An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 1.2.2. Strathmere Ghost

   "Charlotte!" Her tiny aunt came bearing down upon her like Attila the Hun, her horsehair petticoats bristling against the door. "I noticed that your bedroom window was open before we left tonight," she said, holding her blue-veined hand to her heart as she caught her breath.

   Charlotte turned, catching the eye of the curly red-haired young woman standing inside the hall. It  was her cousin Paulina, who had missed the ball due to a wrenched ankle and who was making strange, undecipherable hand signals behind Aunt Penelope's back.

   "It wasn't the bedroom window," Charlotte said slowly. She was struggling to interpret Paulina's gesticulations. "It was the dressing closet, and—"

   "I opened it to give the closet a good airing," Paulina inserted, motioning for Charlotte to be quiet. "The smell of powder and perfume was a bit powerful."

   Aunt Penelope was too busy unbundling her petite frame from a fox-trimmed pelisse to take much notice of this secret pantomime. Well, make sure it is securely closed before we retire. Everyone at the ball tonight was discussing the latest antics of the Strathmere Ghost."

   Paulina's eyes grew round, her attempt to help Charlotte apparently forgotten. "Ooh, and what has our wicked ghostie done now?"

   Aunt Penelope paused for effect, one hand pressed to the onyx buttons at her throat. There was not a woman in the parish, with the possible exception of newcomer Charlotte, who had not avidly followed the life and death of the terribly wicked Viscount Strathmere.

   From his war heroics to his brutal murder in bed almost a month ago, there was little the viscount had done that did not titillate the villagers. His killer had not been caught, but bets were still being laid in the local pub that an irate husband had taken revenge.

   Naturally, a woman had been at his side at the time of his death. In fact, according to rumor, she had not only been at his side but had lain naked beneath him as he was stabbed. And it was her hysterical recounting of the crime, committed by a masked intruder, that had rocked this sleepy village to its soul.

   Aunt Penelope lowered her voice to a rather lurid tone as her husband entered the house. "The handsome devil seduced Miss Carol Rotherbridge as she knelt at her evening prayers last night."

   Uncle Humphrey came to a full stop in the crowded hallway, his brown eyes twinkling in amusement at Charlotte. "I did nothing of the sort. I was here in this house all last night playing cards with my dear niece. Isn't that right, Charlotte? Will you provide my alibi?"

   Charlotte peeled off her lightweight rose wool mantle: she wondered absently when she would see the handsome James Preston, Lord Sinclair again. As they had parted, he'd vowed he couldn't live without her. Chloe had laughed at his romantic nonsense. "I can vouch for you, Uncle Humphrey," she said stoutly, sharing a grin with him over her shoulder. "You did not seduce a single person that I noticed."

   She caught her reflection in the hall-stand looking glass and tried to see herself as James would have done tonight. True, he had danced with her twice, but she couldn't help feeling that his attention might have strayed to another young woman whose hair was lighter than Charlotte's, whose voice was a little sweeter, whose manner was more demure.

   She frowned at herself. Could that be her fatal flaw? Her inability to be . . . demure like other young ladies? Sadly enough, this seemed to be a family trait, and Charlotte wasn't sure she would change it even if she could. She supposed she ought to pretend to be demure to seem more appealing, her sister Lizzie had always advised this, but deep in her heart she really wished to be loved at her absolute worst.

   "And her screams summoned her poor father, who broke a toe trying to rescue her," Aunt Penelope finished, pausing to take a breath from her recitation. "Carol fainted seven times before she could admit what the ghost had done to her."

   Charlotte spun from the mirror, her attention captured. "How do you know the woman wasn't dreaming? And did her father actually see the ghost?"

   Aunt Penelope stared at her with gentle scorn. "Her lips were tingling, Charlotte, from the phantasmal kisses. And no, of course Carol's father didn't see the ghost. I imagine he was in too much pain from his toe to care if he had."

   "Well, what did the ghost do to her?"

   "A decent woman could not repeat his wickedness, Charlotte."

   Charlotte smiled as she handed her scented gloves to the maid. "That's the trouble with this village. Your lives are so lacking in true drama that you make up ghosts seducing women in their sleep. If any of you had any courage, the tiniest bit of daring in you at all, you would have a genuine affair, and—"

   "That will be quite enough of that, Charlotte," her aunt said, her kindly face gone quite pink. "I believe it was your daring nature that got you into trouble in the first place and is exactly why your understandably beleaguered brothers have sent you here to—"

   "Perish of boredom, all my mental faculties shriveled up from lack of stimulation," Charlotte said with a good natured sigh. "Well, it appears to be working. Yesterday I caught myself talking to the ducks in the pond. My only hope for salvation is to be found dead in bed myself, ravished, if I have any luck, by the Strathmere Ghost."

   Her aunt gave a loud groan of chagrin, which prompted Uncle Humphrey to absentmindedly pat her hand while pretending to frown in disapproval at Charlotte. The truth, as her uncle had admitted in private to Chloe, was that he adored her outspoken views and had not enjoyed anyone's company so much in ages. He claimed that Charlotte had done wonders to draw his daughter Paulina out of her lonely shell. He appreciated, or so he said, the unpredictability Charlotte had brought to their home. And Charlotte actually laughed at his jokes, Lord bless her. Her dear uncle was a staunch ally.

   "Perhaps you ought to go to bed, Charlotte," Aunt Penelope said in a tremulous voice. "Fiona can bring up a pot of chocolate if you wish."

   Charlotte headed for the stairs, bearing herself like a heroine in a Greek tragedy. "I don't suppose I could have a pot of sherry instead?"

   Paulina hobbed after her, speaking in an excited whisper. "I'm dying to have another peek inside the two trunks that came for you today. I've never seen so much silk and lace in all my life."

   "Oh." Charlotte paused to glance up the stairwell. "Not that I'm liable to need them in Chistlebury, but I'm glad that my undergarments bring you some measure of enjoyment. Between my drawers and your ghost, this should be year of scandals for your village."

   They continued up the creaking oak stairs in companionable silence until Paulina, apparently inspired to wickedness by her cousin's influence, said, "Plenty of women are praying for that ghost, I reckon. Praying that they're the one he visits tonight and has his otherwordly way with."

   "His otherwordly way?" Charlotte burst into deep laughter at that and veered down the narrow hall to her room. "Heavens, what a thought."

   For Charlotte's part she did not believe in ghosts. At least she hadn't until last week when, from her bedroom window, she had spotted a lone masculine figure standing on the outskirts of the empty Strathmere mansion in the dead of night.

   Was it Strathmere's restless spirit or his human male cousin who had inherited the estate? Strangely the apparition had made her feel more sad than frightened. He had melancholy air, this spirit, if that's what he was. The viscount had been dead just over a fortnight. Charlotte's only experiencec with the man, unsettling enough, had been during her first days here in Sussex.

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