I tried not to draw back in disbelief. Why did it feel like I had walked right into the pages of a Gothic novel? Was this house really haunted? “Can you tell us why the spirits, er, ghosts are angry?”
He kept his face stoic and voice without inflection. “If only they could talk, they would surely tell me. I speak to them, of course, but a one-sided conversation is not the most effective.”
Tabitha burst out laughing beside me, desperately covering her mouth to smother the noise. “Forgive me,” she choked.
“Maybe a ghost tickled you with a feather,” I whispered, not intending for her giggles to overwhelm her again.
Mr. Clodwick must have heard me. “Stranger things have happened at Gravehurst.”
Now I knew why the manor had such an unusual name. Even with Tabitha’s laughter to break the tension, a strange feeling permeated the room. It was obvious Clodwick believed in ghosts, but did I? When dinner was announced, I took Clodwick’s arm and smiled sweetly at him.
He did not frown in return, which had to mean progress. “I expected to see more art on your walls,” I said, noting the bare corridor.
“I keep most of it locked in the gallery. One cannot be too careful with one’s valuables.”
Did he expect to be robbed, or was this because things had turned up missing? Because of the angry spirits . . .
A footman pulled open the door to the dining room, and I half expected to find a dead body seated at the table.
I sighed with relief when the room looked blessedly normal. Clodwick pulled my chair out for me like a proper non-ghost-believing gentleman, and I took the seat beside him at the head of the table. Sitting beside each other was another good sign. My gaze drew upward to the gold chandelier drooping with crystals.
My appreciation of the extravagant picture nearly made me miss Mr. Clodwick pinch salt from the bowl and throw it over his shoulder. He caught my wide-eyed stare.
“To ward off the evil spirits,” he explained.
“I . . . see.” He was both superstitious and paranoid. Panic seized the air in my lungs. Shifting uncomfortably, I attempted to change the subject before I ruined a perfectly good opportunity with Mr. Clodwick because of a silly case of nerves. “Your chandelier is exquisite.”
“Like a work of art,” Clodwick answered, his lips barely moving. “I am quite passionate about art, if you remember.”
“Yes, you have said as much.” While there were no fine paintings on the wall in this room either, the house itself boasted of artistic interest, with exquisite molding and elegant olive wainscotting.
While my sister and brother-in-law occupied themselves in their own private conversation, and a footman set the soup on the table, I seized the opportunity of brief privacy to push my cause. “I had hoped to persuade you to come to Writcombe to see my aunt’s collection.”
Mr. Clodwick cast his gaze about the room as if searching for something, his eyes settling on an empty chair farther down the table. “Just so you know, even if you whisper,theycan still hear you.”
I chill ran down my back. “Oh . . . I did not think about that.” Was it too late to find someone else to marry? I swallowed hastily. It was much, much too late. I forced myself to think of dear Harriet and the cruel man she had married. Surely, a few ghosts were nothing in comparison.
Mr. Clodwick cleared his throat. “I should like to see your aunt’s collection, but I am not sure if the spirits who reside here will like me leaving for overlong.”
“I wouldn’t want you to upset them, but uh, you did hope to receive an invitation to Mr. Hope’s home, did you not?”
His eyes brightened in the candlelight. “Yes, but—”
I did not let him finish. My mantra returned to my mind with vengeance: Ithadto be Clodwick! “But of course, you would have to marry me first. But isn’t that worth seeing the art you have so longed to see?”
I had resorted to bribery once more. Mr. Prologue had truly inspired me. I wondered if I would ever get the chance to thank him once I was happily married.
“Marriage?” Mr. Clodwick said the word as if it was a bland, undercooked vegetable.
I nodded. “For art’s sake.” My heart pounded. He had to say yes. He had to!
“Very well,” he said. “It seems a worthy endeavor.”
Cool air whipped around me, and the lights were suddenly doused, leaving us in total blackness. Tabitha screamed and a platter hit the floor somewhere behind me.
Oh, dear. While it was very likely the effects of an old, drafty house, I couldn’t help but wonder if the spirits of Gravehurst disapproved of my methods of securing a husband.
Chapter 7