'm pleased to announce that he's the same surly malcontent who entered the conservatory."

Snarling, Warwick hobbled past and drove his shoulder into Roxburghe's back as he limped by. "I'm lending my support to Grisham this evening."

"As long as your intention is to expel Mr. Philbert from Lennox's house, I'll not argue the betrayal." Roxburghe paused on the pathway and waited for Grisham's tawny head to appear beneath the foliage.

"Were I Mr. Philbert," Warwick said without turning, "I'd ensure the house I haunted was yours as restitution for transforming me into a public cuckold."

Roxburghe's head whipped forward, irritation twisting his face. "Miss Webb wasn't married to Mr. Philbert."

"She was engaged."

"For the whole of five minutes!" Roxburghe's voice echoed across the conservatory.

"Which is more than enough time to develop a permanent distaste for her current fiancé," Warwick replied, his eyes locking on the three men in the gazebo.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Beaufort cracked first. He doubled over, nearly falling to his knees, as laughter poured from his lips.

"If you weren't already injured," Roxburghe said, striding toward the gazebo, "I'd ensure you spent the remainder of the season laid up."

Instead of climbing the wooden steps, Warwick stopped at the base of the staircase, plopped down with a groan, and extended his left leg, leaning the cane against the side of the structure.

"Don't make a promise you aren't willing to fulfill," he said, humor warming his baritone timbre. "A trouncing would provide me with a viable excuse to miss both your and Grisham's weddings."

"You don't get to beg off that easily."

Shrugging, Warwick tilted his head backward, catching Beaufort's attention. "If Roxburghe won't strike me, will you?"

"Yes." Beaufort's green eyes flashed with mischief. "But not hard enough to cause a lengthy recovery."

Grumbling, Warwick shifted his gaze to Levi. "Lennox?"

Levi shook his head. He wasn't certain if Warwick was teasing or serious about the request. The thought that his friend was willing to suffer through great physical injury to avoid attending social functions turned his stomach.

"Don't consider asking me," Mansfield growled, taking up residence beside Levi and folding his arms across his chest.

"Grisham?" Warwick flicked his eyes to the right.

"The only man I wish to strike is Roxburghe," Grisham said, his soft but firm reply drawing a curse word from Warwick.

After descending the steps, Levi sat beside Warwick, then placed the knife inside the gazebo and out of Warwick's reach.

"Reside with me for the remainder of the season. If you are only able to attend two weddings this year, at least you won't have to travel far for those joyous events."

"What of Mr. Philbert's spirit?" Warwick asked, fiddling with the curved handle of his cane.

"If he remains a guest after this evening, you still have a chance for possession." Levi grinned and nudged Warwick with his arm.

"And, if we fail," Roxburghe said, raising his voice, "those of you who don't desire a ghost as their companion may take up lodging with me, except for Grisham, who I assume would rather return to his house."

"Agreed," Mansfield and Beaufort said simultaneously.

Levi's mouth crooked. "You might regret that invitation, Roxburghe."

"If it earns me their support this evening, I'll risk the annoyance," he replied, smirking at Grisham.

"By my count," Grisham said, moving beside Roxburghe, "Warwick votes for me, Mansfield and Beaufort vote for you. That leaves Lennox."

Tapping his finger on his lips, Levi rose, paced in front of the gazebo for several minutes as though giving the choice great consideration, then spun, a wicked grin splitting his face. "As retribution for forcing me into a coach for a fortnight?—"

A low rumble grew in Roxburghe's throat. "I didn't force you."

"—to rescue your fiancée," Levi said without acknowledging Roxburghe's protest, "I lend my support to Grisham."

"I have a solution," Mansfield said, descending the staircase. "The first man to find a book in Lennox's library that can be used for an exorcism is permitted to read it aloud."

Grisham and Roxburghe glanced at each other, an uneasy current flowing between them, then they turned and raced down the pathway toward the glass door separating the house from the conservatory.

Levi groaned as the door slammed. "If they destroy my library…"

"Neither man would disrespect you in that manner," Mansfield replied, then chuckled. "However, if it were Beaufort…"

"I," Beaufort said, stomping down the steps, "have no desire for marriage and, therefore, no reason to scour Lennox's books."

"And I," Warwick said, thumping his cane on the dirt, "would prefer to wait at this very spot while you complete this ridiculous lark."

"Could I convince you to join me for a drink in Lennox's parlor instead?" Beaufort asked, glancing down at Warwick.

He inclined his head. "That you could."

Struggling to climb to his feet, Warwick issued a low curse when he lost his balance, collapsing backward and landing hard on his butt.

Not one man commented on his situation.

Beaufort extended his hand and pulled Warwick upright. "We'll play a few hands while these fools occupy themselves with Mr. Philbert."

"Are you going to let me win?" Warwick asked, panting slightly from the effort of standing.

"Nope." Beaufort grinned. "Your leg is injured, not your mind."

The quartet trudged down the pathway toward the glass door, with Warwick and Beaufort leading the slow procession. When they reached the conservatory's exit, Mansfield hurried around them, and grasping the handle, he opened the door and bowed.

"Do let us know if Mr. Philbert joins your game."

Beaufort snorted. "We'll send him your direction."

"We have something!" Roxburghe's jubilant voice rolled down the corridor toward them.

Frowning, Levi took two steps toward Roxburghe. "Did you truly find a book in my library that will assist with the eviction of a spirit?"

"We did." Grisham held up a black-bound book with embossed lettering on the cover.

Levi expelled a heavy sigh. He wasn't sure which tome they'd selected, but he was quite certain it originated from the trunk of books he'd received from a deceased cousin several months ago.

He hadn't had the chance to inspect them all, but after Roxburghe gifted one to Miss Webb at the Christmas gathering, Levi thought it best to shelve the books until he came upon a time when he could peruse them at his leisure.

"Whose wedding are we celebrating?" he asked, striding down the corridor.

Roxburghe and Grisham shared an uncomfortable glance.

"We don't know," Grisham said.

"How is that possible?" Levi's head oscillated between the two of them. "Who found the book?"

"We both did."

"I don't understand." Taking the tome from Grisham, Levi leafed to the bookmarked page. "You couldn't have searched different bookshelves?"

Roxburghe held up an identical book. "We did."

Laughing, Beaufort directed Warwick toward the parlor. Only when the door closed did the riotous sound cease ringing through the hallway.

Dragging his finger down the brittle page, Levi murmured the necessary ingredients for the exorcism, mentally checking off the list.

"Marigold blossoms?" Mansfield asked, startling Levi, who lifted his head with a jerk to discover Mansfield reading over his shoulder.

"There's a small collection in the conservatory." Levi tapped his finger near the center of the page. "However, it's the anise seeds that may cause a problem. If I have them, Mrs. Grove would know."

"Do you intend to explain why you're requesting these unusual supplies?" Mansfield asked as they trekked toward the kitchen.

Levi shrugged. "Mr. Northcutt and Mrs. Grove haven't abandoned their posts yet. I don't think sharing our plans will cause either of them to leave my employ."

He suspected both domestics would support the exorcism. Even if they didn't believe Mr. Philbert's ghost haunted the house, others did, and without a full staff, more responsibility fell to them.

"Perhaps," Roxburghe said from behind Levi, "they will offer to assist us."

"Neither of them will choose you over Grisham," Levi said, glancing over his shoulder.

"Why?" Roxburghe asked, an audible pout in his voice. "I've spent many more hours here."

"Time isn't their master," Grisham chuckled softly. "Lennox is, and he voted for me."

"Only to vex me," Roxburghe grumbled.

"Did it work?" Levi asked as they entered the kitchen.

A growl met his question.

Snickering, Levi strode forward, the book clutched in his hand, and cleared his throat. "Mrs. Grove, Mr. Northcutt, excuse us, but we must interrupt your evening again for some assistance."

"Certainly, Your Grace," Mrs. Grove said, folding her cards together and setting them face down on the table as she rose. "How can we help you?"

"I need the following items." Levi held out the open book, indicating the ingredient section with his pointer finger.

Mrs. Grove took the book, set the tome face up on the table, and read through the list. Then she shuffled about the kitchen, muttering to herself as she transferred various small boxes and several pewter dredgers to the table, arranging them in order along the edge. She counted the containers, checking each one against the page, then lifted her gaze to Levi.

"Your Grace," Mrs. Grove curtsied and dropped her eyes, indicating she intended to offer a correction to his plan. "Instead of carrying all these receptacles to the conservatory or wherever you decide to use them, may I suggest placing the necessary amount in a mortar?"

"An excellent idea," Roxburghe said, sliding past Mansfield. "Would you measure out the recipe, Mrs. Grove?"

She shifted her attention to him and stared, silent, as though debating whether to speak her mind.

"Certainly, Your Grace," she said, taking up the first box. "However, I'm well aware this concoction isn't for consumption."

She released a trembling sigh, glanced upward, and peeled open the top of the container. "But if this convinces those two terrified chits to return to their stations and clean the bedroom above the parlor, you have my full support."

Roxburghe grinned.

"That doesn't count," Grisham muttered from the doorway.

Levi ignored them, his mind circling around Mrs. Grove's words.

"Why did the maids refuse to clean that bedroom?" he asked, wincing when he heard his voice crack.

Mrs. Grove upended a dredger, shaking black pepper into the mortar. "One of them claimed she witnessed a dark-haired man enter the chamber several nights ago."

"Why was I not told of this incident?" Levi's heart stopped.

"I only learned of it this morning when they gave their notice." Mrs. Grove turned and offered him an apologetic curtsey. "We had no evidence, and with the impending arrival of your guests, we thought it best to discuss the matter with you at a later time."

Flicking his eyes to Mr. Northcutt, Levi asked, "Did either of you investigate the chamber?"

"We both did, Your Grace," he replied, rising from his chair. "There was no man in the room. However, several things were amiss."

Levi frowned. "Such as?"

"Miniscule concerns… a small amount of water in the wash basin, wrinkles in the coverlet. Nothing a careless maid couldn't have caused."

"Tell him about the temperature," Mrs. Grove said, scooping a mound of rosemary from an open box.

Shifting his attention back to Mr. Northcutt, Levi lifted his eyebrows.

"The window was open," Mr. Northcutt said, glaring at Mrs. Grove. "Once I closed it and relit the fireplace, the chamber warmed quickly."

Beside Levi, Mansfield shivered with excitement. An examination of that chamber would definitely be requested this evening… especially if the exorcism failed.

"Lennox!" Beaufort's terrified voice ricocheted down the corridor.

A moment later, Beaufort dove into the kitchen, his sweaty, round face devoid of color. Behind him, Warwick appeared, stumbling through the doorway, tripping over Beaufort, and crashing to the hard tile with an explosive curse. His cane slid across the floor.

"We saw him," Beaufort said, trembling as he peeked over his shoulder at the empty hallway. "We saw Mr. Philbert."