‘It must’ve been after I left,’ Dominic said.
Joss nodded. ‘Your mother’s been very kind to me.’
Dominic’s mobile phone rang and he excused himself to take the call. ‘Yeah, Max, what is it?’ he asked his agent with a trace of impatience. ‘We’re just about to go in to dinner.’
‘Sorry,’ Max replied, ‘but it’s important. Bit of bad news, I’m afraid.’
Dominic frowned and stayed behind as the others drifted off to the drawing room. ‘What’s happened?’
‘You know your nice, lucrative contract with Maison Laroche, the one that keeps you in Maseratis and ’57 Strats?’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s over, Dominic. They’ve dropped the campaign for their men’s cologne, Dissolute. And they’ve dropped you, as well.’
‘What?’ Dominic erupted. ‘You can’t mean it! Those ads bring in a shedload of cash, Max – not just for me, but for Maison Laroche! Why’ve they dropped the campaign?’
‘Well, there’s a couple of reasons,’ Max said carefully. ‘There’s a lot of negative publicity because of Klaus—’
‘Klaus,’ Dominic said contemptuously. ‘I can’t stand that snooty German arse—’
‘–so they’ve decided to pull the ads. They might, er…retool them, later.’
‘Oh.’ Mollified, Dominic noticed a stain on the coffered ceiling overhead. It was shaped exactly like Gemma’s bum. ‘So they’ll probably need me for some new ads, later on. Right?’
There was a lengthy pause. ‘Well, as to that—’
‘Are you coming, Dominic?’ Gemma asked as she returned to the foyer. ‘We’re going in to dinner now.’
‘Yeah, okay, babes.’ Dominic said goodbye to Max and rang off.
The dining room table, which seated thirty, easily accommodated nine that evening. Lord and Lady Locksley sat at either end, with their guests ranged along each side of the table. The tall, mullioned windows reflected sullen skies as they took their seats, and the wind quickened and whipped at the branches.
‘Looks like we’re in for a nasty storm,’ Rory observed. ‘Good thing we finished up the shearing.’
Charles frowned. ‘As to that, I think one of the ewes is taking ill. She didn’t eat much and seemed a bit listless.’
‘I’d suggest you call the vet tomorrow if she doesn’t improve,’ Rory suggested.
‘Well!’ Lady Mary interjected a shade too brightly. ‘Isn’t this lovely, Charles? We’ve got all our family here tonight.’
Lord Locksley glowered down the table at Dominic and muttered something unintelligible into his salade frisée.
‘It’s lovely to be here,’ Natalie offered, ‘and it’s really lovely to see Dominic and Gemma again. London’s such a big place, and we’re all so busy that we rarely see each other.’
‘I got the most fabulous pair of shoes today, Nat,’ Gemma told her. ‘Black satin pumps.’
‘Ooh – not Louboutins?’
Gemma snorted. ‘On my salary? You must be joking! No, but they’re still gorgeous. Come upstairs after dinner and I’ll show you.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘And I’d like to make a toast.’ Lady Mary raised her glass of Montrachet and smiled at Dominic. ‘To Rupert, for making us a family again… Welcome home, darling.’
Liam snorted. ‘Arsehole,’ he muttered, but only Dominic – seated across the table – heard him.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Dominic ignored his brother and sipped his wine to a chorus of ‘hear, hears’. He nearly choked. The bottle must’ve come from deep in the recesses of the family wine cellar – the Montrachet tasted like vinegar chased with cobwebs. He’d had cooking sherry that tasted better than this swill.
‘Thanks for letting us stay here, Lady Mary,’ Gemma said as she set her glass aside and admired the Georgian chandelier and hand-painted wallpaper. ‘This is a fabulous old house.’
‘Thank you,’ Lady Mary replied. ‘Mansfield may not be Grade 1 listed, but it has an intriguing history nonetheless.’
Gemma leaned forward, fascinated. ‘Oh?’
‘Don’t encourage her,’ Liam warned. ‘She’ll go on all night about ghosts and Elizabethan courtiers and Lady Eleanora.’
‘Mansfield has ghosts?’ Gemma squealed in delight. ‘Right, you’ve got to tell us about them, Lady Mary.’
Natalie, seated next to Dominic, touched his arm. ‘D’you remember the time you lit the bonfire for Guy Fawkes, and it refused to catch? It kept going out.’
‘Wet wood tends to do that,’ Liam pointed out. ‘My twit of a brother doesn’t know how to lay a proper fire.’
‘I know how to lay a fire,’ Dominic retorted. ‘The wood was as dry as melba toast. Something – or someone – didn’t want that fire to stay lit.’
‘Who, then? Guy Fawkes?’ Liam scoffed.
‘No,’ Julia said, and leaned forward with an impish smile. ‘It was obviously the Bride in Black.’
‘The Bride in Black?’ Gemma echoed, her expression avid.
‘She’s our resident ghost,’ Lady Mary explained, enjoying their attention. ‘Lady Eleanora was engaged to a young Prussian officer, Captain von Graf. The two had never met; so when the wedding day neared, there was great excitement here at Mansfield as the bride and her family awaited the groom’s arrival.
‘The house was filled with flowers and the table was laid with a feast. But time passed, the fires sank down to embers, and the captain hadn’t arrived. Late that evening, a horseman galloped up and broke the news to the family that Captain von Graf and his party had been ambushed, attacked by robbers in a mountain pass. Von Graf was killed.’
‘How awful,’ Gemma murmured, stricken. ‘Poor Eleanora.’
‘What happened to her?’ Rory wondered.
‘She was terribly distraught, of course,’ Lady Mary replied, ‘and changed from her wedding dress into mourning clothes. She wore only mourning for the rest of her life.’
‘But why would Eleanora want to put out the bonfire?’ Gemma asked Julia, confused. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I can answer that,’ Joss chimed in. ‘They say she stood watch every night at her window with a candle, waiting for her groom to return.’ She paused. ‘One evening, her sleeve caught the candle flame. Servants heard her screams and managed to douse the fire before it engulfed the bedroom, but it was too late. Eleanora died.’
Just then, a rumble of thunder ruptured the sky, followed by an ear-splitting crack of lightning, and as rain began to pelt against the windows, the lights flickered and went out.
Gemma let out a shriek and clutched Dominic’s arm, petrified.
Liam laughed. ‘Eleanora’s showing off tonight.’
Lord Locksley stood. ‘There’s no need to panic, Miss Astley, we lose power quite often.’ He fixed a cold eye on his younger son. ‘Come with me to fetch the candelabra,