Page 19 of The Right to Remain Single

He smiled down at her. “Shall we see about putting up the greenery?”

“Yes, do let’s,” she said gratefully.

“Good, good,” her father said. “Time to deck the house for a jolly Christmas. Tilson, you can go with them. I count you as one of the family.”

Thomasina turned on her heel and stormed out, and James followed, pondering strategy.

Tilson hurried along beside him. “By what means do you and that fellow—a French monk, is he?—intend to drive the ghost away?”

“Brother Antoine claims to be an exorcist. He says the ghost is an evil spirit. I expect he will perform some sort of ritual in the hope of expediting his journey to Hell.”

“Max is not an evil spirit.” Thomasina flung the words over her shoulder.

Mr. Tilson cast his eyes heavenwards. James knew an urge to punch him in return.

“Now, now, Miss Warren,” Tilson said. “As a gently-bred female, your good nature outweighs your judgment. Allow me and Mr. Blakely, as men of the world, to determine what ought best to be done about this troublesome specter.”

“Miss Warren knows the ghost better than anyone,” James said, “so if she says he isn’t evil, we should believe her.”

Tilson gaped at him. “But my dear fellow, he k—”

“Don’t, I beg of you, repeat that ridiculous story about three murders,” James said. “Ghosts can’t kill people.”

Tilson stiffened. “Where there is smoke, there is fire, and this ghost is not a pleasant sort. He purposely makes a great deal of noise and clamor.” He shivered. “And surprises one with a cold draft down one’s back.”

James chuckled. “The ghost at my father’s estate can be annoying, too, but I found that the best method of dealing with him is civil conversation.”

“Civil conversation? With a murderer?”

They caught up with Thomasina. “Allow me and Miss Warren, as people with open minds, to approach the ghost with kindness rather than prejudice,” James said. “I mean to speak to Max in his own language. Perhaps he has a good reason for his behavior.”

“What reason can he have for frightening welcome guests?” demanded Tilson.

“That they aren’t welcome to him,” Thomasina said darkly.

He gave a condescending titter. “My dear Miss Warren, do not be absurd. A man’s home is his castle. He decides who is welcome.”

“Max feels responsible for protecting the house,” Thomasina said. “He has done so for centuries.”

“Protecting it from guests?”

“Why not, if he finds them odious, boring, or otherwise objectionable?” James said.

She bit her lip, struggling not to smile. James grinned back at her, and she giggled. That’s my girl.

He shook off that unaccustomed thought, intending to return to it later.

“The ghost at Statham Court loathed our nearest neighbors a hundred and fifty years ago, when he was alive, and still complains bitterly when my parents invite their descendants to dine,” he said. “Perhaps ghosts find it difficult to change.”

“In which case the ghost here is still a murderous sort,” retorted Mr. Tilson.

“A logical conclusion,” James said, “but it assumes that he was murderous in the first place, which is uncertain. By what Miss Warren tells me, he is particularly protective of women.”

Mr. Tilson rolled his eyes again. “I don’t see how she can possibly know—”

“I know because he protects me!” Thomasina stalked ahead of them into the kitchen and indicated the baskets of holly and ivy.

“What, no mistletoe?” Mr. Tilson said.