Thrill of the Chase (Hunters & Heartbreakers 1)

XV - Langdon

Ghost-Speak, or

If you can hear them, they want to talk.

By Ewan Gifford

17 May, afternoon. — Father knows I've been spending time with Wells, even though he's told me not to. But he couldn't make me stay away, even if he locked me in my room and put bars on the window. I would find a way to get out.

What he doesn't know, which I hope to keep that way, is that I've kissed him. I've let him pull off my clothes and I've done the same. Or that I've seen the swirling inked lines on his chest, licking his skin like a black flame. He didn't tell me what they were, but I know he will at some point.

I have to stop thinking about it when I arrive home that afternoon. There's an envelope on the rug in our front hallway, the wax seal clearly showing the crest of the Selling family. It's addressed to Messrs Wilkes and Wilkes, and when I run my thumb over the stock, I feel its ribbed surface.

You are cordially invited to the coming-out ball of Miss Marjorie Frances Selling, on the twenty-first of May at seven o'clock in the evening at the Selling residence. Please RSVP by post to Mrs Solomon (Zora) Selling by tomorrow evening at the latest.

I turn the invitation over, wondering offhandedly if there's any personal note. There isn't, which makes me think this wasn't Marjorie's idea. And perhaps it isn't anyone's but the Society's — practically the entire city will be shut down tomorrow for the presentation of the debutantes to Queen Victoria. Even the Institute will be, because many of my fellow students have sisters who are participating this year.

At the thought of Marjorie, I scuttle to the library door and try the knob. It opens, which means Father hasn't been in here yet. And it means he won't know I've taken another book for a few more days.

Once inside, though, thoughts of Wells come back. His lips on mine, his hands on my skin and in my hair, his chest pressed against mine. I feel my breath shorten. He knows now that I fully reciprocate his feelings — and that I can't let Father see them. I recognised that look on his face when I'd told him he had to sneak out. He wished he didn't have to. And I wish he didn't either. I wish I didn't have to hide him from Father. But he would make me marry a woman anyway. I would have to always keep him secreted away, as though I were ashamed. I'm not, though — confirming my feelings for Wells has given me a freedom and a happiness I haven't felt in my whole life.

Quickly I snatch the book on ghost communication by one Ewan Gifford — Giff's great-uncle, as it turns out — and stash it under my coat as I hurry upstairs like a fugitive. I know both Marjorie and Naomi understand what's happening between Wells and me — and still, Marjorie is willing to go through the motions of courtship with me. She has accepted that if we decide to marry, it won't be for love. Perhaps the one benefit is that there's no surprises on that front.

By the time Father gets home, I've returned Hunting: A History and bent myself to my schoolwork. I know he'll see the Selling invitation, which I'd set on the dining room table, fairly soon. And when he does—

"Langdon!"

I practically leap from my chair and scamper to the top of the stairs. "Yes, Father?"

"I hope you know that your behaviour at breakfast the other morning was unacceptable," he says with a scowl. "This is practise for your future, son. What will your future wife think if you come to the table looking like that?"

"Perhaps I'll have a logical explanation, Father," I say. Besides, if it's Marjorie, perhaps she'll already understand the arrangement too.

"Well, see that it doesn't happen again," he says. His mouth tightens under his beard. "I did not raise you in a barn."