“Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been very helpful—a voice of reason in all this madness.”
Dr. Thomas regarded him with understanding, and something about the man struck a chord in Garrett—something strangely familiar. He inclined his head. “Pardon me for asking, but have we met before?”
The doctor stared at him for another thoughtful moment, then a smile reached his eyes. “As a matter of fact we have. You would have been too young to remember, but I treated you when you were a small child.”
“What was wrong with me?”
The doctor’s brow creased, as if he were struggling to describe the illness. “It was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a fever, but your mother feared it might be serious. She was very concerned.”
“How old was I?”
“You were four.” Dr. Thomas looked down at the fire.
“I see. Well.” Garrett stood up. “Thank you again, Doctor.”
Dr. Thomas stood up as well. “I am happy to be of service. If there is anything else I can do for you, do not hesitate to contact me at any time.” He handed Garrett his card. “I promise complete discretion.”
Garrett looked down at the card and was thankful to have it. He admired this doctor, and trusted him. Perhaps he would be helpful in other ways, for Garrett often felt he had no one to talk to or confide in—especially since the accident.
He was still surprised he had confessed it to Lady Anne... Perhaps because she, like the doctor, was an outsider.
As Garrett walked out of the library he contemplated why it was easier to confess things to strangers. He supposed one could say what one wanted to say, and then never have to confront the issue again—for that person would be gone from one’s life.
Lady Anne...
Would he really never see her again after they spoke their wedding vows? Something inside him already regretted that, and wished it did not have to be so—but still, he did not want a wife. That is not why he came home.
* * *
The duke and duchess placed their glasses on the silver tray and said their good nights. For a few minutes after they left the drawing room, conversations were quiet. With the help of a bottle it soon picked up again.
“I do not know what to believe,” Anne said with laughter as she held out her glass for more of the finest brandy she’d ever tasted. “Charlotte assures me that the palace is haunted and the ghosts are a wild bunch of rogues, but you men say otherwise.”
Charlotte, who was seated beside Anne on the sofa, also raised her glass to allow Blake to pour more from the sparkling crystal decanter. “Our ghosts are most definitely a terrible band of scoundrels. I have not set foot in the catacombs for years. Why...I still have nightmares about those wretched howls, and the dark enclosed spaces that seemed to go on forever with no way out. Many times I thought I’d met my maker down there.”
Anne decided to play along. She regarded the men with horrified umbrage but spoke sympathetically to Charlotte. “How dare they presume you were imagining it? I think there is something to these legends. Is it not true that a monk was murdered here?”
Garrett sat down beside her and casually lounged back on the sofa. “Be careful, darling, you are dredging up the shocking details of our family’s dark history. We have wicked beginnings, and in fact, ghosts are not at all out of the question. Perhaps we are all better off not knowing the truth.”
Darling? The teasing in his voice sent flames of excitement shooting into her veins. She could not help but turn her body in his direction. He was sitting very close and she could feel the thrilling challenge in his blue eyes.
She spoke flirtatiously. “You should know better than anyone that I am not the sort of woman who hides from the truth, no matter how shocking or scandalous. Therefore, I challenge you to prove whether or not there are ghosts, otherwise I’ll likely believe it was just you and your wicked brothers taunting your poor sister all those years ago.”
She became aware, suddenly, of the others in the room who were staring at them in silence. Anne looked up at them.
Rebecca smiled. “Count me in. I wish to join you in the challenge.” She turned to face Devon. “Darling, you have never once taken me into the underground. Your father has gone to bed. Now is the perfect time.”
Devon tipped his brandy back and swallowed the contents in one gulp. “Very well, then. If you ladies are brave enough to venture into the deepest guts of this house, how could we not oblige your curiosities?” He turned to Blake and Garrett. “What do you both say? Should we shield them from the otherworldly forces by remaining here in the drawing room, or escort them into the fray and act as their protectors?”