A Ghost of a Chance

A Ghost of a Chance

Chapter 1

No one could ever accuse the Dowager Countess of Sandwell of being psychic, but her friend Muriel was, and it was that thought that brought the widowed lady upright one night out of a deep sleep.

“Perfect!” she exclaimed, lighting a bedside candle. She would write to her old friend later that morning, when the rest of the household was awake. She would even write to Muriel under her daughter-in-law’s very nose, and that thought gave her great pleasure. After all, Prudence was not only a skeptic, but outwardly derisive of the dowager’s belief that Sandwell Manor was haunted.

Not haunted? The dowager snorted. They could not keep staff because of the activity in the library. Only the oldest of retainers, who were seemingly bothered by nothing, remained constant. In her day, maids were made of sterner stuff, because the manor had always been occupied by spirits. One could barely enter a mansion or castle in England without it being haunted, or so Muriel had always insisted.

Eleanor, much too dull to recognize subtle manifestations, was in no doubt about this one, however. Other family members were not blind, either, even if they were like Prudence and refused to acknowledge it as such. But recognizing the problem was one thing; dealing with it was something completely different. This was where the dowager needed Muriel’s assistance.

Fifty miles away, another lady, this one much younger, also sat straight up in bed, her gray eyes open wide.

“Bianca!” Nera Morrow gasped out her sister’s name. She had just seen a vision of Bianca in a white ball gown, at a dance, a cluster of marguerites in her hand. And there had been a gentleman there, too, a handsome one, bowing to her. A future spouse, perhaps? Who was he?

No one in their small village, she knew for certain. There were a few eligible gentlemen in the vicinity, but none that socialized with the Morrow girls, and Nera despaired of ever getting her beautiful twin sister married off respectably. Unfortunately, money was not the object.

Great-Aunt Muriel Abernathy, with whom they both lived, had been left a comfortable income by her late husband, and supplemented that with providing psychic services to the wealthy. Bianca and Nera, who were a medium and a precognitive, respectively, also contributed to the cause, not only with their work but with the small inheritance left them by their late father, and the three handled hauntings and the like across the British Isles. Discreetly, of course.

Nera concentrated now on her vision, wondering when this event was going to happen, as they were not in the habit of attending balls. She had never known her visions to be wrong. She just hoped this scene was in the near future. She also wondered how the Morrow girls would manage to get invitations to such an event, when they lived under the shadow of their mother’s scandal. Three years before, just as her daughters were on the verge of young womanhood, Mrs. Morrow had run out on a husband and two daughters to live in Italy with another man. Their father had wasted away after that, leaving them to Aunt Muriel’s care. Which would have included some local invitations, had their mother not created such talk.

But now, it appeared, they were to attend a dance of some sort. Nera had seen a grand ballroom, with the oddest mauve velvet curtains, and a riot of Greek gods and goddesses cavorting on the ceiling. The handsome gentleman had worn a signet ring of some sort, but she could not bring it back to mind. Another man hovered in the background, almost as comely as the first, but less sardonic, or so it seemed. The man in the foreground had a mocking twist to his lips, come to think of it, and the second one appeared more open. Interesting.

Still, the man bowing over her sister’s hand had to be an admirer. Bianca had the countenance and character of an angel, so he must be a suitor. She hugged that knowledge to herself as she settled back into her pillows. Bianca would discover this all soon enough, and Nera would not do or say anything to keep this vision from becoming a reality.

“You will love Eleanor, my dears,” Muriel said for the hundredth time as the post chaise they had hired brought them up the drive of Sandwell Manor. For most clients, they took the mail coach, but Muriel would not hear of it this time.

“My dear Eleanor would not think twice about sending someone to collect us, of course, but her daughter, the current countess! My loves, she is not a friendly woman! Fortunately, we will not be required to associate with her with any regularity. I have given Eleanor strict instructions as to how we are to be housed and treated. I could never impose on an old friendship just for the sake of a bit of comfort.”

Nera smiled. Her aunt had a sense of their position, even when she knew Muriel liked her material pleasures.

“Maurice says we must expect the situation to be different this time,” Bianca warned. She looked out at her sister and aunt from a pretty straw bonnet, her eyes round.

“Oh?” Maurice was her sister’s spirit guide, a victim of the Terror in France. He had been a major domo for a marquis, but when he attempted to defend his employer, was sent to the guillotine alongside that nobleman.

When they were young, Nera had asked her sister if Maurice had regained his head in the afterlife, and her sister had laughed and wondered how else he was able to talk to her? They might be twins, but there were times when Bianca sounded like she was much older. Sometimes. Bianca, however, was also too trusting of people. She loved everyone and could never understand when people did not love her in return. It was in moments such as that when Nera was the protective elder sister.

“He says not to judge a book by its cover.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nera had never been fond of Maurice’s cryptic advice.

Bianca shrugged. “I do not know. I am certain all will be revealed eventually.”

A typical response.

“Oh, there she is!” Muriel cried, pressing her nose to the carriage window. “My friend, Eleanor!”

Nera looked out to see a woman standing impatiently under the Georgian portico of Sandwell Manor, bouncing from one foot to the other. She was hatless, and her gray curls bobbed along with her movement, and Nera never would have taken her for a countess, if Muriel had not identified her as such.

The chaise came to a halt at the front door and her aunt was immediately out the door, the two older women falling into each others’ arms. Once their initial greeting was over, the dowager directed a waiting servant to have the trunks and valises taken to her wing.

“Come out, my darlings,” Muriel called to her nieces, who had remained inside the carriage. “Eleanor, love, may I present Miss Morrow…” Nera was the eldest by twenty minutes. “And Miss Bianca Morrow. Dearest girls, this is my oldest friend, the dowager Countess of Sandwell.”

“Please, girls, call me Lady Eleanor,” the plump little woman insisted, embracing them as they alighted. “Nera and Bianca… I can see why you were named such.”

Nera was dark-haired, but with fair skin, while Bianca was just golden all over. Both had the gray eyes of their mother, Muriel’s niece. Nera hoped the countess would not hold that fact against any of them, because it was too much to expect her not to know the particulars of the scandal. It did not seem to upset her that the girls were present, at any rate, and she ushered them all warmly into the house.

“I am so glad you are here, Muriel, but I must warn you. Charles and Prudence do not know I was expecting company.”

Muriel raised an eyebrow. “It must be serious if you did not even tell your son and his wife, but I am certain you have your reasons.”

“Charles is at his wits’ end over the incidents in the library, what with having a houseful of guests expected at the end of the week. I am merely trying to help without calling too much attention to the fact that it will take your assistance to clear this up.”

Nera was surprised when her aunt let out an unladylike snort. “Charles was always a bit too proper for my tastes. How you managed to produce a child like that is beyond me.”

Lady Eleanor frowned once, and then looked about nervously at the mention of her son, and insisted they continue their conversation in her private parlor. She instructed her own butler to have her guests placed in rooms in her quarters, and led the way through a series of state chambers to a more comfortable part of the house.

They ended up in a sunny yellow parlor on the ground floor facing a garden full of rose bushes in full bloom. Bianca eschewed a seat on the sofa for a spot in the window seat. The windows were open in the warm weather and provided her with a lovely prospect.

Lady Eleanor gave her an indulgent smile and requested tea of the footman on duty in the hall.

“Word will filter out of the kitchens upstairs to the family that I have guests,” she said airily when Muriel questioned whether or not the hired help would talk. “But everyone in this section of the house is in my specific employ and they are, to a man, loyal to me, and will reveal as little or as much as we wish. Certainly nothing about the problem in the library.”

“You keep mentioning the library, Lady Eleanor,” Nera noted. “Is there trouble with vermin, perhaps?”

The dowager looked at Muriel, who nodded. “Not vermin in the sense of rodents, my dear. In fact, I doubt I would call them vermin at all. Prudence might, but I have better manners than that.”

Bianca looked up sharply, as if someone had given her some information that surprised her. “Ghosts,” she said.

“That is what I believe,” Lady Eleanor replied. She beamed at Muriel. “Your niece has inherited one of the family talents!”

“Both my girls have gifts,” Muriel said proudly. “Once we get settled, we shall have to take Bianca to the library. Nera, my love, do you see anything?”

Nera started, having caught a flash of that handsome gentleman bowing once more over her sister’s hand, but she merely shook her head. The scene was in a ballroom, not a library. “No, ma’am.”

“Nera can see into the future,” Muriel told her friend, who responded with a knowing smile. “And Bianca is a powerful medium.” Both sisters blushed.

“I am looking forward to knowing more about this,” the dowager insisted, but was forestalled for the moment by the arrival of tea and sandwiches. Nera did not mind the delay. Despite the fact her aunt had known the dowager for years, her talent wasn’t something she was in the habit of discussing with strangers. Besides, thinking about her visions brought her current one to mind, and she was determined not to spend a lot of time thinking about the gentleman she always saw. Especially when he was destined for her sister.

Chapter 2

Nera was awake early the next day, and eschewing the services of the maid Lady Eleanor had assigned to her and Bianca, she dressed herself. After all, this was a case like any other, and she should not get used to luxury accommodations when she had to go back to dressing herself again once they returned home.

Unfortunately, her surroundings were much more comfortable than usual. Most clients preferred to house Mrs. Abernathy and her pretty nieces in with maids and housekeepers, away from susceptible husbands and sons. Nera was happy with that arrangement, even though inevitably she was called upon to play bodyguard to Bianca. The girl attracted gentlemen like honey caught flies.

Nera would often interrupt a conversation or act in an authoritative manner to detach her sister from an admirer, not wanting gentlemen to make the difference between earning a fee, or not. That had happened the first time they had accompanied their aunt on a case, when the lady of the house accused them of using their job to entice her son into a scandalous liaison. Their mother was mentioned, their fee denied, and Nera vowed never again to let a man come between them and their task of clearing unwanted spirits from homes.

Evidently Maurice had felt the same indignation. Bianca told her later that while they had rid that house of a persistent ghost, he had convinced another spirit to take its place. When a letter from that same woman arrived six months later begging Aunt Muriel to return, their aunt quite smugly sent back a polite refusal, citing no reason, and pronounced Maurice a ‘useful fellow.’

Nera recalled all this as she prepared for the day, only to discover that Bianca had already dressed and gone from the room they shared. Drat! If that girl was exploring…

Truth was, Bianca and Maurice could be inquisitive. They would also be determined to go to the library as soon as possible. Now Nera was going to have to find them and return them to the dowager’s quarters before no one else was the wiser.

A peek next door into Aunt Muriel’s chamber showed that lady to be fast asleep, softly snoring. Nera dared not look in on the dowager, but a quick pass through her parlor and breakfast room showed no one. There were, however, several covered dishes already positioned on a sideboard, and one of them revealed crisp rashers of bacon. She placed a few in a napkin and continued her explorations, unsure now of where to find the library.

Perhaps it was in the main part of the house? Most libraries were, at least, on the ground floor. The one at Eastbrook, the small estate where she had been raised, was in the rear lower level of the house. It wasn’t large, but it was well-stocked. Or had been. A distant male cousin had inherited everything except their dowries upon her father’s death, and he had not communicated with them, so she had no idea if her beloved Eastbrook even stood. For all she knew, it could have been run into the ground. Or burned to it.

Nera encountered one of Lady Eleanor’s footmen, carrying a silver tray with tea and coffee pots on it, and asked if he had seen her sister.

“I believe she might have gone to the library,” she said. The older man – for all of Lady Eleanor’s servants were getting on in years – blanched.

“If you will wait a minute, Miss, I’ll set these to rights and escort you there myself.”

Nera agreed, and settled down in a hall chair to eat her bacon and await his return.

Elsewhere in the manor house, a young man of six and twenty had arrived from Town and was ordered directly up to have an audience with his mother.

“What did you discover?” she demanded immediately upon his entry into her frilly pink boudoir. That she did not extend any greetings or engage in any small talk first was not remarked upon. He was used to her direct approach.

“Nothing, Mother. No mention of his name on any of the manifests of the ships from India in the past two weeks. May we just consider my uncle well and truly gone and let it go?” Drew Lambert, tentative Viscount Meare, was tired of his mother’s obsession.

A year ago, his beloved grandfather had died, leaving an estate in limbo. Years before, the eldest Lambert son had run off to India, and Drew’s father, Charles, had been asked to step in and fulfill the duties of viscount. He had even let it be known that he was Viscount Meare, much to the late earl’s annoyance. Charles’ wife, Prudence, took the title of viscountess, and the two assumed they would become earl and countess upon the old man’s death, or so his mother said. He could not quite believe it of his mild-mannered father.

Much to his mother’s surprise, the elder son, Robert, was still considered the heir. She made his father take the case to the courts, and the family solicitor was given one year to the day to produce Lord Robert Lambert, or else he would be declared legally dead. The title would then pass on to Charles, and his son would become the new viscount.

The countess was getting anxious to become official, and she had been having Drew check every ship as it came into Southampton, much to his chagrin.

“He would not dare travel under the Lambert name!” she snapped at her son.

“I checked out every Lamb, Bertrand, Roberts and Robbins on the lists, Mother,” he insisted wearily. He was growing tired of ship manifests.

“Nothing must mar this most perfect of house parties!” she said for the hundredth time in the space of a month. “When I am known as the Countess of Sandwell, I want everyone to hear it and celebrate!”

She had organized this house party, he knew, to coincide with that event, wanting to entertain her guests for two weeks and end it all with a grand ball making that announcement. The untimely arrival of a long-lost heir must not ruin her plans.

“Shall I return to Town?” he asked his ambitious mother, even though he was not exactly eager to do so. He was rather tired of London of late.

“No! I need you here for our guests! Not only will there be a number of eligible young ladies coming with their parents, but I shall need you to keep everyone away from the library.”

Drew rolled his dark eyes at the thought of the young ladies who would be descending on Sandwell in a few days. This would be worse than in London, where the Season had not yet gone into full swing. No doubt his mother wished to open it with this grandiose house party, so she might be the talk of every drawing room once they all reached Town.

But talk of the library intrigued him more than his mother’s machinations towards his love life.

“It’s still happening, then?” he wondered.

“Yes!” she sourly replied. “It is a wonder we have any servants left. Only those associated with your grandmother have stayed with any regularity.”

Drew’s lips quirked up on either end at the thought of his grandmother.

“It is not funny!” his mother cried, catching his slight grin. “Of course people will want to use the library, for assignations, if nothing else! I just do not understand what is causing the problem.”

“I believe the correct term is ‘ghost,’ Mother,” Drew dryly replied.

“Nonsense! There are no such things! Tell me you do not believe in them!”

“No, I do not. But the servants do, and someone is stacking books all over the room in the middle of the night.”

“It must be one of them – a servant!”

“Most likely,” he agreed.

“One of your grandmother’s staff, I suspect.”

Drew tried not to smile once more. Ever since she had become a widow, Lady Eleanor had insisted on moving out of the countess’ main apartments, had handed household chores over to his mother, and took her staff with her when she retreated to the east wing. Her servants were loyal to her, to a fault, leaving his mother with the responsibility of training new servants. It was amusing, really, how she had left his mother with all the work, but not the title. Not officially.

“She always wanted to be in charge when your grandfather was alive,” Lady Eleanor had told him at the time. “Here is her chance.”

What his grandmother thought of Robert’s continued absence, he knew not, but he planned on calling on her as soon as he had breakfast, a short nap and a bath. He would ask her then, preferring to be guided by her attitude toward the purported ghost than his mother’s.

“I want you to stay up tonight in there and catch this miscreant who threatens to ruin my party.”

“What? Mother, surely you are not serious? Just let the staff know such behavior will not be tolerated.”

“I have tried that, to no avail. I have even hired men to watch out for someone, but they either run off in the middle of the night, or fall asleep. When they awake, books are stacked all over the place once more!”

“It is an odd situation,” he agreed.

“It is a disaster! Please say you will sit up tonight and put a stop to this, Drew?”

Propped up in bed with a tray across her lap, a large and ridiculously beribboned cap on her head, his mother looked silly. But her despair was real, and he was a dutiful son. To a point.

“I will take a couple of footmen with me and we will see if anything happens.”

“If you can get even one footman to accompany you, son,” Charles Lambert said from the connecting door to his room, “I shall be quite surprised.” He moved forward to shake Drew’s hand, smiling at the sight of his son.

Drew could not help but smile in return, knowing the pair of them together must look an odd sight. Where Drew was tall, his father was shorter and stockier. Lady Eleanor often said Charles had gotten his build from her side of the family, but Drew took after his grandfather. Still, Drew was more fond of his father than he was his mother, and he took the earl’s hand warmly in his own.

“I was thinking that money might help,” he said in reply to his father’s comment.

Charles laughed, even as Prudence scowled. “Yes, it might at that. But don’t be surprised if you catch no one. Our ghost can be a tricky one.”

“Charles!” the countess scolded. “Do not say that word again! I am having enough trouble keeping servants and a mention of that particular word will only fuel the rumors!”

“Yes, dear,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “Have you only just arrived?” he asked his son. “I’m hungry. Shall we go down to breakfast?”

Drew agreed, kissed his mother dutifully on the cheek and went downstairs with his father to the morning parlor.

The kind footman showed Nera to the library door and excused himself to return to his duties. She thanked him and smiled as she heard what sounded like a one-sided conversation inside. If she was not mistaken, she had found Bianca.

“Fascinating!” she heard her sister exclaim as she softly entered the room. “That is what happens sometimes, however. The unfinished business is such that… Nera! Come in!” she called, catching sight of her sister.

Nera came fully into the room and gasped both at the size of the library, and at the towering stacks of books piled neatly on every available surface.

“This is the activity?” she asked, already guessing the answer.

Bianca nodded. “William does it every night.”

Nera, who long ago learned not to fear spirits – well, most of them, anyway – merely nodded. “He needs something and he wants their attention.”

“He does. He seems to have unfinished business of some sort, but he is not yet willing to part with all the information.”

Nera hid a smile. Bianca would get his business out of him eventually, and then she and Maurice could help him move on. Before she could ask her sister what she had already learned, or to urge her back to the dowager’s quarters, a tall man, the one from her vision, walked in, stopped dead in his tracks and looked directly at her.

“Who the devil are you and what are you doing in here?” he angrily demanded.

Chapter 3

“What do you mean, who are we? Who are you?” Nera immediately countered. She didn’t have to get along with the viscount, after all, not when he was destined for her sister. Why Bianca was going to fall for the man, she had no idea, but if her sister wanted some advice, Nera would suggest running far away as fast as she could.

In reply to her question, the gentleman seemed to puff up both with indignation and pride.

“I am Viscount Meare and I live here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Why am I explaining myself to you? Who are you and what are you doing in here?”

Bianca stepped forward, from where she had been half-hidden behind a stack of books, and gave him a brilliant smile.

“My lord! I have heard so much about you!” She held out a hand and he took it, seemingly dazed by Bianca’s beauty. Not surprising, Nera thought. It happened to most men.

“Forgive the lack of formal introduction, my lord,” Bianca continued. “We are Bianca and Nera Morrow, and your grandmother brought us in to speak to your ghost.”

Nera watched closely and saw the man stiffen at the Morrow name. That figured. But he would overcome it, seeing as he was going to fall for her sister.

“There are no such things as ghosts,” he said.

Bianca laughed. “Yes, there are! I’ve counted at least three of them already this morning! But only one resides in here and needs assistance, so I will deal with the other two if they approach me. None of them will do any harm, I assure you. Not even this one.”

“You call ruining my mother’s upcoming house party not harmful?”

“I do!” Bianca chortled. “No one has been hurt by these books. They are his way of gaining attention.”

“He, who?”

Bianca cocked her golden head to one side, as if listening to someone only she could see, and Nera waited, knowing her sister walked in two different worlds at the same time. It gave her a moment to study the viscount. Not that she hadn’t already, in her mind’s eye, but to do so up close was another thing altogether.

He was tall, that she already knew, and he was handsome, with dark wavy hair and deep, penetrating eyes. What she was now seeing in his features, however, was slightly different than her vision. He still appeared slightly sardonic, but there were few lines of dissipation. She was used to the aristocracy showing more signs of hard living. He was athletic, less soft than their usual clients. It was both refreshing in a way, considering he was going to marry her beloved sister, and also dangerous. Nera could like a man like this one, if he weren’t such an utter prat.

“What are you looking at?” he suddenly snapped, breaking Nera out of her scrutinizing gaze. “And you, Miss Morrow, have yet to answer my question!”

“She is Miss Morrow,” Bianca said calmly, indicating her sister. “And I am not to tell you the identity of the library spirit. He doesn’t want you to know it yet. Is there breakfast somewhere, dearest?” she asked Nera, dismissing the viscount by linking her arm with her sister’s and heading toward the door. “Maurice is urging me to keep up my strength for this case.”

“Are you feeling faint?” Nera should have already asked. Bianca could be fragile, due to expending so much personal energy on communing with the dead. They required fuel to manifest, and tended to borrow it from the nearest source, in this case, Bianca.

“No, not faint, but I could use a cup of tea.”

“Wait! You have not told me what I want to hear!” the viscount ordered.

“I am afraid you will have to wait, my lord,” Nera insincerely replied. “My sister requires sustenance.” Without another word, she walked Bianca out into the hall.

“Should you have been so rude, sister?” Bianca wondered as they found their way back to the dowager’s rooms.

“Me? Was I the one who ignored him completely?”

“I had to – William said he is not ready to know what is going on.”

“What is going on?”

“I wish I knew…”

The elderly footman was on duty and gave them a relieved smile as they followed their noses into the breakfast parlor.

“There you are!” Aunt Muriel exclaimed.

“I told you they could not have gone far,” Lady Eleanor said, giving the girls a warm smile. “Did you walk in the garden?”

“We found the library,” Bianca replied, seating herself and reaching for toast while Nera took cups from the sideboard and poured out tea.

The dowager dropped her own cup with a loud clatter. “Please tell me you did not! What if someone saw you?”

Nera raised one eyebrow. They were to be kept secluded while they worked? She had been sure working with the dowager, a friend of her aunt, would be different.

“Someone did see us!” Bianca said brightly. “The viscount!”

“Who was none too happy to discover us in there,” Nera pointed out.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Lady Eleanor said over and over.

“It might not be that bad,” Aunt Muriel said. “You always maintain that your grandson has a good head on his shoulders.”

“I said he has a logical head on his shoulders,” the dowager retorted. “Logical people do not believe in ghosts.”

“As we have learned,” Nera dryly noted.

“May I say, Lady Eleanor, that he is exceptionally narrow-minded?”

“You may, Miss Bianca, dear, for all the good it will do you.”

“We did learn one thing while we were there,” Bianca said, undaunted by the lady’s tone.

Aunt Muriel, however, perked up. “Oh?”

“Our spirit in the library has the name of William.”

Aunt Muriel looked sharply at Lady Eleanor, whose cheeks paled and then flushed bright red.

“William?” she asked faintly. “My William?

Bianca shrugged, and Nera wondered if the dowager meant her late husband. “Whomever he is, he has some unfinished business,” her sister said.

Muriel held up a hand to keep her niece from speaking further. “Eleanor, dear, I want you to think about what unfinished business William would have had, if this is, indeed, your William.”

“I know…”

“Ah, ah,” Muriel counseled. “Do not tell us just yet what it might be.”

“But…”

Nera did not like to see the dowager in distress, even though the lady wanted them out of sight. “May I escort you to your bedchamber, my lady?” she asked. “I believe my aunt merely wants you to spend some time in quiet reflection.” It was Aunt Muriel’s way to confer with her nieces without the client being present, as well.

Lady Eleanor allowed Nera to walk her to her chambers, and once there, let herself be fussed over. Nera settled her in a comfortable chair and asked the dowager’s personal maid to bring a cup of tea.

“Sit with me a moment,” Lady Eleanor requested when Nera made to leave. “I do not want to be alone right now.” Her eyes grew wide, although not with fear. “What if I am not alone? What if William is here, right now?”

“I could not tell you, my lady. I am not the talented one in my family.”

Nera’s gift was rarely mentioned, which was why she was surprised Aunt Muriel had already told the dowager. It was so unreliable, as the future was often changing, and what she saw one day could sometimes shift the next. Large disasters and personal events such as weddings, however, usually remained constant. Possibly, she had surmised early on, because not much could prevent them from happening. Still, in her mind, the less said about her talent, the better. She had enough to worry about.

“Of course you have talent!” the dowager exclaimed. “It runs true to the females in your family! Your aunt’s ability to pick thoughts out of minds is amazing, and I am impressed that your sister communes with the spirits. Sandwell has always been haunted, you know. A lady in white wanders the upstairs hall in the main part of the building, and a monk may be seen, at times, going in and out of where an old priest’s hole is located. Fascinating! When I was a young bride here, however, I already knew not to be afraid of such things. Muriel had taught me a lot about the supernatural when we were at school together.”

“You went to school with Aunt Muriel?”

“She never told you? I was certain she might have mentioned it over the years. William always used to say Muriel and I were as thick as thieves, and even after she wed Mr. Abernathy, they were frequent visitors here. She is godmother to my eldest son, Robert.”

“The new earl,” Nera said with a nod.

“Actually, no.” Lady Eleanor frowned. “But he would be if William’s private investigator had been able to discover him in India.”

“India!”

“He had a falling out with William once, not too long after his wife died, and ran away from his life here, and his responsibilities as viscount, when he was six and twenty.” The older woman seemed to want to say more, but checked herself and changed the subject. “The same age Drew is now,” she mused.

“Drew?”

“Andrew, my grandson. The one you met earlier. Oh, what am I going to do about that? Prudence will know by now that I have someone investigating the library… If she was an early bird I would no doubt have already been summoned into her presence.”

“Summoned?” It seemed Nera need only interject a word or two into the conversation at regular intervals to keep the dowager talking.

“Thinks she is the queen! I was never like that when I had her position. I was always up at sunrise – William and I were both early risers – taking breakfast with my husband downstairs, and then both of us would be off to our duties. We always spent time together before we dressed for dinner, however,” she added with a reminiscent smile, “and shared the same bed at night. Now I’ve gone and made you blush!”

Nera’s cheeks burned bright in the light of her ladyship’s words.

“It’s the secret to a happy marriage,” Lady Eleanor said with a saucy wink. “When a husband knows what he has to look forward to every night, he doesn’t spend a lot of time looking for it elsewhere.”

Nera coughed just as the maid returned with two cups of tea. “Thank you, my lady, for the advice.”

“It will come in handy one day, I am certain. You are much too pretty to remain on the shelf. What do you think of that devilishly handsome grandson of mine?”

“I think he is an insufferable lout.”

The dowager laughed. “Not to mention being a skeptic! No doubt he gave you a difficult time about the ghost. Neither Prudence or Drew believes in spirits, so this should prove interesting. I wonder how they plan on conducting a house party with everything going on in the library?”

“Hopefully, we will be able to help before Lady Sandwell’s guests arrive. When are they expected?”

“On Thursday.”

“We only have two days?” Nera exclaimed.

“Not necessarily. I see no reason why her guests cannot be turned away from the library for a few days while you work. Prudence can just place a sign on the door and tell everyone there is a broken window in there.”

“I do not wish us to be a nuisance to Lady Sandwell,” Nera insisted. She disliked being in places where she was not wanted, even though Aunt Muriel and Bianca both seemed oblivious to such a feeling.

“Even if you are, it’s Prudence’s problem, and not yours. You are a kind young lady, Miss Morrow. Not to mention conscientious. I like that in a person.”

The lady’s maid entered the room, the viscount right on her heels. “He insisted on coming in, my lady,” she apologized.

“Quite all right, my dear,” the dowager assured the woman. “Drew! What a lovely surprise! Come give me a kiss and pull up a chair. I have been having the most comfortable coze with Miss Morrow! I understand introductions are not required?” She looked from one young person to the other, and back again.

“We have met,” he said, tight-lipped, as he kissed his grandmother’s cheek and seated himself at her side.

“Quite an enlightening experience,” Nera sarcastically replied.

Chapter 4

“I thought I might have a private audience with you, Grandmama,” the viscount said.

“Nonsense, dear boy! I believe I know what you wish to discuss, and Miss Morrow should be here for the conversation. She is a most level-headed young lady, Drew, and she may relay your concerns to her aunt and sister.”

“If his lordship wishes me to leave…”

“If Grandmama wants you to stay, please stay, Miss Morrow,” he stiffly replied.

“If it will not inconvenience you, my lord…”

“All right, children,” the dowager called them to order. “That is enough.”

Nera blushed and even the viscount seemed abashed.

“Now, I believe we should discuss this situation and come up with some decisions. I have already spoken to Muriel, Miss Morrow, but she even said she must consult with you, so I may suppose you are the coordinator of most of your family’s endeavors. Drew, you are here because you have chosen to concern yourself in this matter.” She paused and looked intently at her grandson. “Your mother has chosen to involve you. I suppose I should have known Prudence would not let this rest so close to her party. You may tell her not to worry – that you have it all under control and she is not to go poking her nose into the business. Oh, you will say it more diplomatically than I,” she added, watching her grandson open and close his mouth like a fish.

“What do you propose we do, my lady?” Nera wondered. She had never encountered a client so involved in their investigations, but then, this was Aunt Muriel’s bosom beau. This Lady Eleanor was also different from the wailing, helpless woman who had put on such a show for Aunt Muriel a few minutes earlier. Perhaps she was startled at what they had already discovered, or maybe she had only wished to get Nera alone to talk about the matter. The arrival of the viscount, while annoying, did not seem to hamper that desire.

“As I see it, we have two perspectives here,” the dowager said. “I know you are a non-believer, Drew, and I can respect that. You will be in charge of keeping people away from Miss Bianca so she may do her work. Miss Morrow, you are well aware of your sister’s talents, but she seems to me a less hearty creature than yourself. You will be responsible for her health and well-being, as I am certain you are already.”

Nera nodded.

“I know you have other responsibilities, Drew, but this is important, for several different reasons, the least of which, I am afraid, is your mother’s blasted house party!”

“Grandmama!” he exclaimed.

Nera smothered a laugh, both at the dowager’s outburst and the viscount’s reaction.

“It is true! But she is not to know that. I am certain the first thing she asked, upon your arrival, was for you to catch the person responsible for this situation. Which reminds me…” She rose and he got to his feet immediately, only to find himself embraced by his grandmother. “Welcome home, dear boy. We have all missed you.”

Lord Meare coughed, seemingly uncomfortable in showing and receiving affection in the presence of a stranger, but Nera could see his return embrace was genuine. It was oddly endearing, considering she did not like the man.

“I have had the most wonderful thought!” the dowager suddenly exclaimed. “I know I said you must stay away from the countess, Miss Morrow, but that, upon reflection, is nonsensical. Instead, you and your family must join the house party!”

“What?” Nera came right out of her chair.

“Impossible!” the viscount agreed.

“It’s perfect!” the dowager crowed. “Your sister will have a chance every day to commune with the ghost, you both can participate in the many activities that Drew surely is going to help his mother plan for the young people, and you will keep an eye on your sister’s health!”

“I am going to what?” Lord Meare seemed stunned.

“What about Aunt Muriel?” Nera wondered, ignoring the viscount.

“Muriel reads minds – she can do that anywhere. And as my particular guest, she will have a chance to keep an eye on Prudence. We will know in advance if your mother is on the warpath, Drew, and act accordingly.”

“Your aunt reads minds?” he asked Nera.

“Yes, she does. So be careful what you are thinking about when you are near her,” she warned with an evil smile.

“I would not be surprised if Drew has natural shields,” his grandmother said, causing Nera to look at her in surprise.

“You know about shields?” The strongest of people could always hide their thoughts, which Aunt Muriel found frustrating, as most of the strong people were the ones she needed to read for information.

Lady Eleanor laughed with delight, returned to her seat and waved the other two back into their chairs. “I know more than you think I do, young lady. Oh, the stories I could tell you about our school days…” She laughed once more at the shocked expression on her grandson’s face, and turned to Nera. “Some other time, then, dear. Now, if the Morrow sisters and Mrs. Abernathy are going to join the party, Drew, we need to make their presence known to your mother, and begin to assimilate them into the household. We shall begin with dinner tonight!”

“Is that wise?” Lord Meare asked, and Nera could feel the weight of his gaze upon her.

She should have expected him to object, as she was certain his mother would not approve of them based on her mother’s actions. Scandals became new again when reminders appeared.

“Most likely not,” Lady Eleanor said with a shrug. “We both know your mother is not an easy woman to deal with, Drew, but if we use offensive tactics, we should have an advantage. If nothing else, there will be some element of surprise. I know by now she will have been told I have guests. Such information is impossible to suppress, as my servants interact with hers on a daily basis. Indeed, I made no effort to keep such knowledge from anyone. As far as my own household is concerned, I merely invited an old friend and her two nieces to visit me.”

“Clever,” her grandson drawled.

“Be nice, Drew. Now, I believe Prudence does not require any more information than that, except to know there will be four of us joining you for dinner. You will let her know?” she asked Lord Meare.

“Yes, ma’am,” he dutifully replied. “I also have other work to accomplish today.” He rose and bowed. “If you ladies will excuse me?”

“Such a good son,” Lady Eleanor noted after he left. “Too bad his parents are so misguided, else there might be hope for him.”

“Misguided?” Nera echoed. She was back to inserting a word here and there and letting the dowager dominate the conversation, but she was also concerned that there was something wrong with the man fate had intended for her sister.

“Do not misunderstand me, Miss Morrow. Drew is a perfect gentleman, he would make the right lady an exemplary husband, and he would be a good father. But the lot of them are narrow-minded prigs.”

“I beg your pardon?” Had she heard correctly? Had Lady Eleanor just called her son, daughter-in-law and grandson prigs?

“You heard him! ‘I don’t believe in ghosts!’” she mimicked her grandson perfectly. “What sort of attitude is that? The wrong one! And a man who is hidebound in his thinking will never broaden it. It will just narrow even more over the years.”

An interesting concept, Nera thought, and her estimation of the dowager rose a few notches.

“I do apologize for my little outburst in front of Muriel and your sister,” Lady Eleanor continued, as if reading her mind. “I needed to speak with you alone. Drew’s arrival was quite fortuitous, though, I admit.”

“I see. Then you are not ashamed of us?” Nera asked in her forthright manner.

“Oh, no! Of course not! I am so pleased that Muriel’s nieces carry on the family talents! You are very much like your grandmother, you know.”

Nera nodded, and was curious. “You knew my grandmother, as well?”

“We all went to school together, and as Muriel and I were close friends, it only stood to reason that I knew her sister’s secrets, as well. Lavinia’s visions were quite fascinating, and between her and your aunt, there was nothing going on at school we did not know about.”

“I assume you used that information to your advantage then,” Nera said with a smile.

“Someone had to! And why not? The place was practically a prison, and we were bored to tears. We had been sent there merely to cool our heels before our first seasons, and our youthful energy had to go somewhere. In your grandmother’s case, it was looking out for the best opportunities for us to escape the place for a few hours at a time. Couple that with Muriel’s ability to read minds and you have a lovely recipe for schoolgirl mischief .”

“Did you ever get caught?”

“Never! And when we had all gone to London together, Lavinia let us know exactly whom to meet and whom to avoid, and when we had made our choices, let us know we had done exactly right. I certainly never regretted my marriage to William, and Muriel was very happy with Mr. Abernathy up until his unfortunate accident. Your grandmother’s letter to her warning of the incident did not come in time, I am afraid. It was very sad. Even sadder was Lavinia’s illness and death before your mother’s defection.”

“And now we are social pariahs,” Nera said softly.

“Nonsense! You are lovely young girls who should not be judged by your mother’s actions, and I mean to make sure you meet some very eligible men at this house party!”

Nera protested, but Lady Eleanor would not be gainsaid, and she finally pleaded the need to speak to her sister and aunt to escape the lady’s well-meaning argument. She just knew the dowager was mistaken in this and that the house party was going to be a disaster.

Chapter 5

“We are going to dine with the earl and countess this evening?” Aunt Muriel’s eyes were as round as saucers. “Who decided this?”

“Lady Eleanor. Before you say anything, be aware she means for Bianca and I to participate in Lady Sandwell’s house party, as well.”

“Wonderful news!” Aunt Muriel exclaimed and Nera could only think that if Eleanor decided something, it must be right, because her aunt had never had this reaction to their mingling with their clients before.

If it were not for her own vision of the viscount and Bianca, she would advocate packing up now and going home. Not only was she suspicious of Lady Eleanor’s mercurial moods, she did not like the lady’s grandson and she was certain the countess would be less than welcoming once she received word of extra guests. Still, she was only one out of three people affected by this plan, and she waited patiently while her aunt and sister whispered between themselves.

“We are going to dine with the earl and countess this evening,” Muriel announced. “Bianca wishes to stay and help the spirit in the, and it will do all of us good to be seen in polite company again.”

Nera could say so many things to that, but she held her tongue, knowing her aunt had their best interests in mind.

“Yes, I do,” Aunt Muriel said, smiling widely at her niece. “You forgot to shield.”

“I forgot to shield,” she agreed.

“I only hope Lord and Lady Sandwell will be as easily read as you are at this moment. Bianca, darling, go see what you and your sister have suitable to wear tonight. Nera and I shall look through my jewelry box.”

Nera watched Bianca leave happily enough, and followed her aunt into her bedchamber.

“We are not really going to look through your jewels,” she said when they were alone. “Bianca and I both have our pearls, and you always wear your sapphire necklace and blue evening gown.”

“Perhaps I shall be daring and wear the purple gown and my amethysts.”

“I will believe that when I see it. What do you wish to speak to me about?”

“Lord Meare. I haven’t been able to hear anything but your thoughts on that gentleman all morning!”

“Am I that transparent?”

“To me. I am certain you have a particular reason for your dislike of him, but I do not understand why your sister is tangled up in your thoughts.”

“I had a vision…”

“Tell me about it,” her aunt prompted.

“It was before we came here. I saw the viscount in a ballroom, bowing over Bianca’s hand. He was wearing the most tender smile,” she said dreamily, inadvertently opening her mind wider to her aunt’s scrutiny. What Muriel saw there, she did not say, but she suddenly smiled and patted Nera’s hand, bringing her back to the present.

“This house party will be just the thing, then, won’t it? But please, my dear, do one thing for me.”

“Yes?” Aunt Muriel rarely asked outright for favors, even though Nera was more than happy to do anything for the lady.

“Do not interfere. I know you will want to do all you can to throw these two together, but you can’t. Life does not happen that way, my sweet. You have to let it run its course.”

“I do not understand. Here is Bianca’s chance to make a brilliant match! It is what you and I have always wanted for her! How can I not give it just a little push here and there?”

“Do you want to push too far on either side and fall flat on your matchmaking face?” Muriel gently asked. “If these two are destined to be together, my love, they will find a way. By themselves. Do not look so downhearted!” She put a hand under her niece’s chin and lifted her face up to look directly into matching gray eyes. “This is our chance to make some society connections through Eleanor, who will be more than happy to oblige us. She is well aware of our obstacles, and if nothing comes of this party, might even be willing to sponsor you and your sister this season. Let us see how the next fortnight or so plays out, and we will make plans afterwards.”

“But the expense!” Nera protested.

“Will be taken care of. Do not worry, my love. Everything always has a way of working out in the end.”

Nera wished she had some of her aunt’s confidence that evening, when Lady Eleanor ushered them into a very grand salon before dinner. A thin, haughty lady sat ramrod straight on a sofa, elegantly dressed in a garnet silk gown, matching jewels in her ears and at her throat. One gloved hand held a small glass of sherry, the other raised a lorgnette to inspect the newcomers.

“Mama!” the earl said jovially, coming forward to kiss the dowager’s cheek. “And you have guests! Isn’t that wonderful of her, Prudence, to bring them to dine with us!”

“Lovely,” the countess said snidely, rising from the sofa and moving forward. “Mother Lambert, won’t you introduce us?”

“I know you have met Mrs. Abernathy before, Prudence, so quit acting so high in the instep,” Lady Eleanor said sweetly. “These are her two nieces, Miss Morrow, and Miss Bianca Morrow.” She indicated the girls in turn.

“Morrow?” The countess frowned, as if trying to place the name, until she put a hand to her forehead and must have realized there were wrinkles there. Smoothing out her countenance, she merely inclined her head. “How do you do. My husband, the Earl of Sandwell,” she added, waving in that general direction without even looking. “Charles, do get the ladies some sherry.”

Before he could pour out, the viscount entered, dressed in black and white evening clothes and also frowning. He appeared to have no problem with the wrinkles, however, because he did not stop.

“I apologize for my tardiness, mother.” Nera watched as he kissed the countess’ cheek. “Grandmother. And you must be Mrs. Abernathy,” he said to Aunt Muriel, bowing over her hand. “I have heard much about you.” When he straightened, his frown was gone, covered by a social mask similar to the one being worn by his mother. “Let me help you with that, sir,” he said, seeing his father juggling four glasses. Sherry was passed out and the gentlemen moved back to the side table to pour drinks for themselves.

“How are you enjoying your visit to Sandwell, Mrs. Abernathy?” the countess queried.

“Very well, Lady Sandwell. Your home is lovely, but of course it was my dear Eleanor I came to see.”

“Ah, yes, the infamous school friend,” Lady Sandwell drawled. “I vow Drew got into more trouble at Eton, attempting to repeat some of his grandmother’s escapades.” The frown was now replaced with a pair of tight lips.

“It would have been impossible, I am certain,” Nera said, earning a glare from the countess for speaking up.

“How so, Miss Morrow?”

The viscount was suddenly standing behind her and she turned around quickly, sloshing her sherry. Fortunately, it did not land on her gown, even if it did spot the Aubusson rug under her feet.

“You did not have the talents of my aunt and my grandmother.”

To her surprise, the gentleman grinned, as if recalling what talent her aunt possessed. “I consider myself fortunate that I did not, else I would have been expelled for certain.”

“Why is that?”

Nera never got her answer, because the countess made a comment about certain people monopolizing the conversation, and she blushingly turned back to her hostess. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sandwell.”

“I understand you two have already met,” she said with a sniff. “How convenient for you.”

“My sister, as well,” Nera pointed out, refusing to be cowed by the lady.

“How convenient for the both of you, then. Tell me, Mother Lambert, how long do your guests plan to stay?”

“Several weeks, at least,” her mother-in-law sweetly replied. “I want them to avail themselves of your house party entertainments.”

“My…” Lady Sandwell looked faint. “I am certain the young ladies will find it infinitely boring. I have only invited my closest friends, and they are, I fear, much older than these two pretty girls.”

“Nonsense! There will be plenty of young people here to be entertained by Drew!” the dowager insisted with an evil grin. “What are two more? You will hardly notice the addition to your party, and Muriel will be on hand to keep me out of mischief.”

“You hardly need a keeper, Mama,” the earl said, joining them. “But it will be nice to have a close friend here for you.”

“That is exactly what I thought, Charles. So kind of you to agree with me.”

Nera could feel the undercurrents in the conversations, and Aunt Muriel had basically blanked out, something she did when she was trying to catch what people were thinking, rather than what they were saying. Bianca had risen from the sofa and was looking in a curio cabinet full of objects d’art. The viscount joined her, and Nera could faintly hear their conversation.

“You like Oriental ceramics, Miss Morrow?” he asked politely.

“I like pretty things,” Bianca truthfully replied. “But I make no pretensions to knowing who makes certain things, or what their value is. I like plants, too.”

“You must see the conservatory, then. Perhaps you and your sister will allow me to show you around the house tomorrow? I would not want you getting lost in this large place.”

Bianca laughed. “I am never lost. Maurice is better than any housekeeper or guide book, you know.”

“And pray tell who is Maurice? Your dog?”

Bianca’s laughter filled the room, causing heads to turn their direction. “Oh, no! Maurice is my spirit guide! He’s a Frenchman, which I know is not at all the thing to be in England at the moment, but I cannot change his nationality.”

“An imaginary friend? Surely you could make him an Englishman, Miss Bianca.”

“Maurice is not imaginary!” she said tightly, and Nera wondered if she would have to interrupt in a moment. It would not do for him to make fun of her sister and get her all upset. “He was the major domo of a French marquis during the Terror, and when his employer was sent to the guillotine, he protested and was also beheaded.”

“That is quite a fantastic tale. Surely you had a nanny who liked to tell wild stories?”

Bianca shook her head, gave him a sad look and returned to her seat. Nera wanted desperately to say something to the viscount, to set him straight, but her aunt had counseled against interference. Nera took that to mean interference in front of Aunt Muriel. What she did not know would not hurt her, and Nera would be careful to shield her thoughts from her aunt.

Fortunately, dinner was announced before Lord Meare could put his foot further into his mouth, and she found herself at the back of the procession going into the dining room, while he was up front, escorting his grandmother.

Chapter 6

By the end of two days, frustration levels were high and everyone wished the guests would arrive, if only for a diversion. Bianca informed her sister and aunt that the spirit, William, was unbelievably stubborn. While he rarely stacked books in the library anymore, she was also nowhere closer to discovering his unfinished business.

“He and Maurice spend their time playing chess and moaning about not being able to smoke cigars. I am quite the odd man out!” she complained.

Muriel would just smile and run off for a comfortable coze with her friend Eleanor; they were the only two who seemed unconcerned by this development.

The countess could barely keep a civil tongue in her head every evening at dinner, the earl was becoming increasingly nervous about his title and position, and Lord Meare did not like being forced into devising entertainments for his mother’s guests. That is what he said to Nera the evening before the first guests were expected.

“You seem to me the sort of young ladies who know how to amuse yourselves,” he noted as they waited in the drawing room before dinner under the glare of his mother. “Which is why I cannot understand how other females only drift about aimlessly unless they have a schedule to follow.”

“Perhaps they were not taught self-reliance, my lord. Or maybe they are capable of organizing their own days, but require an audience as proof they are not idle? What have you planned? Sketching parties, rides to ruins and archery in the lower gardens?”

“All perfectly suitable activities for a house party, Miss Morrow,” he defensively replied.

“I am not disagreeing with your agenda, my lord. I merely wonder if you have put some free time into the schedule. In the mornings, perhaps?”

He nodded. “My mother does not leave her rooms until after noon, as well, which will work in our favor when it comes to the library.”

Nera could find no fault with that, even though she tried.

“Has your sister had any success?”

“Unfortunately, no. The spirit and Maurice would rather play chess.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tis true,” Nera said with a long-suffering sigh. “And please, do not ask me where they play. I am not quite certain.”

Dinner was announced, ending their conversation and leaving Nera to marvel at the civility between them.

That night, after everyone had retired, Drew found himself cornered by his mother in the private parlor that adjoined his bedchamber.

“To what do I owe this visit, Mama?” he wondered, none too pleased to have his pre-bedtime brandy interrupted by his mother. Still, he bid her come in, and she seated herself in a chair. He chose to stand.

“I am concerned about the attention you are paying Miss Morrow,” she said, cutting to the chase.

“What attention, Mama?”

“Marked attention! I am at the end of my patience watching your grandmother sit back and let you pay court to that young lady, and that Mrs. Abernathy is not much better! Why, she stares into space quite often, no doubt counting how many children she believes you will produce!”

“Court? Children?” Drew grew alarmed. If his mother and grandmother, and her aunt, thought he was… Was Miss Morrow thinking the same thing?

“You do well to look so aghast, Drew. The young lady, while she might show impeccable manners in public, is still a Morrow. A Morrow!”

He frowned. “What has that to do with anything?”

“Oh, come now, son – you know what happened. It was the scandal of the season!”

He shook his head, drawing a blank.

“A few years ago?” the countess said impatiently. “Their mother ran off with a married man. She was married as well, of course. They say it killed her husband.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with their daughters.”

“Oh, Drew! How naïve you can be sometimes!” she snapped. “No one wants a wife who might follow in her mother’s footsteps!”

“There is no reason why they should. Miss Morrow seems to be an almost sensible person, at least.” Even if her sister was flighty at the best of times. At least, she always seemed a bit oblivious to her surroundings, and her mind was filled with fanciful things.

“There is no reason why they should not, either! Listen to me, Drew – I am ordering you to pay less attention to Miss Morrow, lest she expect more of you than I am willing to give!”

Drew’s eyebrows rose considerably at that statement.

“Are you telling me, Mother, that I am not free to make my own decisions?”

His mother was too involved in her own thoughts to see the warning signs of his anger.

“You will do as I say when it comes to a wife! I have not worked this hard to become countess just to have you ruin everything by making a misalliance. You must be wed soon, to the bride of my choosing, so I may train her to be the perfect successor. You will produce at least one heir to secure everything, and then I may rest easy.”

“You have said some ridiculous things in your life, Mama, but the drivel you just spouted has to be the most idiotic scheme I have heard in a good, long while.” He strode to the door. “I shall marry where and when I choose, madam, and if you think either she or I will be controlled by you in the future, you have another think coming. Rest assured I have no designs on Miss Morrow, but neither shall I find myself paying court to any of the pretty little puppets you wish to parade in front of me over the next fortnight! Good evening, Mama!” He opened the door with a flourish, his neck flushed with anger where he had already loosened his cravat.

“This is not finished, Drew,” his mother warned as she walked out. Only the glitter of her frosty blue eyes showed her own anger. “If you continue to single out Miss Morrow, I can assure you, you will find yourself betrothed to someone else in a heartbeat!”

Guests arrived throughout the next day, but Nera had been led to believe that introductions would not be made until just before dinner, when the entire company would be assembled. Bianca had gone off to the library happily enough, leaving her sister to tack up a torn flounce on her one good dinner dress.

“We are going to look the veriest bumpkins, appearing in the same gowns night after night,” she had said with a sigh to Bianca, the only person to which she would ever voice her concerns.

“No one is going to notice us, dearest,” Bianca had assured her before tripping off with Maurice, but Nera was not so sure. “Besides,” Bianca had added as a parting shot, “we have new ballgowns no one has ever seen before!”

Nera was confused. They had ballgowns? She distinctly remembered packing all their clothes, and there had been nothing new in the trunks. She had always known her sister to live in another world, but this was carrying that a bit too far.

Their white gowns, fortunately, did not look out of place among the other young ladies that evening as they were introduced around to the assembled guests. And by that time, Nera was too busy trying to remember names and faces to even care what she wore.

There were a Lord and Lady Cranston, baron and baroness, and their daughter, Sophia, a giggly girl with the features of a delicate china doll, all blue eyes and blonde hair that Nera always supposed was in vogue. Lady Cranston’s eyes widened somewhat at mention of the Morrow name, but she said nothing.

Mrs. Wilkes, a widow wearing half-mourning, was introduced as a cousin of Lady Sandwell’s, and she had a daughter with her, Miss Tamara Wilkes, and her son, Col. Randolph Wilkes. Nera was not surprised when the colonel fixed his sights on Bianca and did not look away. Bianca’s ethereal countenance was in direct competition with Miss Cranston, possibly. The darker Miss Wilkes was what most people would call pretty, but not beautiful.

She noted that each family of guests boasted both a daughter and a title, if they had one, that was lower in rank to the countess. Sir Joseph and Lady Woodbury had their eldest daughter with them, although Lady Woodbury remarked that it would be a few years before her next three daughters would be old enough to enjoy a season in London. Miss Victoria Woodbury might even be around for that, Nera thought, feeling sorry for girl, with her carroty red hair and freckles.

Last to be introduced were Mr. Thompson and his two offspring, Geraldine and Joel. Miss Thompson was possibly going to give Miss Cranston a run for her money with the viscount, Nera thought, being also of that same porcelain doll coloring. The Mr. Thompsons were both fair-haired, as well, and the younger one gave Nera a genuine smile as their acquaintances were made.

The countess made a point of excluding the Morrow twins from the company of the other young ladies, but Nera was not offended for herself. She did not want the viscount, but Bianca should be allowed within the ranks of the blooded fillies vying for his lordship’s attentions. She was of impeccable lineage, she was beautiful and she was also fated for Lord Meare – what more could Lady Sandwell want?

“It seems as if we’re off to the races,” the colonel said softly to her, indicating his cousin and entourage with a glass of whisky. “But you and your sister are still in the starting gate.”

“I have no designs on becoming a viscountess,” Nera noted, “and my sister does not play games of that sort, either.”

“Interesting,” he noted. “As well as refreshing. There isn’t a mother here who wouldn’t give her eyeteeth for Drew to single out her daughter, except my own parent. It will be amusing to see him dodge their traps and give equal attention to everyone.”

“Are you always this candid?” she wondered, thinking he was being rather open to a young lady he had just met.

“To a fault,” the gentleman replied, and she had to smile at the way his dark eyes crinkled when he grinned. “But we military men are allowed to get away with directness. It also helps if you let people think you might be sent to the Continent at any moment, and must be excused for plain speaking.”

Nera laughed. “I wish I was a military man, then, so I might say what I wanted without censure.”

“Feel free to speak your mind around me, Miss Morrow. I have a feeling we shall be thrown into company frequently, and there is nothing more annoying than a young miss who simpers and prevaricates.”

“I shall keep that in mind.”

“Your sister is very quiet,” he remarked, looking over to where Bianca sat demurely with their aunt.

“She is. But I shall tell you a secret,” Nera said with an impish smile. “She loves a good ghost story.”

Chapter 7

After dinner, where Nera found herself placed between an unresponsive Sir Joseph and the polite elder Mr. Thompson, she followed the ladies back to the drawing room. Bianca had made friends with the freckled Miss Woodbury, and the two sat on a sofa in quiet conversation. Lady Sandwell had surrounded herself with her cronies, and Lady Eleanor and Aunt Muriel had their heads together. Miss Cranston and Miss Thompson stood by the pianoforte, urging each other to perform first.

“Sizing up the competition, no doubt,” Mrs. Wilkes murmured in Nera’s ear. She was reminded of the way the colonel had approached her earlier.

“They are either both virtuosos, then, or terrible players,” she replied with a smile.

“I recommend something stronger than tea in your cup,” Miss Wilkes added. “It will help soften the ordeal.”

“I hope the tea tray arrives soon, then,” Nera noted as Miss Cranston sat down to the instrument and began banging on the keys.

“I have hopes for an improvement in skills once the gentlemen return,” Mrs. Wilkes said.

“Is straight talk a family trait?” Nera asked, bringing smiles to the faces of the Wilkes ladies.

“I fear it is true. Rand – the colonel - often says he is pleased to have been born into a family that is tolerant of such a thing,” Miss Wilkes noted.

“He is your only brother?”

Miss Wilkes sighed. “I have four brothers. Rand is the second eldest.”

“My Tamara is the youngest,” Mrs. Wilkes told her as the three seated themselves on a sofa. Nera found herself flanked by the other ladies. “A lovely gift after four sons. Tell me about yourself, Miss Morrow. We rarely get to London for the season.”

“I have never been,” Nera admitted. “My sister and I live quietly with our aunt, Mrs. Abernathy.”

“It is a pleasure to see Mrs. Abernathy once more. We were all frequent visitors here years ago, when my children were younger, and always enjoyed your aunt’s company. Her talents,” Mrs. Wilkes said in a softer voice, “are quite interesting. She used to entertain us with a demonstration from time to time.”

“Aunt Muriel is certainly unique,” Nera agreed, not sure what else she could say. Not many people so openly discussed Aunt Muriel’s gifts.

“It is all right, my dear, if you do not wish to discuss it,” Mrs. Wilkes said when Nera was quiet.

They all winced as Miss Cranston hit a sour chord, gave each other pained looks, and then laughed. Miss Cranston shot them all an angry look just as the gentlemen came through the drawing room doors, and that brought an expression of merriment to Nera’s eyes which was still there when Colonel Wilkes sat down across from her.

Miss Cranston’s countenance quickly changed to something broodingly artistic as she launched into a technically perfect piece by Beethoven. Miss Thompson, waiting her turn, scowled, apparently unaware she was being watched, and flounced off to sit with her brother. He absently patted her hand, but seemed otherwise oblivious to her plight.

“I fear Miss Thompson will find more than her brother unresponsive,” the colonel said, following Nera’s interest in the drama. “We are to play billiards after you ladies retire, and more than one gentleman is looking forward to that, I assure you.”

Next to Nera, Miss Wilkes laughed. “I wonder who proposed such an activity? It is a shame we ladies are not invited.”

“You would no doubt fleece half the men here, if it were allowed, little sister.”

“You play billiards?” Nera asked in some surprise. It was a game she had been steered clear of as a girl, and had not had the chance to observe as a young lady.

“Little sisters are wont to tag along, sometimes, Miss Morrow, and my father did not discourage the pursuit, especially after I became quite good at the game.”

“Your mother did not prevent it, either,” Mrs. Wilkes reminded her daughter. “Or the shooting and riding.”

“I concede the shooting to you, Miss Wilkes, but riding…” Nera sighed. “I have not been on a horse this age.”

“Drew plans all manner of outings, Miss Morrow,” the colonel said. “There will be plenty of mounts to choose from. I do hope you and your sister will participate.”

“Thank you, yes, we both miss riding, and I am sure we shall.” If she had something suitable to wear. She must appear to be one of the house party guests, she justified to herself. If that meant finding herself on horseback for the first time in several years to maintain that fiction, so be it.

Bianca and Miss Woodbury joined them at that point, and they made a merry group as the colonel encouraged all four young ladies to confess their worst riding mistakes.

Across the room, Drew watched as his Wilkes cousins, Miss Woodbury and the Morrow sisters made a happy circle. He was envious of their easy camaraderie while he was forced to turn pages for a simpering Miss Cranston. His mother had already warned him that Miss Thompson was next at the pianoforte, right before she pulled most of the older guests into making up tables for whist.

“Some people are quite rude,” Miss Cranston said in a scathing tone, nodding toward the Wilkeses and Morrows.

“On the contrary, Miss Cranston. You are here to provide background music, and I am pleased to see guests enjoying themselves.”

“I thought I was the evening’s entertainment!” the young lady protested. “Not to be shunted into the scenery!”

“I suppose you thought wrong, then, Miss Cranston. You may cheer yourself up, however, with the knowledge that my mother will plan a musical evening or two while you are here. If you will excuse me, I see her beckoning to me now.”

Without another word, he bowed and approached his mother, leaving Miss Cranston’s mouth opening and closing in surprise at his abrupt departure.

“You are getting along well with Miss Cranston?” the countess quizzed him, after browbeating her cousin, Mrs. Wilkes, into taking her place at the card table. “She is a lovely girl.”

“I told you, Mama, that my life is my own. Miss Cranston is a self-centered chit who thinks we should all stop what we are doing and listen to her play.”

Lady Sandwell frowned. “Self-centered, you say? I did not realize… It is of no matter… She is still trainable…”

“Mama,” Drew warned.

“Yes, Drew…” she said with a sigh. “Why, thank you for the lovely music, Miss Cranston,” she called, moving off to the pianoforte. “You will want to give those lovely and talented fingers a rest. Miss Thompson?”

Miss Thompson did not need to be asked twice, and from where Nera sat, it looked as if the young lady literally slid Miss Cranston off the other side of the bench.

“You will turn the pages for her, Colonel Wilkes,” the countess commanded. Next to Nera, Miss Wilkes stifled a laugh.

Later, when Lady Sandwell let it be known that the ladies could retire, Nera found herself approached by Lord Meare.

“I need to speak with you,” he whispered, ostensibly bidding her a good evening. “In the library in half an hour?”

Nera nodded and wished him a pleasant night before following the dowager and her family to the other side of the house. Fortunately for her, Bianca dressed for bed quickly, and went right off to sleep. Nera waited until she heard slow and easy breathing from her sister before slipping out of their room.

There was no one around as she walked quietly down the hall to the entrance to the dowager’s wing, and the way was clear straight through to the library. When she let herself in, there were only a few candles lit, giving the room an eerie glow. The viscount stood with his back to her, contemplating a stack of books.

“What does this… thing want of us?” he murmured.

“If I knew, I would not still be here,” Nera answered.

Miss Morrow!” Lord Meare whirled around to face her.

“You were expecting someone else?” She was amused.

“No… That is…” The viscount appeared flustered. “I did not hear you come in.”

“I am here now,” she gently replied. “You wished to speak to me?”

“Yes…” He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it and no doubt headed for a lecture from his valet. “I hardly know where to begin.”

“The beginning is a good place.”

“Yes, the beginning. What are your expectations, Miss Morrow, as they pertain to myself?”

Nera was confused. “I do not understand, my lord. What expectations?”

“I can tell you now, Miss Morrow, that I am not paying court to you, nor should you expect that in the future!” he continued, as if she had not spoken.

“I do not expect it now, my lord, or ever.”

“You should know that I… What?” It was his turn to be confused. “You do not think I have been paying marked attention to you this past week?”

“Attention, yes, but not marked. Whom else are you to speak with? My aunt? My sister, as you have no doubt noticed, does not say much, whereas I am quite outspoken. As there were no other young people in the household at the time, what were you to do? Now, I suppose, with so many diversions, you will be splitting your time amongst all the people. That I do expect, my lord, though I do not think my opinion counts in all this.” She did not know whether to be insulted or entertained by his assumption, so she chose amusement. After all, none of this mattered in the end.

“So you are not expecting me to offer for your hand?”

“No. Were you planning on it?”

“No.”

“Excellent. Then I am free to go?”

“What? Oh, yes! Good evening, Miss Morrow.”

“Good evening.” Nera dropped a curtsy and went to bed with a smile on her face.

After Miss Morrow had retired, Drew sat in the library by himself for a short while, reluctant to return to the billiard room where the guests, he was certain, could entertain themselves.

“She doesn’t want me,” he said for the tenth time. “How could she not want me?” He knew it was the height of conceit, but he was Viscount Meare, or would be, officially, in less than two weeks’ time. What young lady did not wish to be a viscountess, and, eventually, a countess? Miss Cranston or Miss Thompson would accept him without hesitation, and even his young cousin, Tamara, would consider it advantageous. Miss Woodbury would know she could not get a better offer, but her mother was as much a social climber as Lady Sandwell. Even if she did not like him, she would be forced to make the alliance.

What was wrong with Miss Morrow? She, of all the young ladies, with the exception of her sister, should want to become his wife. She had her mother’s reputation to live down, after all, and would be above reproach as a viscountess. Drew hated to admit it, but Miss Morrow’s attitude rankled. He might just have to do something about it, but what could he do that would not be misconstrued?

“Make her fall for me anyway?” he wondered, feeling the veriest cad for even having such a thought. Evidently something or someone felt the same way, because the top book on the stack next to him flew off and smacked him in the back of his head.

“Who’s there?” he asked, bewildered. The room was quiet – no one else was around.

Chapter 8

The first full day of the house party dawned bright and clear, and when Nera woke, it was to find Bianca gone and a maid waiting with a cup of tea. She was helped into her gown and invited to share breakfast with the rest of the party in the main morning parlor. As it was not too far from the library, Nera agreed and made her way there, where she found Miss Wilkes and most of the gentlemen at the table.

The earl signaled to a footman to provide Miss Morrow with tea, and another servant held out a chair between the colonel and his sister.

“Is it true, Miss Morrow, that your aunt is famous for telling fortunes?” Miss Wilkes asked, wide-eyed, as toast and jam were placed in front of Nera on the table.

“I do not know that she tells fortunes, Miss Wilkes. She lives very quietly these days.”

“Mama says she used to entertain everyone at house parties with her readings and cards. Perhaps she might do so here?”

“You will have to ask her yourself,” Nera prevaricated, not wanting to commit her aunt to anything.

“I believe I shall.”

“If she requires persuading,” the colonel said to his sister, “the dowager might be of some assistance.”

“Excellent notion, Rand!” She sat back happily, contemplating her future, as Nera requested eggs and ham from the sideboard.

“Your sister is not an early riser?” the colonel enquired.

“She is, sir, but has something else besides breakfast to occupy her this morning.” She hoped it sounded as if Bianca had a fitting or something, and was not off communing with ghosts in the library.

“I see. If you ladies will excuse me, then, I have finished breakfast and I have some business to attend to.” He rose and bowed, waved to the other gentlemen and left the room.

Nera did not think anything of his disappearance, as she was immediately distracted by Miss Wilkes and food. It was not until later, when she appeared in the library that she discovered the colonel’s ‘business.’ He was seated on a reading table, one Hessian boot swinging off the side, and contemplating a stack of books.

“It is like this most nights, you say?” he was quizzing Bianca.

“Not as much now that he has gained someone’s attention,” she replied. “But it is his fault he is not getting his message across since my arrival,” she said tartly, eyeing the books. “It is as if he were drawing all this out.”

“Perhaps he is waiting for something?”

“I wish he would tell me. You do not think it odd that I can talk to him?” she wondered, cocking her head to one side.

“Nonsense! This house has been haunted ever since I can remember – when we were children, we used to sneak out of the nursery at night and hunt for the White Lady.”

“She is a shy creature, and no doubt led you and your cousin on a merry chase.”

“Not Drew!” the colonel said with a barking laugh. “He stayed in bed! Said ghosts do not exist. But Uncle Robert and I knew better. They are here.”

“Definitely. I’ve counted several, although this one is my main focus.”

“I am certain he is… Did you feel that?” he asked, in awe rather than in fear.

“Feel what?” Bianca asked, her lips twisting into a smile.

“Something just patted me on the back.”

Bianca gave him a slow smile, as if pleased to have found a kindred spirit amongst so many unbelievers.

“I am not surprised his lordship did not go on your midnight ghost hunts with you,” Nera said, coming fully into the room and gaining their attention. “He has stated time and again that he does not believe in them.”

“Still doesn’t, eh?” the colonel asked. “What a shame.”

Especially since he was going to be living with a medium the rest of his life, Nera thought. Of all the hare-brained things Fate had come up with, this pairing had to be the worst. If she had not seen the vision personally, she never would have believed it. But the scenes were never wrong. It was all very confusing.

“Colonel Wilkes is going to arrange for all the young ladies to meet in the stables this afternoon, Nera, to choose horses. I am looking forward to being on horseback again!” Bianca said with real delight.

“I am, as well!” her sister assured her. “But what shall we wear?”

“Aunt Muriel says she will provide us with something suitable, and not to worry. We shall be there, Colonel,” Bianca assured him.

“Excellent! It would not be the same if you were not in attendance,” he said gallantly, and she blushed.

Nera looked with interest from the colonel to her sister and back again. Was there going to be a problem here? The gentleman was clearly attracted to Bianca, although there was little wonder there. Most men were. But Nera did not know a polite way to warn him off, even if he would end up getting hurt. She did not want that, either.

The Wilkes family had been so nice, not holding the past against her. She could not say that about anyone else yet, although Miss Woodbury had seemed polite enough to Bianca the evening before.

The viscount poked his head in the library door, nodded to the Morrow sisters and noted the colonel’s presence. True to his agreement, he diverted the colonel’s attention to the stables, asking if he would help him choose mounts for the ladies in advance. As the colonel had already shown interest in this matter, he readily agreed, and they left.

“The colonel is a nice gentleman,” Nera tentatively noted, thinking to sound her sister out before this went too far. She had seen sometimes how Fate pushed people into certain situations, initially against their will. In the end, they always seemed happy, or at least resigned to their future, but at some cost to themselves or others.

“He noted my absence at breakfast, came looking for me and said he was certain books were not as appetizing as bacon,” Bianca said with a smile. “Even better – he is a believer!”

“I heard.” It was worse than she feared, if he shared her sister’s thoughts on that subject, especially when the viscount did not. Still, there was time to show Lord Meare that there were things of another plane on this world.

“Have you developed a tendre for Colonel Wilkes?” she asked bluntly.

Bianca blushed. “No! I only met him yesterday!”

“You and I both know that has nothing to do with it.”

“True. William tells me he is an honorable man.”

“Aha!” Nera cried. “William is acquainted with the colonel!”

“Not necessarily,” her sister pointed out. “If the Wilkeses have visited Sandwell for years, even a long-time spirit resident is going to be able to vouch for his character.”

Be that as it may, Nera had her suspicions as to William’s identity, and if he recommended the colonel, he must have known him in life.

“What does William say about the immediate family, then?” Nera was no gossip, but if the library ghost was sabotaging Fate’s efforts to bring Bianca and the viscount together, she wished to know about it.

“He says the earl is weak and guided by his wife. The countess is a social-climbing shrew. The young viscount and the missing heir are the only two worth a tinker’s damn.”

As Bianca was rattling this off in a clinical manner, Nera merely nodded and did not comment on the profanity. Sometimes Bianca did not realize what she was repeating.

“Missing heir?”

“Did Lady Eleanor not tell you that her eldest son ran off to India years ago? If he can be produced by a certain date, he will be the next earl.”

Actually, Nera had forgotten the dowager’s words. The arrival of the viscount into that meeting had distracted her.

“Supposedly, Lady Sandwell is coinciding the date with a ball in two weeks. She plans to announce her official ascension to her title at that time.”

“Fascinating! Does William know where the heir is?” Some spirits, such as Maurice, could move between astral planes to discover such things, or gain information from others of their kind.

“If he or Maurice know, they are not saying a word,” Bianca said sadly.

“That means Lord Meare would become merely a mister…” Nera mused. “What a pity.” She knew she did not sound sincere.

“Not necessarily. William says his lordship’s character could handle a change in his life situation. And if the missing gentleman is unmarried, it is possible his brother and nephew could still inherit, eventually.”

“Would it bother you if he became Mister Lambert?” Nera wondered.

“Why should it?”

Nera had not realized she had asked that question aloud. “No reason. I wonder what some of these other guests would think, should the eldest son be found?”

Bianca giggled. “He would not be so sought after, would he?”

Nera laughed, too. “No, he would not.” She was not so sure he wouldn’t be devastated, though, no matter what William told her sister.

“Shall we go back to our room now, and see what Aunt Muriel has come up with for riding clothes?” Bianca suggested.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Nera agreed.

The riding clothes turned out to be two full habits that Lady Eleanor had ordered retrieved from the attics, and cleaned and mended for the young ladies.

Nera’s was a black poplin skirt full enough to fit over the saddle without getting in the way, a white silk blouse and a black jacket with white frogs and black velvet trim. A dark felt hat with a white feather completed the ensemble.

“You look beautiful!” Bianca exclaimed as Nera stood in front of a cheval mirror looking at herself with real pleasure. The outfit suited her down to the ground. “And there will not be a lady to hold a candle to you on the field.”

“I am not in any sort of competition,” she reminded her sister.

“Does it matter? No one will be able to look down on you when you look so poised and elegant. I know how you are on horseback.”

“A bruising rider, is she?” Lady Eleanor asked Bianca. “Then she will do quite well with one of Drew’s more spirited fillies.”

“A sedate mount will do for me,” Nera said. “May I remind you that I am no competitor?”

“Pooh!” Lady Eleanor turned to Bianca and held out a periwinkle linen habit. “You will look the veriest angel in this. I am so fortunate that riding styles do not come and go as quickly as other fashions. These belonged to the late wife of my eldest son and I am certain she would want you to have them.”

“Your son was married?”

“Mercy me, yes! To the sweetest young lady you ever met. Sadly, she died in childbirth, the babe with her, and he was never the same. He ran off to India soon after that. We have been trying to get in touch with him, you know …”

Nera was touched by the sadness in Lady Eleanor’s eyes and she took her hand and squeezed it. “I hope he comes home to you, or lets you know in some way that he is still alive.”

“He is alive,” Bianca said suddenly, as surprised as the rest of them that such words popped out of her mouth. “Maurice just told me it is so. Where he is, I do not know. Maurice is being rather close-mouthed about this entire business.” She spoke accusingly, but Nera knew it was not directed at the living.

“Maurice has his own reasons for doing things,” Nera reminded her. “You know that better than any one.”

Chapter 9

The young ladies of the party, along with any brothers and fathers they might have, were assembled in the stables to receive horses to use for the duration of their visit. Nera was impressed in spite of herself over the length and breadth of Sandwell’s choices, and the colonel, who had escorted his sister, Nera and Bianca outside, told her it was all due to his cousin, Lord Meare.

“Drew will no doubt modestly deny this, but the expansion of the Sandwell stables came about through his extensive efforts. Each foal is carefully planned through bloodline research.”

Much like she had heard of marriage alliances made in London, Nera thought with a small smile. It was just as well Bianca would not have to go through that torture after all.

“Who is first?” the viscount asked the ladies. “Ah, Miss Cranston!” That girl was waving her arms and jumping up and down.

“I am the highest ranking of us all,” she reminded him.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Do you like to hunt, Miss Cranston?”

“Oh, yes!” she insisted. “That is, if you do, my lord.”

Nera rolled her eyes. How obvious could one girl get?

“I hunt, too, my lord,” Miss Thompson said, moving forward.

“My Geraldine is a capital rider,” Mr. Thompson agreed.

“Very well, then, Miss Thompson, you may have Bettina, and Miss Cranston will ride Paulette.”

“What did he do?” the colonel wondered under his breath. “Name them all after opera dancers?”

Beside him, Nera put a hand to her mouth.

“Miss Woodbury may have Ophelia for the length of her stay, and Wilhelmina will be at my cousin Miss Wilkes’ disposal.”

“Or courtesans,” Nera whispered, which brought grins to her companions’ faces.

“Miss Bianca? I thought this white Arabian might suit you,” Lord Meare said, gaining their attention. “Her name is Henrietta.”

“I chose her for you,” the colonel said softly. “So do not give Drew the credit for that one.”

“And Miss Morrow, you will be pleased, I think, with Belle.” He indicated a roan mare in the stall in front of her, a beautiful creature with a white star on her forehead.

“She is darling!” Nera cried, moving forward to pet her. The viscount stayed her with a hand for but a moment, handed her an apple, and then allowed her to proceed.

Nera could have spent all day being nuzzled by the horse, who was friendly and had taken to her immediately, but the gentlemen were moving towards horses of their own and the stable hands had saddles ready for the ladies’ mounts. It was only then that Nera realized she and her sister were not out of place in their borrowed habits. The other girls were arrayed in similar outfits. Making a mental note to thank Lady Eleanor later, she stood aside to allow a groom to put a sidesaddle on Belle.

The horse proved to be as sweet in the field as she was in the stall, and Nera, finding herself in the center of the pack of riders, reveled in being on horseback once more.

“You seem to be enjoying this, Miss Morrow,” the elder Mr. Thompson said as Lord Meare led them on a ride to a stone circle in the vicinity.

“Very much so!” she replied with a brilliant smile. “I have not ridden in ages, so this is a rare treat.”

“You keep no horses at home?”

Nera laughed. “One horse to pull my aunt’s gig, but truly, we live so quietly, we scarce notice the deprivation.”

“I am not certain I could live without my horses.”

“You must hunt, then.” Nera could remember her father’s string of hunters, and his obsession with the sport. Perhaps her mother’s defection had some basis in fact, after all. Nera knew she would not wish to be ignored for the sake of a hobby that could be so time consuming it superseded everything else in life.

“To give Lord Meare credit, however, most of his horses are bred for speed on the race track, not how well they take a fence.”

“He prefers a point-to-point, then, over a steeple chase?”

“Lord Meare!” Mr. Thompson called ahead. “Miss Morrow seems to share some of your knowledge of horse racing!”

Nera flushed when the viscount, who was in front with Miss Cranston and Miss Thompson, turned his head.

“Is that so?”

“I have never been to a race before,” she protested, “but I have read books on the subject. I am hardly a proficient.”

“Some people should not put themselves forward on false pretenses,” Miss Cranston said piously.

“She did not put herself forward,” Lord Meare noted. “Mr. Thompson did.”

“Truly, I did not wish to call attention to myself,” Nera demurred.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Morrow,” Mr. Thompson apologized when the viscount’s attention was diverted by Miss Thompson over a wayside rabbit. “I suppose I am used to a young lady who requires constant amusing.”

“It is of no moment, Mr. Thompson,” she assured him.

“Still, I find it refreshing for a young lady not to put herself forward.”

Nera wanted to point out that the only ladies doing so now were his daughter and Miss Cranston, but that would be rude. Miss Woodbury rode next to Bianca, who was also flanked by the colonel, and Miss Wilkes was conversing with the younger Mr. Thompson.

When they reached the stone circle, it was to find a small marquee had been set up off to one side by the Sandwell servants, and refreshments were available for the thirsty riders. Nera was helped out of the saddle by Mr. Thompson, who also insisted on procuring her a glass of lemonade.

“I was correct in choosing Belle for you, Miss Morrow,” Lord Meare said as she tethered her mount. “You have a good seat.”

“Why… Thank you, my lord,” she said, flustered, and he grinned at her before moving on to his other guests.

After thirsts had been quenched, most of the party set out to explore the stones.

“In this part of Somerset we do not boast as large a circle as Stonehenge, as you can see,” Lord Meare explained, “but some are still impressive.”

Nera had to agree. The stones were of monolithic proportions when one was standing below them, and she was amazed at how precisely they were placed.

“Do the locals come out here and dance around them under a full moon?” Miss Thompson playfully asked of the viscount.

“Or are they haunted by a pair of lovers who could not be together in life?” Miss Cranston wondered, not to be outdone.

“There are no such things as ghosts,” Lord Meare stiffly replied. “As for the locals, Miss Thompson, I doubt it.”

He might be surprised, then, Nera thought with a smirk. Superstitions and strange customs abounded in most villages and she doubted this area was any different. Lord Meare did not believe, however, so his father’s tenants did not, either, by association. Ha.

Nera had nothing against such practices, even though her own family’s talents were not based on mysticism. They had occasionally been labeled witches, but Aunt Muriel, who had always been tolerant of the local practitioners of witchcraft, knew they were completely different. She had made certain her great-nieces knew how to recognize witches, and show respect for their work. She wondered if there were any in this vicinity, or if they had all been weeded out by the narrow-minded Lord Meare.

“No ghosts of lovers, Miss Cranston,” Bianca said, “but there is an old hermit who likes it here.”

“A ghost hermit?”

Hermits on one’s land were all the rage, Nera had recently learned, and she had been surprised that wealthy landowners allowed such things on their estates. There was no accounting for some peoples’ tastes.

“No,” Bianca was saying. “A live hermit.”

“How do you know?” Miss Thompson snidely asked.

If the ability to act as rudely as Lady Sandwell was the main criteria for becoming the next viscountess, Nera thought, it would be a toss-up between Miss Thompson and Miss Cranston for the position. A pair of nastier young ladies she had never met in her life.

“What is this place used for then?” Miss Woodbury asked.

“The celebration of the seasons, and nothing more,” Bianca replied. “Although the ancient Druids performed rituals here in times gone past.”

Nera saw her sister nod respectfully at nothing anyone else could see and supposed a Druid must still be in residence.

The sun was warm on Nera’s face and she said she was going to sit down in the shade of the marquee and enjoy some more lemonade. Mr. Thompson offered to escort her.

“I would not be surprised if you ended up with a stepmother,” Miss Cranston said to Miss Thompson as they watched Miss Morrow leave the stone circle.

“What do you mean by that?” Drew heard Miss Thompson ask.

“Surely you have noticed the way your father has been sniffing around Miss Morrow since they met? ‘Ride with me, Miss Morrow! Let me walk you back to the marquee, Miss Morrow!’” she mocked.

Drew frowned. It was true Mr. Thompson was a widower, but he was old enough to be Miss Morrow’s father. He knew gentlemen who married much younger ladies, of course, but usually when they did not already have an heir, and Mr. Thompson’s son looked healthy enough. The Thompsons were not titled, but they were an old family with plenty of the ready. Miss Morrow could do worse, and Mr. Thompson would be able to overlook that lady’s mother’s damage to the family’s reputation. The thought of her married to that gentleman, however, left a bad taste in his mouth. In Miss Thompson’s, as well, if her sour expression was any indication.

“I think I shall join them for some lemonade,” she said and excused herself.

Miss Cranston smiled in triumph, having effectively eliminated any and all competition for the moment. Drew, however, had no intention of being snared by any young lady. He had meant every word he ever said to his mother on the subject. He was not yet ready to marry. Besides, there was still time for Uncle Robert to reappear, and if that happened, Drew knew he and his father would gratefully withdraw from the lists.

Indeed, he did not even draw an allowance from his family. He had an inheritance from his maternal grandmother that had been invested in both the ‘Change and in a horse farm in Lincolnshire. True, he stayed in the family townhouse in London, but they all used that residence at their convenience. His mother had always preferred to live in town, as long as he could recall, but the earl was most often found at Sandwell, even when Drew’s grandfather was alive. The two men had enjoyed similar agricultural pursuits. It had been expedient, however, for Drew’s mother and grandmother to live apart, so Lady Eleanor had graciously conceded the townhouse to her daughter-in-law.

A part of Drew, even now, wished his Uncle Robert to reappear, so that he was not forced to entertain young ladies such as Miss Thompson and Miss Cranston. They would give him short shrift, he was certain, if he were plain Mr. Lambert.

“Will you walk with me to that cunning copse over there, Lord Meare?” Miss Cranston indicated a small clearing off to one side of the circle with her parasol. “What are those adorable creatures scampering about?”

“Those are squirrels, Miss Cranston,” he dryly replied. “Are you not at all acquainted with them?”

Oh, squirrels!” she exclaimed. “I know what those are! Still, I have never seen one in the wild.”

“Not even in Hyde Park?” he wondered, incredulously.

“Aren’t they put away every evening in town?”

“Hardly.”

“I will gladly escort you over to them, Miss Cranston,” the younger Mr. Thompson offered.

“Oh, no. If Lord Meare insists they are the same as in Hyde Park, I have no need to see them here.” She unfurled her sunshade and wandered off, leaving the two young men to look at each other in bewilderment and exasperation.

“I should like above anything to fix Miss Cranston’s interest,” Mr. Thompson confessed. “She is a goddess!”

Drew wanted to tell the other man what Miss Cranston really was, but he did not want Mr. Thompson to draw his cork. The lady wasn’t worth brawling over. Besides, he was too busy keeping an eye on the older Mr. Thompson and Miss Morrow, who had been joined by Miss Thompson. To her credit, Miss Morrow seemed to be friendly toward a stupid chit who had yet to be civil. Good manners showed, his grandmother always said.

Miss Bianca laughed and caught his attention, and he was pleased to note how well she enjoyed his cousin’s company. That would be a good match. His Wilkes cousins were honest and unpretentious, and rather fanciful, so they could well tolerate a lady with Miss Bianca’s notions. He did not think her delusional, and would have counseled against her if he thought she was insane. No, she was just… different. Such a difference would be accepted by the Wilkses, where it would not be tolerated elsewhere.

He would have to encourage Rand and Miss Bianca to spend some time getting to know each other better, and laughed at his ideas of matchmaking. If he could, he would put Mr. Thompson with Miss Cranston, despite his own misgivings about the lady.

If Mr. Thompson was looking for a second wife, Miss Woodbury would suit him just fine, but not Miss Morrow. No, Miss Morrow deserved something better. He was just not quite sure what. Or whom.

Chapter 10

The next morning, Nera skipped breakfast in the main parlor. Mr. Thompson had been paying her marked attention the day before, and while she was flattered that he gave her quiet compliments and was concerned for her well-being, she was rather uncomfortable around him and his daughter. Especially when Miss Thompson made not-so-veiled references to her father not needing a new wife. It amused her to think she was a candidate for that position, until she realized the young lady’s father was not put off by his daughter’s words. Hence her avoidance of the Thompsons the next day.

Instead of going to the library with Bianca, however, she decided to take a turn in the garden. The countess – or perhaps the dowager before her – had outfitted the formal gardens with marble statues, fountains and a folly that resembled a Greek temple. It was not exactly her style, so she went further afield, in search of a bit of wilderness. It seemed to suit her mood that morning.

That was how she managed to stumble across the hermit’s hut at the edge of the manicured park. It was a small stone building, a one-room shelter, she surmised, considering its size. A shaggy-haired, bearded man with piercing black eyes sat in the doorway, a clay pipe in his mouth.

“Good day to you,” she said politely when he did not run away. He nodded in reply, but did not speak.

“I am Miss Morrow,” she introduced herself, not sure what else to say.

“A guest up at the house?” he asked in a rusty voice.

It was her turn to nod. “A guest of sorts,” she clarified, lest anyone, even a hermit, get the wrong idea.

“Of sorts?” He smiled in amusement.

“My aunt and sister and I are guests of the dowager, not the current countess.”

“The dowager…”

“She’s a lovely person. Aunt Muriel has known her for years and years.”

“Mrs. Abernathy?”

“You know her?” Nera was excited by that, even though she did not know why.

“Word gets out,” was all he said.

“I suppose it does.” Her stomach, still empty, took that moment to rumble, and the hermit broke into an understanding grin. Nera noted that his teeth were whole and bright, and that surprised her somewhat. What sort of person became a hermit?

“Want some bread?” A clean hand reached out with a roll for her and she took it, again amazed that someone who lived in such primitive surroundings could be so clean.

“Thank you.” Nera did not waste much time consuming the roll, and by the time she was done, he had produced a tankard of cider for her to wash it down with. She polished that off, too, and he gave her another brilliant smile.

“I have to run along now, but it was very nice meeting you, sir.”

“And you, Miss.” With a final nod, he got up and disappeared into his hut.

Nera continued her walk and found a path that ended up circling back into the formal gardens. There she found her sister walking with the colonel, both of them participating in an animated conversation. It was the most interaction her sister had with someone besides her family or the dead in years, and it was unfortunate that their newfound friendship could go no further.

She stepped up the pace to interrupt them when she was hailed by Lord Meare.

“Good morning, Miss Morrow! We missed you at breakfast!”

Nera prayed she was not wearing any crumbs as she told the viscount that she had not been hungry. “I was in the mood for a walk,” she confessed.

“How did you enjoy the ride yesterday?” he asked.

“It was wonderful! Thank you so much for the use of Belle!” This she could reply to sincerely, because she had been very pleased with the mare.

“I am glad you enjoyed your ride and were pleased with Belle. I have a farm in Lincolnshire where I breed my own horses.”

“That is what I have been told. I find it odd that a titled gentleman such as yourself engages in actual work. You do physical work on your farm, do you not?”

“Indeed, I do, when I am not in London managing funds and doing the pretty for my mother’s sake.”

“You prefer the country?” Singular.

“Indeed, I do,” he repeated with a boyish grin. “You must not have met many noblemen, Miss Morrow, to have such a limited view of us. We are not all idle wastrels.”

“I never said you were.”

“You did not have to. Your face gives you away.”

“My face?”

“Every emotion you feel, every thought you have flits across your features for the veriest second.”

“Prove it!” she cried, alarmed that she could be read so easily.

“You think I am good for nothing but gracing Almack’s with my presence,” he said with a smug smile. “Or, barring that, indulging in such a dissipated lifestyle, I have little use for an honest day’s work.”

Nera gasped. It was as if he had Aunt Muriel’s talent for reading minds. Yet he said he got his information from her face.

He shot her a triumphant look. “I assure you, Miss Morrow, I am not such a frippery fellow as all that.”

“So I see.”

“Excellent! I could not rest easy if you thought me a profligate. What have you planned for the day?”

“Miss Wilkes has offered to give me lessons in the waltz.”

“You do not know the steps?”

“I have not yet been in a situation to learn them, my lord. My family and I live a quiet existence in a sleepy village, except those times when my aunt’s services are required by some family or other. Even then we are not exactly honored guests. We are more like…”

“Rat catchers? He suggested in her pause.

Nera laughed in spite of herself. “A rather apt description. We come in, solve a problem and then leave.” She doubted the spirits would appreciate being called rats, but it was definitely similar.

“About those dance lessons,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Shall we go find my cousin together? I wonder how she planned to teach you without music, or without a partner should she play for you. Does your sister know the steps?”

“She is as ignorant of them as I.”

“Very well, then, she should be included in the instruction.” He called to the colonel and Bianca, and asked them all to follow him across the lawn to a series of terraced French windows.

“The ballroom,” he announced, throwing open a set of doors at one end of the terrace. Miss Wilkes looked up from the pianoforte with a smile.

“Rand! Drew! How perfect!”

“We are here to offer ourselves as partners,” the viscount told her.

“I looked for you earlier to ask if you would oblige me in this, but it does not signify now that you are here. Will you walk the ladies through this first, without music?” she requested.

“I would be happy to,” her brother agreed. “Will you partner me, Miss Bianca?”

Nera’s eyes flashed. This was not how it was supposed to happen! But her sister agreed with alacrity, leaving Nera to the viscount. Perhaps his lordship might become jealous. That might work. With a lighter heart, she curtsied to Lord Meare as he bowed. However, when he put a hand on her waist, she jumped and turned a rosy red.

“I am not so certain this is correct, my lord.” She had heard this dance was scandalous, but she never knew why. Now she did. The gentleman actually held the lady while they danced! Across the way, Bianca was blushing, too, but she did not attempt to remove the colonel’s hand. Nera hoped the viscount saw it.

“Now, Miss Morrow, we put your hand on my shoulder.”

Nera could not believe the gentleman would stand this close, and she tried to look anywhere but at his face. Unfortunately, looking down only brought the rest of his body into view, and her thoughts were as scandalous as this dance. She averted her eyes sideways and concentrated on her sister’s efforts.

“Look at me, Miss Morrow,” Lord Meare commanded, and her eyes flew back to his face.

“You must put your other hand in mine,” he instructed, humor gleaming in his dark eyes.

“Yes, my lord,” she agreed, although she was still looking at his face and could not have said when her hand joined with his.

“Very good. Now, I am going to count and lead you around the room, and you follow. One, two, three; one, two three…” he said.

Nera looked down and watched his feet for a moment, and it occurred to her that her opposite feet must move in the same pattern. She faltered, but his hand on her waist supported her, and she was kindly instructed to start over.

“I am sorry,” she tried to apologize, but he readily excused her.

“It takes some practice not only to master the steps, but to become used to being held by a gentleman.”

“Yes, it does take some getting used to.”

“Am I upsetting you, Miss Morrow?”

“N-n-no, my lord.” Not in the way he meant, at least. How did you tell a gentleman that you were beginning to enjoy the physical contact? You did not. Or you did and were labeled a wanton, or worse.

“Ah, I see you are comprehending the steps,” he said, causing her to look down and trip over her own feet. “Do not look down,” he suggested. “Look up here. You will learn not to concentrate on your feet so that you may converse with your partner.”

“People talk while they do this?” she wondered.

He chuckled. “Yes, they do. You will understand once you have practiced more. Cousin Tamara?” he called. “Are we ready to add music?”

She nodded. “Miss Bianca is doing very well, indeed, and Miss Morrow might find it easier to put the steps to a rhythm.” Miss Wilkes turned to the pianoforte keys and struck up a tune in three-quarter time.

Nera paused for a moment, got the timing into her head and looked into the viscount’s eyes.

“I am here to support you,” he assured her, and she recalled that he could read her face.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“It is my pleasure.”

After a half hour or so of being propelled around the ballroom, Nera was more than in agreement when the viscount called a halt. As if on cue, a servant came in with a tray of lemonade, and they all surged forward gratefully for the cool drink.

That was when Nera got a good look at her surroundings. They were in the ballroom of her vision, and she almost dropped her glass in surprise.

“Are you feeling quite the thing, Miss Morrow?” Lord Meare asked solicitously, leading her over to a small gilt chair.

“I… I am fine, my lord,” she assured him. “I was just startled by a thought, was all.”

Bianca, taking a seat next to her, patted her hand, even though she did not know of this specific vision. She was, however, used to her sister getting these odd expressions on her face. Was she that transparent to everyone? The thought was sobering.

Yes, this was the same ballroom – sans people and lit candles, of course. The same polished wood floor, the same gods and goddesses on the ceiling, the same mauve velvet curtains. It was very odd to see the same room as in her dream, but not the same.

“Your mother’s ball is at the end of her party?” she asked faintly.

“Plenty of time to practice the waltz before then,” the colonel said jovially.

“Yes, there is,” she murmured, although that was not at all what she was thinking.

“We shall be right here to support you,” the viscount said, just as he had said during the dance.

“Yes, thank you,” was her weak reply. And she noticed that he had never once appeared to be jealous of his cousin’s attentions to her sister. She was going to have to work on that.

Chapter 11

After dinner that evening, and when the gentlemen had joined the ladies in the drawing room, Nera found herself sitting once more with the delightful Wilkes ladies. Miss Wilkes, speaking of her upcoming season in London, suddenly mentioned Aunt Muriel.

“I do wish we could see a demonstration of her talents. Mama says it is quite droll the way Mrs. Abernathy reads minds.”

“You would not wish her to delve too deeply,” Nera warned. She was not quite certain this was a good idea, but the young lady seemed intent on it. Not surprisingly, Aunt Muriel raised her head and looked over at them, smiling.

“It seems you have your wish, Miss Wilkes,” Nera noted, indicating her aunt. “And Aunt Muriel’s attention.”

Miss Wilkes was clearly delighted, and she went to approach not Aunt Muriel, as Nera expected, but Lady Sandwell. A whispered conversation ensued, the two looked over at Aunt Muriel, who nodded, and then the would-be countess rose from her sofa and clapped her hands sharply to gain the company’s attention.

“I hope everyone is prepared for tonight’s parlor game,” she said. “Because Mrs. Abernathy has agreed to read minds.”

There was some murmured grumbling from the gentlemen about this, but Aunt Muriel assured everyone that they were not to be read if they did not wish it.

“As this was your idea, Miss Wilkes, perhaps you will be first?” she suggested.

“Yes, please!” Miss Wilkes approached Nera’s aunt. “What must I do, Mrs. Abernathy?”

“I want you to concentrate on something. Anything, but do not allow your mind to jump about like a hare,” she instructed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nera smiled as she watched the other girl close her eyes and furrow her brow. Such earnest concentration was not necessary for her aunt to gather Miss Wilkes’ thoughts, although the young lady seemed to think it was required.

“I am certain, Miss Wilkes, that your season in town will be amusing.” Aunt Muriel patted the girl’s pink cheek even as Miss Wilkes’ eyes flew open wide in amazement. “You are pretty and sweet, and the gentlemen will find you interesting.”

“Was that what you were thinking, Tamara?” the colonel asked.

“Oh, yes!” she breathlessly replied. “That was it exactly! You have an incredible talent, Mrs. Abernathy!”

“I do my best,” Aunt Muriel modestly replied. “Is there anyone else here who wishes to play?”

“I do not believe you actually read minds!” Miss Cranston exclaimed. Her mother tried to hush her, but when the young lady saw Lord Meare’s equally skeptic expression, she threw off Lady Cranston’s hand and got to her feet. “It is impossible to read minds, Mrs. Abernathy. There are others present, I believe, who also think you a charlatan.”

“How do you explain her accurate reading of my thoughts?” Miss Wilkes demanded.

“Oh, pooh! Every young lady thinks of her season at this time of year! That was easy to guess.”

“Perhaps you should put my aunt to the test, Miss Cranston, before you denounce her so loudly. Miss Wilkes could have been thinking of pink ponies and my aunt would have said she was thinking of pink ponies,” Nera said.

“You would champion your aunt, naturally,” Miss Cranston sneered. “But then, I have been informed that your entire family is involved in such trickery, going about the country taking money under false pretenses.”

“Then you have been informed incorrectly, Miss Cranston,” Nera replied, ignoring the gasps that had arisen from several of the company. “It is true my aunt accepts a small stipend to cover expenses, but we do not accept money falsely and we use our talents to help others. Especially those who have died and are unable or unwilling to cross over. It may appear we are assisting the living, but I assure you, we are more respectful of the dead.” Especially considering the attitudes of some of their clients.

“I admit that while Mrs. Abernathy does have an uncanny knack for correctly guessing what people might be thinking, surely it is only a parlor trick,” Lady Sandwell insisted.

“Perhaps you should bring to mind the most ridiculous things you can,” Nera calmly suggested to both Lady Sandwell and Miss Cranston, “and see how accurate Aunt Muriel can be?”

“I say we all picture the silliest things,” Lord Meare interjected. “The more people, the better proof that Mrs. Abernathy is what she claims she is, or not.”

“I have no problem with that, my lord,” Aunt Muriel placidly replied.

Nera and her sister exchanged smug glances. They knew their aunt’s talent was real.

“Very well, then. We will start with Lord Sandwell and move about the room,” said Lord Meare. “When Mrs. Abernathy and I stand before you, you must think of something ridiculous, and she will tell you what you imagine. My cousin, Colonel Wilkes, will keep a written tally of Mrs. Abernathy’s accuracies.”

Everyone agreed to this test of the lady’s abilities, reluctantly or not, and Nera watched as Aunt Muriel rose gracefully and approached Lord Sandwell.

“His lordship is being very easy to read,” she told the company.

That gentleman paled slightly and Nera felt sorry for him. This situation should never have gone this far, and she was ashamed to admit she had contributed to it. If only Miss Cranston had not opened her mouth.

“I am certain you will find time to plant the north field before you move to London for the season,” Aunt Muriel kindly assured the earl. “And I wish you a good harvest, as well.”

From the look of surprise on Lord Sandwell’s face, Aunt Muriel had most accurately read his thoughts.

“One for Mrs. Abernathy,” the colonel noted, having seated himself at a writing desk, and secured pen, ink and paper.

“But it was not silly!” Miss Cranston protested.

“That does not matter, if she is correct,” Lord Meare said.

Lord Cranston was next.

“Goats do not wear flowered straw hats, sir,” Aunt Muriel said to him with a grin. “He would have knocked it off ages ago and devoured it.”

“By Jove, that is exactly what I imagined!” Lord Cranston exclaimed, before his wife scowled at him for being overly enthusiastic. Lady Sandwell also frowned. “That is, it is close enough,” he prevaricated under the glare of those two ladies.

“Two for two, Mrs. Abernathy,” the colonel complimented her.

Aunt Muriel dimpled. “Thank you, sir. He has always been such a nice, polite young man,” she noted to his mother.

“I have always thought so,” Mrs. Wilkes agreed.

“Now you, Lady Cranston…” Aunt Muriel continued, and suddenly laughed aloud. “I am certain that is your fondest wish, my lady, but I truly cannot see it happening.”

Lady Cranston turned red.

“What was your thought, my lady?” Lord Meare wondered.

“I would not ask so much of her, my lord,” Aunt Muriel said kindly, even though Nera thought the lady did not deserve such consideration. “It is quite personal. However, I am correct, as far as you know?”

Lady Cranston nodded.

Nera wondered if Lady Cranston’s thoughts centered around her daughter and Lord Meare, but Aunt Muriel followed a specific code of ethics and she would not reveal that, even if it were so.

Her aunt turned to the viscount and smiled. “Yes, it would seem my talent is for real.” He blanched and she laughed and patted his arm. “You need to learn to shield. Is there anyone else who wishes proof?”

Miss Cranston, even seeing her main ally changing his mind, foolishly did not wish to give the matter a rest. “I still do not believe.”

“You truly should,” her mother said. “She knows exactly what we are thinking.”

“Then what am I thinking at this very moment, Mrs. Abernathy?” the young lady challenged.

“That I am a trickster who should be hanged for fraud.”

Everyone gasped, even Lady Sandwell. It was a very rude thing for the young lady to even consider.

“That is not what I am thinking,” Miss Cranston said with an evil grin.

“I beg your pardon,” Aunt Muriel replied. “It is what you are thinking, then, when you are not plotting ways to rout Miss Thompson and also get Lord Meare into a compromising situation.”

The color drained from Miss Cranston’s face. “How dare you!” she cried. “You just want me out of the way so you may further your niece’s cause with the viscount!”

“My niece is not in competition with you,” Aunt Muriel said sadly, as if she wished Nera had thrown her cap at the man.

Drew heard Mrs. Abernathy and Miss Cranston snipe at each other, but after mention of Mrs. Abernathy’s niece, he looked at Miss Morrow and was distracted by her demeanor. She was so calm in all this tempest, something even Miss Thompson had not managed do, as that young lady was bouncing up and down in her seat, eager to enter the fray. Calm, yes, but also loyal, and quick to defend her beliefs. Why else come to her aunt’s rescue earlier?

Drew was beginning to wonder at Miss Cranston’s mental stability, the way she frequently flew into rages. Surely his mother could see the lady was unsuitable to be the next Lady Meare? Even if Drew liked her, which he did not, she showed a meanness of spirit he could not admire. It was quite a contrast to Miss Morrow, and he wished his mother could see it as well as he.

“Your thoughts do you credit, my lord,” Mrs. Abernathy said softly, suddenly at his side. No one appeared to be paying them any attention; the debate over Mrs. Abernathy’s talent was being politely discussed in smaller groups. Miss Morrow had wisely distanced herself from Miss Cranston and had moved over to sit with his Wilkes cousins.

“I do not doubt your talent, Mrs. Abernathy…”

“It is a good first step towards acceptance of other ones, you know.”

He stiffened. “I would not be so sure of that.”

“I am. I have seen it before, even in my own dear, late husband. And it might interest you to know that my sister had the same gift that my niece now possesses.”

“I do not see how that affects me.”

“Do you not?” she asked, and moved on.

Drew shook his head, thinking he would never fully understand females as long as he lived. Some of them, at any rate. Miss Cranston, for instance, was easily figured for a young lady who would stop at nothing to become a countess. Miss Thompson seemed cut, for the moment, from the same cloth. He knew from long experience how to handle them, and dismissed them from his thoughts.

It was Miss Morrow who puzzled and intrigued him. She had already assured him both in word and deed that she was not romantically interested in him. So why did that not make him happy? Aft