Fair Maiden (2 page)

With a resigned sigh, she slid to the bed. Feeling
distressed, she wanted to reread the comforting words written upon the missive.

You are loved.

“Who left that here? And why?” She pouted and drew her
bottom lip between her teeth. “And why did they not address it properly? A
simple ‘to’ and ‘from’ would have been helpful.”

Using her thoughts, she tried to pick it up. The parchment
rippled and then began floating from the bed, but just as it did, the edges
started to crumble away. She dropped it before it was lost completely.
It is
old
, she realized,
and has clearly been here for a very long time.

As I probably have, too….

Collapsing onto the bed, tears continued to roll down her
face as she reached her translucent hands out and attempted to stroke—what she
imagined to be—the petal-soft fabric with her fingertips.

And sobbed when she felt nothing.

“Why?” she asked the butterflies, who did not answer.

“Why have I not gone to Heaven, or even Hell?” Anger
suddenly joined defeat, loneliness, and frustration. “And why is no one here
for me to haunt? Oh, no,” she worried, “perhaps this is Hell.”

Days passed. She counted by the rise and fall of the sun.
Today she was strolling, no,
floating
along a path that trailed past
shrubs and a tall stone fence that appeared to be the edge of the property.
Curious about what was on the other side of the wall, she slid toward it and
stopped suddenly. She had not meant to stop, and realized as she bumped against
something she could not see that she’d actually found a barrier. An invisible
barrier. Running her hands along the solid nothingness, she tried to find an
opening or an end to it, but it seemed there was none.

Her gaze caught onto the movement of a blue and tan swallow
that flew from the hedge and over the wall.

“Am I a prisoner?” She watched in irritation as the plump
little bird happily returned and left again, as if taunting her.

She
could not leave this place! The realization
baffled her deeply.

With a sense of panic seizing her, she spun back toward the
castle, forgetting about what might be on the other side of the wall. Then as
she neared the kitchen garden, her eyes widened in surprise. There, bent over
the herbs, was a female maid. She’d bunched up her apron to create a makeshift
basket to hold the clippings of thyme and rosemary.

“Hello!” she called, waving her arm as she sped toward the
blonde girl in the black and white dress.

There was no reaction from the maid. Of course there was no
reaction!

She spoke anyway, knowing a pout controlled her mouth.
“Hello, I am…well…I’m so very pleased to see you,” she said, desperate to speak
to anyone.

Still, she received no reply or any physical response to her
speech at all. The young maid simply hummed a sweet tune as she
worked—obviously oblivious to the spirit next to her.

Keeping the frown firmly fixed upon her expression, she went
inside to see who else had returned. Drifting through the door to the kitchen,
she paused, and then watched as servants bustled about hastily preparing a
meal. A meal for one. A plump woman was spooning stew into a bowl, whilst an
old, slender man held out a tray for it. Another maid set a hunk of bread next
to the bowl, along with a porcelain cup and another little bowl with white,
sparkling cubes in it. Then the older man shuffled through the doorway with the
loaded silver platter.

The realization settled in. They had only just arrived and
were rushing to feed their master.

Him.
The lone man who occupied the great bedchamber!

She had to see what he looked like, even if he could not see
her.
Perhaps I can haunt him
, she thought with a pixyish smirk forming
about her lips that swept the pout away.

Chapter
2

The
Earl of Krestly Castle

Christian Henry Sparks dropped himself, with a gusty breath,
into the head chair at his lonely and long dining room table. He’d been here,
at his newly acquired estate, for only a few days when he’d been summoned back
to the city. His insufficient numbers of servants were forced to accompany him
and abandon their duties as well. They hadn’t even had time to fully restock
the shelves with food or the grounds with livestock at this older, medieval
castle. Though there’d been many upgrades, it had stood empty for a few years
until being handed down to him from his father’s many holdings.

Even so, while this castle was empty, but for himself and a
handful of servants, he preferred this country estate over the city. Regardless
of the fact that he was more accustomed to urban life. In fact, he despised
London.

It wasn’t so much the geography that irritated him, but the
people living there. The snobs. The ones utterly concerned with fashion, and
gossip about who was wedding who, and when the next soirée would be, and if
they were invited…. For now he was the earl, but, as the rightful heir, he
would someday replace his father as marquess. Because of that, Father expected
him to return to London for study in his future responsibilities. Even though
it irked him to revisit, he went and did not speak of his internal displeasure.
He would not show ingratitude by complaining about it. At least not out loud.

Underneath the pride of ownership, however, he was
simmering. Curse his father! How could the man give him this enormous charge
only to withhold the funds needed to run it? Christian laughed humorlessly.
This was likely another one of his sire’s challenges.
Let’s see how
Christian manages that huge estate without his allowance.
Oh, the laugh he
must have had.

His father had supported him financially up until now, and
he knew he was due to gain an increased amount when he turned six and twenty.
He certainly hadn’t expected to be cut off when his father gave him Krestly.

Christian did not want to look the fool in front of his sire
or peers, but he feared he would not be able to maintain the place and hire the
needed servants. And because of that, he worried this castle would fall into
disrepair and dwindle under his care if he did not receive the money soon. He
knew there was some condition to ascertaining it, but he didn’t yet know what
that was. He hoped that his father would send his solicitor quickly to clear up
the matter. Until then, there was nothing he could do about it but try and
manage with what he did have.

Footsteps echoed through the people-sparse room, announcing
the arrival of his dinner, which he knew would also be sparse since they’d only
just returned. But he didn’t mind. “Thank you, Jackson. That will be all for
now,” Christian said as the gray-haired, ashen-faced man settled the tray onto
the table with a trembling grip that caused the china to rattle.

“You’re very welcome, Lord Krestly, it is my pleasure to
serve you.”

Christian couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. Just the
sight of the man brightened his sullen mood, but, it was the formal address
that made him chuckle. Jackson had served him since he’d been an infant. The
man felt like an uncle to him and was dear to his heart. Therefore, he did not
expect such proper conduct from the loyal manservant, but Jackson had persisted
in calling him “lord” instead of “little lad” once he’d been given this castle.
“You know there is no need for such formalities.”

“But I insist, my lord.”

“Jackson,” he said, his tone a gentle reprimand.

Jackson waved it away, offered a quick bow, and then
shuffled slowly toward the exit. “I insist. Now be a good boy, and eat your
supper.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and laughed when that got the reaction
he was hoping for: A cringe and another sharp wave of the elderly butler’s
hand. “You’re the best, old man. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d survive.”

No, I wouldn’t
, Christian thought to himself as he
listened to the doors close behind Jackson. Well, at least not as comfortably.
And he’d be lonelier than he already was.

He knew he needed to fill this cold dwelling with the warmth
that only a wife and children could provide. His lips cracked a smile at the
images that fond thought conjured. The cacophony of a chattering wife with
rambunctious youth clutching her skirts would brighten these hollow walls
nicely. But the smile slipped, he couldn’t even consider looking for a bride
until his finances were settled, and he wondered how long his father meant to
torment him. It could take days or months or...who knew? He certainly didn’t.

His finger hooked around the handle of his teacup, and he
sipped
at his tea.
Chamomile
, he thought, and then noted, as the
bland liquid warmed his taste buds with temperature and not flavor, that they’d
rushed the process a bit. Again, he didn’t mind. Tasteless tea was the least of
his worries. He dropped two lumps of sugar into it.

While the cubes dissolved, he reached for the stale bread
brought in from the city no doubt, since Cook truly had not had time to bake it
from scratch. Smiling, he broke off a hunk and dunked it into the fragrant hot
soup. The
ton
would frown on him for that, but here, in his home, he
could do whatever he liked, even if it wasn’t entirely civilized behavior.
There was no one here to see it.

Spooning up the last bit of potato from the broth, Christian
caught sight of movement near the door. He lunged to his feet. A lovely young
woman in an exquisite gown was moving across the room to the chair opposite
him. Her glide appeared utterly graceful, so much so, that it was unnatural.
She then sat down and studied him with the most intense green eyes he’d ever
seen. His spoon dropped from his fingers and clattered to the bowl. The impact
sent droplets of soup popping into the air.

He gaped, and she gaped, both of their eyes rounded. It
seemed she didn’t expect him to be surprised that a woman he didn’t know sat in
his
home, at
his
table. Unannounced.

He lowered back into his chair. “Excuse me,” –he cleared his
throat when his voice croaked— “might I ask who you are?”

She turned to look behind herself, her eyes still wide.
Then, when she apparently saw no one else around but her, she twisted back
toward him, and set one hand on her chest, then said in a voice that sounded
like a melodic breeze, “Me?”

“Yes. Are you a guest whom no one told me about?”

“I, uh…y-you can see me?”

At that his brows tugged together. Because now that she
mentioned it, she did look slightly
transparent
. He could see the
tapestry-covered chair through her bodice. Christian stood abruptly, his chair
tipped backward with the sudden movement and rocked to the floor with a loud
bang.
She’s not solid!

Jackson opened the door and popped his head inside; clearly
he’d heard the commotion. “My lord, is everything all right?”

Christian held a shaky hand out, pointing in her direction.
“Do-do you see?” he sputtered.

The butler followed the line of his straightened finger and
frowned. The ghost looked at the old man as though she prayed he’d be able to
see her too. “See what, my lord?” Her face fell. “Is there a rodent? I’ll fetch
Nathan to take care—”

“No, the woman seated right there!”

Jackson looked again and squinted. “Sorry, no one is there.
Son, you must be tired. I suggest you retire early.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it realizing he
was the only one who could see her, and muttered, “Yes, thank you for supper.
It was divine and really hit the spot. Please tell Margaret for me, would you?”

“I tasted the tea; surely you’re exaggerating when you say
it was divine.”

Exhaling and reluctant to remove his gaze from the lady, who
smiled bashfully, yet pleasantly, Christian addressed the old man. “I’m
grateful for the meal; now please deliver my thanks….” He fell silent for a
moment as her honeyed tresses were stirred to life from an unseen source. The
colored ribbons adorning her curls also drifted with an otherworldly effect.
The fabric of her dress moved along with her hair as though a gentle breeze had
set upon it. However, he felt no draft that could be causing it, and the
windows were tightly shut. Her image shimmered and she was bobbing, as if she
were only attempting to create the illusion of actually sitting.

 
A ghost
. He swallowed and waved a hand in her
direction again. “You’re certain you see—?”

“Nothing, Christian. I’m sorry. It must be fatigue wearing
on you. I’ll bring you some warmed milk to help—”

“No, thank you. I’m too old for that,” he snapped, and then
cringed because he hadn’t meant to be so short with the age-frail butler.

After passing one more nervous gaze in her direction,
Jackson nodded slowly, his mouth almost gaping, and then he left.

Christian scrubbed a hand over his face and wondered what he
should do next. He knew troubled thoughts had been taxing him when he’d first
sat down to dinner, but he couldn’t recall much else besides his name at the
moment.

She spoke again. “Can you truly see me? I’ve wanted so badly
to talk to someone—anyone.”

“Yes, I can see you. How long have you been here?” He
couldn’t believe he was actually starting a conversation with an apparition,
pretty though she may be.

“I know not. I awoke and have been wandering this empty
demesne for days now.”

Nervously, though he tried to hide how nervously, he stepped
toward her, took hold of a chair in the middle that was closer to her end of
the table, and sat down.

She may’ve been dead, but she was a breathtaking sight to
behold. The candlelight picked out the strands of bright-gold in her hair, and
he wanted to touch it, but knew that may not be acceptable. He didn’t want to
frighten her, then chuckled internally at how silly it was that
he
didn’t want to frighten
her
.