The Perfect Mistress (8 page)

“What do you suggest I do?”

“I have no idea.” Julia shrugged. “Something ghostly, I suppose.”

“I’m not going to vanish and reappear, change my appearance, float near the ceiling, that sort of thing. I don’t do parlor tricks.” She sniffed. “Besides, anything of a ghostly nature you will simply attribute to the idea that you are dreaming.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I should have appeared to you during the day when there wasn’t a doubt in your mind as to your wakefulness. Perhaps tomorrow—”

“No,” Julia said without thinking.

“No?” Hermione raised a brow. “Then you do believe me.”

Julia shook her head. “No, I don’t. I simply don’t want the idea that you may pop up at any minute haunting my thoughts all day.”

“Haunting your thoughts?” Hermione grinned. “What a telling phrase.”

Julia sighed. “I am now going to bury my head in my pillow and force everything from my mind, thus ending this dream.”

“You can bury your head in the desert sands for all the difference it makes, I shall not go away,” Hermione said in a tone that was as pleasant as it was determined. “I have no idea how I shall prove my nature but prove it I shall. We shan’t accomplish anything until I do,” she added under her breath.

“What do you wish to accomplish?” Julia said slowly.

“Why, I am here to help, of course.”

“At the moment you can help by allowing me to get some much-needed rest.”

“If I’m a dream then you are asleep and already getting rest.”

“I have scarcely had a decent night’s sleep since I began reading your memoirs.”

Hermione cast her a satisfied grin. “They are stimulating, aren’t they?”

“They are scandalous, disgraceful, and completely outrageous.”

“They should sell very well then.”

Julia smiled wryly. “Yes, they should.” She drew a deep breath. “And you have my thanks for writing them.”

“It was entirely my pleasure.” Hermione smirked. “In so many ways.”

Julia groaned. “Good Lord.”

“I know. You have not reached page one forty-seven yet. What if I tell you what’s on that page? It’s not something you already know. That should prove I know things you don’t.”

“My dear Hermione, I can very nearly guess the type of incident that will be recounted on page one forty-seven.”

“Yes, well perhaps.” She thought for a moment, then smiled slowly in an entirely too wicked manner. “What if I told you a secret you couldn’t possibly know and would never suspect?”

Julia narrowed her eyes. “What kind of secret?”

“About your Lord Mountdale.”

“He’s not my Lord Mountdale.”

“It’s the reason why he, and his mother before him, are so concerned with scandal.”

“How very interesting. Still …” Julia shook her head. “That sounds like gossip to me.”

“And?”

“And I try not to indulge in gossip.”

“Gossip, my dear, serves a necessary purpose. Without gossip, how does one ever learn anything of interest?” Hermione rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “Besides, you won’t be indulging in gossip, I will. You’ll just be listening. Although the point is moot as this isn’t gossip. This is something I know for a fact.”

Without warning, Hermione vanished from the foot of the bed to reappear at once sitting beside Julia, close enough to speak low into her ear. Dream or not, it was most unnerving. Julia realized she felt Hermione’s presence although she had no sense of her substance. Even in a dream it was enough to make a shiver run up her spine and so disconcerting that it took a moment for Hermione’s words to sink into her mind.

“Good Lord!” She stared. “I can’t believe I could ever come up with such a far-fetched idea.”

“You didn’t.” Hermione huffed. “It’s the truth and something you would have no way of knowing.”

“That is true, I suppose.” Julia thought for a moment. “However, I have no way of finding out if it’s true, I certainly can’t ask him.”

“Oh, I don’t think he knows.”

“Then how am I to know if this is indeed a fact and not something my sleeping mind has concocted?”

“You are a clever woman, my dear. I’m sure you will think of a way.” Hermione slipped off the bed. “And then you will have to accept that I am precisely what I say I am.”

Julia sighed. “I suppose I will. Although …” She shook her head. “The dreams of you were bad enough. The very idea that my great-grandmother’s ghost would be here, in the flesh—”

“Not exactly,” Hermione murmured.

“—speaking with me as if she were alive, revealing secrets—it’s hard to believe.”

“No, dear. What is hard to believe is the time Lord Albemarle and Lady Ed—”

“Enough!” Julia huffed. “I do not want to hear another scandalous story about people who are long dead and best forgotten.”

“I’ll tell them you said so,” Hermione said in a wry tone.

Julia groaned.

“Try to remember, child, that while the dead do not mind being thought of as dead, we do hate to think we’ve been forgotten.”

“
You
will never be forgotten.”

“You are a dear girl and most thoughtful.” Hermione cast her a brilliant smile. “Now, go back to sleep or else you shall have nasty bags under your eyes in the morning and will not look anywhere near your best. You should always endeavor to look your best, you know. One never knows who one might run into unexpectedly.”

“I am asleep,” Julia said firmly.

“I shall return when you are prepared to accept the reality of my existence.”

“I can scarcely wait.” Julia sighed and lay back down, pulling her covers up around her. She refused to look to see if Hermione was still standing by the bed. Not that it mattered. Her great-grandmother was not a ghost but simply part of a dream. As for this secret she had revealed about Lord Mountdale, it couldn’t possibly be true and was nothing more than the deepest recesses of Julia’s mind dwelling on what might take his lordship down a peg.

Still, as she drifted deeper into sleep, the thought lingered that if the secret were true then Hermione was indeed a ghost and Julia’s problems might well be just beginning.

… and needless to say he swore me to secrecy.

It is always beneficial to know those secrets a gentleman does not want revealed. Not that I would ever encourage use of secrets in an untoward manner. Blackmail and the like are never acceptable unless one has no other recourse and there is something of great importance at stake. But the very fact that a gentleman, or anyone, has trusted you with that which they hold most precious is a gift that should not be valued lightly.

Now, however, he is long in his grave and I do not consider his secret to be as devastating as it is amusing. Dear Reader, you can well imagine my surprise when he appeared in what can only be called …

from
The Perfect Mistress,
the Memoirs of Lady Hermione Middlebury

Julia loved this time of year. The leaves were beginning to turn and there was the faintest hint in the air of the crisp days to come.

It was a scant hour and a half by train to the village where Julia’s grandmother resided and no more than a ten-minute walk from the station to her grandmother’s cottage. The village was decidedly picturesque with aged buildings, brick or timbered. She strolled past the parish church and well-tended church graveyard. It was easy to see why her grandmother loved it here. After the busy streets of London, the single road that wound through the village was quiet and tranquil. It was at this point in her walk, where the cottage first came into view, that Julia inevitably felt a sharp twinge of annoyance.

Not at her grandmother—the old woman couldn’t help being eccentric or even a bit dotty. Not at the need to travel from London as often as she could manage it. And not at the unexpected expense of her grandmother’s support that had become her responsibility when her parents had died.

But at her parents, especially her mother, who had chosen to keep her grandmother’s existence secret, even from their daughter. No doubt due to shame as to the state of her mental faculties. Still, it made no sense at all. Certainly Lady Eleanor Everett was a little peculiar perhaps and yes, she did tend to talk to people who weren’t there even if that might well run in the family. But Julia had visited her as often as possible after she’d learned she was alive, and very nearly once a month since William’s death, and didn’t think she was truly mad. Just old and possibly … sad.

Mrs. Philpot opened the cottage door at Julia’s knock. Tall and thin, brisk and a bit stern, Harriet Philpot and her husband had worked for, in truth, cared for, Lady Everett since she had first moved to the cottage more than thirty years ago. Mr. Philpot had died a decade ago and now his sons maintained the place.

“How is she?” Julia asked after they exchanged greetings.

Mrs. Philpot’s lips flattened into a disapproving line. “She’s fine, she’s always been fine, she’ll always be fine.”

While Julia appreciated Mrs. Philpot’s protective nature toward her grandmother, she could never understand why this particular question always elicited such a curt response.

Mrs. Philpot showed her into the small parlor where Eleanor sat near the window reading as she always did, then took her leave. She did indeed look fine and far younger than her seventy-five years. She was small of stature, her hair nearly white and curling softly around her head. One could easily see she must have been quite lovely in her younger days. It struck Julia that she looked very much like an older version of the specter who appeared in her dreams. But, of course, she would.

“Grandmother?”

Her grandmother glanced up from the book and raised a brow.

Julia laughed and sat down in the chair beside her. “My apologies,
Eleanor.
”

“It would be different if I had known you as a child, dear,” Eleanor said as she did every time Julia forgot to call her by her given name. “Having a grown woman call me Grandmother reminds me of how very ancient I am. And reminds me as well that I can do nothing about it.” She sighed. “It’s most upsetting.”

Julia bit back a grin. “I am sorry.”

“I know you are, Julia.” Her green eyes twinkled. “My only consolation is that one day you shall be in my shoes. And while they are very comfortable they are as well very worn and sadly out of style.”

Julia smiled then drew a deep breath. “I have a matter of some importance I must speak to you about today.”

“A matter of some importance?” Eleanor closed her book. “Well, well, that will be a change.”

Julia widened her eyes in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Darling, when you visit we chat about the weather. Autumn is in the air today, which means winter is not far behind. I did so love winter once. Riding in sleighs, wrapped in furs.” She sighed. “It has been a very long time since I rode in a sleigh and the cold no longer has the appeal it once did.”

“Eleanor,” Julia began.

“Sometimes we discuss literature. I should recommend the book I am now reading. It’s quite naughty.” Eleanor met her granddaughter’s gaze directly. “But then naughty does tend to sell books, doesn’t it?”

Julia stared. “So I have heard.”

“Often, you listen to me ramble on about nothing of any significance whatsoever, which unfortunately, is the way my thoughts wander when left to their own devices. When your husband was alive you would frequently tell stories about his work. Now, you sometimes comment on public events which I am already familiar with. We are in the country, dear, not on the moon.”

Heat washed up Julia’s face.

“Then we have tea and one or another of us will mention the quality of Harriet’s scones. How does she get them so light? Admittedly, they are usually exceptional unless she is cross as she tends to be on occasion.”

“They are tasty,” Julia said under her breath. She was a grown woman with responsibilities, not a child to be chastised. Still, she couldn’t dispute anything Eleanor had said and she was not at all proud of herself.

“And when we’re done with tea, you ask if there is anything I need. And I say I have everything I need, which is true enough, thank you for asking. Then you kiss my cheek and take your leave.”

Julia stared. “It sounds dreadful.”

“It’s not at all dreadful. I cherish every minute that you are here even if I suspect that I am an obligation you could easily forgo.”

“Eleanor—”

“The truth, if you please.”

Julia chose her words with care. “It is true that I consider my visits to be somewhat obligatory but it is also true that”—she met the older woman’s gaze—“I enjoy your company and I enjoy our visits. Even if I am sometimes at a loss at to what to say.”

“Are you?” Eleanor chuckled. “Goodness, dear, you have never asked me about the past, your mother, or my family. At my age, there is a great deal of past to speak of. And while much of it isn’t the least bit interesting, I daresay there have been moments now and then which are well worth relating.”

“I’ve been coming here for six years. Why didn’t you say anything?” Julia tried and failed to hide the defensive note in her voice.

“Pride,” she said with a shrug.

“I had no idea. You could have mentioned something.”

“Yes, I could have but I was afraid. I assumed you didn’t wish to speak about anything other than the mundane. The mundane is very safe, you know. No one ever got offended by discussion of the uncertainty of English weather in the spring.

“I didn’t want to talk about matters that might keep you from coming back. Your mother never visited nearly as much as you do and every time I tried to talk about anything of significance, I wouldn’t see her again for a very long time. When she died”—a shadow of sorrow passed over her face—“and you began coming to see me, I was so pleased I didn’t want to do anything that might make you stop.” She leaned forward in a confidential manner. “This is my home, and while I am happy here, Harriet is not the brilliant conversationalist she might appear. An obligatory visit from you is better than no visit at all. Even in your darkest days, you brought life to me. And frankly I miss, well, life.”

“Good,” Julia said simply.