A Phantom Affair (27 page)

“There will never be another love for me like the one I hold in my heart now.” That was the truth, although her mother must not guess that Ellen spoke of Corey.

“That gladdens
my
heart!”

A trill drifted through the open window. Ellen raced to it and looked out. Her heart plummeted when she realized it was only a bird. How silly to believe that she had heard Corey's whistle! He was gone. She must accustom herself to that.

As she walked out of her room with her mother, Ellen ran her fingers along the molding. She would never come back here to where she had fallen in love so futilely.

On the way to Wolfe Abbey, Marian gave no one a chance to notice that Ellen was as silent as the flowers she cradled in her lap. Marian discussed every aspect of the wedding ceremony and the party to follow as if no one else were familiar with the plans she had prattled about for three weeks.

As soon as they arrived at the grand house, Marian herded Ellen's mother and Lord Herrold toward the chapel. Ellen's stepfather offered his arm to her.

“Papa,” she said to the short, heavyset man who seemed uncomfortable in his fine clothes, “go with the others. I want a moment to myself.”

“Are you sure?”

She hugged him and kissed his pudgy cheek. “Yes. To own the truth, there are some flowers I want to pick to include in my bouquet. I want to gather some from the Abbey's garden.”

“Go then, child.”

Ellen gathered her silk gown around her as she went along the path to the garden where the fireworks had been set off. A flower from there would be the only part of Corey she could bring with her to this wedding.

As she plucked a golden chrysanthemum from beneath the trees that were donning their autumnal glory, something moved within them. She tensed as a bent man popped out of the bushes, then smiled grimly. She should have guessed Fenton would not miss the wedding.

“Good day, Fenton. I am glad you are joining us for the celebration.”

“Shouldn't be no celebration.” Fenton frowned. “This be all wrong, Miss Dunbar! All wrong! Ye be marryin' the wrong one.”

“I cannot marry Corey.”

“Not now.”

“Then do you wish me to spend the rest of my life here with only a ghost for company?”

“Is that not what ye wish?”

She almost said yes. Each moment she had had with Corey was doubly precious now that she knew she would never delight in his loving jests again. Brushing her hand against her cheek to wipe away any telltale tearstain, she whispered, “I could not be so selfish to keep him here when he needs to go on to enjoy the wonders of eternity.”

“Ye've consigned him to the bleakest pit.”

“No!”

“Should be here, he should. This be all wrong. Once gone, he can't return.” He gripped her arms. “Ye must stop this.”

“But how—?”

“Stop the weddin'. Ye can't marry the wrong one.”

“Ellen?” Her mother's voice drifted over the bushes.

“'Tis too late,” she whispered. “He is gone already.”

Fenton's shoulders sagged even farther. “Ye must be wrong, Miss Dunbar. He must still be about.”

She shook her head. “He vanished before the first banns were read. I have not seen him since …” Icy chills sliced through her. “Since I told him I had agreed to marry Lord Wulfric.”

“Alack! Alack!” he moaned. “'Tis too late. He be gone. Oh, this be all wrong.”

“I know it is not what we want, but it is what he wanted.”

Fenton frowned. “What he wanted? To be gone?”

“He told you of the vow he made, the vow he would see come to fruition before he could go on to … wherever.”

She was shocked when Fenton's thin hand grasped her arm. His eyes glittered, and she saw the madman Lorenzo had warned Corey of. “The vow! Tell me! What be the vow he made, Miss Dunbar?”

“To find me a husband.”

“Is that exactly what he said? Ye must be sure!”

Ellen glanced over her shoulder. No one else was in sight. She fought back the scream for help that battered her lips. Corey had trusted Fenton, so the old man must not be as deranged as he appeared. Or had Corey been mistaken by loyalty to an old retainer?

“Miss Dunbar!” cried the old man. “What be his exact words? Ye must tell me.”

“I told you—”

“His exact words. Ye must recall them.” His voice cracked, and she heard the pain that echoed within her. “Please, Miss Dunbar. It may be his only hope.”

“There is no hope left.”

“Are ye so sure? Tell me what he vowed.”

She closed her eyes. Again, out of the blur of the confusion surrounding the accident, she could see Corey appearing in the bedchamber in the Abbey as she stared at him in disbelief. His voice had been so rich then, not thinned to oblivion as the last time they spoke. So sure he had been then of being able to do what he pledged.

Opening her eyes, she met Fenton's desperate gaze. Quietly, she said, “He vowed to do as Marian wished and to find me the perfect husband before the chrysanthemums bloomed at the end of the summer.”

“That be his vow? Those words? ‘To do as the lady wished and find ye the perfect husband 'fore the mums bloom'? Ye're sure?”

“I think so.”

He clapped his hands and cackled a laugh. “I hope ye be right, Miss Dunbar. I hope ye be.”

Ellen stared after him as he scurried away. The poor sawney had lost all connection with sanity. And so had she, if she had dared to believe he might help her and Corey. It was too late. Why must she keep believing otherwise?

She drew the fine lace of her veil over her face to hide the tears that would remain in her eyes no longer. Nobody must see her weep as she went to marry Lorenzo.

The call of her name added speed to her feet. She must not embarrass Lorenzo by being late to their wedding. As she came out onto the drive, she was surprised to see a wagon slowing near the front steps of the Abbey. Her mother paused by the steps, and Ellen went to meet her.

“Miss?” called a man.

She looked at the wagon. It was filled with men she did not know. “Yes?”

The man who had spoken, a man whose hair was nearly as red as her own, jumped down to the drive. He tipped his dusty cap to her and wiped his hands on his simple, wool breeches. “Is this Wolfe Abbey?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“We served with Lord Wulfric in France.” He shuffled his feet in the dirt. “We heard how he was killed, and we came to pay our respects.” He did not meet her eyes as he said, “We didn't mean to intrude when there's a wedding, miss.”

“You served with Corey?” The flower stems crushed beneath her fingers as she searched each face among the half-dozen men, although she had no idea what she sought. These must be the men whose lives he had saved nearly at the sacrifice of his own.

“Yes, miss. He always looked after us when the major invented some foolhardy plan, and we …” He paused, looking at the ground. “Well, miss, we just want to pay our respects.”

“If you will come with us,” she said softly, “you can see where he is buried.”

The man twisted his hat. “We don't want to interrupt your happy day, miss.”

“You haven't. Just looking at you and knowing you are here today because of Corey Wolfe gladdens my heart in a way you may not be able to understand. As long as
you
live, a part of him remains alive.”

The man looked at her as if she was daft, but her mother smiled gently. As they walked toward the chapel behind the Abbey, Ellen smiled honestly for the first time since before she had said farewell to Corey. Mayhap he could now rest in peace, along with her heart.

The chapel was as bare of decoration as it had been during the funeral. The pews were crowded with guests, and Ellen wondered, as she stood by Lorenzo, if they would have been wiser to be married in the village church. Even though the wedding of every Lord Wulfric for nearly three hundred years had been celebrated in this chapel, it was too small today. Many of the villagers had come to see their marquess take a bride.

Lorenzo did look every inch a marquess with his black velvet coat and vest of silver satin that he wore over unblemished white breeches. Gold glittered on his fingers, and she noted one ring bore the crest of the Wolfe family.

As Reverend Stapleton read the marriage rite, Ellen peered through her veil at the corners of the church. She tried to be inconspicuous, which was not easy when every eye in the chapel was on her and Lorenzo.

“Do you, Ellen Dunbar, take this man to …?” She heard no more of the question as she searched the shadows within the choir box.

Nothing. Corey must be truly gone to whatever place his soul sought.

She should not be surprised. He had said he would stay only until she found a man to marry. Even if she put a halt to the ceremony now, it was, as she had told Fenton, too late. All traces of Corey Wolfe were gone. Only the stone in the graveyard beyond the chapel remained as a memory of the man he had been.

“Ellen?”

At Lorenzo's soft voice, she turned to see he was holding a lighted candle. She took it as he took another from the minister. Recalling what Reverend Stapleton had told her, she stretched to put her candle to the wick of the one on the altar. Something bumped her side. She looked down and almost laughed as she realized Lorenzo had a roll of paper in his pocket. He must have been working on a poem when the time came for the ceremony. Corey had been right. Lorenzo thought first of his own work.

“Watch out!”

Ellen stiffened. Who had said that? Corey? Was that Corey? What was—? Flame dripped from her candle into the silver goblet on the altar. The wine flared and exploded. Fire struck her arm. She fell back. Her dress caught beneath her heel, and she collapsed. A moan burst from her when her head hit something—or someone. Arms enveloped her and enfolded her to a firm body in the moment before everything vanished into darkness.

“I thought she blinked.”

“Is she awake?”

“Give her some air.”

The cacophony of anxious voices resonated through Ellen's head. She was tempted to let them babble on while she floated on this sea of nothingness.

She shifted. Pain seared up her arm. Her arm? She had struck her head when she collapsed. Had she hurt her arm again as well? Everything was a muddle of confusion in her mind. With a moan, she opened her eyes.

Over her head, the familiar boards of the tester bed she had used in Wolfe Abbey were shadowed with dusk. She must have been senseless for a long time if they had brought her here and drawn the drapes to hold out the sunshine. In a burst of painful memory, she recalled strong arms cradling her as she was lifted and placed against a broad chest. The shoulder beneath her cheek had been firm, yet as comfortable as her favorite pillow.

“How do you fare?”

Her eyes widened as she turned her aching head to stare up into Corey's face.
Corey
! He was not gone! Mayhap he had decided to stay and see her marry Lorenzo. Mayhap he had been as unable as she was to face the finality of their farewell. Fenton! She could not forget the smile on the old man's face. Was this his doing? Had he found a way to bring Corey back to them? She was torn between delight and despair, knowing the frustration Corey had suffered in the last few weeks. She let elation win as she stared up at him. No glow surrounded him, save for the light of the room's single candle reflecting off his dark hair.

She tried to speak, but joyous tears filled her throat, choking her.

“Try a sip of this,” Marian murmured, bending toward her with a cup. “It might help.”

The wine was sweet, and Ellen nearly gagged. She took a second drink, swallowing slowly as she wondered where her mother was. Every time Ellen had been ill as a child, her mother had hovered about, determined to do whatever was necessary to bring her back to health.

“Is that better?” Corey asked.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“How do you feel?” He stepped forward and leaned his hands on the bed. He smiled when she stretched her hand toward his.

“I am …” She stared at her hand as Corey's fingers closed around it.

She could feel his touch!

“You are alive!” she cried. She sat, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to undo her, and ran her hand along his chest. It was as firm as she had dared to dream and warm with life.

Corey smiled more broadly even as Marian gasped, “Ellen! Remember yourself!”

Ellen ignored her. “You are alive.”

“Barely,” grumbled Lorenzo. “Corey, now that you have reassured yourself that Miss Dunbar is not about to hop off, will you rest?”

Miss Dunbar?
Lorenzo had not called her that for—how long?

“I am barely scratched,” Corey replied to his cousin.

“More than a bit scratched, I would say.”

Lorenzo could hear Corey! What was happening?

She looked down at her grass and bloodstained dress. It was the one she had ruined the night of the fireworks. In disbelief, she stared at each of them. Corey's waistcoat was splattered with blood and a thick bandage crowned his head. And Lorenzo … He was wearing a simple evening coat, nothing like the elegant coat covering his silver satin waistcoat she had seen by the altar. Marian's gown was not the grand white silk she had been wearing in the chapel.

Everyone was dressed as they had been the first night she came to Wolfe Abbey. That night … or this one?

“Ellen,” Marian chided in her most overbearing tone, “you should not be sitting up. My dear, you have given us quite a scare.”

“What happened?”

“The fireworks—”

“I know that. They exploded on the ground. The doctor came over to check us. I hurt my arm.” She tentatively touched her bandaged arm and winced. “But Corey, you were much more seriously injured. I heard him say so.”

Even as Marian grumbled at her informality with the marquess, Ellen saw Corey smile. She had not seen that impertinent expression in more than a fortnight, and she feared her heart was going to burst with joy.