Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1)

The morning after the ball was spent seeing the house put to rights. Mrs. Beaumont, Mother’s housekeeper, had a book that detailed each room and what went where. I was holding the book while she directed the footmen where to place the sofas in the drawing room when I realized that there were some effects missing––figurines from the mantle and ormolu clock that had belonged to my father. When the room was set how Mrs. Beaumont liked, I followed her into the dining parlor.

  “Mrs. Beaumont, you do know that some of my mother’s possessions are missing.” It was a statement since she had every list memorized.

  She kept her back to me as she worked at straightening something on the sideboard. She did not respond, so I laid the book on the table.

  “You would tell me if there was something that I needed to know?”

  Her face was strained as she turned. “Yes, miss, of course.”

  My eyes focused on her green ones for a moment. She had been with our family from the time we first became Phantoms. My father had hired her to be my etiquette teacher, but she quickly became so much more. Mother started to confide in her, and when we moved to Philadelphia, Mother took Mrs. Beaumont on as housekeeper. I did not know her background, nor did I ever ask. If my father, who was an untrusting individual while he lived, trusted Mrs. Beaumont, I had no qualms about trusting her. She knew of my gift of observation. If she lied, I would know it.

  “To where do we hail this evening?” Jack asked from behind, and I turned away from her.

  “We are at home this evening. Mama feels we need time to recover from the party.”

  Jack and I went into his library. A tray was on the low table that was placed on a large rug before the fireplace. Jack poured me a cup of coffee then one for himself. Coffee had quickly replaced tea in our favor, as sometimes it was all we had to drink while on the trail.

  Jack sat on the sofa and picked up the stack of letters lying there. He sliced through them with his silver letter opener, and I sat across from him so I could watch his face. At the third letter his brows knit together.

  I was feeling anxious; I needed a diversion. Leisure and I never agreed. Work had always kept my mind occupied; kept the memories away. “Is there anything for me to do?” I asked.

  “Eager to be at work? Your admirers must be doing an atrocious job of keeping your thoughts engaged,” he replied, without looking up from his letter.

  Disgust rose within me. “Admirers,” I scoffed. “If I were destitute they would not be such admirable gentlemen. Animals at heart, every one.”

  Jack refolded his letter then picked up his cup, smiling, his dark brows arching. “Even Dudley?”

  I had a fondness for Dudley; he was like another brother, but it did not go beyond that. Even so, I was both flattered and amused after his actions at the party. “I will have you know that Dudley secured my hand for two dances,” I said.

  “Your admirers must have left a gap in the circle surrounding you.”

  “Nothing of the sort,” I informed him. “He climbed between poor Henry Clay’s legs.”

  Jack’s head went back against the sofa as he laughed, the sound filling the whole room.

  I tried to look stern. “You may laugh but it was very shocking.”

  “I can believe it, but at least he achieved his goal.” Jack’s eyes were at their bluest when he laughed.

  “After such a display of eagerness I could not deny him,” I said, smiling, but inside I felt weary. It was like I was traveling through a maze with no end, forever to be lost and with each wrong turn the sides were quickly enclosing upon me.

  “What is the matter?” Jack asked softly.

  He was the one person that I could tell my feelings to and know that he would not judge me for them, but I did not feel myself able to confess that I was tired of a life of lies.

  Instead, I leaned forward, picking up a leather bound novel from the low table. I grimaced when I opened it. “How you can read this drivel I do not know.” I hated poetry with a passion that Jack found comical. He did not know from whence my hatred came, so he usually teased me about it. He would not tease me so if he knew the truth. That Ben used to read poetry to me. My hatred was not from the words so much as a guard against hearing anyone else recite it to me. I did not want someone else to take Ben’s place in my memory.

  “It is not as bad as that,” Jack retorted.

  “Indeed? Allow me to demonstrate my point.” I flipped through the book until I found a sonnet that always made me laugh. “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,” I broke off, casting him a haughty look, “though there we agree.” I went back to the poem. “One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.” I closed the book with a snap, shaking my head. “If a man quoted that to me, I would laugh in his face.”

  “You would not if he were the right man,” Jack replied as he swiped the book from my hand.

  “Trust me, Jack, if he quoted poetry to me, he would not be the right man.”

  Jack smiled but wisely changed the subject. “Have you plans this day?”

  “Nothing pressing.”

  “Would you like to call upon Miss Clark with me?”

  I sat up straighter. “Yes, I would. Thank you. It will give me an excuse to be away should anyone call upon me.”

  Jack laughed.