Chapter Three

"N ettie!" Edgar said in a hissing whisper. "You and Leopold come away from that window this instant. What if the new duchess sees you? You and that cat will scare off the poor lady who might finally bring our Ross some much deserved happiness."

"We are not visible," Nettie said while still peering out the attic window. She cradled the fluffy white cat in her arms and scratched it behind its ears. Pausing in her study of the carriage path, she frowned down at the cat. "You are not visible, are you, Leopold? You know Edgar and I cannot really tell unless one of the living reacts."

The huge cat flipped its tail and purred louder.

"That is most unhelpful," she told him.

"Any sign of them?" Edgar asked, joining her at the window.

She chuckled. "I knew you wanted to see them as badly as I did."

"I just hope she is a better choice than that Lady Lotilda." Edgar shuddered, and the cat hissed.

"Agreed," Nettie said. "That one was a poor choice, indeed."

"At least we had nothing to do with her death." Edgar angled closer to the window. "We must do our best not to bring about any ill tidings to this one, either—at least until we see if she suits our Ross and makes him happy."

"Edgar! We are not malevolent. All the others were accidents, and you know it." Nettie gave an indignant huff, then kissed the cat on top of its head. "My Leopold did not intend to trip Ross's Aunt Clara on the stairway. I mean, good heavens. It not only broke her neck but broke his too. Why would he purposely harm himself?" Another haughty snort escaped her. "And how were you to know that an attack of apoplexy would strike the gamekeeper and cause him to accidentally shoot Ross's Uncle Arthur?"

"Yes, but the apoplexy hit the gamekeeper because he saw me." Edgar groaned.

"Do not groan. The living hear us when we do that, remember?"

"Ah, yes. Forgive me." He tried to wipe the layer of dusty grime from the gable window, but his hand passed through it. "Drat it all. I cannot see a thing, and if I solidify enough to clean a patch, they might see me."

Nettie sadly shook her head, still caught up in tragic memories. "And our poor Forbes taking his own life after Arthur's accident was not our fault, either. I am filled with regret about Ross's mother, though." She snuggled closer to her ghostly husband and sighed. "I did not mean to frighten the horses pulling her carriage. Poor Lady Pearl. Drowning in that creek when the carriage overturned—and our dearest Ross just a shy lad of six years old."

Edgar hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. "There, there, my sweet Nettie. It was not your fault. Just an untimely accident. So many of the mishaps were that way. We meant no one any harm. Even Ross's father understood we were merely trying to help before the laudanum took him to the other side."

"I am so tired, my dearest," she whispered. "Until one of our dukes finds true happiness and peace in this world, I cannot rest. But it appears the harder we try to make it happen for them, the worse their lives become. The villagers say it is the curse. That we are the curse, Edgar. I cannot bear it. All we ever wished for was happiness for our Ramthwaites—pure and simple happiness."

Edgar gave another heavy sigh. "At least our Forbes went on to be with his beloved Maggie. Arthur joined his Clara, and Ross's parents are together in the hereafter."

"Yes—but they all charged us with poor Ross's happiness," Nettie said. "He is their last hope, and that has not gone well at all." She shifted and peered up at her beloved husband, her champion who had joined her in death while trying to save her. "At least we are together, my darling man."

With a smile, Edgar nodded. "And we always will be, my love. Even if we are here forever guiding the Ramthwaites on this side of the veil rather than the other."

"There." Nettie perked and pointed at the golden glow of carriage lanterns swinging up the drive. "They are here."

"Listen to the bustle," Edgar said with a chuckle. "Our great-nephew has sounded the alarm to come and greet the master and the new mistress of the house. What a fine steward he has become."

"Samuel always was such a sharp lad." Nettie materialized for the briefest flicker and wiped the attic window clean. "There. No harm done. No one saw me."

"Mr. Briggs's suit is in dire need of a good brushing," Edgar noted with displeasure.

Nettie patted him on the chest. "Now, now, he is a fine butler. You even said so yourself." She pointed at a tall, thin woman dressed in drab colors. "But that Mrs. Camersol…" She snorted. "Terrible housekeeper. Dust is everywhere, and I have never seen the silver looking so dingy. Where on earth did our Ross find that one?"

"He swears the woman is adequate," Edgar replied in a tone that said he clearly disagreed. "Look. There is our new lady of the house—our duchess."

"What a lovely young thing she is," Nettie said with excited breathlessness. "Her smile. Look at her smile, Edgar." She bobbed her head. "I am most hopeful about this one. See how she carries herself? With certainty, but tempered with kindness."

"According to the scullery maids, our new duchess is a commoner from Scotland," Edgar said while leaning closer to the window. "But I agree. She is a lovely thing. There is something about her. Is that a golden glow around her or am I imagining it?"

"No," Nettie said with a happiness that rivaled the loud purring of the cat. "She glows with goodness. The last time we saw that glow was when our Forbes was taken into heaven by his Maggie." Nettie tipped her head to one side and set the cat on the ledge of the window. "I wonder if she is an angel sent to help our Ross?"

Leopold flipped his tail, licked the window, and purred louder.

"I believe Leopold likes her," Edgar said.

"Stay away from her whenever she is on the stairs." Nettie shook a finger at the cat, then returned to watching the scene below. "Since she is from Scotland, she might not be overset if we were to appear to her, you know. Quite the superstitious lot, those Scots. Believe in second sight and all that."

"Nettie," Edgar said in a warning tone. "No."

"No, what?"

"No, we will not reveal ourselves. We are going to leave well enough alone and hope Ross handles things properly."

"Like he did with Lady Lotilda?" Nettie rolled her eyes.

"Nettie—please."

"I will not cause another accident."

"We did not intend to cause any of the other accidents," Edgar reminded her. "Who would have thought being a helpful ghost was so difficult?" He affectionately tapped the end of Nettie's nose. "We must stay out of this. He has yet to beget an heir. If we foul this, it could very well be the end of the Ramthwaite line, and then we would never rest in peace."

Nettie huffed a resigned sigh. "Fine. I will do my best to remain as innocuous as the air in the room. No one will ever know I exist. I promise."

*

"Mr. Edgar? Miss Nettie?" Even though Ross knew it more proper to address the ghostly duo as Bannerly and Mrs. Bannerly , he still called them by their Christian names, as he had done as a child when unable to pronounce their surnames properly.

He quietly closed the attic door behind him and crept deeper into the dark, dusty room that had served as his sanctuary when he was a lad. He lifted the candlestick higher, sweeping its golden glow back and forth while the floorboards creaked and groaned their welcome with his every step. "Miss Nettie—I saw you and Leopold in the window when I arrived. Show yourselves, please." Even though the ghosts had confessed to doing more harm than good over the years, he still loved them. They had been his loyal companions, showing him the care and devotion he starved for until he developed the hardened view of life it took to survive as the next Duke of Ramthwaite. "Mr. Edgar. Show some respect, sir. I merely wish to have a word."

The old butler shimmered into view—not a frightening apparition but a grayish, wispy version of his former self. Or so Ross assumed. Edgar and Nettie had died the night his father was born. Floating closer, Edgar bowed. "Welcome home, Your Grace. It is good to have you back." Somewhat transparent, he cast a glance behind him. "Come on, Nettie. His Grace wishes to have a word. We must not be rude."

Ross shivered as Nettie appeared. Not because she was ghastly, but because the temperature of the room noticeably dropped whenever both ghosts made themselves visible. His breath clouded in the frigid air, and it made him smile at the memory of playing chilling games of hide-and-seek in the attic with them when he was a child.

"Your Grace." Nettie curtsied, then set the cat down.

Ghostly Leopold meowed a greeting, then sauntered over and rubbed back and forth around Ross's ankles.

"Hello, old boy." Ross didn't bother to pet the cat, knowing his hand would pass right through the feline. He looked up and smiled at Nettie. "Well? What do you think of her?"

Nettie shimmered with a brighter glow, a sure sign she was pleased. "Her Grace is lovely. I do hope she likes it here."

"That is what brings me to you." Ross didn't wish to hurt their feelings, but it was imperative they behave. He strongly suspected they were the reason his late wife had developed such a fear of shadows that she nearly set the manor house on fire by lighting so many candles and oil lamps in every room. "I beg you—please do not appear to her or do anything else to make your existence known to Lady Harmony." He swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. "She is special, and I do not wish her frightened."

Nettie's usually subtle glow increased to a blinding white cloud of brightness. "You have found your dove."

"My dove?"

"Doves mate for life, Your Grace," Edgar said. "There is a peacefulness around you that was not there before. It appears Her Grace is the balm your soul has needed."

Ross breathed easier, hopefulness filling his heart. "So, you will help me, then? Behave yourselves?" He tipped a nod at the cat. "And control Leopold?"

"It goes without saying, Your Grace," Nettie said with a happy bounce that sent her nearly to the attic's ceiling.

"We shall do whatever you require," Edgar agreed with a formal bow. "And Leopold shall be on his best behavior. I will personally see to it."

"Thank you, both. I know you will not fail me."

*

"Now that ye are settled here at yer new home, he is certain to come to yer bed." Effie, Harmony's favorite cousin and now her lady's maid, took down Harmony's hair and prepared her for bed with the efficiency born from helping with her many sisters. "Mark my words, he will get ye with a bairn before the month is out."

Harmony frowned at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. "I know we are strangers, but why would he marry me if he didna wish to touch me?" She held up her hand and spread her fingers. "This is the fifth night since we wed. Mam always warned that men would steal yer virtue so fast 'twould make yer head spin. I canna even give mine away to my husband." Still staring at herself in the mirror, she pinched her cheeks. "Am I too plain for him?"

"Ye are not plain at all, hen. Dinna even think such silliness." Effie shrugged as she continued brushing Harmony's long, wavy hair. "Ye smell nice. Yer teeth are good. I promise—His Grace must be one who prefers more privacy than most." She grinned at Harmony in the mirror and winked. "Could be he wanted to be home so strangers wouldna be listening at the door. Reckon he makes a lot of noise?"

"Well, I dinna ken that, now do I?" Harmony snapped, then immediately felt guilty. "Forgive me, Effie." She turned and caught hold of her cousin's hands. "And thank ye ever so much for agreeing to be my lady's maid. I swear I will never put on airs with ye."

Effie gave her a sisterly hug. "Mama will welcome the coin. With Da gone now, she and the girls will be better for it—and ye know as well as I they are thankful for yer asking me." She tugged Harmony up from the cushioned bench and nudged her toward the bed. "Off wi' ye now. To bed to wait for yer husband while I head to mine to hug my pillow. Riding in that carriage with the rest of the staff traveling with His Grace wearied me to the bone."

"They were kind to ye, aye?" Harmony worried about Effie fitting in with the duke's longtime servants.

"Kind as could be," Effie said. "They were a bit quiet, but I reckon that's 'cause I am yer lady's maid and considered a spy among the downstairs lot." She headed for the door the housekeeper had pointed out as leading to the small bedroom reserved for the lady's maid. "Take heart," she called back as she left the room. "All will be well."

"All will be well," Harmony softly repeated as she eyed the door connecting her bedchamber with her husband's. She rubbed her hands together, then wiped her damp palms on the linen chemise trimmed with enough lace and ribbons to be used as a fancy sitting room curtain. Her middle churned, threatening to send the glass of wine she'd had earlier back up. "Heaven help me. I must calm myself. It surely wouldna do for me to cast up my accounts when he does show."

A sudden chilliness made her rub her arms and check the window. How odd was that? It was closed tight, but she'd felt a distinct breeze. The inn had been a drafty bit of stone and wood, but this was no draft. She clenched her teeth and glanced around the room, realizing what had caused the chill.

"Whoever ye are, go to the other side," she whispered. "I dinna wish my new husband to know I have the sight." As the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, Harmony had helped many a lost soul in the village find their way to eternal rest. "On wi' ye, now. I have enough to worry about without adding yerself to my misery."

"Misery?" The voice was that of an older woman—a grandmotherly sort.

Harmony relaxed and smiled despite herself. "Aye, my misery and nervousness at being a new wife."

"Our Ross would never cause you misery, Your Grace. He is a good and kind man. Handsome too, but you already know that, what with his dark hair and those snapping green eyes of his. He is strong. Protective. Please give him a chance. He so needs to be happy."

Deciding it more prudent to keep her opinion about her new husband's striking handsomeness to herself, Harmony slowly turned in a circle, attempting to feel the displaced spirit of the woman and ensure that the ghost meant no ill will. "Convince yer Ross to give me a chance," she told the entity, "and I will do my best to give him the happiness he deserves."

"Give you a chance?"

"Aye. I am willing—if he is." She refused to go into detail regarding the unconsummated state of her union. That was no one's affair but her own. Well, hers and Effie's. Ross's too, of course.

But if the spirit could help her, then that would be grand, indeed. She wanted to be a good wife—in more than name only. As soon as she'd heard his deep, cultured voice in her father's inn, she'd been drawn to him like a bee tempted by spring's first blossom. And he was a braw, bonny man. Hair as black as the devil's waistcoat. Tall. Broad shouldered. She pressed a hand to her chest, finding herself breathless at the thought of him. Aye, she would accept the spirit's help without hesitation.

"Go to him, spirit. Encourage him to be a good husband, and I swear to be a good wife, ye ken?"

"I will do my very best, Your Grace."