A Phantom Affair (11 page)

“Then why are we having an outing on the beach?” Ellen had asked.

“Because 'tis such a perfect site for a gathering of friends.”

Unable to argue with Marian's answer, although she questioned her friend's logic, Ellen had asked nothing else. Instead, she had adjusted the light gray ribbons on her tall straw bonnet. She did not want it flying off in the sea breeze.

Dirt sifted into Ellen's slippers as she stepped onto the pebbled beach. In the curve of the cove, she could see a sandy stretch. A troop of servants were setting out blankets and baskets on the sand. Ellen sighed. It would be much more sensible to sit here where the stones would keep away the sand, but Marian wanted a gathering by the sea, and she would have exactly that.

“Do you need some help across this uneven ground?” asked a warm, tenor voice behind Ellen.

She smiled at the towheaded man. His tall hat would not protect him from the sun as her bonnet and parasol did, and already his ears were becoming red. “That is kind of you to offer, sir.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. The sun glittered off the gold buttons and watch chain on his waistcoat as he straightened. “Your servant Josiah Adams, Miss Dunbar.”

“You're American!”

He smiled as he offered his arm. When she put her hand on his navy wool sleeve, he said, “Not by birth, although my father's work took us to the United States shortly after I was born. I had thought I had rid myself in the past six months of the frightful accent I learned in Philadelphia.”

“Only a hint remains.” She smiled as he led her around a tidal pool. “Mayhap my ear is more attuned than others, for my own accent announces my birthland as clearly as if it were printed on my forehead.”

“Now that is a grim thought. To think of your lovely face marred by such a mark.”

Once Ellen would have been taken aback by the compliment, but during three Seasons in Town, she had learned the art of words that meant nothing. She simply smiled as they reached the blankets and the servant who held a tray with cooled wine.

Mr. Adams handed her a glass before selecting one for himself. “This was an excellent idea, Miss Dunbar. Yours?”

“Marian should receive all the credit for this.” Turning, she watched as the litter chair brought Marian across the beach.

It stopped near the blankets, and Marian pushed aside the brocade curtains to peer out. Ellen put her hand out to her friend, whose face was a rather bilious shade of gray. Marian grasped it with her trembling fingers.

“Mayhap this was not the best idea I have ever had,” Marian whispered as she eased out of the chair.

Ellen tried not to smile as she assisted Marian out onto the sand. She had sympathy for her friend's queasy expression, but without question, Marian had brought this upon herself. They could have had their outing many other places. They need not have come down these cliffs which clearly distressed Marian beyond words. Yet, Marian had insisted they come here. Mayhap she was trying to overcome the fears that haunted her. If only it were that easy to get rid of a haunting …

“Dear Marian, you must sit immediately. The fresh air off the sea and the sun's warmth will surely ease your discomfort at having to come down that steep path. You do like the sea when you are on its level.”

“Yes.”

“Good. We shall enjoy ourselves here, then find another way we can go to get back to Herrold Hall.”

“There is none, so I shall have no choice but to climb that path once more,” Marian whispered. She glanced toward the cliffs and placed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Dear me, they look even more precipitous from this angle.”

“Mayhap you should sit,” Ellen suggested again, although Marian's emoting was raising her suspicions that her friend might not be as distressed as she must want everyone to think. What was Marian about now? Mayhap she was judging her friend unfairly. Marian's face was a peculiar shade of gray. “Is there anything that will help soothe your battered nerves?”

“Wine,” Marian ordered.

Ellen pressed her glass into her friend's trembling hand. Marian swayed. Three women and two gentlemen reached out to catch her if she swooned. Ellen took Marian's elbow and guided her to the blanket.

“This is want-witted,” Ellen whispered. “You are ill. We must return to Herrold Hall posthaste.”

“Give me some time to fortify myself before I go up those blasted cliffs again.” Marian winked at Ellen before raising her voice, “You are such a dear friend, always thinking of someone else before yourself. Isn't she a dear?”

As a wave of assent washed through the gathering, Ellen stood. How perfectly Marian gauged the feelings of those around her! She continued to gush about Ellen while their meal was served by the silent servant. Wishing she could find a way to tell Marian to stop without drawing everyone's attention, Ellen picked at her food.

“So you are Marian's latest
protégé,
” Mr. Adams said with a chuckle as he sat next to her.

“I would use a different term.”

He laughed again, and she knew her answer had been too dreary.

With a smile, she said, “Marian is a dear soul.”

“But she will never be happy until you are settled in married bliss.”

Ellen set her plate on the blanket and folded her hands in her lap. “Has she been that obvious?”

“I have seen her like before. The British
ton
does not have a monopoly on friends who wish to see other friends enjoying marriage as they do.”

Ellen was glad that someone called a question to Mr. Adams. To let her face reveal her true feelings about Marian's marriage would mark her as an ungrateful wretch. Still, the truth was that what Marian considered a happy marriage was exactly what Ellen wished to avoid. She yearned for a match that was not just advantageous for the families involved, but would be a melding of two hearts and souls into one.

“So what do you think of Mr. Adams?” Marian whispered when the man rose to assist one of his friends in choosing the next bottle of wine.

“I have not had time to think of him,” Ellen returned, swallowing her irritation along with a piece of cheese, “for I have spent most of my time talking with him.”

“His family is well placed in cloth manufacturing.” A hint of excitement entered her voice. “I have heard he was recalled to England to be granted a title by the Regent. All in all, he would be a fine husband.”

Shaking her head, Ellen said, “I have not known him more than an hour. I trust it takes longer than that to know if one wishes to marry.”

“I knew from the moment I met Reginald.”

Not wanting to reply with the obvious that the marriage had been arranged when Marian and Lord Herrold were no more than children, Ellen picked another piece of the pungent cheese off her plate. She did hope Marian would be less candid in her comments to the gentlemen of the gathering.

Mr. Adams returned, smiling. “I would enjoy a stroll along the strand, especially if you would accompany me, Miss Dunbar.”

Marian jabbed Ellen in the ribs with an eager elbow. Resisting the urge to decline just to vex her friend who was being undeniably vexing, Ellen put her hand in Mr. Adams's and allowed him to bring her to her feet. She withdrew her hand as they walked away from the others. When he did not press for her to hold on to his arm, she was pleased.

“You looked as if you were in need of respite from Marian's matchmaking,” he said.

“As I said, she is a dear friend.”

Looking up at the squawking birds wheeling overhead, he chuckled. “And you have more patience than I would have.”

“You are very plain-speaking, Mr. Adams.”

“An American habit I have grown fond of.” He bent and picked up something from the sand. He handed her a perfectly formed shell. “This type of shell is seldom found on these beaches, Miss Dunbar. The waves offer little compassion for anything caught in their strength.”

“I shall take that as a warning.” She turned the shell over in her hands and admired its pale shades blending together in a lovely pattern.

“Have you ever been a-sea?”

She shook her head. “My nautical adventures have been only upon a pond or a burn along a Scottish brae.”

“Mayhap you would enjoy a ride on the waves one day.”

“That would be exciting.” Gazing at the waves, she smiled. “Although I must own I might change my mind when the last hints of land vanish beneath the horizon.”

He tapped the shell. “Hold it to your ear.”

“Why?”

“Just do so.”

Her eyes widened as she heard the hushed whisper that matched the whisper of the waves when she had stood in Corey's rooms in Wolfe Abbey. Hastily she lowered the shell. Why did he plague her thoughts even when he was not about to tease her?

“Very interesting,” she said when she realized Mr. Adams expected a reaction. “I have never heard its like.”

“Sounds like the sea, doesn't it?”

“As if the shell had gathered the song during its time out in the water and wanted to share it with us.”

“How insightful of you, Miss Dunbar! You have a gift for poetry.”

“Only for prattle, I fear.” She put her hand on the arm he offered her and settled her parasol over her still tender shoulder. “It is the curse of the Scots—although others have called it a blessing—to be able to talk endlessly about things of the most insignificance.”

He laughed as they walked into the curve of the cove. Rocks had been piled by the ocean like a child's forgotten toys. The waves slapped against them as if urging them to fall back into the sea. Gulls gathered upon them, surveying their domain with all the regal disdain of a potentate.

“Would you like to sit and watch the waves?” Mr. Adams asked.

The rocks were covered with plants and debris washed up by the tides. “Mayhap some other time when I am dressed more appropriately.”

“That is a lovely gown.”

“Thank you.”

“I can understand why you would not wish to ruin it.” He shrugged off his coat and spread it across the closest boulder. “Allow me to play Sir Walter Raleigh to you.”

“Your coat! It will never come clean.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“I—” She gulped the rest of her words as she stared across the beach.

In the shadows of the cliff, where his steps would not disturb the sand, Corey strode toward them. He had his coat off, slung over his shoulder, as if he had just come in from a long ride. The sunshine glinted off his ebony hair, casting a bluish tint to the glow around him. As he came closer, his smile was as bright.

Her heart thumped with happiness … and dread. Each time Corey had appeared when someone else was with her, he complicated the occasion with his comments and his gaze which suggested he could guess what she was thinking. Worst of all, he took no pains to hide what
he
thought.

And his thoughts lured her to fall prey to the fantasies of what could never be. She found herself staring at his lips and thinking of them on hers, of his arms around her as he held her against his firm chest, of his fingers combing through her hair, leaving quivers of yearning in their wake.

Her hands clenched at her sides. Just once, if she could give life to that fantasy just once …

“Pardon me,” Mr. Adams said.

Ellen hastily looked back at him. She smiled, hoping the expression looked more sincere than it felt. “I am sorry. I was caught up in the beauty of the sea.”

“As it should be caught up in your beauty.” He gave her no time to answer as he motioned toward his coat. “Do me the favor of sitting and talking with me. As my coat is now ruined beyond repair, it would seem a waste not to use it.”

Although she wanted to flee at top speed along the sand, she smiled and sat on the coat. Mr. Adams perched on the rock beside her. Why had she failed to take note this boulder had room enough for two? He had maneuvered her with rare skill into this position. She kept her hands folded in her lap, vowing to take the first opportunity to rise and continue the tour of the beach.

When Corey climbed onto a rock to her right, Ellen fired him a scowl. He cocked his head at her, looking as much like a naughty boy as any man wearing a black eye patch could. With his elbow on his knee, he smiled a challenge she must not accept. To speak of a ghost following her would persuade Mr. Adams to believe she was deranged.

She gasped when Mr. Adams lifted her hand off her lap and clasped it between his. Mayhap he was mad if he thought she would allow such forwardness when they had just met.

Corey chuckled. “This should be good.”

She resisted glancing at him. As lief, she said, “Mr. Adams, if I gave you any idea I would welcome such familiarity, I apologize.”

“Your manners have been without blemish.” Mr. Adams's smile widened his cheeks. “'Tis I, for I cannot resist the delight of being so close to you, who should apologize.”

“Here it comes,” Corey said. Putting his mouth close to Ellen's ear, although nobody but she could hear his whisper, he went on, “Miss Dunbar, you are an extraordinary woman.”

As if he were taking his cue from Corey, Mr. Adams said, “Miss Dunbar, you are an extraordinary woman.”

Corey murmured, “And I can tell you possess a rare intelligence.”

“And I can tell you possess a rare intelligence,” Mr. Adams continued.

Ellen glanced from him to Corey. How was he doing this? If he could read minds … She shuddered. That was too appalling to consider. “You are too kind, Mr. Adams.”

“How can I be otherwise to such a lovely lady?” Corey asked, grinning.

“How can I be otherwise to such a lovely lady?” Mr. Adams echoed.

“I think we should join the others,” Ellen said sharply.

“Why?”

“Marian was still unsteady when we left them. I am worried about her.”

Corey said, “Best idea I have heard all day.”