Laurie Brown (4 page)

“But it goes with the outfit,” Emma sputtered.

“I can’t wear that...that thing,” Josie said, staring at the ornate concoction of silk, feathers, and ribbons. Hats made her
claustrophobic, panicky. She didn’t want to explain that particular neurosis and its antecedents in the riding accident that
had left her in a body cast and her head in traction for most of the year she was thirteen.“My head sweats,”she explained.

“Horses sweat, men perspire, ladies glow,” Amelia said, chastising Josie’s word selection.

“With that on my head, I’d glow like a neon sign in the rain.” The determined arbiter of Regency fashion didn’t relent. Josie
tried another tack.“Hats give me a headache.”

“Well, unmarried women were not required to wear a cap indoors during the day. However in the evening, in order to be proper,
you must wear something on your head.”Amelia took the turban, and yanked off the ribbons and the white egret feathers. She
found a needle and thread in a side drawer of the dressing table, fashioned the bits and pieces into a hair ornament, and
attached her creation to a comb.“We can sweep one side of your hair back and anchor it with this.”

After all Amelia’s work and the destruction of the original hat, Josie felt obligated to cooperate. When she again stood in
front of the mirror, she had to agree with the other women.The hair ornament was just the touch her outfit needed. Josie moved
her head from side to side.The fancy comb didn’t restrict her freedom and therefore didn’t cause any claustrophobic panic.

Emma helped Josie pull on long gloves that reached above her elbows and fastened the tiny pearl buttons at her wrists.Then
the maid held up the fringed shawl. Josie eyed the large red and pink peonies in the pattern and shook her head.“I never wear
those colors. Not with my hair.”

“Nonsense,” Amelia said. “This will perk up your complexion.” She nodded to Emma who then draped the shawl over Josie’s shoulders.

Josie turned to the mirror and, to her surprise, saw that the color did flatter her. She rubbed the luxurious fabric.

“Wool challis,”Amelia said.“Quite handy in a castle where drafts seem to come from nowhere.” Another nod to Emma produced
a flat box. “And now for a touch of elegance.” She revealed a magnificent necklace of luminescent pearls accented by tiny
diamonds.Also nestled in the back velvet lining were the matching bracelet and earrings. “We call this parure the Young Queen’s
Pearls because they were a wedding gift from Victoria to my great-great-grandmother, who was one of her ladies-in-waiting.”

Josie stepped back. “I couldn’t...”

“Of course you can. I’m only lending them for the evening, not giving them to you.”

“But what if something happens to them?”

Amelia clucked her tongue. “Don’t be such a Nervous Nellie. Sometimes you just have to relax and enjoy the moment.” She fastened
the necklace around Josie’s neck and stepped back to admire her handiwork.“Lovely.”

Emma added the bracelet and earrings and handed Josie a beaded reticule and a fan painted with violets.

“I do believe we’re ready.”

Josie jammed a small notebook and stub of a pencil next to the lacy handkerchief and tiny vial of smelling salts in the reticule
dangling from her wrist. The assembly gong sounded, the signal to begin round two with the ghost.Deverell would be waiting
for her—for them—at the bottom of the grand staircase.

Deverell paced the wide foyer, unseen and unheard by the servants in the dining room.As he’d predicted, Amelia’s fear of revolt
was unfounded. The servants appeared invigorated by the change in routine, except for one whiner. He entertained the notion
of a quick materialization to scare the drudge witless, but he dismissed it as unworthy. Bad enough that, in his concern for
Amelia, he’d eavesdropped on servants. He suppressed a shudder.

The toll for his years of inattention to his duty was not pleasant, but then what else could he expect of a penance? Today
he had taken the initial step to rectify the financial situation in a manner that would free him again to concentrate on his
assigned task. Tonight would be the first test for Miss Drummond. Could she learn everything she would need to know in time?
Would she honor her agreement when she learned the truth?

No, he refused to think about that just yet.

He tugged on the sleeve of his impeccably tailored evening coat. Although dematerialized, he retained a sense of himself,
knowledge of his being. For the first time, he wondered why. He had always accepted his existence without questioning it.
If he needed something, he concentrated his thoughts, and it appeared or happened or whatever.Over the years he had learned
a few limitations and many shortcuts to conserve his energy.Yet he had never thought about why or how, until now. Until Josie
and her insatiable curiosity.

Deverell shook his head. She would be disappointed. He had no answers to far-reaching metaphysical questions on the meaning
of life. How soon would she realize that she had made a bad bargain? Surely he knew something she would find interesting.
He could stretch out his small store of facts. Requiring Josie to ask specific questions would delay the inevitable, as would
limiting their time together. Unexpectedly, the latter held little appeal.

Waiting for a desirable dinner partner made him feel like an eager young buck, and he had not experienced anticipation in
many years.That wasn’t good.This wasn’t a social event, and he certainly was not a young man. He had best remember that, regardless
of how she made him feel.

He materialized when Josie appeared at the top of the grand stairway, and he quickly realized that his resolution to limit
their time together would be easier made than kept. He’d known that the fashions of his time would suit her petite figure
and gamine, impish haircut. The blue of her dress accented her eyes and complimented her auburn curls. She was an original.At
least that’s what they’d called a singularly beautiful woman when he was alive.

Suddenly Deverell felt the weight of his years, his eternal burden. He could damn the curse of his existence, but he would
never let Josie know the agony she caused him.

“Don’t look at your feet,” he growled up at her, his voice louder than he’d intended.

Josie let out a squeak of surprise and, missing a step, tripped on the hem of her gown. She grabbed for the banister, but
her beaded reticule caught in the fringe of her shawl, shortening her reach. She couldn’t grasp the railing.

Josie had only a vision of herself landing in an undignified heap on the marble floor. There went her plan of making it through
the evening with cool scientific detachment. Dropping her fan, she twisted her body and groped for the banister with her right
hand. She windmilled her other arm in the air as she tried to regain her balance and free herself from the demonic shawl that
had gained a life of its own. She heard a woman scream, but she didn’t know whether it was she herself or Amelia.

Suddenly she felt strong hands on her waist, lifting her back to the top step. She looked downstairs, but Deverell had disappeared.
The servants rushed out of the dining room.Amelia quickly made up a story about a furry rodent to cover the shriek, but Josie
paid little attention. She sensed Deverell’s presence beside her.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered in her ear.

His deep husky voice sent a tremor down her spine.

“Don’t do that,” she hissed from behind the cover of her hand.

“Don’t what? Don’t rescue you from falling?”

She dismissed her racing heartbeat as the aftereffect of fear. He’d scared her, nearly killed her, and now, he was trying
to make her feel guilty for not being grateful.

“I heard a man,”Vivian said from the bottom of the stairway. She planted her fists on her ample hips. “He yelled,
Don’t cook a poor meat
. I heard it clearly.” She peered around the foyer, as if someone might be hiding in the suit of armor or preparing to jump
out of the large Chinese urn.

Amelia managed a lilting laugh that sounded only slightly forced. “You must be mistaken,” she said as she descended the stairs
with regal grace.

“Why would anyone say something so silly?”

“I know what I heard,”Vivian said, raising her chin to a mutinous angle.

“If you’ve been nipping at the sherry...” Amelia let the implied warning linger in the tense air.

Vivian drew a deep breath as if to continue the argument, then merely harrumphed loudly before stomping back to the dining
room.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Amelia motioned Josie into the library with a conspiratorial air.

“That was a close one,” the older woman sighed as she closed the door to the library and leaned against it, her hand over
her heart. “For a minute there I thought Vivian had caught him.” Amelia walked to an elaborate cabinet and removed a crystal
decanter. “Speaking of sherry, I believe I’ll have a nip. Josie?”

“No, thank you. I don’t understand.The servants know there’s a ghost.”

“They don’t think he’s real,” Amelia explained. “Oh,they repeat the stories over a pint at the pub,but I’ve learned from experience
that servants will accept working for an eccentric, but employment in a real haunted house is a different kettle of fish altogether.”

“But they know I’m here to certify the ghost’s existence.”

“Pish-tosh. Most of them think you’re humoring me for the sake of your fee. A few think you’re crazy, too. If they don’t actually
see or hear him, they can choose not to believe in him.”

Josie rubbed her temples. In front of the servants, she should pretend to be humoring a crazy old lady. In reality, the ghost
would be teaching her etiquette so he could take her back in time to attend a séance and debunk a gypsy seer. Oh, yeah. She
understood. Perfectly.

“What she means...” Deverell said, suddenly appearing, seated in one of the leather chairs.

“Don’t do that!” Josie said.

“So you said earlier. I am unclear as to your meaning.”

Was Deverell being purposely obtuse in order to irritate her? Josie refused to let him see he’d succeeded. “I mean don’t materialize
without some sort of warning. Amelia may be used to you popping in and out, but I’m not.”

Deverell leaned back and regarded her with a grin. “What do you suggest? Shall I rattle some chains or rap three times on
the ceiling?”

Josie rewarded his teasing with a quelling look. “I was thinking more along the lines of moaning in eternal pain,” she said
with a false, sweet smile.

“Nonsense. Both of you,” Amelia said, breaking the tension. “That will scare the servants. You’ll have to come up with something
silent.” Her expectant gaze fell on Josie.

Struggling to come up with an idea, Josie cleared her throat.“Well, earlier, I sort of felt a tingle of awareness at Deverell’s
presence.” Josie couldn’t, didn’t want to, look at the ghost as she tried to explain.“If he could project that, it should
provide enough warning so he won’t startle me into falling down the stairs at least.”

“Do you mean like this,” he said, stretching out his hand as if he expected her to take it.

Josie felt a connection to him, felt a warm curl of response to his magnetism, felt the need to grasp his hand and draw him
closer. Instead, she pushed herself away, instinctively holding up her hands in front of her as a shield.“No,” she said, shaking
her head. Her voice didn’t quiver like her insides, but she knew a plea for mercy was in her eyes.

Deverell nodded as if he understood and agreed to comply with her unspoken request.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Amelia said, cheerful as ever and apparently oblivious to the tension in the room. “Dinner
is nearly ready, and we should begin your lessons.”

Josie wasn’t sure how much of this lecture she’d remember. Her head was still spinning, but she dutifully opened her notebook.

Three

"B EFORE THE BUTLER ANNOUNCES DINNER,” Amelia said, her tone revealing her experience as a history teacher, “the hostess matches
up the dinner partners. She provides introductions, if necessary, and she often suggests a topic of conversation of mutual
interest.”

“Josie will not be called upon to act as hostess,” Deverell interjected.

“Of course not, dear. But she should have an appreciation of the magnitude of your mother’s responsibilities.”When he offered
no further argument, she continued. “The hostess lines up the guests for the promenade into the dining room in order of precedence.”

Josie made a note to relocate the table of precedence in the book she’d glanced at earlier. She was comfortable in the role
of student and was confident she would excel and maybe even surprise Deverell.

Besides, she hadn’t been raised in a barn. She knew which fork to use.They wouldn’t have to tell her not to drink from the
finger bowl.

“The host leads the procession with the highest-ranking woman on his arm. The hostess is last in line, escorted by the highest-ranking
man. All the other pairs of guests range in between with any extra unescorted guests left to follow behind. Of course the
goal is to have an even number of male and female guests so as to have everyone paired with a dinner partner of the opposite
sex.”

“Top to bottom, bottom to top,” Josie said.“I’ve got it.”

Deverell snorted and rolled his eyes.

Amelia giggled. “That would pair the second highest female with the lowest male. Hardly appropriate. Perhaps it would help
to envision them at the table.” She borrowed Josie’s pen and paper and drew a diagram.“Fourteen was considered the ideal number
to seat at a table.The highest-ranking woman is to the right of the host, the second-highest woman on his left.The highest-ranking
man is to the left of the hostess, the second-highest man on her right. That puts the third man to the left of the second
woman, making them partners. The third woman sits to the right of the second man, making them partners.”

“I see a pattern,” Josie said as Amelia drew little boxes for chairs and labeled them. “Sort of like giving each rank a number
that corresponds to a particular chair.”

“If only it were that easy. Suppose the third woman is married to the second man. They can’t be seated next to each other.
The point of going out to dinner is to converse with someone other than your spouse.”

Deverell leaned forward. “Add to that, who sat next to whom at your last dinner party, and who was paired with whom by some
other hostess the previous evening.”

“Then there are likes and dislikes,” Amelia said. “And personalities.You wouldn’t partner an avid bluestocking...”

“I would not invite an avid bluestocking,” he said.

“... with Deverell,”Amelia finished, as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “A guest would never say anything rude to upset the
hostess, but a reputation can be shattered.”

“I remember a particular incident,” Deverell said with a wicked grin. “I can’t recall her name, but a duchess was seated next
to a man she absolutely loathed. When the table turned, requiring her to speak to him, she recited the multiplication tables
rather than cause a scene. She vowed never to attend another dinner party given by that hostess.”

“Oh, dear. I do hope it wasn’t your mother,” Amelia said.

Deverell laughed.“No. Mother had a plethora of poor relatives with decent titles who lived nearby and who could spout inane
dinner chatter at the drop of a fork. Fortunately for her, they also had enormous appetites and were always eager to fill
out a table of fourteen on short notice.”

Josie scribbled furiously. “Wait a minute.” She held up one finger while she flipped back through her notebook pages. “You
said something about a table I didn’t understand.”

“You don’t know what the multiplication tables are?” Deverell asked with mock horror.

Josie spared him a quick, scathing glance as she flipped through her notes.“Here it is.You said
when
the table turned
. What’s that?” She had a fleeting image of a dining room table built like a lazy Susan. Conversational spin the bottle.

“When a hostess speaks to the man on her left, each female guest speaks to the man on her left,” Amelia said.“The hostess
turns the table by speaking to the man on her right. Each woman follows her lead and speaks to the man on her right.”

Josie liked her own explanation better.At least it sounded like more fun. She shook her head and returned to drawing and redrawing
lines on Amelia’s diagram.This was harder than it appeared. A Regency hostess must have felt as if her social standing depended
on putting together a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded and wearing heavy work gloves.

Josie tossed the notebook onto the table. She hadn’t figured out the first problem with the married couple, never mind the
feuding duchess. It hurt to admit defeat. Especially since her intellect was the one area of her life where she’d always felt
confident. She folded her arms and slumped back in the seat. “I’ll never get this.”

Deverell raised one eyebrow.“Giving up already?”

Josie wanted to stick her tongue out at him.

“Don’t be discouraged, dear. As Deverell said, you’ll never need to act as hostess.Truly, you’ll do just fine. Simply pay
attention to Deverell’s mother and follow her lead.”

Amelia’s sympathetic tone and expression only deepened Josie’s depression.

Deverell sat back with an insincere smile. “I quote your President Roosevelt, ‘If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on
the porch.’”

Drat his superior attitude.How Josie would love to take him down a peg or two. “I do believe the correct quote is ‘If you
can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen,’” she said.

“Other than wordage, is there a difference?”

The man didn’t know when to stop. He was asking for a set down. Josie sat up straighter and assumed a nonchalant pose. “Are
you claiming the difference between right and wrong is simply a choice of words? Is accuracy a matter of semantics?”

“I see that modern women, just like the women of my time, take a man’s words and twist them to their liking.”

Josie knew she had won the first point in this round when Deverell had been reduced to gender bashing to form a response.
He nodded his acknowledgment of her triumphant smile.

Pushing aside a dangerous glow of pleasure, Josie reminded herself of her reasons for cooperating with the ghost in the first
place. She’d already wasted half the evening.

Lost in her thoughts, she followed Amelia into the dining room. Josie realized that Deverell had maneuvered her into taking
up the gauntlet, manipulated her into accepting his challenge.

One point for Deverell in round two. Although he was unseen, she knew he was near. Just as she knew he wore a triumphant grin.
She nodded graciously in recognition of his point. The score was now tied, but the evening was still young.

“As you can see, dining
à la Russe
was the style,” Amelia said as they entered the dining room and were seated across from each other near the head of the table.

The footman, in actuality the gardener’s nephew George, who had been pressed into service and who had received a crash course
in his new duties, nervously placed the napkins in the ladies’ laps and served the soup and wine.

“I think we can dispense with the usual practice of the footmen standing in attendance in case a dinner guest should need
anything.” Amelia dismissed George with a reminder that she would ring the bell when she was ready for him to return.

George backed out, his oh-so-serious expression spoiled by a last minute grab to keep his white wig in place.

Josie breathed silent thanks that she wouldn’t have yet another witness to her first efforts using the awkward-looking two-pronged
forks and huge spoons. No wonder the napkins were so large.

“All the dishes are on the table when the guests enter the dining room.What we would consider a complete meal from soup to
nuts was presented simultaneously, savory and sweet together. This course would then be followed by two or more removes, so
called because every dish, and even the tablecloth,was removed and replaced by fresh linen and more dishes.”

“There are a lot of dishes,” Josie said, looking down the long table that would comfortably seat a football team. Every square
inch of the center was filled with a compote, tureen, salver, server, tray, or dish of some sort.

Amelia laughed. “Tonight they’re empty, placed on the table only for effect. At a gala party there would be so many dishes
and huge elaborate centerpieces that you could hardly see the people seated across the table. Of course that wouldn’t have
been a problem then because it was considered rude to speak across the board.”

Deverell appeared, but Josie had no chance to comment on his sudden materialization because Amelia immediately welcomed him.

“Please accept my apologies. I was unforgivably remiss earlier in not mentioning how ravishing you both look,” he said with
a graceful bow.“A stunning tribute to womanhood.”

Amelia thanked him for the lavish compliment. Josie tipped her head graciously, unable to trust her voice. She gripped her
hands tightly together in her lap and fought the glow his words ignited within her.“So, tell me, Lord Waite, exactly when,
and how, did you realize you were dead?”

Amelia gasped.“Really, dear. Deverell’s demise is hardly an appropriate topic. In the Regency, conversation was considered
an art form, and masters of witty repartee were desirable guests.”

“And double
entrendres
, the more risqué the better, were also appreciated,” Deverell added with a chuckle.

Amelia appeared to ignore him.“Guests came to the table prepared to discuss several matters of general interest to those present.
Topics might range from the weather...”

“Unimaginative,” Deverell interjected with a dismissive gesture.

“To the latest acceptable literature....”

He stifled a fake yawn.

“To the progress of the war with Napoleon,” Amelia finished.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Josie said,“but ghosts are one of the few subjects we have in common.”

“We have your lessons.There is much for you to learn.” Amelia demonstrated how a woman exposed her hands for eating without
removing her long gloves. She undid the tiny pearl buttons, slid her hand free, and tucked the fingers of the glove under
the material at the back of her wrist.

Josie mimicked her mentor’s actions with considerably less dexterity and grace. She frowned at the misshapen lumps and pushed
and poked at the excess material,but it would not lie flat and smooth the way Amelia’s did. Practice was obviously necessary.

“I am not offended by Miss Drummond’s curiosity,” Deverell said, stopping by the sideboard to pour himself a drink before
finding his chair at the head of the table on Amelia’s left. “I have, after all, pledged to answer her questions to the best
of my knowledge.”

Josie could only wonder why he found his own comment amusing.“I see you drink.Do you eat solid food?” she asked, indicating
the plate set at his place.

“I can, if I am fully materialized and wish to do so. There are only a few dishes worth the effort. I do enjoy my tea and
my brandy,” he said, raising the snifter in salute.

“What about...” Josie stopped herself. She didn’t want to cause Amelia to faint by asking him about going to the bathroom.

“Not necessary.”

Deverell answered her unasked question as if he had read it in the tell-the-whole-world-what-I’m-thinking blush she’d always
hated.

“When I return to my normal dematerialized state, anything I have ingested dissipates.”

Josie could tell from the twinkle in his eye that he enjoyed putting her on the spot. Yet she couldn’t think of a witty comeback
when he smiled that devastating grin. Her insides performed gymnastic flips that would have earned tens from an Olympic judge.

“As to my demise...”

“Deverell! This is not...”

“It’s quite all right,Amelia.You wouldn’t have me go back on my word as a gentleman, would you?”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps later,” Josie suggested in deference to Amelia’s pained expression.

“No sense putting it off. My memory of the incident is a bit fuzzy, but to the best of my recollection I had the misfortune
to have my pistol misfire during a duel.The affronted husband defending his wife’s honor aimed for my...leg, and he managed
to plant a bullet directly in my heart.Wingate always was a dreadful shot.”

“You don’t seem bitter.”

“It happened a very long time ago. Oh, I railed at the perceived injustice at first. After all, I had never touched his wife,much
to her dismay. My particular code of ethics, lax though it may have been, did not include tupping the wives of my friends.”

Amelia choked and coughed to hide a little moan of dismay.

Josie was not fooled by Amelia’s cover-up or by Deverell’s attempt to shock. “Quite noble of you, I’m sure.”

“Dining lasted several hours and was considered an entertainment as well as a meal, thus the elaborate presentations,” Amelia
said.

Deverell continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard Josie’s caustic comment or Amelia’s feeble attempt at changing the subject.
“I would have laughed at his challenge and settled the matter over a glass at the club, but poor Wingate challenged me in
the midst of a crowded ballroom. I was forced to defend my honor, if not that of a lady love.”

“You sound more sorry for him than for losing your own life.”

“He was the one shackled to a philandering wife. I had always rather expected to come to a bad end, and I suppose being shot
was no worse and probably better than I deserved. There was only an instant of burning pain, and then I seemed to view the
entire debacle as if floating above the field in a balloon.” He snapped his fingers. “Then blackness.”

“No beckoning light?”

“Nothing but stifling, unrelenting blackness. A void. Emptiness. Even the fires of hell would have provided a welcome diversion.
Believe me, if there had been any sort of light, I would have gone toward it out of sheer boredom.”