My Lord Ghost

Prologue

They tell a tale fair old

Of the first Lord Hammerswold:

A worthy bride he spurned;

For the wrong woman he yearned.

The wicked wench he wed

Impoverished him, then fled.

His life too soon did end,

His fortunes ne’er to mend.

Now the ghost of Hammerswold

Returns to say full bold

Which bride the heir should seek

If health and wealth he’d keep.

The Countess of Hammerswold reread the bit of doggerel printed on the front of the letter she was writing to her older grandson with a faint smile. That old ballad isn’t much as poetry goes, but it gets the point across.

Actually, NiNi, I think it was the attack Jared had this summer that got the point across. The earl brushed a loving hand across his wife’s creased forehead, smoothing a stray hair away as he had been doing for the last fifty-five years.

It wouldn’t be so desperate a case if Mark would marry, but after that disappointment with Patricia Markham two years ago… The countess sighed in remembrance of her younger grandson’s heartache when the woman he was courting threw him over for a man with a title.

Jared says he’s determined to wed as the ghost advises, the earl reassured her. Where better to seek that advice than Hammerswold on All Hallows’ Eve?

And what better way to give both him and our ghost a choice, than to invite several young ladies to spend a month with us? The countess’s brow smoothed. Her eyes crinkled with joy. I will fill Hammerswold with eligible females—young women of good family and unblemished character. Blondes, of course, for it must be someone who catches Jared’s eye.

If you can get them to come, with Jared’s reputation. It was the earl’s turn to look worried.

Oh, they’ll come, for a chance to be a countess one day. The question is, will the ghost come? He hasn’t seen fit to appear at any of our gatherings arranged for this purpose, for father or for son. There was a faint quaver to her voice as Regina Camden, Countess of Hammerswold, contemplated her older grandson’s long-prolonged bachelor state.

Don’t worry, love. The ghost will appear this time, now that Jared is serious about choosing a wife. Our family’s apparition has never been one to waste his appearances.

Regina smiled. That’s true. Oh, I do so hope…I want to hold our great-grandson in my arms before I die. It was one of her rare acknowledgements of increasing fragility.

You will, love. The earl sat on the bed beside his beloved wife and gathered her in his arms. There will be a ghost this year, he swore to himself, one way or another!

Chapter One

"Oh, my! It quite looks as if it should be haunted," Adelaide Beasley gasped as she peered out the carriage window at Hammerswold.

Juliette Berceau leaned across the seat to join her cousin at the window. It is certainly gloomy enough to satisfy the most Gothic of tastes, she agreed as she caught sight of the massive castle. Though only the oldest portion of the structure was said to hail back to the time of William the Conqueror, additions and renovations from Tudor times until the present had been made in imitation of the style of that ancient keep.

According to the guidebook, it was once the largest castle in the Eden Valley. Three of the four massive curtain walls still stand, forming part of the park enclosure while enhancing the grandeur of the castle. The west walls were destroyed by Cromwell’s armies, and formal gardens stepping down to the abbey were planted in their place, Miss Susan Campbell informed them, looking up from the Patterson’s British Itinerary, her constant companion on any trip.

Only just think, Julie! Ghosts! Adelaide allowed herself a delicious shiver. I declare, I don’t know if I want to join this gathering after all! I think Mama was wrong to send us all by ourselves to a castle that is known to be haunted. She hugged herself apprehensively.

By yourselves! Miss Campbell, their erstwhile governess, now acting as their companion and chaperone, grumbled her objection. I believe I have been insulted! Your mother knows I will take care of you, and after all, it is a notoriously benevolent ghost, Addie.

Adelaide eased back against the cushions. Ye-ess, I suppose. But much as I would like to be a countess someday, I don’t know if I have the courage to face a ghost, be he ever so kindly disposed, to do so.

Next to Miss Campbell, the maid the two girls would share crossed herself and muttered in her native French. A nervous woman in her mid-forties, Marie was never a comfortable traveler. She was particularly unhappy to be journeying to meet a ghost.

Juliette smiled indulgently at her pretty blonde cousin. Though no featherbrain, Adelaide was inclined to be a good deal more superstitious and gullible than Juliette, who was determined to keep the younger girl from being imposed upon. However deliciously haunted the castle looks, and however naughtily the viscount and his friends may try to frighten us, depend upon it, Addie, there is no such thing as a ghost. I only hope—

But her hopes were forgotten as Juliette’s eyes alighted on the enormous ruin that a further turn in the road revealed to them. Vast columns arched toward blue skies. Weathered walls long ago deserted by roof or window braced themselves against the elements.

Oh-h-h, she breathed out in a mixture of awe and reverence. The Abbey of St. Mildryth. It’s…it’s stunning!

Though Adelaide leaned forward again, she wrinkled her dainty nose. It just looks like an enormous pile of rocks to me. But only fancy its being so close to the castle.

Amusement lifted Juliette’s eyebrows. That’s because the castle was originally built on the abbey’s lands, to protect its holdings. How ironic that ultimately it was the owner of the castle who pillaged the abbey. The Camdens have used it as a quarry for centuries. She sighed. Such a waste. Only think what it must have been once, to still be so magnificent today.

Adelaide’s eyes lit up at a sight much more likely to capture her interest than any ruin. A party of riders. They must be coming to greet us. They’re so handsome! Such fine horses! Oh, Julie, we mustn’t be hanging out the coach window like country bumpkins! She abruptly resumed her seat, jostling her cousin in the process, but not before Juliette had also had a chance to appreciate the sight of the line of horses flowing across the autumn-kissed fields and over the stone fences like a large, colorful, sinuous snake.

***

That must be the Beasley chit. That’s the last of them, then. Jared Camden, Viscount Faverill, motioned toward the coach they could see toiling up the winding road to Hammerswold. I hope she is not as plump as that last one. Gad! Grandmama should at least give the family ghost a more palatable set of choices. His florid face heavy with disdain, Jared shifted his bulk in the saddle.

"You are hard to please, Jared. Each of those young ladies is in her own way a piece of blonde perfection. And aren’t there two more expected? Else why did NiNi insist on my being here?" Mark Camden’s irritation at being called from his pressing duties at Faverill Springs to spend a month with Jared and his rackety friends was evident in his voice as he squinted into the afternoon sun.

Y-a-s-s, Jared drawled in a bored tone as he turned back briefly to glance at the distant carriage. Miss Beasley and her cousin. No dowry and scarcely more than passable in looks, I hear!

There you are out, Jared’s friend Victor Makepeace asserted. Miss Beasley is a diamond of the first water! I say, let us ride down and give them a royal welcome. Suiting action to words, he put his spurs to his horse and was followed by Jared’s pack of friends as he galloped eagerly across the field.

Meant the cousin, Jared grumbled. Miss Beasley has a generous dowry. He reluctantly spurred his horse after the others, leaving Mark to follow them disapprovingly with his eyes. They’d been in the field for hours; the horses were lathered and had no business being put to another series of stone fences. He whistled back the equally exhausted gundogs before they could follow the riders.

So NiNi invited a plain, poor cousin, he thought. His curiosity was aroused. Was that for his benefit, to include one young woman who wouldn’t feel she was wasting her time if she had to partner him at dinner or dancing?

But no, likely the poorer the girl, the more determined she would be to snare a rich husband. Mark grinned at his own self-pitying thoughts. It wasn’t as if he lacked for feminine attention. Second in line for the title, he would be of little interest to these marriageable young ladies, but a handsome, virile man was always in favor with married women seeking an escort and, perhaps, a lover once their husbands began to slight their marital duties.

Such companionship had been enough once. But by the age of twenty-five he had grown increasingly dissatisfied with existing on the margins of women’s lives. He had begun to yearn for one who would make him her whole concern. He felt in himself the capacity to be a faithful husband to a faithful wife. Two years ago he had made up his mind to wed. However, his chosen bride, Patricia Markham, had shown him how difficult it would be to find a woman who would be contented with what he could offer her—genteel poverty at the fringes of society.

Observing the riders attain their destination without spilling anyone at the fences, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and turned his horse’s head toward the stable.

***

Look at the state of those horses, Miss Campbell grumbled.

Those young men are very careless with their cattle, Juliette agreed.

Adelaide, however, found no fault with the parade of socially prominent, high-spirited young men who surrounded their carriage and escorted them the rest of the way to Hammerswold. Mr. Makepeace claimed the position by her window, to her obvious delight. He had been a favorite dancing partner during their brief sojourn in London this spring. He was not so wealthy as Viscount Faverill, and his expectation was for a mere barony, but he was attractive and amusing. Juliette knew Addie wouldn’t turn down the chance to be the future Countess of Hammerswold, but if the ghost bestowed his approval on another young woman, she thought Addie might regard Mr. Makepeace as a tolerable second choice.

As for Juliette, she smiled until her jaw ached, rather than let herself be put out of countenance by the poorly disguised disappointment of the man who rode on her side of the carriage.

It was Faverill himself. She was surprised to find a corpulent, florid-faced man, considerably older than she had expected. His blond hair was thinning, and his hazel eyes were bloodshot. His full mouth hinted as much at petulance as sensuality. The viscount was superficially attentive to her, but his eyes constantly darted past her to Adelaide.

Not that she particularly wanted the viscount’s attentions. Faverill’s reputation as a glutton, a rake, and a wastrel was such that she did not hope to catch his eye. In fact, she had been more than a little shocked when her Aunt Lydia and Uncle Ronald, Lord and Lady Paxton, had insisted the girls accept the invitation to spend a month in his company at Hammerswold.

But Aunt, the man is barely received in society in London, she had protested. Surely you cannot want him as a husband for Addie.

It is not that he is not received, my dear, for mark my word, with his title and fortune in the offing, he would be welcomed in most drawing rooms and assemblies. He merely does not wish to attend. And mine is no purely selfish concern. After all, the ghost might choose you. You are both just such women as he is known to favor—morally upright, full of good common sense, and with an even temperament.

Gracious, Aunt Lydia, I hope I am too full of common sense to want such as Viscount Faverill as a husband.

But don’t you see? The ghost always chooses a wife who can reform the heir and make of him a good earl. Now, either you or Adelaide would answer, I expect, and I owe it to you both to give you the chance.

Uncle Ronald harrumphed from the depths of his overstuffed chair. Can’t pass up a chance like that, my girl!

You can’t reform a man who doesn’t want reforming, Juliette responded pertly, biting back a smile and the temptation to glance pointedly at his swollen, gouty leg that was propped on a stool in front of him. Lord Paxton simply could not resist rich foods or generous helpings of port after his meals.

He caught the flash of amusement and shook his finger at her. Naughty minx. Serve you right to have to take that young monster on! Then, in a more serious tone, he admonished her, Mind you, I mean one of you to nab him if you can, so you be on your best behavior, do you understand? As her guardian since the death of her parents, Uncle Ronald’s word was law.

Now, observing the viscount’s disinterest, Juliette thought, If Viscount Faverill has anything to say in the selection of his wife, I need have no fear of having to take him on. He is as unimpressed with me as I am with him.

The carriage drew to a halt in front of the massive central entrance to Hammerswold, after passing through a huge covered carriageway where the drawbridge and portcullus had once been. The moat, of course, had long since been filled in. Standing proudly in the center of what had once been the bailey was a residence that rivalled any large manor house in size. It reflected half a dozen different architectural styles from various time periods. Half-relic and half-modern, Hammerswold was utterly impressive. Taking in the magnificence of the place, Juliette experienced a flash of disappointment that Faverill wasn’t an enchanting man who was instantly enamored of her.

Viscount Faverill left her to fend for herself while he hastened to be the one who helped Adelaide down from the carriage. Juliette motioned Miss Campbell to precede her out the other side, and let a footman assist her down, as all of the beaux had gathered around Adelaide. Marie followed her out, pale as the ghost she feared to see. For pity at her distress, Juliette sent her upstairs to rest, while she herself directed the unloading of their baggage and followed it up the steps. As she climbed the impressive carved marble central stairway, she paused to admire the intricate tile floor in the huge entryway. From here she could see that the pattern was the Hammerswold arms, laid out in meticulous detail in colorful Italian tile.

Adelaide, surrounded by beaux, stayed below to meet the other guests.

Susan would not let Juliette unpack. You must not assume the work of a menial, my dear, or others will treat you as one. Marie will recover after a brief rest and attend to it. The former governess, taking her cue from the family, had never treated Juliette as a poor relation, and wouldn’t permit Julie to behave as one.

I like to be useful, Juliette insisted. But Susan’s admonitory scowl made her lift her hands in surrender. I’ll just refresh myself a bit and go exploring, then.

Shouldn’t you rest awhile? I know I am quite done in.

I am never done in, dear Susan. I am just so tired of sitting I may never do so again. I think I will try to find the long gallery and view the famous Hammerswold art collection. Juliette stepped to a pier glass and examined herself front and back, smoothing her sensible traveling robe of forest-green twill over her neat, well-proportioned figure, and quickly tucking a few stray curls back into her thick chignon.

She took the opportunity to reassure herself that she was not an antidote, in spite of the viscount’s barely disguised disdain this afternoon. No, she was well-enough looking with her rich brown hair and golden-brown eyes. It was only that around the frothy pink-and-white beauty of her cousin she showed to disadvantage. The cousins were both of average height, but Addie’s slenderness made her seem delicate and willowy, whereas Juliette’s fuller figure gave an impression of sturdiness. Where Addie’s heart-shaped face hinted accurately at a sweet, pliable disposition, Juliette’s square jaw and firm chin with equal accuracy made her look self-possessed and determined.

So, we are different types, Juliette acknowledged to herself. Not all gentlemen are drawn to dainty pastel females. She strongly resembled her mother, and her father had fallen madly in love with her at first sight. He had also appreciated his wife’s ability to stand up to the rigors of following the drum or making a home in a humble cottage. Juliette lifted her chin proudly at the thought of how like her mother she was.

Do you think you should go by yourself? There was just the slightest apprehension in Miss Campbell’s voice.

You aren’t going to start, are you? There is no such thing as a ghost, but if there were, I am sure he wouldn’t emerge in broad daylight. Get some rest, dearest. I’ll return in good time to dress for dinner.

A friendly maid directed Juliette to the floor two stories above where she stepped eagerly into the bright but diffused light of two impressive stained glass windows, one on each end of a gallery so long and wide it seemed to her that one could have curricle races in it. Overhead a magnificent glass dome surrounded with elaborate plasterwork and painted cherubs brought even more light into the vast room.

Along the walls, artfully arranged, were paintings of every era, most of them family portraits. A full-length portrait of the viscount by Thomas Lawrence was the first to greet the eyes upon topping the stairs. The walls were punctuated at intervals by ornate alcoves, occupied by marble statuary. Again, some of this bounty was ancient, as cracked and discolored surfaces testified, and some was as modern as Sir Richard Westmacott.

Wishing she had a guidebook or a knowledgeable person to identify the various works and their subjects, Juliette began a slow, thoughtful perusal of the banquet of art spread before her.

Thus occupied, she strolled for some time before a faint sound, as of cloth rubbing against a hard surface, caught her attention. She stopped, listening. Was that breathing she heard? Shallow, carefully controlled breathing? A little shiver of alarm ran through her.

What nonsense! She tossed her head. I’m letting Adelaide and Marie’s sensibilities affect my own. She returned to her perusal, slowing making her way toward the west end of the gallery.

Suddenly an unmistakable sound startled her like a gunshot in the silent room. A cough! Masked, but nevertheless a distinct cough.

Is someone here? Juliette stepped away from the painting she had been examining and looked toward the other side of the statuary niche a few feet in front of her. I hear you and know you are there, so please show yourself. There was no answer, but she felt sure her eyes could make out the dim outline of a man’s figure in the shadows behind the statue. She felt a prickling at the back of her neck and along her arms.

"If you think to frighten me into believing you are the ghost, you are fair