Read Online The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief) by Barbara Monajem - Free Book Online

study long enough to say, “I’m
not his keeper. Sir Alexis may do as he pleases.”
    The two older ladies tutted, and Elderwood halted his guffawing
for a moment and said, “Miss Barnes isn’t worried. Like Sir Alexis, she doesn’t
believe in ghosts or magic or any of that folderol. Miss Whistleby, however,
appears quite concerned.”
    Peony had been pale all day, but now she rivaled the tablecloth
for whiteness. A twinge of remorse assailed Alexis—but only a twinge. “Sir
Alexis, I don’t think it’s a wise plan,” she said. “Many people have tried and
come down from there extremely shaken. Once you get in, it—it can be
frightening, and it’s often difficult to find the way out.”
    Alexis grinned. “That’s not the way to dissuade me, Miss
Whistleby.”
    “I understand a young man’s desire to take up a challenge,” Mr.
Whistleby said, “but many have come to regret it.”
    Alexis shrugged.
    Mr. Whistleby sighed. “We have established a procedure for
those who wish to spent a night there. You may take with you one candle, a small
jug of wine and a bell. No one will hear you if you ring the bell in the room,
but if you are in the corridors, someone might hear and come to rescue you.” He
sighed again. “Or might not.”
    “Perfect,” Alexis said. “I wager I’ll come down in the morning
as sane as I went up.”
    Elderwood snorted, still quivering with laughter. The squire’s
son shuddered and said, “Bet you don’t last an hour up there.”
    “How much?” returned Alexis.
    The lad reddened. Was he one of the locals who didn’t find
Peony attractive? Had he perhaps braved the room, but failed—bested by a girl
who didn’t fear the room at all? “Pockets to let,” he mumbled.
    “Ah,” Alexis said. “So you fear you might not win.”
    “I cannot be held responsible for the consequences,” Mr.
Whistleby said.
    “There won’t be any,” Alexis said, fervently praying there
would.
    * * *
    Peony couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t just the wind that might
be ghosts or the footsteps that might be bogeys. Ordinarily those didn’t bother
her, but if they were worrisome down here, they would be downright terrifying
for someone in the Haunted Bedchamber. Did Sir Alexis think he would prove that
ghosts didn’t exist? Or that bogeys weren’t real?
    Was he, deep in his heart, fighting the magic as much as
she?
    She hoped so, she truly did, no matter how much it hurt, but
this drastic method wouldn’t work. The people who professed most strongly not to
believe were the ones who came downstairs shattered. Or got lost coming out and
fell down the stairs in the dark!
    Papa had shown him to the bottom of the staircase and
instructed him where to go from there. Unable to stop herself, Peony had hovered
behind. “I cannot send a footman to guide you,” Papa said. “It’s hard enough to
keep servants here without expecting that of them.”
    “I’ll be fine.” Alexis had disappeared up the stairs with his
candle, bottle and bell. His footsteps had died away, and Papa had ordered Peony
off to bed.
    An hour went by, two hours, three... Maybe his candle had gone
out, and he’d lost his bell. That sort of mischance was only too likely. Even
now, he might be desperately groping his way through the convoluted
corridors.
    No, he wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t like the squire’s son or
others who’d gone up there with much bravado and returned shaking. Alexis would
sit it out, determined to prove that magic didn’t exist. He wouldn’t give up or
give in. She pictured him rocking before the fireplace in the dark, covering his
ears against the noise.
    She couldn’t bear it any longer. She lit a candle, tucked her
feet into her slippers and headed for the stairs.
    * * *
    The Haunted Bedchamber had an unexpectedly lived-in
appearance. The Elizabethan tester bed was fitted out with a mattress, sheets
and pillows, and a coverlet. A bookcase held several volumes of poetry, as well
as two novels by Mrs.