day. And demands to open all the windows to show that the moaning sounds had only been the wind. It took some time to put those fears to rest, I can tell you.”
Shuffling sounds told her someone was moving around in the room. She quickly stepped away from the window and, crouching over so she would not be seen passing, made her way into the trees that ran along the property and toward Blossom Cottage.
So, Mr. Collington was deathly afraid of ghosts! Who would have guessed that so virile a man… But this was a very useful piece of information. In fact, as she drew closer to the cottage, an idea was forming in her mind. A brilliant idea of how to get Mr. Collington to renounce his claim to Tethering. She would scare him away!
She even had an idea already for who her ghost could be—it was perfect, really. And she would begin that very night, at the dratted dinner to which her father had agreed. Dinner would give her a chance to sow the seeds of trepidation in one so fearful as Mr. Collington. She almost felt sorry for the grief she would have to cause him, but she steeled herself. Needs must.
***
Felicity stood looking at herself in her bedroom’s small, murky mirror, wearing the one fancy gown she had dyed, a rich ivory satin that had taken the black color well. The house was quiet in the dusky early evening; her father had not returned from Tethering’s library, and she doubted it had occurred to him to dress for dinner. But then, he was already wearing a mustard silk waistcoat with faded poppy embroidery, along with his black mourning armband.
She smoothed her gown’s unfashionably fitted waist against her curves, the rich cloth a lustrous black in the fading light. Its half-sleeves and low, scooped bodice looked dressy. Couldn’t a person just look good in something, even if it wasn’t the style that everyone else was wearing? She felt finely enough turned out—rather pretty actually. The fashionable Mr. Collington would probably think her a very odd bird in the gown, and that made her like it even more. She grinned, thinking that no one would ever guess that under the fine satin she wore a tatty old chemise.
Opening the top drawer of her dresser, she took out a little box. Inside was a simple pearl necklace her mother had given her, a family heirloom that Felicity used to wear all the time when she went to parties. Once she’d taken her vow not to marry and taken on the running of Tethering, she’d simply stopped going to parties and balls. She might have met someone, might have been tempted, and that would have been wrong.
But she wasn’t afraid of being tempted tonight. Even though she was just the tiniest bit fascinated by James Collington, the way she supposed women always were by handsome rogues, her heart and her vow could not be in the smallest danger from such a blackhearted scoundrel. There was, however, much to be said for being well turned out when dealing with a man. That was something she’d not forgotten. She put the necklace on, and it settled against the hollow of her throat, a lucky charm that pulsed with her mother’s love.
She gathered her thick, dark gold hair in a low, loose knot at the back of her neck. On her way up to the manor, she picked a creamy sprig of summer jasmine and tucked it in her hair near the nape. Perhaps it wasn’t totally appropriate with her mourning gown, but did Uncle Jonathan really deserve “appropriate”?
Standing quietly outside the familiar front door of Tethering Hall, she gently rubbed her forefinger against its weathered wood, the grain as familiar to her as her own skin. The door was warm from the day’s sun, and she pressed her cheek against it, feeling the answering embrace of a stationary member of her family.
Stifling a fierce urge to simply let herself in, she knocked and was received by a smartly dressed manservant, who told her that Mr. Wilcox was still in the library, but that Mr. Collington awaited them in the drawing room. She went
Shuffling sounds told her someone was moving around in the room. She quickly stepped away from the window and, crouching over so she would not be seen passing, made her way into the trees that ran along the property and toward Blossom Cottage.
So, Mr. Collington was deathly afraid of ghosts! Who would have guessed that so virile a man… But this was a very useful piece of information. In fact, as she drew closer to the cottage, an idea was forming in her mind. A brilliant idea of how to get Mr. Collington to renounce his claim to Tethering. She would scare him away!
She even had an idea already for who her ghost could be—it was perfect, really. And she would begin that very night, at the dratted dinner to which her father had agreed. Dinner would give her a chance to sow the seeds of trepidation in one so fearful as Mr. Collington. She almost felt sorry for the grief she would have to cause him, but she steeled herself. Needs must.
***
Felicity stood looking at herself in her bedroom’s small, murky mirror, wearing the one fancy gown she had dyed, a rich ivory satin that had taken the black color well. The house was quiet in the dusky early evening; her father had not returned from Tethering’s library, and she doubted it had occurred to him to dress for dinner. But then, he was already wearing a mustard silk waistcoat with faded poppy embroidery, along with his black mourning armband.
She smoothed her gown’s unfashionably fitted waist against her curves, the rich cloth a lustrous black in the fading light. Its half-sleeves and low, scooped bodice looked dressy. Couldn’t a person just look good in something, even if it wasn’t the style that everyone else was wearing? She felt finely enough turned out—rather pretty actually. The fashionable Mr. Collington would probably think her a very odd bird in the gown, and that made her like it even more. She grinned, thinking that no one would ever guess that under the fine satin she wore a tatty old chemise.
Opening the top drawer of her dresser, she took out a little box. Inside was a simple pearl necklace her mother had given her, a family heirloom that Felicity used to wear all the time when she went to parties. Once she’d taken her vow not to marry and taken on the running of Tethering, she’d simply stopped going to parties and balls. She might have met someone, might have been tempted, and that would have been wrong.
But she wasn’t afraid of being tempted tonight. Even though she was just the tiniest bit fascinated by James Collington, the way she supposed women always were by handsome rogues, her heart and her vow could not be in the smallest danger from such a blackhearted scoundrel. There was, however, much to be said for being well turned out when dealing with a man. That was something she’d not forgotten. She put the necklace on, and it settled against the hollow of her throat, a lucky charm that pulsed with her mother’s love.
She gathered her thick, dark gold hair in a low, loose knot at the back of her neck. On her way up to the manor, she picked a creamy sprig of summer jasmine and tucked it in her hair near the nape. Perhaps it wasn’t totally appropriate with her mourning gown, but did Uncle Jonathan really deserve “appropriate”?
Standing quietly outside the familiar front door of Tethering Hall, she gently rubbed her forefinger against its weathered wood, the grain as familiar to her as her own skin. The door was warm from the day’s sun, and she pressed her cheek against it, feeling the answering embrace of a stationary member of her family.
Stifling a fierce urge to simply let herself in, she knocked and was received by a smartly dressed manservant, who told her that Mr. Wilcox was still in the library, but that Mr. Collington awaited them in the drawing room. She went
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