One Week As Lovers (Somerhart 3)

Damn.

A quick glance around didn’t reveal any obvious signs of Cynthia’s presence. Lancaster was wiping his damp palms against the wool of his coat when the knock came.

After a deep breath that helped to open the tight knot in his throat, Lancaster pasted a smile on his face and threw open the door. “Good day!” he boomed before realizing there was no one there. But then a man popped into view and Lancaster nearly swallowed his tongue.

Cynthia’s stepfather. He rose from a crouch and held something out to Lancaster. “Here.”

Lancaster blinked down at his gloves. “Ah. So sorry. Did I leave them in your study?”

“What?” Cambertson’s bulbous nose crinkled. “No, I found them here on your step. Right strange, if you ask me.”

“Yes, of course. On the step. I just had them. Thank you.” He was babbling now. “So sorry,” he added in case there was any doubt that his mouth was working independently of his mind.

Cambertson eyed him cautiously, his chin tucking in. “Right then. Might I come in?”

“Um…” No good excuse presented itself, so Lancaster offered a weak, “Yes.”

As soon as Cambertson stepped in and closed the door behind him, Lancaster realized he should have just muttered something about the stables and taken the man for a walk. By God, he’d always lied quite well in London. The fresh country air must be interfering, infusing his character with wholesomeness. Though it hadn’t reached too deeply, it seemed.

The thought of unwholesomeness made him think of Cynthia and what was at stake, and Lancaster managed to draw up his spine. He’d lived a charade his whole life. Fooling Cambertson shouldn’t be hard.

“So! What can I do for you, Mr. Cambertson?”

“I wondered…” the man started, then stopped to look around as if he might be invited to have a seat. When no invitation presented itself, Cambertson shrugged. “I heard a story.” His eyes flickered from Lancaster to the hallway and back.

“A story?”

“I heard…” He took off his hat, revealing matted hair and a pale forehead. “I heard you had a ghost.”

Lancaster’s throat clicked shut in shock and he made a strange sound that might have been “Gahn?”

Cambertson nodded. “It hardly bears asking about, but…” He met Lancaster’s eyes for a heartbeat of time before looking back to the floor. “Is it true?”

Lancaster watched the top of the man’s head for a long moment. The pale skin of his scalp gleamed beneath curls of thin hair. This man had given Cynthia over to a madman. He’d declared her selfish and ungrateful. Lancaster felt calm return to his heart. “Are you asking if my home is haunted, Mr. Cambertson?”

His scalp turned pink. “I know it sounds foolish, but the villagers are talking. They say there’s a woman here, roaming your hallways.”

“A woman?”

He looked up, but his gaze didn’t hold the suspicion Lancaster had expected. Instead his bloodshot eyes were brimming with resignation. “Some say they’ve seen her pacing the cliffs. Where she died.”

Lancaster didn’t quite know what to say. If Cynthia had been seen, the legend of her ghost could only be a good thing. “The new maids did indeed get spooked. They ran off. And I admit to hearing a few strange noises here myself.”

“So it’s true? It’s Cynthia?”

“Uh…I suppose it must be.”

“Aye. She took her own life. She’s damned for eternity.” Cambertson crumpled his hat in his hand and began to pace. “She blames me, I’m sure.”

Lancaster glanced uneasily around. He wouldn’t put it past Cynthia to pat some flour onto her skin, pull the hood low over her face, and make a ghostly appearance just to torment her stepfather.

“Mrs. Cambertson won’t come home,” Cambertson muttered. “She blames me too, I don’t doubt. But I didn’t know. I’d heard the rumors, of course, but…that’s neither here nor there. And now Richmond’s man is hanging about again—”

“His man?” Lancaster blinked to attention. “Who do you mean?”

Cambertson waved an impatient hand. “Bram. Richmond calls him a secretary, but he don’t seem like any secretary I’ve ever seen. Always just looming about, quiet as you please, watching. He looks just like Richmond, only twenty years younger, if you take my meaning.”

No, he didn’t take the meaning at all. “This man has been here? Recently?”