Page 39 of Winterset

I stood at the front of the room. “I’m pleased you were all brave enough to attend this ghost-story reading tonight. Winterset has a long and tragic history, and I have it on the best authority that ghosts haunt these halls. We shall have to hope they behave tonight.”

Charlie, who’d entered the room unnoticed behind my guests, began to play an eerie song on the pianoforte. The ladies were startled, but when they saw that it was a servant, not a spirit playing the instrument, they giggled at being so easily scared.

“Tonight,” I continued in a low and ominous tone, “I offer you a reading from The Wraiths of Dunmore Abbey by Mr. Laurence Fairfax, a gripping ghost story that may stretch the limits of your sensibilities. Prepare yourselves to hear a terrifying tale.”

I retrieved the book from the top of the trunk and turned to the bookmarked page.

“Once upon a time,” I began in a low voice. “In a home very much like this one, there lived a man, though some believed him more a monster than a man ...”

As I read, the women clasped hands, hanging on my every word. I varied the tone and volume of my voice to build tension. When I reached a particularly suspenseful passage, I paused.

The silence stretched into the stillness, and then there came a scraping sound from inside the wall behind me. My guests’ eyes widened, not knowing it was only Bexley inside the derelict passageway.

Page after page, I read, and my guests hung on my every word. When I reached the climax of the story, Charlie played the pianoforte at a feverish pace, then stopped suddenly, and Mrs. Owensby screamed, splitting the night.

I snapped the book closed, signaling the end of the reading and gestured for Bexley, Mrs. Owensby, and Charlie to join me onstage to take a bow.

Everyone applauded enthusiastically.

“Bravo!” the women cheered.

“Most entertaining!” Mr. Dalton said.

And Markham nodded his approval.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

We’d done it.

The night had gone off without a hitch. I could not wait to tell Kate about it tomorrow morning. To hold her in my arms again, to kiss her.

I walked my guests to the drive and was handing Miss Dalton into the carriage when Markham discovered he’d forgotten his gloves.

“Blast! I’ll return shortly,” he said and ran back inside.

The Daltons lingered longer than I liked, reissuing their invitation to dine with them next. I evaded acceptance, and when they finally left, Markham’s carriage inched forward on the drive.

But he hadn’t returned.

I went inside to find him, but the drawing room was empty. I checked the dining hall next, but he wasn’t there either. I passed through the entrance hall to recheck the drawing room when I heard a sound in my study.

Markham? I walked to the door and found him standing by my desk. His back was to me, so he didn’t see me right away. His shoulders were rounded, and his head was down as though he were looking at something in his hands.

“Are you lost, Lord Markham?” I asked.

He turned to face me. In his hands was a piece of paper, but it was too dark to see what was written on it. “What can I say? It is a big house.”

“It’s not, actually.”

“Well, saying so is far less embarrassing than admitting I have no sense of direction.”

“What are you doing in my private study, Lord Markham?”

“ That is an excellent question. I’m so glad you asked. I believe you are hiding something that belongs to me, Jennings, and I had to investigate for myself.”

“Something that belongs to you? Your gloves? I assure you I didn’t take them, if that’s—”

“Not my gloves.” He huffed a humorless laugh.

“You know, I never thought it odd that Miss Lockwood’s body wasn’t found until you appeared in the tavern raving like a lunatic about seeing a ghost.” He shook his head and laughed lightly.

“She really played me for a fool, didn’t she?

” He sneered down at the paper in his hands—the heavily crumpled paper—and I realized it was one of the many drafts of my letter to Kate that I’d discarded. Proof of her survival.

I grew cold but tried to cover it.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Markham continued, stalking closer, like a cat toying with its prey, “I understand why you’d want to keep Miss Lockwood for yourself. She is uncommonly beautiful. Unfortunately for you, though, she already signed a marriage contract with me.”

“Cavendish,” I said, finally seeing his true identity.

“Yes.” His mouth curled into a sinister smile. “I believe we finally understand one another. Where is she, Jennings?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you do.” He shoved the letter into my chest. “And if you know what’s good for you, you will return what rightfully belongs to me.”

“I can’t. I sent her away,” I said, thinking quickly. “That is why I wrote her a letter instead of telling her.”

He grinned like he found my attempt to protect her amusing. “I find that difficult to believe, but fine. I’ll play along. I will give you one week to retrieve my property and return it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, I would say you’d live to regret it, but you probably won’t.”

I wouldn’t regret it, or I wouldn’t live ?

His gaze raked down my form with chilling coldness, and I knew the answer. “Within the week, Jennings,” he said, then shouldered past me into the entrance hall.

I followed immediately after him, watching to ensure he climbed into his carriage. As soon as his conveyance was outside the gate, I shouted for the servants.

They joined me seconds later. “Sir?” Bexley said.

“Cavendish is Lord Markham?”

“He is, sir,” Bexley said gravely.

“How is that possible?”

“Well, he was Mr. Cavendish, but after the deaths of his father and elder brother, he inherited the family title and is now called Lord Markham.”

“I know how titles work. What I am wondering is why I am only now finding this out? Why did you not tell me sooner?” I looked to Mrs. Owensby, who was wringing her apron.

“You didn’t disclose your guest list. You never made any mention of him to us before tonight either.”

I hadn’t. Why would I have? There had been no reason to talk to my servants about my new friend. But then my mind went back to Bexley’s reaction upon Markham’s arrival. How had I been so blind? “When he showed up tonight, you recognized him. Why did you not say anything?”

“I wanted to, sir, but when I went to stow your guest’s coats and I told Mrs. Owensby and Charlie about his being here, we decided it was best not to alert you. If we had, you might have acted differently and made him suspicious. We did not want to risk Kate’s safety.”

I raked my hands through my hair. Considering how I felt right now, they’d been right not to tell me. Had I known Markham’s true identity earlier tonight, I would not have been able to keep my composure.

“How did you learn who he was?” Charlie asked.

“Markham found a letter I wrote to Kate in the bin, thus proving she is alive. He has demanded that I deliver her to him within the week.”

“You can’t,” Mrs. Owensby all but cried.

“I won’t .” But now that he knew Kate was alive, how could I possibly keep her safe?