"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?" she turned to him.
Oliver narrowed his eyes at her. Though, it was terribly hard to take him seriously with a cravat drooping over one eyebrow.
"A crown and nothing more? My dear Duchess, on Family Night we aim for the utmost ridiculousness. You're scarcely any sillier than on an ordinary day."
Alethea couldn't help a small laugh. She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.
"I fear I have failed, then," she said. "Perhaps I did not quite understand what was expected."
"No matter, we shall remedy it at once," Oliver declared. He called for the butler. And at once, he appeared at the door.
"Your Grace?" he asked, politely.
"A sheet, good man!" Oliver announced, gesturing broadly. "The largest and plainest you can find. Quickly now."
Alethea watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and anticipation.
"A sheet?" she repeated, unable to guess Oliver's design. She looked up at him questioningly, but Oliver only winked in response.
"Patience, Duchess," he said cryptically, leaning down closer to her ear. "If you wished to have more of a role in your own costume, you should have thought it over before."
Her breath caught. Oliver's whisper had sent a pleasant shiver across the back of her neck. She was still unused to such casual touch.
In short order, the butler returned with a large white cotton bedsheet folded neatly over his arm.
"Thank you, that will do splendidly," Oliver accepted it with a nod.
The butler's gaze flickered briefly to Alethea, then he bowed again and departed, closing the door behind him.
"Now, wait," Oliver said, spreading the sheet in front of him. Alethea did as told, amused by this new playful side to the duke that she had not been privy to before.
"Arms up, please," he approached her with the sheet held out in front of him. Alethea obligingly raised her arms out to the sides. The next moment, the white sheet billowed around her as Oliver swept it over her head and let it cascade down her body.
Through the thin fabric, she could see only shadows but she felt Oliver's strong hands carefully arranging the sheet, his fingertips brushing near her shoulders as he centered it.
"Now, remain very still," came his muffled voice from somewhere on the other side of the sheet. "The last thing I wish to do is injure you."
"Injure?"
But the question was answered on its own when suddenly she heard a loud rip in the fabric. Oliver had torn a small hole in the sheet, directly where it draped over her face. In another instant, he carefully tugged and ripped further, enlarging it.
"Much better," Oliver grinned triumphantly. "Very ghostly."
He adjusted the edges of the hole gently around her face, and Alethea's cheeks burned at the fleeting sensation of his fingers. She noticed the flex of muscles in his forearm as he carefully tore a little more fabric to even out the opening. The rolled-up sleeves of his ridiculous makeshift trouser-shirt left his lower arms bare.
Alethea swallowed hard, inexplicably drawn by the sight of Oliver's forearms and hands. She had the strangest urge to reach out and trace a finger along one of those faint veins that stood out against his skin as he worked.
What is wrong with me?she wondered, shooing the thought away.
She was grateful when he finally stepped away, because she needed a moment to collect herself.
"Behold," Oliver announced finally. "The Ghost of Redhaven."
Both the young girls clapped their hands together in excitement, while Theodore only chuckled in the background.
"I hope that my costume is up to your standards now," Alethea started. Surprisingly, instead of feeling totally ridiculous, she felt rather free instead.
"It passes." Alethea could almost hear the smirk in her husband's voice as he said the words. "Now, shall we start with the night?"
