Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

LEVI OVERTON, DUKE OF LENNOX

A door slammed; the thunderous sound followed by shattering glass.

Leaping over Warwick, Mansfield stationed himself near the kitchen doorway, then peeked into the corridor after a moment of hesitation. When he turned back, disappointment colored his features.

"I see nothing."

"Something made that noise," Levi said, extending his arm to help Warwick from the ground. "We should investigate."

"You investigate," Warwick replied, leaning heavily on Levi's arm as he regained his footing. "I'll wait here."

Warwick's harsh breathing worried Levi, but he held his tongue. Waiting until he felt Warwick could stand without assistance, he retrieved the cane and wordlessly passed it to his friend.

Mrs. Grove appeared beside them and gently but firmly directed Warwick to her chair. Once he was seated, she bustled across the kitchen, opened a cupboard door, and shoved her hand into the dark recesses, rummaging through the contents. Soft clicking sounds met her fingers.

"Ah!" She extracted something from the rear of the cupboard, spun around, and held out a glass decanter of amber liquid. "Whiskey. The proper medication for a supernatural encounter. Who would like a drink?"

Every man lifted his hand, including Mr. Northcutt, who'd risen to collect drinking glasses and was arranging them on a silver tray to carry over to the table in the center of the room. After depositing the tray, Mr. Northcutt removed two glasses, handed one to Warwick, and then drained the contents of the second in two gulps.

Mansfield retreated from the doorway, collected a half-filled tumbler, and lifted it to his lips but paused. The glass hovered halfway to his mouth, his inquisitive gaze seeking Beaufort.

"Are you certain you saw Mr. Philbert?"

"Yes!" Beaufort replied, his face rouging at the accusation of claiming a falsehood. "A dark head peered around the edge of the parlor door, then when he saw us playing cards, he vanished."

"Vanished?" Mansfield asked, setting down his untouched drink. "While you were staring at him?"

Beaufort swirled the whiskey in his glass, his face scrunching into a frown. "Mr. Philbert pulled back into the hallway, then disappeared. I was at the door a moment after we saw him. There was no one in the corridor."

"A spirit that opens doors?" Mansfield's skepticism bled through the question.

"The door was ajar," Beaufort replied, jutting out his chin. "Are you accusing Warwick and I of sharing a hallucination?"

"No accusation." Mansfield lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm merely confirming the facts."

"And what have you determined?" Beaufort asked, his good humor waning.

Dropping into an empty chair, Mansfield grabbed his tumbler, saluted Beaufort, and took a long drink. "Someone needs to investigate that sound."

Levi sighed. He was fairly certain the noise had come from the conservatory, specifically the glass-paneled door leading to the greenhouse. However, he couldn't quite get himself to admit that since every person residing in the home was in the kitchen, some thing must have caused that sound.

"It's my house, I'll go." Levi tossed back the remaining portion of his whiskey.

Choking and eyes watering, he forced his body toward the exit.

Roxburghe set down his empty tumbler. "I'll accompany you."

"I'm perfectly capable of walking down my own corridor without an escort," Levi muttered as they exited the kitchen.

"Which is why," Grisham's voice vibrated behind them, "I'm conveying you as well."

Levi groaned, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Neither of you are concerned about my well-being. You just don't want the other man to have the opportunity to expel Mr. Philbert's ghost first."

"Does that mean you believe?" Grisham asked, ignoring Levi's exasperated observation.

As much as he hated admitting that the spirit of Mr. Philbert haunted his house, Levi couldn't think of one other plausible explanation for the conservatory door to open and shut with enough force to damage one of the thick glass panels.

There was no one else in the house.

"If what I think shattered actually did break, then yes," Levi replied, glancing back at the kitchen.

Mansfield hovered in the doorway, his face awash with indecision.

"And what do you suspect broke?" Roxburghe said, leading them down the hallway.

"The conservatory door," Levi murmured, craning his head as they neared the greenhouse entrance.

He issued a low curse.

Glass shards, strewn across the carpet, glittered like diamonds in the flickering light of a nearby wall-mounted oil lamp.

Kneeling by the pieces, Roxburghe selected the largest chunk and lifted it, studying the edges, then raised his eyes to Levi, his expression grave. "If we're truly going to perform an exorcism, then we'll need the other three to assist us."

Levi nodded, swallowing the mound of sand accumulating in his mouth. "We also need the bowl Mrs. Grove prepared."

"Who performs the ritual?" Roxburghe asked as he rose.

His innocent question drew a snarl from Grisham, who spun and stabbed a finger into Roxburghe's chest.

"I do." His usually pleasing face twisted into a dark scowl. "I proposed first, and since the specter is the deceased brother of my fiancée, I'll attempt to rid this house of him first."

Grisham shifted his glower toward Levi as though he expected Levi to argue in favor of Roxburghe.

"I won't fight you for the honor," Levi replied, gesturing toward the kitchen doorway and the man pacing in front of it. "Although Mansfield might."

Pushing past Levi, Grisham strode down the hallway toward the kitchen. "Mansfield has no stake and, therefore, no say."

"Apparently," Roxburghe said, his voice low, "I don't, either."

Levi clucked his tongue, compassion for his friends' difficult situation washing over him. "You've pushed him too far; he's a man suffering from love."

"As am I."

"And are you as manic as Grisham?" Levi raised both eyebrows.

"Worse."

"Your affliction sounds horrific."

"Careful, Lennox." Roxburghe clapped Levi on the back. "I do believe this particular disease is contagious."

"There's not one lady who has tempted me to abandon my happiness."

Roxburghe stopped just outside the kitchen doorway, his eyes traveling the length of Levi. "Hmm, you don't seem a fool."

Rankled, Levi twisted around, blocking the doorway. "Meaning?"

"I'm merely expressing an observation," Roxburghe replied, the corner of his mouth pulling into a half-grin. "I'm certain you'll figure it out."

"I know my own mind!" Levi slammed the palm of his hand against the door frame.

"Ah, but do you know your heart?" Roxburghe asked, his calm voice further needling Levi.

Levi scowled. "I've never been more certain of it."

This was an outright lie because ever since Miss Rowe came into his life, he found himself imagining her presence at the most inconvenient moments—such as right now.

Her eyes, the color of a summer sky, flashed through Levi's consciousness, and he was instantly surrounded by the faint scent of lily of the valley as though Miss Rowe, herself, had wandered down this very hallway only a few moments before.

And would that truly be such a terrible thing?

"Roxburghe." Mansfield exited the kitchen, carrying the mortar of ground-up ingredients and a lit candlestick. "I've heard of your generous sacrifice."

The muscle in Roxburghe's jaw twitched. "It seems my kindness has no limits."

Snorting, Levi turned away, his gaze finding Beaufort, who hovered behind Mansfield, shaking with silent laughter.

Grisham strode around Beaufort and exited the kitchen, holding both leather-bound books. "Warwick opted to remain in the kitchen with his glass of whiskey."

"One of us?—"

"I will," Beaufort said, cutting off Levi. "Mr. Northcutt said he'd deal us into the game."

Levi nodded, relieved he didn't need to voice his concern. "Careful. Mrs. Grove is a better player than she lets on."

Beaufort glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Grove, who flashed him a winning smile.

"I appreciate the warning," he said, then indicated the direction of the conservatory with his chin. "You be cautious as well."

"Concern from the carefree Duke of Beaufort?" Levi tilted his head, his gaze sliding over Beaufort's pale face.

"Mild worry." Beaufort grinned. "If something happens to the four of you, I'll be forced to make the arduous journey back to my home… or worse, Warwick's."

"I didn't invite you." Warwick's acerbic growl whipped over Beaufort's shoulder.

Clutching his chest, Beaufort spun around. "Do you not recall our adventure to Greece? You said I could stay with you any time."

"That was two years ago!" Warwick's protest reverberated down the corridor.

"I do love irritating him," Beaufort said, winking at Levi before returning to the kitchen.

Roxburghe chuckled. "There may be another murder in your home this evening. Perhaps we should reconsider our plan. Mr. Philbert might like some companionship."

Clenching his fists, Levi strode over to Roxburghe. "You invited Beaufort to your home, and I'm certain he'd be just as obliging in the afterlife."

"Your Graces!" Grisham intervened before the conversation escalated to violence. "Can we focus on ridding this house of Mr. Philbert instead of coming to blows over whose lodgings Beaufort would haunt?"

"Mansfield's!" Beaufort's whiskey-soaked voice yelled.

"Of course." Levi exchanged a grin with Roxburghe, bowed to Grisham, and extended his hand toward the conservatory. "After you, Your Grace."

Grisham pushed his shoulders back, expanding himself to a regal height, exhaled, and then strode down the hallway without checking to see if the other men followed.

Cringing as the soles of their shoes ground the broken glass into the valuable Persian carpet, Levi bit his tongue and held the door open, his gaze dropping to the damaged pane. The door was repairable, but it would need to be done soon before the outside air altered the ambient temperature in the conservatory.

He inhaled a deep breath as the door closed behind him, a tendril of tranquility unfolding through his chest. This was his sanctuary, with plants he'd nurtured for years, and it infuriated him to have the space invaded by Mr. Philbert's spirit.

While the others strode down the path, Levi took a slight detour, stopping at one of three marigold plants in the corner of the structure and plucking one of the golden blossoms from a stem. Crushing the petals in his fist, he hastened toward the rear of the conservatory, following an auxiliary trail toward the gazebo.

When Levi pushed through the overgrown greenery, Mansfield, Roxburghe, and Grisham were already stationed around the mortar, which rested in the center of the gazebo floorboards. On top of the mortar sat the knife they'd previously discovered.

After Levi dropped the flower into the mortar, Mansfield held a flickering candle to the contents, waiting until a small tendril of smoke wafted up from the ingredients, then set the candlestick beside the bowl and rose.

Grisham cleared his throat, placed his finger beneath the first word of the incantation, and read "Deus?—"

"Incorrect." Roxburghe grabbed for the book. "You've pronounced the word wrong."

Jerking the book away, Grisham snapped, "I speak Latin."

"As do I. That was incorrect."

"How would you say it?" Grisham asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Deus."

"That is exactly what I said!"

Mansfield glanced at Levi and shook his head, mouthing, "They're never going to resolve this."

Leaning across the smoking bowl, Levi extracted the book from Grisham's hands, flipped the tome over, and dragged his finger down the page. Finding the incantation, Levi read the words aloud. When he reached the end of the paragraph, he lowered the book, his gaze landing on the smoking mortar.

Nothing happened.

Levi lifted his eyes and frowned. "Did it work?"

"No," Mansfield said, gesturing for Levi to pass him the book. "You don't believe, and faith is a major component of this kind of ritual."

"How would you know that?"

Mansfield pressed his lips together as though offended by Levi's question. "I read."

"As do I. However, I've never come across that information."

"Then, perhaps, you are reading the wrong books." Mansfield's mouth twitched, but before Levi could respond, he read the first line of the paragraph aloud.

A gust of wind zipped through the gazebo and extinguished the candle, plunging them into semi-darkness. Roxburghe and Grisham paused mid-argument and turned, their wide eyes reflecting Levi's astonishment.

"What happened?" Roxburghe asked, his voice barely audible.

"I,"—Mansfield swallowed—"read a sentence."

"Read another."

"Wait." Grisham's voice surprised them.

Roxburghe's eyebrows raised. "Do you protest the expulsion of Mr. Philbert?"

Grisham shook his head and sidled closer to Mansfield. "More voices add more strength."

"That doesn't count," Roxburghe said, gesturing at the book.

"The rules of the wager did not state that the passage had to be read alone, only first." Grisham nudged Mansfield. "On my count."

Clasping his arms behind his back, Roxburghe strode to the other side of Mansfield and bent, peering over Mansfield's shoulder. "Surely three is better than two."

"Why not four, then?" Mansfield grumbled.

Levi almost felt pity for his friend… almost.

"Care to join us?" Mansfield asked, snatching the cover away from Roxburghe's curious fingers.

"I don't believe, remember?" Levi crossed his arms over his chest. "I would prefer to watch the show from here."

"If this exorcism works," Mansfield said, his brown eyes darkening to black, "I pray you are the next to fall prey to the feminine charms."

The corners of Levi's mouth pulled into a sinister grin. "If I fall, you all fall."

Roxburghe snickered. "I'll support you in that quest."

Mansfield snapped the book shut. "Keep threatening my happiness, and I'll refuse to read the passage."

"Lies." Grisham pointed at Mansfield's finger, which held his place in the tome. "You're too invested in this adventure to walk away."

Mansfield made a rude gesture and reopened the book. "Only because I want to satisfy my curiosity."

"Of course," Grisham said, painting on a grand smile. "Do continue."

No one moved while Mansfield read. His solemn voice, loud, clear, and echoing, rebounded off the wooden rafters. As his voice died, another gust of wind whipped through the gazebo, stirring the dying embers and stealing the last bit of smoke from the mortar.

"How do we know the exorcism worked?" Grisham asked, his whispered question breaking the silence that settled over the men.

Roxburghe shrugged, then yelled, "Mr. Philbert! Are you here?"

A soft, chilling breeze ruffled his hair. Frowning, Roxburghe turned in a slow circle, his gaze sliding over the rear of the gazebo. He made a noise in his throat as though he'd wanted to swear but swallowed the word.

"What is it?" Levi asked, his attention drawn to the glass wall at which Roxburghe stared.

"Did you mend the broken glass pane that Miss Webb found behind the gazebo the same night she discovered Mr. Philbert's body?"

Levi opened his mouth to argue that, of course, he'd had the wall repaired, but he paused, his jaw slightly agape, recalling that directly following the murder, he and Roxburghe spent an arduous fortnight traveling across England in a coach.

He sighed and expelled a low curse, then strode to the rear of the gazebo and peered over the edge. His gaze slid along the base of the wall, stopping at the broken panel. Shaking his head, he twisted around, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

"I forgot. The peril your fiancée faced pushed the memory from my mind."

This time, Roxburghe did swear.

Mansfield bent and retrieved the mortar full of ash. "Since we have no possible means to determine if the ritual worked, we'll need to wait for more signs of Mr. Philbert's presence."

"We?" Levi frowned. "Are you not lodging with Roxburghe for the remainder of the season?"

"Are you?" Mansfield asked, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk.

"No." Snatching the mortar from Mansfield, Levi descended the gazebo steps. "Mr. Philbert is not going to force me from my home."

"You should warn Warwick," Mansfield said, keeping pace with Levi as they trudged down the pathway toward the house entrance. "He may want to alter his living situation for the next few months."

Grisham groaned from behind them. "This will give him the excuse he needs to abandon the season before my—our—weddings."

"He won't leave," Roxburghe said, a hint of amusement in his deep voice. "The decision will cost him ten thousand pounds."

"In reality," Levi said over his shoulder, "it'll cost him over twelve thousand, as you've already lost our wager."

Pulling open the conservatory door, Mansfield laughed, but the jovial sound did nothing to ease the tension in Levi's body.

He was quite certain they'd failed in their task, and though he didn't intend to share his fear of living in a house with a spirit, it was only proper that Warwick be informed. He prayed Warwick would find the situation diverting enough to stay.

"How did it go?" Beaufort asked, glancing up from his hand of cards as they entered the kitchen.

Setting the mortar on the table, Levi shifted his gaze to Warwick. "We don't know if it worked."

Several emotions flickered across Warwick's face. After a long moment, he inclined his head once and gestured for Mrs. Grove to refill his glass.

"Mrs. Grove has already unpacked my things," he murmured, then drained the whiskey.

Roxburghe strode forward. "The lodging may be settled, but Grisham and I are no closer to solving our issue."

"Perhaps,"—Beaufort wiggled his eyebrows—"your lovely fiancées could solve the wedding date dilemma."

"It could take days before that's decided," Roxburghe said, lifting one of the newly filled glasses of whiskey Mrs. Grove set out for them, "depending on their engagements, and I'm an impatient man."

Grisham snorted. "The word you wish to use is besotted ."

"Deny to me that you are not?"

"Besotted?" Grisham grinned, collected his glass, and clinked the rim against Roxburghe's. "I most definitely am."

"We could," Levi said, surprised by his voice and the irrepressible desire to see Miss Rowe, "ask your fiancées to decide the matter this very evening, as the ladies are playing cards at Miss Rowe's residence."

"An excellent suggestion," Roxburghe replied, saluting Warwick. "If you wish to remain here with Mr. Philbert, we will give your excuses."

"Present one logical reason," Warwick said, his liquor-soaked gaze sliding to Roxburghe, "why six foxed gentlemen should descend upon Miss Rowe's home at this hour."

Roxburghe chuckled, his impish gaze flicking to Levi. "Because Lennox wants to call upon Miss Rowe."