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T he morning after Macie had endured both Lady Drayton’s attempts at matchmaking and an encounter with a vexingly noble rogue, she faced the day with a clear determination to put the tiresome night behind her. She could think of no better place—in London, at least—to lift her spirits than Bennington Manor. Smiling to herself as she strolled through the main hall, she drank in the beauty and flaws and eccentricities of her grandfather’s once-grand house. No, she corrected herself. Her house . Finally, she felt at home. Bennington Manor was where she belonged.

Pity the same could not be said of her friend. Macie couldn’t recall a time when Nell Blake had seemed so skittish. Why, if the willowy blonde’s eyes went any wider, she would look as if she had seen a ghost. And not the friendly kind Grandpapa had spoken of with such great fondness.

“Bennington Manor is haunted. Isn’t it?” Nell gazed up at a portrait of one of Macie’s ancestors, an imposing man whose staid expression, full mane of silver hair, and black eye patch lent him the look of a fierce buccaneer—a buccaneer who’d been reformed by the love of a proper woman. At least, that was the tale Grandpapa had recounted with great pride about his own grandfather.

“Grandpapa was convinced his ancestors roamed these halls.”

“You sound quite pleased at the thought. I certainly cannot say the same. This place gives me a chill.” Nell clasped her arms over her chest as if warding off a shiver.

“Surely you are not frightened by a harmless wee ghost.” Macie shot her friend a glance as they proceeded along the corridor toward the parlor.

“A wee ghost? No.” Nell paused again, this time to sweep her gaze over a fig-leaf-clad marble Adonis who peered down upon them from his solid perch. “But who’s to say that’s the only spectral creature roaming through this place?”

“I encountered my first spirit here when I was a girl still in braids,” Macie said. “As you can see, it did no harm.”

Nell reached up to brush a cobweb from the Adonis’s meticulously chiseled buttocks, then slanted her a skeptical look. “Perhaps it liked you because it sensed a kinship. Unlike you, I’ve no desire to bandy words with a phantom. When I’m alone in the dark, I much prefer to dream about some dashing scoundrel or two.”

“How very outrageous!” Macie said, pressing her hands to her cheeks in a look of feigned shock.

“Oh, don’t even try to pretend you have not invited a rake into your boudoir, even if the gent is imaginary. I can only hazard a guess as to how many times you’ve read and reread Pride and Prejudice . And I suspect it’s not merely to enjoy Lizzie Bennet’s wit.”

Macie pursed her lips. “And I suppose you have never swooned over a romantic hero.”

Nell waved away the thought. “I make no such claim. Why, only last night I dreamt of Mr. Darcy. He was preparing for a hot bath after a vigorous bout of bare-knuckle boxing.”

“Oh, dear. You certainly do know how to paint a vivid picture with words.” Macie playfully fanned herself. “Pity Fitzwilliam Darcy is not a true scoundrel.”

Nell lifted a brow. “Unlike the rogue who gallantly saved you from a nasty tumble?”

“Good heavens, word does travel quickly.”

Nell looked to be biting back a little grin. “Mr. Caldwell’s quick reflexes are a valid subject of conversation, I would say.”

“I’d imagine my decided lack of grace was of more interest.”

“From what I’ve heard, more than one woman in attendance regretted she had not thought to take a conveniently timed spill,” Nell teased. “I’d say it was a rather brilliant stroke of luck. After all, a dashing scoundrel is precisely what you needed to send Lord Drayton and his harpy of a mother scurrying off.”

An image of a man who fit the bill rather nicely invaded Macie’s thoughts, and she fought the urge to frown. Scoundrels weren’t supposed to care about her honor. Rakes did not give two half-pennies about compromising a woman. Rogues would not spare a thought to preserving a woman’s good name.

But Finn had done just that.

Drat the luck

“Sadly, Lady Drayton was not so easily deterred,” Macie said, motioning to Nell to follow her to the parlor. “Though I must say her son had little interest in his mother’s scheme. He’d much rather have been peering through his telescope than making inconsequential banter with me.”

“If you truly wish to scare off Lord Drayton, simply inform him you wish to take up residence here.” Nell paused as they passed a marble bust of some long-dead king and blew a bit of dust off the bloke’s prominent nose. “That should do the trick.”

“The ghost of MacBeth himself could not deter Lady Drayton.”

Entering the parlor, she pondered the rays of sunlight creeping in through the glazed windows. For now, she’d leave the off-white sheets in place on the settee and chairs, optimizing the mood. So much the better to create a scene that brought specters to mind.

“Good heavens, Macie! What is that?” Nell’s usually melodic voice had gone up an octave or so.

“That?” Macie struggled to discern what precisely had set her friend into a stir.

“ That... lurking there.” Nell pointed to the draperies by the parlor window. Had her shudder at the simple rustling of curtains been genuine or a demonstration of her decided flair for the dramatic?

The fabric swayed, and one small black paw poked out from the shadows. “Oh, Cleo, you naughty minx,” Macie said, coaxing her cat from her hiding place.

“That little beast is going to give me heart palpitations.” Nell glared at the feline, then smiled as she crouched to pet her. A ray of sunlight glimmered off its collar. “You are a sneaky little girl, aren’t you?” She glanced up at Macie. “I’m tempted to believe you taught her to give me a fright.”

Macie grinned. “If only that were possible. Cleo is far too independent to be trained.”

“A bit like you, my friend.” Scooping up the cat, Nell studied its sparkly, adorned collar. “Crystals? For a cat? This must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

“An exquisitely pretty penny. And then some.”

“Does your father know how much you spent?”

Macie shrugged. “Not yet. But once his man of business attends to my shopping accounts, I imagine Papa will include a few choice words in his next letter.”

“Even so, my father is not nearly so generous.”

“Generous?” Macie hiked a brow. “I’m not quite sure that’s the right word. Papa has a plan. And fortunately for me, that plan requires funds. Gowns to tempt Lord High-and-Mighty don’t come cheap, you know.”

“Like that atrocity you wore last night?”

Macie grinned. “I’ll have you know that gown was an original. Madame Lorette said she’d never created anything like it.”

“ Original ?” Nell scoffed. “I admire your way with language. I can only imagine the dressmaker has never before had such a request. I do wish I’d seen the impression you made with my own eyes.”

“You will have your chance soon enough. Madame Lorette is putting the finishing touches on another creation as we speak.”

Nell’s eyes went wide again. “Tell me it’s not the same style as the last one.”

“Not even close.”

“I suppose Jon will be relieved.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “But does it really matter?”

A frown pulled at her friend’s mouth. “Macie, what have you done now? I wouldn’t be entirely shocked if you arrived at a ball dressed in a grain sack.”

“Now that would be quite brilliant.” Macie mulled the notion in her head. “Perhaps that will be my next commission.”

“Oh, dear, I’ve inspired you, haven’t I?”

“And for that, I must thank you,” Macie said with a grin. “The gown Madame Lorette’s seamstress is creating was inspired by the tales of Robin Hood.”

“Maid Marian?” Nell looked hopeful.

Macie gave a little shake of her head. “Friar Tuck.”

Nell’s brows hiked in unison. “If you keep this up, your brother’s hair will gray in no time.”

“You are rather concerned about him,” Macie observed. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gone sweet on that stick in the mud.”

“Of course not. Jon has always been... like a brother to me.” The rosy hue in Nell’s cheeks contradicted her words.

“In case you haven’t noticed yet, he’s still very much available.”

Her flush deepened. “I am quite content with the way things are. There’s so much of the world I want to see before I’m settled by the hearth with a husband and babe in arms.”

“Indeed.” Macie agreed. “We shall both enjoy this time.”

“Absolutely.” A thin smile crossed Nell’s face. “While we have it. We both know it cannot go on forever.”

Macie studied her friend’s pensive expression. Nell had relished this time in London, especially those rare moments when she considered casting her ever-practical nature to the wind. Over the years, Macie had grown to view Nell as her calm, rational sister-of-the-heart. Her even, level-headed nature had been the primary reason Macie’s father had agreed to Nell’s unofficial role as Macie’s companion. She could be counted on to rein in Macie’s impulsive ways far more effectively than some hired biddy. Or so Papa thought.

What Papa didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Or her, for that matter.

“My, what a gloomy Sue,” Macie said, even as she heard the truth in Nell’s voice. Sooner or later, their wings would be clipped. But dash it all, she intended to delay that moment as long as possible.

The squawk of the entry door opening and closing yanked Macie from her thoughts. The rhythmic beat of boot heels upon the floorboards in the entry hall confirmed they were no longer alone.

“Someone’s here.” Nell whispered. My, she seemed unduly susceptible to alarm. Perhaps the strings of cobwebs by the fireplace and the gloomy shadows in the corners of the room had rattled her nerves more than Macie had expected.

Oddly enough, Macie felt quite at home.

“It’s Jon, most likely. He was due this afternoon to assess the needed renovations and prioritize the improvements. I had not expected him so soon.” She sighed. Drat the luck. She’d hoped for more time to plan her photography exhibit without disruption.

Two familiar male voices confirmed her assumption. Her brother had stopped in the corridor beyond the parlor, looking over the massive wooden staircase that led from the entry hall to the second floor. Finn Caldwell stood at his side, tapping his walking stick against his palm as he examined the intricate carvings on the banister.

Oh, dear .

She certainly had not expected to face him so soon after their impromptu discussion the night before. Truth be told, she’d hoped to avoid seeing him again throughout her stay in London. It wasn’t as if he frequented society soirees. His appearance at Lady Drayton’s ball had been unexpected, even to their hostess.

What fresh manner of torment is this?

“He’s not alone,” Nell observed for effect rather than out of necessity. “Perhaps Mr. Caldwell wished to see you again.”

“Dash it all, Nell.” She threw her friend a scowl. “You know better than that.”

“I understand the two of you made quite a pair, whirling about Lady Drayton’s ballroom,” Nell said in a teasing whisper.

“Our whirling had more to do with deterring Lady Drayton’s schemes than in any interest beyond that one waltz.”

Nell smiled. “I would not be so sure.”

Turning toward Macie, Finn looked to be biting back a smile. Had he overheard their hushed comments? Should she now add eavesdropping to the list of his most vexing qualities? Heaven knew the newly gained sense of propriety he had wielded to throw water on the sparks of her plan was a poor fit for the rogue, no matter how well-tailored his gentleman’s clothing. At the very least, her scheme to create a stir of gossip would have proven amusing, even if she had failed to thwart her father’s hopes.

She would not give him the satisfaction of displaying her annoyance at his unexpected visit to her cobweb-draped sanctuary. Macie forced a smile. “What brings you here today, Mr. Caldwell?”

“I seek another place on yer dance card, my lady.” He sketched a half-hearted bow.

She resisted the urge to scowl. He’d enjoy her pique far too much.

“Dance card?” She softly shook her head. “I cannot say I’ve ever required one. And I doubt I ever shall.”

“I would not be so sure. I suspect yer attention will be in demand in ballrooms throughout London. Unless, of course, Lord Drayton made a considerable impression on ye.”

“He wanted nothing more than to have the evening over and done with. Just as I did. In that regard, we were quite compatible.”

Finn’s gaze swept over her, none too discreetly. “I see ye decided against wearing that shroud again.”

Macie toyed with the cuffs of her crisp white mutton-sleeved blouse. “I’ll have you know I reserve my shrouds for special occasions.”

Finn cocked a brow as Nell looked to be suppressing a giggle. “Ah, so that’s yer strategy.”

“So far, I’d say it has been a grand success.”

“Have ye made it yer life’s work to give yer brother a case of dyspepsia?”

It was Macie’s turn to hike her brows. “Everyone is overly concerned with Jon’s wellbeing, as if my conduct is of paramount importance to his happiness.”

“If his hair turns gray before his time, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Nell quipped as her gaze lit on Finn’s walking stick. “Mr. Caldwell, that’s quite a clever design. I’m rather accustomed to seeing silver wolves or lions. But a gargoyle? How very intriguing.”

“A Welsh silversmith crafted it,” he replied.

Macie studied the intricate detail. “When my brother was a lad, he would tease me with tales of the creatures perched high atop old buildings, ready to swoop down upon a willful child. Like me.”

“I see ye managed to dodge the beasts.” Mischief flashed in Finn’s amber eyes. “Well done.”

“Does it conceal a blade?” Nell asked, moving closer to examine the walking stick. “For purposes of defense, of course.”

He shook his head. “I’ve no need for a sword stick. Wielded with purpose, this serves as a powerful deterrent.”

“Indeed,” Nell agreed. Her features lit up as Macie’s brother strolled up behind Finn.

Seemingly oblivious to what had gone between Macie and Finn the night before, Jon regarded her with an expression usually reserved for funerals. Judging from the furrows in his forehead, he’d been assessing the necessary repairs to the mansion.

“Honestly, Macie, we would be well-advised to salvage the more valuable fixtures and tear the place down,” Jon said, ever practical as always. He was like that, the sensible heir always striving to prove his worth in their father’s eyes. Jon was a scholar at heart, not a cutthroat tycoon. In Papa’s view, that was a definite disadvantage.

“How can you say such a thing?” She shot him a fierce look. “This house holds so many fond memories.”

“And ghosts,” Nell chimed in.

“Memories will not pay the bills.” Jon’s frown deepened. “Unless the ghosts lurking about are skilled carpenters, it would make better sense to put this place out of its misery.”

“I won’t hear of it.” Macie kept her voice steady, reining in her emotion. “Grandfather left this house to me. He knew I would preserve it. There’s a great deal of history within these walls.”

“I have to agree with Miss Mason.” Finn spoke up. Returning to the entry hall beyond the parlor, he tugged on the handrail of the main staircase. “Solid, as you can see. The house looks worse than it is. The place has good bones.”

Macie regarded him for a long moment, nearly shocked into speechlessness. If he had uttered artificially poetic compliments of her beauty, her attire, or her ability to waltz without treading upon his toes, his words would have been meaningless to her. But he had actually agreed with her. And contrary to her brother’s view, no less. That was truly something.

Jon scowled at his old friend. “Remind me why I even thought to let you know we were in London.”

Finn regarded him with a patient expression. “Perhaps ye recall that between bouts of gambling and raising Cain while we were at university, I did learn a bit about architecture.”

Her brother regarded him with a dubious slant of his brows. “On those rare occasions when you actually showed your face in the lecture hall.”

“As I recall, the university actually provided me with a piece of parchment bearing my name in a fancy script. I suppose that means something.” As he turned back to Macie, the faintest of smiles curve his mouth. “I take it ye will put some faith in my opinion.”

Faith? It was a bit too soon for that, wasn’t it? But she wasn’t about to admit that. Not in front of Jon, at least.

“As long as we can persuade my tight-fisted brother not to abandon this house, I suppose I must.”

“Humbug,” Jon muttered, though he looked a bit too cheerful to have made a convincing Scrooge.

She folded her arms at the waist and glared at him. “Such a pity our parents did not think to name you Ebenezer.”

“Surely you’re not forgetting what it’s going to take to convince the old man to advance the funds to restore this place? You and I both know that Father won’t spend a dime unless he views it as an investment.”

Jonathan hadn’t intended his words to cut. But they did. Investment. Such as this time in London. Macie knew full well why her father had agreed to finance this visit to the city. And she also knew the payment he expected to extract from her in the form of a fancy title.

“I am aware of that.” She pulled in a low breath. “Don’t worry, Jon. Papa will get what he wants. He always does.”