The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Cynthia’s.” He walked another fifteen feet before pausing to point to the end of the hall, at a closed set of double doors, light shining softly beneath them. “That is Mr. Manning’s suite.” He moved ten feet more then stopped and put his hand on a bronze knob. “And this is your room.” He turned the latch, flipped a light switch and stepped back. “After you.” He held the door.
    She stopped two feet inside the room and turned to Grant. “It’s beautiful. All this is for me? This is bigger than my entire apartment!”  
    “Yes. All for you. There are your bags, safe and sound, by the door to your bathroom. Now, go on, explore.”
    The carpet was thick, a clear pale moss green, and the walls were a lighter shade of the same color. Tall windows lined the south side of the room, providing a view of the estate’s side gardens - or at least they would in the morning. The bedspread was light lavender trimmed in pale green. Tiebacks on the matching draperies revealed gauzy white sheers fluttering in the faint wind from the open windows. She caught a whiff of night blooming jasmine on the breeze.
    The closet was a wall of mirrors that ran nearly the length of the room. She saw herself reflected over and over. She couldn’t imagine filling it up.
    She walked to a writing desk centered beneath the windows. It was simple, elegant pale oak, not so different from the color of wood in Mr. Manning’s office. It was a proper desk, too, with smooth lines and plenty of drawers. A blue shell and wisteria Tiffany lamp rested on the desktop, waiting for her. She opened the pencil drawer and saw pens, paperclips, a roll of stamps, and everything else she might need.
    Turning to the far wall, which was lined with paintings, mostly of flowers, she saw a vanity with a seat, two chests of drawers, and an armoire. She glanced at Grant, who had a Mona Lisa smile on his face. “I’ll never have enough clothes to even fill one of these chests, let alone that closet!”
    “Open the armoire,” he told her.
    She did. It held a large flat screen television and accessories. “I feel like I’m living in a dream.” She paused, her gaze falling on a portrait above one of the chests of drawers.
    The young woman in the painting seemed to be staring at her with big eyes the color of the forest. She stood near a windswept cliff, her dark hair shining in the moonlight. High cheeks and full lips gave her both dignity and innocence. She wore a lavender gown, empire-waisted, and in one hand, held a matching shawl that waved in the wind.
    “Who is she?” Belinda asked.
    “She’s Alice Beaucoeur Manning, one of Mr. Manning’s ancestors. There are a number of paintings of her in this house. Ask Mr. Manning about her.” Grant tilted his head, studying the artwork. “Near the Regency period. You know, she rather reminds me of you.”
    Belinda felt herself blush. “Thank you.”
    Grant moved to the door. “I’ll leave you to relax, now. If you do get hungry, the kitchen is on the first floor, in the east wing. Go through the first arch after the landing and just follow your nose until you find it. Easy peasy. Breakfast is served between 7 and 7:30.”
    “Thank you, Grant.”
    “Oh, and you have an appointment at 10 a.m. tomorrow for a brief company physical. It’s a requirement for our health insurance, I’m afraid.”
    “I understand. Thank you.”
    “Good night, Belinda.” The door closed behind him.

Dreams

    That night in bed, Belinda lay awake for hours. Her nerves were tight, her mind busy with things she needed to do. Calling her mother and Randi, she decided, would not top that list. Belinda had turned her phone off to better ignore their never-ending messages. Punching her pillow, she rolled onto her other side and closed her eyes, but sleep still evaded her.  
    She turned and stared at the moonlit room. It was so beautiful, but the mirrors disturbed her; there was something eerie about them. Maybe it was the way the pale