The light moved with the swaying lantern, the horses snorted occasionally, and the heady fragrance of the lavender was like an opiate as the benighted travelers proceeded toward the castle. There was such a dreamlike quality about everything that Anthea wondered if she was really asleep and might awaken at any moment.
Then, strange new feelings began to steal through her, as if the finest lavender oil flowed through her veins, and her clothes were fashioned from lavender flowers and leaves. She had become an ethereal being, with hair of spun silver, and bare feet that brushed the cool grass without actually touching the ground.
Glancing at the center of the field, she was startled to see a vision of herself, ghostly blue in the first beams of moonlight, walking back toward the lane; and for a moment, distant and muted, the chanting drifted to her ears.
The fanciful sensations only subsided when she followed the others through an open gate into the little wood of Scotch pines at the edge of the park. Longton paused before entering the trees. “Now then, we must be careful to stick to the path, your ladyships, for I do not know how His Grace feels about poachers. We don’t want to step into snares or traps set by his keepers.”
Lady Letitia nodded. “Well, if the present duke is anything like his father, the keepers will be very active,” she said, turning to look back the way they had come, hoping in vain to see Corinna running after them. But there were only night shadows in the light of the rising moon.
They made their way between the tall, leggy pines, where the thin canopy was high and whispered very faintly. Holly and brambles grew in abundance, making Anthea think of the Sleeping Beauty, around whose enchanted castle rose a briar thicket so high and dense that no one but her prince could reach her.
They had only just reached the middle of the wood when Jovian’s urgent whisper alerted Anthea to danger. “Have a care, my darling, for Lethe is riding toward you! Get out of sight, for we need him to be well on his way!”
Almost immediately the sound of a slowly cantering horse approached from the direction of the castle. She acted without hesitation. “We must hide! Over there, behind those holly bushes!”
Lady Letitia dithered. “But it may be someone who can help us....”
“And it may not! We might be taken for poachers, or at the very least trespassers, and keepers have been known to fire guns first and only ask questions afterward. Now come on!”
Swiftly Anthea led her horse through the thorny undergrowth toward the shelter afforded by the prickly holly foliage, praying as she went that no traps or snares lay in her way. Startled into unquestioning compliance, Lady Letitia and Longton followed, and they had all just led their horses out of sight when a lone horseman appeared along the path.
Sir Erebus rode at a leisurely pace, but he suddenly reined in to glance around, as if sensing eyes upon him from the shadows. Everyone froze and kept soothing hands on their horses’ muzzles, and all was quiet as he continued to look around. Anthea held her breath as she watched him through the spiky leaves; then to her relief, he rode on and the sound of his horse’s hooves died away into the darkness.
Lady Letitia breathed out shakily. “That man gives me the shivers,” she said, then looked curiously at Anthea. “You guessed who it was, didn’t you?”
“I—suspected it might be him,” Anthea replied lamely.
“Hmm. Well, his presence would seem to indicate that Jovian is at home, for Sir Erebus is his friend—although heaven alone knows why!—and I suppose it is only to be expected they would call upon each other here in the country.”
“Sir Erebus is not Jovian’s friend,” Anthea replied unguardedly.
“Oh? But I thought—”
“So did I, but Jovian loathes Sir Erebus and does not trust him an inch.”
Lady Letitia was astonished. “Well, that is indeed a turnup for the books, for I was under the impression that the two were bosom companions,” she murmured, “especially as it was through Sir Erebus that we learned of Jovian’s recommendations concerning Miss Wheatley.” When Anthea didn’t comment, Lady Letitia went on, “When did you learn of Jovian’s thoughts upon Sir Erebus?”
“I ...”
“An answer, if you please.”
Anthea struggled for words. “It was at the Red Cow.”
“In Hammersmith? But we hardly stopped there at all.”
“I know. He was riding past and we spoke for a moment or so. He told me then.” It was part truth, part fib, but was all Anthea could think of.
Lady Letitia was astonished. “And you did not see fit to mention it?”
“Well, it was a little difficult. You were being cool with me, and Corinna wasn’t speaking at all. So I thought it better not to say anything.” Anthea crossed her fingers behind her back. “Anyway, it’s not important. Come on, we must get on to the castle.”
Lady Letitia sighed and nodded. “Very well, but oh, these brambles have played the very devil with my skirts.”
“Pulled threads are the least of our problems,” Anthea replied, as she led her horse behind Longton so that this time it was her aunt who brought up the rear.
At last they emerged from the wood beside an expanse of grassy park, at the other end of which the castle stood amid the gardens once tended by Huw Gadarn—perhaps tended by him still. Lights still shone in the low wing and at the upper windows, but there seemed no one around. Longton turned to Anthea and her aunt. “Begging your pardon, your ladyships, but do you know if His Grace keeps guard dogs?”
“I have no idea at all,” Anthea answered.
Lady Letitia wasn’t sure. “Once again I have to say that his father did, but I have no idea about the present duke. However, Sir Erebus would seem to have passed safely enough.”
The coachman pursed his lips. “That’s true. Well, just to be sure, I’ll hold the lantern up high, to show we aren’t up to no good.”
Brandishing the lantern aloft as obviously as he could, he followed the path across the open park, and after a moment Anthea and her aunt continued too. As they neared the castle they found a deep grassy ditch barring their way. Called a ha-ha, it was there to protect the extensive gardens from deer or cattle in the park and did not spoil the view from the castle as would a wall or fence.
The path led along the top of the ditch toward the lodge and main drive, and incredibly the lantern still seemed to go unnoticed, even though it swayed brightly. No one seemed aware there were intruders in His Grace of Chavanage’s grounds, which was all very lax, Lady Letitia thought, recalling how difficult she had once found it to slip away to meet Huw without anyone knowing.
The ha-ha ended at the main drive, which led past the impressive south frontage to a Tudor gatehouse straddling the way into the courtyard beyond. The gatehouse was covered with ivy and climbing roses and resembled a little half-timbered house. Tears welled in Lady Letitia’s eyes as she saw it again. Nineteen lonely years had passed since last she had seen those small diamond-leaded windows. Nineteen years ... the length of Corinna’s entire life.
“Oh, Huw, cariad.” The Welsh word for sweetheart came to her as easily and lovingly now as it had then. “What a fool you were, Letitia Wintour. You found true love and let yourself be torn away from it.”
Anthea heard her aunt’s voice. “Did you say something, Aunt Letty?”
“No, my dear. At least, nothing worth repeating.” Just the words of a penitent old maid who would have behaved very differently if she had her time over again....
Everything remained quiet as they left the path to follow the drive instead. Longton led the way past the castle frontage, where more ivy and roses flourished against south-facing walls that enjoyed so much sunshine summer and winter alike that an orangery had been built against them, its line of gothic arched windows exactly in keeping with the rest of the castle. There was a faint light inside, and they stopped hopefully, thinking someone must be there, but although a candle had been placed on the tiled floor, the place seemed deserted.
The wavering flame cast a very poor light with confusing shadows, but it was sufficient to reveal that the orangery had fallen into sad disrepair. It no longer appeared to serve its proper purpose, all the plants except one small tree having withered or died. Anthea became aware of a movement by the living tree and after a moment realized a woman was picking fruit from it.
She was thin and a little angular, and Anthea estimated from her figure and manner that she was about forty. A lace shawl over her hair hid her profile, her brown long-sleeved gown appeared to be of fine quality, and Anthea saw the glitter of diamond earrings as she turned slightly to place fruit in a basket over her arm. Who was she? It seemed unlikely she was Jovian’s latest love; she was too well dressed to be his housekeeper; and, as far as Anthea knew, he had no other female relatives.
Lady Letitia took it upon herself to rap loudly on the glass. The woman gave a frightened start and looked around, but the upward cast of the candlelight distorted her features. Seeing faces outside, she gathered up her skirts and hastened away with her basket, causing a draft that made the candle smoke and then go out.
Lady Letitia was indignant. “Well, really! What a very foolish creature she must be to scuttle away like a frightened rabbit.”
Or hare, Anthea found herself thinking, although she did not quite know why, but then the woman was forgotten as a rough male voice—foreign but in perfect English—shouted loudly from the direction of the gateway. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Men with torches had emerged beneath the gatehouse, and it was their leader who had addressed the newcomers. By the flickering light of the torches Anthea saw that he was swarthy and of almost shaggy appearance, with wavy bronze-colored hair that was long enough to just brush his broad shoulders. He had dark eyes, a large pointed nose, and a receding chin, and when he spoke again, she was put in mind of a dog’s hollow bark. “Answer me! Who are you? What is your business here?”
Lady Letitia recovered from her startlement. “No, sirrah, who are you?” she demanded, finding him presumptuous in the extreme.
“I am the Duke of Chavanage’s steward, Sebbriz.”
The mythical guard dog, Cerberus, Anthea thought. He seemed human enough, and yet—there was something oddly canine about him.
Lady Letitia’s thoughts were surprisingly similar. “Sebbriz? Cerberus, more like,” she whispered to Anthea, “although to be sure the fellow appears to have just two legs and one head, and I cannot imagine Cathness Castle is the entrance to Hades.”
“Is Huw Gadarn among the men?” Anthea whispered back.
“No, definitely not. Even after all this time I would know him anywhere.”
Sebbriz did not like the whispering and came closer, followed by the others. “If you do not tell me who you are, I will have you thrown into a dungeon,” he threatened, in an accent that Anthea, who had once been introduced to a gentleman from Athens, now recognized as Greek.
Lady Letitia eyed the steward. “The dungeon? How very medieval, to be sure. Very well, Mr. Sebbriz, I will identify myself. I am Lady Letitia Wintour, sister of the Earl of Daneway, and this is my niece, Lady Anthea. Our male companion is my coachman, Longton. We were on our way to stay with a Miss Wheatley when we became lost. Now my step-niece, Miss Pranton, has disappeared, and we have come in desperation to seek His Grace’s hospitality and assistance.”
Unexpectedly, the steward’s grim face broke into a smile, and Anthea felt he had known who they were all along. “Ah, welcome to Cathness Castle, my lady,” he said smoothly. “I crave forgiveness for my curtness, but I had no idea I was addressing so fine a person. His Grace is in residence, and I am sure he will gladly extend his help and hospitality to you.”
“Well, that’s a little better,” Lady Letitia replied, mollified, “although I fear that you and the other servants here are guilty of gross dereliction of duty. We might have been robbers or murderers; yet, we have all but reached the castle doors without being detected. I will be having strong words with the duke.”
“My lady.” The steward’s smile did not waver, and he bowed deeply, “Please come this way.” The other men parted as he turned to lead the weary travelers beneath the gatehouse into the confines of Jovian’s castle, so beautiful in daylight, so mysterious and daunting after dark when the moon was blue.