Page 67 of To Swoon and to Spar
“…strangest noises,” Violet was saying when he rejoined the conversation.
“I heard them, too!” Emily said. “A sort of eerie wail?”
Penvale carefully avoided looking at Jane. “As it happens, we’ve been experiencing some strange happenings around the house of late. Noises of the sort you mention—moved objects—that sort of thing.”
“Penvale.” Jeremy leaned forward; he was sitting next to Diana, a glass of wine in hand. “Do you mean to tell us that Trethwick Abbey is haunted?”
“Apparently.” Penvale took a sip of his own wine. “It’s most mysterious.” He could feel Jane’s eyes on him as he spoke, but he continued to avoid so much as a glance at her, lest it give away more than he wished.
“Haunted,” Diana said, a skeptical note in her voice. “Funny you didn’t mention this in any of your correspondence—or you, Jane.”
Jane set down her cake. “We wouldn’t have wanted to frighten away our guests,” she said, her tone indicating quite the opposite.
“Yes,” Diana said, smiling sweetly at her. “I can see how much you enjoy having us here.”
“Diana.” Penvale threw a sharp look at his sister.
“It’s all rather like something out of a novel, don’t you think?” Violet asked eagerly. “Penvale moves into a lonely house on a Cornishhillside… the telltale cries of a ghost are heard every night… the estate is shrouded in an ever-present mist…”
“An ever-present mist, yes,” Audley murmured, casting a dubious glance at the cloudless sky.
“Someone must be having a laugh at your expense, then, old chap,” Jeremy said, and Penvale experienced a pang of uneasiness. He felt very eager for his friends not to spend too much time considering who, logically, might be behind these events.
“Perhaps,” he said neutrally. “More wine?” He brandished the bottle with enough exuberance that Audley, Diana, and Jeremy all gave him odd looks.
“If it happens again, perhaps we can investigate!” Violet said brightly. Penvale supposed he shouldn’t be surprised—Violet was one of the most curious women he’d ever met, and she shared Jane’s affection for novels. No doubt the promise of a bit of Gothic atmosphere was more than she could resist.
“Penvale and I have looked into it,” Jane said, more sharply than Penvale guessed she intended. “I don’t know why anyone else would be likely to discover something when we haven’t.”
A short silence fell after these words, and Penvale turned in time to see a fleeting expression of regret cross her face. He looked at her long enough for her to meet his eyes, and then he deliberately turned back to the group and said, “Jane’s right. And I expect you’re correct, Jeremy, and it’s just one of the servants having a laugh. Nothing worth fretting too much about.”
“Violet,” Sophie said from where she was seated next to Emily, “wherever did you purchase that bonnet?”
Penvale was nearly certain this was an intentional change of subject, given that he had never known Sophie to be much of a bonnetenthusiast, and he cast her a grateful glance; as conversation commenced once more around him, he risked another peek at Jane, who was staring down at the cake in her hand with concentration.
Penvale reached out to take her empty hand and couldn’t ignore the warmth in his chest when she laced her fingers tightly with his. He was uneasy with the knowledge that she’d broken their truce; he wanted her to like his friends, damn it, and he wanted them to like her, and he was frightened by the degree to which these things had come to matter to him. And the possibility that lurked at the edges of his mind, that refused to go away despite the fact that he willed it firmly to do so—that it wasn’t just his friends’ presence here, buthisas well, that had inspired this resurrection of the ghost… well, the thought frightened him in a way that he didn’t fully wish to examine. Because he thought he’d banished that fear—thought he and Jane had come to an understanding, of sorts. Thought that he might even…
Even to himself, he could not give voice to the words.
But even as this turmoil gripped him, he was drawn back to his surroundings by the feeling of Jane’s fingers squeezing his own. The sun was shining, and her hand was in his, and she even gave him the faintest, most fleeting of sideways smiles when he offered her more cake, and he could not bring himself to ruin the happiness of this afternoon with questions to which he wasn’t certain he wanted the answer.
So instead, he wondered.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Several days passed, and asthe house party crept into its second week, Jane would not admit it to anyone, but she was almost enjoying herself.
Oh, to be sure: The house was noisy; she’d had to miss her usual trips into the village to deliver more books; Diana was growing more irritating by the day; she’d had more conversations in the past week than she’d ideally like to have in an entire year; and she’d spent so much time outdoors that her complexion would possibly never recover.
And yet, still, she realized one evening as she made ready for bed, she was rather… happy.
She liked Penvale’s friends, was the problem. There were an awful lot of them, undoubtedly, but the fact that there were so many happily married couples among their number did make things a bit easier, as these couples had a suspicious tendency to vanish for an hour or two at a time, rejoining the group looking unaccountably cheerful for two people whoclaimedto have been merely admiring the gardens, taking a walk along the cliff path, or visiting the horses in the stables. Even among the unmarried of their party, there was sufficient intrigue to keep them occupied: Sophie was occasionally observed sharing a smileor a private word with West, these interactions so avidly watched by Violet, Diana, and Emily that, at one point, Belfry had to intervene.
“What?”Emily demanded when he poked her rather obviously in the side. She looked, Jane thought, like someone immersed in a particularly gripping piece of theater who had been interrupted at a key moment.
“Stop staring,” Belfry said quietly. “If the three of you aim to ensure that West and Lady Fitzwilliam become so skittish that they’re afraid to so much as walk within ten feet of each other, then by all means, continue, but otherwise, I’d encourage you to desist. It’s unnerving.”
“It would help,” Jane put in, leaning toward the group and speaking in an undertone, “if Violet would blink at least occasionally.”
