Page 18 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)
AUbrEY
Aubrey was standing by the window of the drawing room, looking out over Rowan Vale. He could sense the excitement in the air, and closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the bustling scene playing out in the streets beyond the Hall.
For many years, he, Agnes and Florence had accompanied Lawrie into the village to witness the great Christmas lights switch-on, until Agnes had put a stop to their visits.
From what he understood, this year the tree had been moved to the front of All Souls, as market huts had been placed on the green.
He tried to imagine what it would look like.
Callie had told him that they’d added even more lights to the village display this year, with some of the side streets like Victoria Walk being included in the illuminations. He thought it must look marvellous.
She’d very kindly opened the window for him before she left so he could lean out and get a better look. In the distance he could hear chanting, which he recognised as the countdown. Moments later he saw a flood of lights, heading all the way from All Souls down towards Harling Hall.
‘Splendid,’ he murmured. ‘How wonderful.’
He wished he could see them up close. Somewhere down there, Florence would be enjoying the festivities. She and Immi had gone with Callie and Brodie, and Aubrey was grateful that his little girl had made such a good friend in Callie’s eleven-year-old daughter.
After an initially rocky start, they’d become inseparable in recent months, going everywhere together. It was incredibly fortunate that Immi shared her mother’s gift of seeing all the ghosts on the Harling Estate. It didn’t always happen that way.
His thoughts strayed to his own childhood, when his inability to see the ghosts had caused his parents such distress. They’d been desperate for him to take over the estate and took his failure to inherit his father’s ability as a personal insult – as if he’d done it on purpose.
And when his own son had also failed to inherit the gift, the Wyndhams’ fate was sealed. His mother had never forgiven him. As for Elspeth…
The sadness that he tried so hard to keep at bay – usually with great success – overwhelmed him suddenly as he turned away from the window. Even after all this time, the memory of how he’d felt back then could still return with a bitterness that stung so sharply it could have been yesterday.
He remembered those dark days of utter wretchedness.
The loneliness. The shame. The confusion.
He’d never thought to find happiness in his life, and it was fair to say he hadn’t.
But his afterlife was another matter. He still couldn’t believe what joy he’d found after passing on, all thanks to one wonderful woman who’d given him hope and strength and shown him what true love really felt like.
As if his thoughts had summoned her, Agnes’s voice came to him, gentle and full of affection and warmth.
‘Are you all right, Mr Wyndham? You’re looking very pensive.’
He lifted his head, breaking into a smile as she hurried towards him.
‘I was just thinking how very lucky I am to have found you, my dear.’
Agnes beamed at him, looking suddenly far younger than her forty-five years – give or take a couple of centuries.
‘It is I who was lucky to find you,’ she assured him. ‘I count my blessings every single day.’
He had the sudden overwhelming urge to pull her into a fierce hug and kiss her passionately, but Agnes was a lady, and one simply didn’t do these things. Especially given the circumstances. It would be highly inappropriate.
Instead, fighting his embarrassing surge of desire, he turned quickly back to the window and waved his arm, encompassing the whole of Rowan Vale in one dramatic gesture.
‘Look, my dear. Isn’t it splendid? The Christmas lights have been switched on, and the whole village is illuminated. What a joyous sight it is to behold, is it not?’
Agnes came to his side and peered out. Her hand flew to her chest, and she nodded. ‘Quite beautiful indeed,’ she said softly. ‘I hope Florence is behaving herself.’
Aubrey hesitantly slipped his arm around her shoulders, and she gave him a look of surprise but didn’t shrug him off, which he found encouraging.
‘I’m sure she’s having a wonderful time. I understand the market stalls have opened for a short time this evening, and Florence was most excited about all the food that is to be served. She’s looking forward to smelling all sorts of delicious festive fare.’
‘I just hope she doesn’t overdo it,’ Agnes said firmly. ‘She’ll be dreaming of food tonight, and that can lead to no good. You know how angry she gets when she wants something she can’t have.’
‘Well…’ Aubrey sighed heavily. ‘I suppose we all must learn to accept that there are some things we can never have.’
‘Is this about going into the village again?’ She moved away from him, leaving him feeling strangely bereft.
He hadn’t been thinking of that at all. He’d had something far more intimate in mind, but he could hardly express that to her, could he? Besides, she had a point.
‘It would be nice to see the display at close quarters,’ he said wistfully. ‘I haven’t been to the Christmas market in the village for many, many years.’
‘It hasn’t run for many, many years,’ she reminded him.
‘No, but now it’s returned, and it would be good to visit, don’t you think? Surely it couldn’t harm to have a stroll down to the green, Agnes? Wouldn’t you like to?—?’
‘Mr Wyndham, we’ve had this discussion!’
Now she sounded exasperated, and he knew he’d disappointed her. A feeling of gloom settled on him as his hopes and happiness evaporated. He hated letting her down.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘I just feel that it’s wrong to let someone like Silas Alexander win. Why should his opinion of our – er – living arrangements dictate how we live our afterlives?’
‘He is the vicar of All Souls, Mr Wyndham,’ she reminded him primly. ‘His opinions exert much influence on the villagers.’
‘Actually, my dear, he was the vicar of All Souls. He hasn’t been in that position for over a century.
As for his opinions – I would venture to suggest that none of the villagers pay heed to those.
He exerts no influence over them any longer.
I fail to see why we give his wretched ramblings credence. ’
‘He is a man of the cloth!’ She sounded shocked, as if she’d completely forgotten that it wasn’t so long ago that she’d called him a monster. ‘Whatever we may think of him, nevertheless, he deserves our respect. Besides…’
Her voice trailed off and she turned away and headed over to the sofa.
He watched as she sat down, noting the fumbling with the ribbons on her bed jacket, and the nervous trembling of her fingers. His eyes narrowed and he went to sit beside her.
‘Agnes, you don’t give his utterances any validity, surely? The man is a zealot! He was insufferable even when he was alive, but in the afterlife he has proved to be quite insane.’
‘Not insane, Mr Wyndham. Merely a man of principle.’
‘Principle!’ Aubrey stared at her. ‘You’re not saying – you can’t mean that you actually agree with him?’
Agnes twisted the ribbons so tightly that, had she been alive, she’d probably have choked herself. Aubrey gently took her hands and lowered them, gazing into her eyes with deep concern.
‘The fact is, Mr Wyndham, whatever we say to the contrary, he does have a point, doesn’t he?’ She gave him an anxious look. ‘The truth is, we are married, but not to each other. And I suppose, looked at from the outside, that does make Harling Hall a den of iniquity.’
Luckily, Aubrey managed to smother the shout of bitter laughter and the cry of, ‘Chance would be a fine thing!’
Conscious of Agnes’s sensibilities, he took her hands between his own and said calmly, ‘It is hardly that, my dear. We have separate rooms. We have never?—’
Seeing her eyes widen in horror he said hastily, ‘That is, we have always behaved with propriety. That other people make more of it than it is, cannot be blamed on us.’
‘But we share a suite of rooms, Mr Wyndham,’ she whispered. ‘And we refer to each other as husband and wife.’
‘Because I think of you as my wife, and I hope that you think of me as your husband,’ he said, hoping the hurt he was feeling didn’t come across in his tone of voice.
‘I do,’ she said. ‘Indeed, you are far more of a husband to me than Cyril Ashcroft ever was, even without all that ghastly business taking place.’
It was as close as Agnes had ever come to discussing marital relations, and evidently she realised it, for she turned away from him, obviously too embarrassed to face him.
Aubrey sighed. Ghastly business . It could be so much more than that. At least, that’s what he’d always believed. He didn’t suppose he’d ever get the chance to find out and, clearly, Agnes had no desire to test the theory.
‘However,’ she continued, still facing away from him, ‘the fact remains, you are not my husband, and I am not your wife. We made vows to other people.’
‘Till death us do part,’ Aubrey said, refusing to let go of her hands even though she went to pull them away. ‘There are no rules about the afterlife, are there?’
‘We can have no way of knowing that.’ He saw her tremble and swallowed. She looked so fragile. So utterly beautiful. His own hand shook slightly as he lifted it to her face and gently stroked her cheek.
‘Mr Wyndham…’ Agnes’s voice trailed off, and encouraged, he turned her face to his and leaned forward, his lips lightly touching hers.
It was the first time he’d kissed her mouth and the effect it had on them both was startling. Aubrey felt the shoots of desire springing to life and coursing through him like blood through his veins – if only he’d had blood coursing through his veins.
Agnes’s palms rested on his chest and, daring to hope, he cupped her face and kissed her again, the pressure increasing slightly on her lips as he reminded himself to be careful, that she was a lady of refinement and high morals, and he simply couldn’t overstep the mark.
No really, he simply couldn’t…
But her lips were soft and yielding, and her hands were firm on his chest, and she was so close to him, so irresistibly close, that he quite forgot himself and, overcome with a sudden, urgent need for her, his hand strayed from her face to her neck, where it lingered for a moment before moving even lower, his trembling fingers tracing a line along her breastbone…
Agnes gave a strangled cry and pushed him away before leaping to her feet.
‘I have a headache,’ she announced, and without so much as glancing in his direction, she rushed into her bedroom.
Aubrey sank back in the sofa and stared at the closed door, feeling stunned, foolish, and – worst of all – rejected.
Elspeth’s voice came to him as clearly as if she was standing beside him.
‘You have had your way, and I have done my duty. Now, leave me alone! I have no desire to lie with you again. I would thank you to remember that you were born a gentleman and should behave like one, not a common gamekeeper like your father.’
It was all his fault. He’d let his working-class urges overwhelm him and now he’d repulsed Agnes, the woman who had given him so much happiness after so much pain. How could he ever earn her forgiveness? And would she ever trust him again?