Chapter Eight

L ouisa found Aunt Mary in the morning room. She was drinking her tea and staring intently at the cards spread out before her.

"And whose fortune are you telling now?"

Mary shrugged, lifting one elegant shoulder. "No one in particular. I'm simply seeing what the future in this house may hold."

Louisa stepped deeper into the room. When she reached the table, she looked down at the assortment of cards and felt a shiver race through her. They looked quite ominous. "What is this?"

"The Tower," Mary replied. "It warns of impending chaos and trouble. There are dark times ahead at Rosehaven, my dear. Secrets," she added, tapping another card, "hidden agendas, lies. Dark times, indeed."

"Who was Caroline Farris?"

Louisa couldn't say who was more startled by the question, Mary or herself. She'd intended to ease her way into that conversation, to subtly and slyly conduct her investigation. Clearly, she had failed. She'd changed her gown to one that gave her actual pockets and now removed the journal tucked inside it. The letters, she had hidden in their rooms. They were intimate in a way that she could not imagine Douglas would wish his aunt to be privy to.

"You've been snooping," Mary finally replied, but there was no censure in her voice.

"Not snooping. I was invited."

Mary's eyebrows lifted. "By whom?"

"Caroline Farris," Louisa replied. "Or whatever remains of her in this house."

Mary blinked in surprise. "You've seen her?"

Louisa took the seat opposite her. "Not exactly. I have... felt her presence. Cold spots, drafts, a fluttering curtain. And while I would like to dismiss those as simply the vagaries of an old house, we are in the throes of summer heat. And by following those things, she led me to her room and to that journal. The question I have, is why?"

Mary leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "There are ways to find out. There is a woman I know who claims to have the ability to commune with the spirit world. She is in London. I will write to her... but are your prepared for the answers, Louisa?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I must speak with Douglas."

"He's gone out," Mary said. "I saw him riding away earlier this morning. He appeared to be in quite a temper. Likely because of his conversation with Terrence. That boy does certainly know how to get under everyone's skin."

"Man. He's not a boy at all, is he? He's a man fully grown and should have the corresponding accountability for his actions. To call him a boy is to facilitate his continued immaturity."

Mary blinked in surprise. Then she laughed. "I like you, Louisa. I do not say that about many people. But I do like you. It's the rare bird who isn't afraid to speak her mind so freely. Are you intimidated by anything at all?"

"I haven't encountered it yet. I'm certain it exists, however. I think I'll go back upstairs. When Douglas returns, will you tell him I'd like to speak with him?"

With Mary's nod of agreement, Louisa left the drawing room and made her way back upstairs. Once again, she was left only with more questions. What had happened between Douglas and Terrence to invoke his temper?

As she reached the top of the stairs, she saw the same maid she'd seen once before—the one who'd been loitering outside the kitchen. Once again, she was not working. But this wasn't simply shirking her duties. The girl was giggling in Terrence's arms as he kissed her neck. It was clear that they were well and intimately acquainted with one another.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Terrence pulled himself away from the maid long enough to give her a scathing look, before dismissively adding, "You are a married woman. If it requires explanation, my cousin is more of a prig than I thought." With that, the two disappeared into one of the many bedrooms along the corridor, their laughter echoing behind them.

Impotently furious, Louisa lifted her chin and made her way back to the master suite. The insolence and utter disregard for propriety was bad enough, but there was something even more disturbing about it. There had been a familiarity between Terrence and the maid, Fanny, who, according to what Louisa had discovered earlier, had only been employed at Rosehaven for a few months. And Terrence, allegedly, hadn't been back to Rosehaven since the reading of James Blackwell's will. So when had there even been an opportunity for them to meet?

*

It was late when Douglas arrived home. His earlier encounter with Terrence had already put him in a foul mood, but his meeting with Hatton had only worsened it. Unless Terrence did something truly diabolical, they were stuck. The will had stated that Terrence could only be denied the right to reside at Rosehaven if he posed a threat to its other inhabitants or until he was no longer the heir apparent to its current owner.

So he might have a child with Louisa, something he had not planned to do at all. Or wait for Terrence to actually bring harm to someone. Those were his options. Neither was acceptable. The first for a variety of reasons and the length of time that would be required. The second because it was the very thing he hoped to avoid.

Passing the butler in the entryway, he directed, "Have a tray sent up for Mrs. Blackwell and myself. We will dine in our suite tonight."

"Certainly, sir," the elderly man replied with a note of censure in his voice. It was clear that he held Louisa in some disregard.

"Let me make something very clear. My wife will run this household to her satisfaction. If she says a staff member should be fired, they will be fired. If she says she dislikes the way someone is fulfilling their duties, then her word is law, and they will be sent packing. I've tolerated your rudeness and disrespect for long enough. I will not have her tolerate it, as well. And if that is a problem for you, you may collect your severance and leave immediately."

The aged servant ducked his head in his first ever display of deference. "Certainly, sir. I shall be certain that all the staff is made aware of Mrs. Blackwell's authority."

Taking the stairs, Douglas made his way directly to the master suite. When he entered, Louisa was seated at a small table. Spread out before her was a small book and several letters. But she wasn't looking at them. She was looking at him and had clearly been waiting for some time.

It was bad form to abandon one's wife on their wedding day, regardless of the circumstances of their marriage. "I'm sorry. I had to get out for a while. I wasn't fit company for anyone. Discovering that we are likely stuck with Terrence for the duration put me in a foul mood."

"Well, I'm on the verge of making it much worse, I'm afraid. But first, tell me about Caroline Farris."

The last thing he'd expected was to hear that name from Louisa. In truth, he rarely spoke of Caroline to anyone. "She was my uncle's ward. We grew up here together."

"And you were in love," she said. There was no accusation in her voice. It was merely an observation.

He considered his answer carefully. "I thought I was, but we were very young. So young that I think neither of us was capable of really loving someone. Had she lived, we would have married, and we might have been happy together... but I do not know. I'm not certain anyone who is a member of this family is capable of love."

"How did she die?"

A sigh escaped him. He didn't talk about Caroline—hadn't even spoken her name in years. "She had a riding accident. There was nothing she loved better than her horses, and she was the most accomplished equestrienne I have ever seen. But even the most skilled rider can have an accident. She was thrown and struck her head on a stone. When we found her, she was unconscious. And when we brought her home, she lingered in that state for several days, before ultimately passing away."

"I do not think it was an accident. I think she was murdered... and her spirit is lingering here at Rosehaven."