AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re not kidding?”
Anna patted Seth’s butt. “Come on. I’ll go with you. I’ll protect you and get my cake carrier.”
“I ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” he said as he wheeled the cart away.
“Myself, I wouldn’t mind an invisible maid. But,” Corrine added, “it must be disconcerting.”
“A time and energy saver, and yeah,disconcerting’s one word for it. I have, by my current count, the maid, a house disc jockey, a firewood hauler, the door slammer, the piano player. At least one of them likes dogs because they taught Yoda to shake. I need to write all that down, too.”
“When you do, if I could see it? With what I know of the family and house history,” Deuce told her, “I might be able to help identify some of the… occupants.”
“Sure. I’ll send it to you once I get it together.”
“You’re a sturdy young woman.” Paula offered a hand, then closed her other around Sonya’s. “And we had an absolutely wonderful evening. Thank you so much.”
Sonya got coats as Trey brought Yoda back. “I put Mook in the car. They wore each other out.”
He lingered in the foyer as his family left. “You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“And if you’re not?”
“I’ll call.”
“This was great, and I think you’re what the house needs. I hope it’s what you need.”
She felt her heart flutter, just a little, as he stood close with his eyes direct on hers.
“It feels like it.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
She closed the door behind him.
“He was thinking about it. I’m not wrong about that. He was thinking about making a move.” She looked down at the dog. “Should I have made the move? I’m gun-shy, that’s what it is. I have to get over it. But tonight, I’m pretty worn out, too.
“Let’s go to bed, Yoda.”
She dreamed someone played the piano, but not in the music room. In the front parlor Astrid played something lively and quick. An older woman sat by the fire, working with a needle and an embroidery hoop while she tapped her foot in time.
In the grate, a log fell; embers flew.
Collin Poole stood beside Astrid and turned the page on her music.
Someone had pushed the furniture back, so three couples formed two lines, weaving back and forth as they danced.
She recognized what had to be Collin’s twin, Connor. And the way he looked at his partner, she knew her for Arabelle, the woman he’d marry. The doomed Catherine’s mother.
But young now, all of them, except the woman by the fire, and she saw the man sitting nearby, smiling, sipping his whiskey as he watched the dancers.
Astrid’s parents, she thought, not certain why she felt so sure of it. She moved through the room, a ghost among ghosts.
She smelled the flowers—roses from the hothouse. The candle wax made by a family in the village, the woodsmoke from the logs a servant named John split and stacked.
It was early April—she knew it—only weeks before Astrid Grandville would marry Collin Poole. The first bride to marry at the manor.
The first to die there.
