Page 21 of Mistress of Sins

Now she might be carrying his child, doomed to be born out of wedlock in a small village where everyone would revile and shun them both.

He would marry her, Greystone decided. As long as she had his name Jennet would be protected. She could live at Gerard Lodge with the child and her mother. He would see to it that they wanted for nothing. Once his own mother learned Jennet was his wife, and with child, she would likely wish to join them. They could be happy together, the three of them, raising his heir. Staying away would not be difficult. Men were never much help in the nursery. He would have the consolation of knowing he had saved her and their baby from the very worst of scandals.

It was all decided, except for one problem. The thought of not being with Jennet while she grew heavy with his child made Greystone want to howl at the heavens until the sky splintered and the stars rained down.

Remember your choice.

* * *

Jennet returned inside, where she stood for a long moment eyeing the empty reception room. If she sat there no doubt Greystone would find her; if she went to the ballroom he might have the audacity to ask her to dance. She needed a quiet place to tidy herself and think, and recalled what the older woman had said after they had first arrived.

Taking the stairs to the second floor, Jennet kept watch for other guests, but found herself alone when she walked out from the landing. She saw several doors standing open as if in invitation, and looked in the one nearest the stairs before entering the room.

The bed chamber inside had a curious mix of antique oak furnishings and new golden linens and ivory damask drapes. Fresh paint and plaster repairs failed to entirely disguise the cracks and chips in the walls, just as the new carpet only covered most of the scarred floor planks. Some landscape paintings had been hung, and a low fire burned in the hearth, but Jennet doubted Arthur Pickering or any of his friends currently occupied the chamber. So why did she feel as if someone were watching her from inside the room?

“Forgive my intrusion,” Jennet said, loud enough to be heard in the adjoining dressing room. When no one replied, she closed the door and went to the wash stand.

Even as she made liberal use of the soap and cold water, she could still smell Greystone’s scent. She would have to scrub every vestige of him from her person in the morning; for now, she tidied herself as best she could. Additional measures would have to be taken with the borrowed gown. She would sponge the silk with spirits mixed with a little honey and vinegar, and let it dry in the shade out of doors to remove any lingering trace of her assignation in the hot house. The rest of her garments she could rinse out in her bath water.

Greystone would not have to do any of that, nor wait for weeks to discover if he was with child. That made Jennet hate him just a little more.

Once she had finished the necessities, she sat down by the fire to think. What she had done in the hot house with Greystone could be concealed; a pregnancy could not. Every woman knew the disastrous consequences of having a child out of wedlock. Bearing his child while yet unmarried would earn Jennet the contempt of the world. It would horrify her mother, scandalize their servants, and estrange every friend they had.

I have been so foolish.

Not only would she be cast out of society, and never again be permitted to rejoin it, but the baby and Margaret would share the same fate. Jennet’s name would be spoken of only as a warning to other young ladies, and then only in whispers. The Reeds would remain in social exile for the remainder of their lives, and her child would be evermore known as Greystone’s bastard.

Despite these dismal thoughts her hand crept down to touch the top of her skirt, and a strange warmth suffused her.

Never had Jennet dared dream of becoming a mother, but the prospect served to strengthen her resolve. Greystone would not care about the baby any more than her, but with some careful arrangement she could bear it without destroying her or Margaret’s reputation. She had heard stories of girls who went away to Scotland or Ireland to have a secret confinement, and returned a year or two later wearing wedding rings and pretending to be widows while presenting their infants. Everyone suspected the truth of such matters, but accepted the pretense.

Would she be bold enough to try the same?

The hope she felt soothed her, and she closed her eyes for a moment. That moment stretched out as she fell into a doze, and then into a dream.

Jennet found herself standing in a cemetery, her costume now covered with black feathers. Before her gaped a deep rectangular hole in the ground framed by four long, sharp-looking scythes. She took a step back, and then leaned forward to look into the grave, which thankfully proved empty. A black marble headstone had been placed at one end, but dozens of names had been chiseled into its surface.

All of them ended with the same surname: Thorne.

“I should like to awaken now,” Jennet said, removing the velvet mask from her face. The fabric had turned black, and fell apart in her hands, fluttering to the ground to become more gleaming dark plumes.

“You are in no immediate peril, my dear,” a deep voice said. “Yet I think you must awaken very soon.”

She turned toward the other end of the grave, where stood a tall, heavy-set older man wearing clothes from a century past. A powdered wig sat somewhat askew on his head, which he absently adjusted as he gazed down into the grave. That he was partly transparent and floated slightly above the ground made it obvious he was some form of apparition.

Jennet blinked, but he did not vanish. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“On the best of days Dredthorne Hall is a precarious place, my dear,” the old man told her. “This is All Hallows’ Eve. Tonight, every soul lost within these rooms has been awakened. Most intend only to wander, but among them walk malevolent and vengeful spirits that one should not cross.”

“I do not believe in ghosts or spirits,” Jennet told him. “Nor have we been introduced. Pray, what is your name?”

“Forgive my discourtesy.” The man bowed. “I am Emerson Thorne.”

“You are the gentleman who built Dredthorne Hall?” When he nodded, she belatedly remembered to curtsey. “Of course, I must be dreaming.”

“You have a gift of seeing what others do not,” Thorne told her. “Even in your sleep, I would wager. I am sorry to say that ladies with your talent do not fare well in my house.”

Jennet smiled politely. “I am imagining you, sir, so I have no need for your reassurance.”