Love in the Moonlight: A Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Collection: 7 Delightful Regency Romance All Hallows' Eve Stories (Regency Collections Book 6) Read online

  Mina squeaked. Miss Millpost gave her a disgusted look. Sybilla had to agree with Mina in a way – this was not the most pleasant welcome. She shook that thought aside, determined to be positive – this was certainly going to provide her with a sufficiency of atmospheric detail for her novel!

  She led them towards the man at the door.

  “Lady Sybilla?”

  “Yes.”

  “Welcome to Greyscar Keep. I am Mr Westby, the butler. Please come this way. Mrs Westby, who is the housekeeper, has your rooms prepared.”

  The flickering light of the lantern made his face look ghoulish, but his words, at least, were ordinary. Leaving their groom and coachman to bring in the luggage, Sybilla, Miss Millpost and Mina followed Mr Westby through the door.

  Inside, the entryway was as big as Sybilla remembered, hugely vaulted with a curving staircase going up two floors. The cold marble of the floor echoed with their footsteps, and the shadows seemed to push back against the feeble light of the lantern, as if trying to swallow it.

  Mrs Westby was waiting.

  “Follow me please, and I will show you to your rooms. Dinner will be served in one hour, in the dining room.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Westby.”

  They followed. The old stone walls seemed rougher than usual, as the light from the lantern emphasised every bump and hollow, and the seemingly ancient paintings on the walls looked down on them dourly. Their rooms adjoined each other, and were decorated in a style a century out of date. But at least there were warm fires in the grates, and the beds appeared to have adequate blankets.

  Settling in, Sybilla wondered how she would ever find the dining room – the halls had seemed different from her memory, somehow.

  There was a tap on the door between her dressing room and Mina’s room. When she opened it, she found Mina twisting her hands nervously.

  “Oh, Lady Sybilla, why did we come here? Are you sure that this place isn’t haunted?”

  “Nonsense Mina. It’s just large, old, and no-one has been here for years, except a few staff. Don’t let your imagination run away with you. I’m sure you’ll feel better after dinner.”

  “Yes, Lady Sybilla.”

  Mina did not sound convinced.

  “Come and sit by my fire a bit, then you can help me freshen up before dinner.”

  Mina scurried in and dropped onto a stool near the fire, looking relieved to be with someone else.

  ~~~~~

  Miss Millpost was not impressed. She had expected a decent country house, not this monstrous pile of stone. It looked most likely to be haunted… she shivered. Miss Millpost did not like the idea of ghosts, not at all. The living – now there she knew little fear, but the dead, that gave her pause.

  She had to hope that the place had some redeeming features. If it did, she had not seen them yet. She followed Mrs Westby down the hall, behind Lady Sybilla and that silly maid Mina. The weak flickering lantern light cast odd shadows, and drew glints of light from strange objects.

  Curiously, she tried to peer in through the doors they passed, those that were open, at least. One room caught her attention, and she suddenly wished to halt Mrs Westby to get a better look – but the lantern continued down the corridor, taking the light with it. Still, she was certain that what she had glimpsed was a library. And one with an enormous number of books, or so it had seemed in that quick look that the light had afforded.

  Perhaps the place would not be so bad after all. Many things could be forgiven for a good library.

  She hurried to catch up, not at all liking the possibility of being left without light in these corridors.

  ~~~~~

  A resounding crash echoed through the halls of Dartworth Abbey.

  Lord Barton Seddon jerked in his chair, and curled forward into a tight ball against the desk, shaking violently. Under his breath, he muttered quietly, over and over.

  “Not a battlefield, not a battlefield, not cannon shot, not cannon shot. Home safe, home safe.”

  It was intended for his own ears only. After a few minutes, his breathing settled, and the shaking eased. Still muttering to himself, he forced his muscles to unclamp, and uncurled himself, back to a normal sitting position. When there were no further loud noises, he cautiously reached out and poured himself a small glass of brandy. He sipped it slowly, letting it spread warmth through him.

  He could do this. If there weren’t too many more crashes.

  Moments later there was a gentle tap on the door. Graves was a good man. The Butler had quickly recognised that Lord Barton was not comfortable with loud noises and sudden movements, and had adapted his approach, without ever saying a word about it. Bart was utterly grateful for the man’s courtesy.

  “Enter.”

  My Lord, Mr Tideswell is here – shall I show him in?”

  “Yes, thank you Graves. And have Cook send up some tea, if you would.”

  Graves nodded, and closed the door, giving Bart a chance to swallow the last of the brandy and put the glass aside. The shakes were, blessedly, gone. Pray that Tideswell had good news about Gallowbridge House. If the owner would sell, Bart would move there as fast as possible, and supervise the renovations from there. Whilst supervising the work for Oliver Kentworthy, Marquess of Dartworth, he had initially lived in the gatekeeper’s house, until enough of the Abbey had been restored for it to be habitable properly. It had been far quieter there, if rather small.

  He was not sure how much more of the unexpected noises he could take, yet he was certain that there would be more. Workmen could not restore a centuries old building without dropping the occasional beam or large stone block.

  Still, even with the noise, it was far better to be here, than living in his family’s home. Hawkford Park contained his father, and his brothers, and was, as a consequence, also full of expectations about how Bart should behave – expectations which he could not meet, and was no longer willing to even try to meet.

  Oliver’s offer of a lengthy stay at Dartworth Abbey, and free use of its stables and fields to begin his horse breeding enterprise, had been a godsend. Here, at least, he did not have to explain himself every day, nor was there anyone to sneer at his weakness.

  Graves tapped on the door again, and showed Mr Tideswell in.

  Chapter Two

  “Mrs Westby has just been telling me all about the district. There are quite a few impressive estates nearby. Mind you, she has some rather… distinct… opinions about some of the local nobility. A bit more than I would expect from a Housekeeper. Still – she has been here many years.”

  Miss Millpost somehow managed to look superior, even though she had been indulging in gossip herself.

  “Oh? Did you learn anything of interest to us? Or was it just a collection of idle gossip?”

  “Yes, actually, Lady Sybilla. It seems that Dartworth Abbey, which is the main country estate of the Marquess of Dartworth, is very close by. There is but one other estate between Greyscar Keep and the Abbey. The Marquess of Dartworth, as you would be aware, is now married to Lady Georgiana – my previous employer. But she is currently at Casterfield Grange, and he is currently off in America.”

  “If they are both elsewhere, is anyone living at Dartworth Abbey?”

  “I believe that Lord Barton Seddon is caretaking the place for the Marquess, to ensure that the renovations are done correctly.”

  Sybilla paused, and turned from what she was doing to consider this information.

  She had met Lord Barton at Hunter’s wedding, and one other time in the intervening months, when Hunter’s friends had come to visit for a short while. She liked him. Far more than she liked most men. For he was quiet, seeming gentle, without being weak. And, most importantly, he loved horses. They were his favourite topic, and he seemed not at all surprised that she was happy to converse about them, rather than more typically feminine things. Her heart beat a little faster at the idea of meeting him again, which was a disconcerting sensation.

  “Then perhaps we
should visit him. He is a close friend of my brother’s. It’s only good manners to do so. And you will be able to see the place where Lady Georgiana will eventually live.”

  “An excellent idea, my Lady. When do you propose to do so?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow? We could go in the morning, and then I can do some writing in the afternoon, before the light completely fades. I will have to arrange a better supply of candles and lanterns – for attempting to write of an evening is currently almost impossible. This house simply swallows up the light somehow.”

  “Tomorrow then. Excellent. I will see what else Mrs Westby has to say about the Abbey later this evening.”

  ~~~~~

  The morning dawned clear but rather grey and dreary – Sybilla supposed that was better than rain. She had not slept all that well – the house creaked alarmingly at times, and the wind tended to slide through cracks and moan as it went. The sound could be eerie. Poor Mina was often terrified, and Sybilla herself had moments of uncertainty, especially when noises woke her in the night.

  She would chide herself for silliness, and try hard to go back to sleep. But it was wearing. At least she now knew exactly how her heroine would feel, when she was trapped in an old and haunted house. Her notes for her novel were growing, and she was beginning to have the plot all worked out. Her poor heroine would suffer through so many desperate situations, sometimes saving herself, sometimes being saved by her hero.

  It really was most enjoyable planning what to do to the imaginary girl.

  After breakfast, they sent for their coach, and Tom was at the door and ready to go remarkably quickly – as if he couldn’t wait to get away from Greyscar Keep for a few hours. She was glad to have a few familiar faces with her, even if it was only Tom Coachman and Betts, the groom.

  Seeing the road in daylight made her aware of how dreary the countryside looked in the grey light, with the trees already partly bare. They wound down the valley, and came to a bridge over the largest creek in the area. Not far from the bridge stood a tall forbidding house. It looked deserted, somehow mournful and looming. The sign on the gate hung crookedly, the name worn but still readable – Gallowbridge House.

  “Such charming names they have around here. And look, there’s another one – apparently that is the road to Gallows Down.”

  Miss Millpost pointed at the sign as they rolled past the entry to a long laneway between thorny looking hedges. Sybilla was amused, and a little disconcerted – whoever would name a place, or a house, after the gallows?

  Before she could comment, they rounded the next corner, and Dartworth Abbey became visible across the fields. It was huge – obviously much had been built onto the original abbey buildings that had given it its name, in the centuries since it ceased to have a religious purpose.

  “My goodness! I didn’t expect it to be so big. What an impressive home.”

  “It may be large and impressive, but you can see from here that they are still replacing parts of the roof. There will be much work needed here before this is a fit place for my Georgie to live!”

  Miss Millpost emphasised her comment with a sniff of disapproval. But she still avidly studied the buildings and grounds as they turned through a set of imposing gates, and made their way up a long drive, between lines of trees. Sybilla was sure that the drive would look magnificent in summer, but with the fallen leaves and nearly bare trees, it looked as aged and worn as the buildings did.

  They drew up in front of the pillared portico, and Sybilla had a moment of doubt – would Lord Barton even be here?

  And how would he respond to unexpected visitors? Perhaps she should have sent a message first…

  Well, she was here now – there was no point in might-have-beens. Best to simply take things as they came. They descended from the carriage, and went up the steps to the huge double doors. Sybilla raised her hand towards the knocker, but, before she could touch it, the door opened. She started in surprise, then pulled herself together.

  The man revealed by the opening door was older, with dark grey hair, and a sharp looking face. From his immaculate attire, it seemed that he was the Butler.

  “Good afternoon Ladies. How may I help you?”

  Suddenly, Sybilla felt rather ridiculous – she had not thought through how to explain her tenuous acquaintance with Lord Barton at all. She cleared her throat, thinking frantically.

  “Good afternoon. I am Lady Sybilla Barrington, and this is Miss Millpost, my companion. Lord Barton Seddon is a good friend of my brother, the Duke of Melton. I am staying at Greyscar Keep, one of my brother’s estates and, as it is so close, I thought to call upon Lord Barton. Is he at home?”

  “Do come in Ladies, I will enquire if he is available.”

  The Butler led them to a charming parlour, which had obviously already been renovated. It was a pity that the window provided only a view of the workmen’s storage piles at the side of the house. Sybilla paced about nervously – what would he think? Soon the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, coming towards the room. Two sets of footsteps. So, he was here.

  The Butler opened the door, and Lord Barton walked in. He was as Sybilla remembered – attractive and unpretentious.

  “Thank you, Graves. Please have Mrs Thompson send up some tea and cakes.”

  The Butler bowed, and left, closing the door behind him.

  There was a moment of awkwardness as they looked at each other.

  This was the first time that they had met, without his friends and her family present. Even with Miss Millpost standing beside her, the moment felt suddenly intimate. Her mouth went dry, and her breathing came faster as a blush rose to her cheeks. How lowering! Sybilla never blushed!

  “Welcome, Lady Sybilla, Miss Millpost.” He bowed – an elegant movement worthy of court – and smiled at them with what seemed like genuine pleasure. “Graves tells me that you are staying nearby, at Greyscar Keep.”

  “Yes, my Lord. I am to be your neighbour for some months, I expect, for I have come here to reside in some quiet whilst I write a novel. I thought it only polite to visit, and renew our acquaintance.”

  She hoped that sounded convincing as a reason for her sudden appearance – what if he thought her forward and invasive?

  “Of course. I am glad to see a familiar face – for I know no-one in this area and, whilst I appreciate solitude and quiet,” he winced rather strongly as a thump came from somewhere in the distance – the workmen, no doubt, “I have found myself often wishing for good conversation. Oh, that sounds rather selfish of me, doesn’t it?”

  He smiled, self-deprecating, and the smile transformed his already attractive face to breathtakingly handsome.

  Sybilla found it unaccountably difficult to breathe for a moment. She was struggling to find something appropriate to say (she certainly was not providing good conversation, if she could not even speak!), when Miss Millpost rescued her.

  “Not selfish at all Lord Barton. Everyone is entitled to such simple pleasures as good conversation. I can, quite, sympathise. I have, so far, found this district to be rather unattractive, and its inhabitants dour – but perhaps that is a result of the unseasonably cold year, and the early closing in of winter?”

  “I have been here only a few months, so I find it difficult to tell, myself. But I must agree with your assessment – it does not seem a community prone to excessive cheer.”

  Sybilla, having managed to begin thinking again, after that inexplicable moment of confusion when he had smiled, felt the need to make a more positive comment, somehow.

  “Whilst it does seem very gloomy here, for my purposes, that is actually beneficial. My novel is intended to be a rather gothic piece – I would dearly love to be able to create something as enthralling as Mrs Radcliffe’s works. Both Greyscar Keep and the whole district provide me with endless possibilities for settings to use in my novel, which will provide the required atmosphere.”

  “Ah, dedication! You wish to immerse yourself in the right environment to write y
our best work. Although I would hope that you will allow yourself a little light amongst the threatening gloom. I would enjoy your company – but not at the expense of your work.”

  Sybilla felt the flush rise in her cheeks again at his words.

  “I… am sure that a little leavening of the gothic will not hurt my work, Lord Barton. And I also enjoy good conversation. I seem to remember that, last we met, we spoke at length on the topic of horses.”

  “Indeed we did. It was pleasantly diverting to find a Lady who was both interested in, and knowledgeable about, horses. It is a topic that most young ladies disdain.”

  “You will find me more than willing to entertain that topic at any time, my Lord. Equally, I am likely to converse on the subject of books of all kinds, and any number of other, completely unladylike topics, should that serve to entertain you.”

  He looked genuinely delighted at her words, and his face lit with that remarkable smile again. At that moment, a stray beam of sunlight managed to push its way through the clouds, and pass through the parlour window, illuminating him, and catching glints of red and gold highlights from his glossy mid brown hair.

  Even whilst her breath hitched at the sight, she noted that the colour of his hair reminded her of the best dark brown horses – a rich tone in itself, dappled through with lighter tones that created a marvellous shine.

  Suddenly embarrassed – she was comparing the man to a horse! – she looked away from him. Miss Millpost, who had been observing the conversation with interest, spoke up again.

  “My Lord, I would be most interested in seeing more of the Abbey. I confess to great curiosity, for I spent so many years as the governess, and then the companion, to Lady Georgiana, that I would wish to know more of this enormous house in which she will eventually reside.”