Page 8 of Beth: A Regency Romance Novell

Welcome lamplight shone through a break in an unruly yew hedge. The carriage continued along the gravel drive through neglected gardens which were a tangle of weeds and woody plants.

“Ah. We shall soon see.” Lord Ramsey leaned forward to look out the window.

Beth gasped. An ancient three-story house appeared before them. A Gothic spire jutted into the sky from a tower at one end of the rambling dwelling. She turned to the man beside her. “This must be a mistake,” she said again. “Where is the duke’s carriage?”

Ramsey’s smile was cool as he leaned forward to pat her hand. His unruffled manner belied the expression in his eyes which were lively with interest. “In the stables, I imagine.”

The horses halted before the house where blank mullioned windows looked down. She caught sight of flickering candlelight in one of the upper windows. Someone awaiting their arrival.

The horses’ hooves and the clatter of the carriage wheels on the gravel must surely have alerted them, but the door remained closed and no grooms came to take the horses.

How odd that there was no response from the house. Beth drew her evening cloak around herself. “Why would the duke and duchess be brought here?”

“It’s a mystery. But there’s probably a straightforward explanation

awaiting us. We’ll go inside and find out, shall we?” Ramsey opened the carriage door and leapt down. After putting down the steps, he offered her his hand.

Beth stood on the driveway and glanced around. It was deathly quiet, the air heavy with an impending thunderstorm. She glanced up at the coachman hunched on the box, then with a nervous shiver, took Ramsey’s arm. He led her over the drive.

Before they reached the porch, the coach trundled away.

Surprised, she turned to Ramsey. “Wasn’t he to wait?”

“Not good for the horses. He knows to return within an hour or so.”

She hesitated, staring at him. His tone did not reassure her. In the half dark she couldn’t read his expression. Should she trust him? How could she not when the letter clearly stated this address? She had seen the name on a brass plate beside the wrought-iron gates. Whittemore House. Eager to see Jenny and Andrew, she wrapped her evening cloak around herself and walked to the iron-studded arched door, relieved to see lamplight glimmering through the glass panels.

Ramsey rapped on the iron knocker. The sound echoed hollowly within, and minutes went by. No one came. He reached for the latch. The heavy oak door opened with a fierce creak and a musty smell rushed out. “Shall we go in?”

Beth nodded, eager to find her sister and speak to Andrew.

Ramsey’s hand on her arm ushered her inside.

They stepped into a gloomy stone paved great hall. A lamp sat on a long refectory table the wick turned low, barely lighting the towering two-story space. Several high-backed chairs were placed along the paneled walls decorated with ancient weaponry and crossed swords. The lamplight played over a suit of armor which stood as silent sentry at the foot of the black oak staircase. Beth swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She stepped back when a gleaming metal arm seemed to move. The back of her neck tingled, but then she realized that it was only a trick of the light. Cobwebs wafted in the breeze from corners as Ramsey closed the front door behind them.

“Jenny? Andrew?” Beth called up the stairs. No one replied. She spun around to Ramsey. “Where are the servants? Is the owner of this house not here? Could there be some mistake?”

Ramsey drew off his great coat and hung it up on a hook. He threw his hat and gloves down onto the table. “I don’t see how there could be. The address was clearly stated on the letter.”

“I’d like to read it again.” Beth held out her hand. He had not returned the letter to her.

He felt in his pockets and then shrugged. “Didn’t I give it to you?”

She shook her head impatiently.

“I’m afraid I must have left it on the table at the ball. I saw candlelight in the upstairs windows as we came down the driveway.” He held out a hand for her cape. “Allow me.”

Beth fought the instinct to turn and run. She was being foolish. Surely Ramsey was correct. The note had clearly stated this address. He would know no more than her. She should be grateful to him for having stayed with her and not driven off and left her alone here. He was her only ally, but the charming manner he’d adopted in the ballroom had long vanished. His words were crisp and there was a look of impatience on his face. Perhaps he was annoyed and as much surprised by this as she was.

Beth slipped her cape from her shoulders into his waiting hands, then placed her reticule on the table.

He added the garment to his own. “Shall we go up?”

She tamped down another shiver. Annoyed with herself, she ignored the strong desire to rush outside and away. With one hand she raised her skirts a little, and they climbed the winding staircase up into the dark, the old stair treads protesting beneath their feet. Faded tapestries and oil paintings too dark to decipher hung on the walls. The smell of dust and dirt assailed her with each anguished breath, the wooden banister carved with dragons and horrid-looking creatures, cold and unresisting beneath her gloved fingers. The old house had been sadly neglected. A hollow empty sound followed them along the gallery. Might the accident have happened near here, and this house the only recourse they had? It appeared to be set in acres of land with no houses close by. But the possibility didn’t reassure her. For where was Jenny? And their servants?

“Perhaps my sister recovered, and the duke has taken her home,” Beth said. “They would not have expected me to come here.”

“We shall see,” was all Ramsey offered. He was not at all the warm, friendly man she had met at the ball. Why did he not express as much concern and confusion as she?

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