“I dinna ken.” Harmony scowled at her in the mirror. “But it will come to me.” She rose, patted Effie’s hands away, and shook her tresses out. “I shall wear it down today.”
“A duchess wearing her hair down?”
“Hush it and send up a prayer for me, aye?”
Effie crossed herself and nodded.
Harmony charged out the door, swept downstairs, then halted and eyed the opulent hallways with their highly polished floors and statuary standing guard at the multiple doorways. “Dining room,” she said to herself. “Which way was the dining room?” The housekeeper had given her a grand tour yesterday evening, but the sprawling manor house would take some time to commit to memory.
A loud, indignantmeowdrew her attention downward. She blinked slowly, then squeezed her eyes tightly shut and openedthem again. Interesting. It was still there. “A wee ghost moggy. Imagine that.”
The large cat was a misty fog of fluffiness. Not quite solid, yet not quite transparent, either. During one of its nine lives, it had either been a light gray or a dingy white. It sat at her feet, staring up at her while slowly flipping its long, fluffy tail.
“A pleasure to meet ye, moggy. Ye will be proud to know ye are the first ghostie cat I have ever seen.”
It flipped an ear, then rumbled with a loud purr. She took that as a good omen. “Could ye be so kind as to lead me to the dining room? I am sure a fine beastie such as yerself knows the verra best way to get there.”
With another loudmeow, the feline rose from its haunches and trotted down the hall to the left. Harmony followed, hoping the ghostly cat was not leading her to her doom. But then the apparition disappeared, leaving her standing at a crossroads of more hallways.
“Your Grace, may I help you?” asked the butler whose name she could not recall.
“Forgive me, sir,” she said. “Yer name again, please?”
The staid, slightly balding man bowed. “Briggs, Your Grace. How may I be of service?”
“The dining room, please? I was hoping to enjoy breakfast with His Grace.”
“This way. His Grace just sent me to inquire if you would join him.”
Ifshe would join him? Why would she not? A ghostly old woman, a spirit cat, and a husband who behaved as though he considered her a priceless treasure to be left untouched on a shelf—what a strange household, of which she was now the mistress. She held her chin higher and followed the man.
When she entered the dining room, she halted just inside the double doors. Ross was breathtaking in a shirt of the finest lawn,open at the throat, the material taut across the broad expanse of his chest. When he rose from his seat at the head of the table and pulled out her chair, she couldn’t find the moral strength to pull her gaze from his muscular legs perfectly displayed in a pair of buff breeches and black Hessians.
“Harmony?” he said with a hesitant smile as he waited at her chair.
“Yer Grace,” she said in a breathy whisper, then shook herself. “Ross,” she said louder, and hurried to be seated.
He beamed at her and helped her scoot closer to the table. “I am so glad you joined me. I did not send Briggs to hurry you—I feared you might not remember the way to the dining room.”
“The cat led me,” she said, then bit her bottom lip. She should not have said that. Did he even know about the ghosts?
He went still in his seat as though frozen in place, staring at her with a wariness that made her inwardly cringe. “The cat?”
Heaven help her. Mam had always said she never knew when to keep her gob shut and her ears open. After a deep breath, she hiked her chin higher and decided to stay the course with the truth. After all, she had said she was going to speak with him—and speak with him she would. “Aye, Ross. The wee moggy led me here. Was he gray or white when he lived?”
Ross narrowed his eyes at the servants beside the breakfast buffet, then ever so slightly jerked his head toward the door. They exited, both of them almost breaking into a run. He laced his fingers together and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “It is my understanding he was white when he was corporeal.” He cleared his throat. “His name is Leopold. Watch him on the stairs. He tripped my Aunt Clara and caused her to fall to her death. That is also how he met his demise.”
“I see.” Harmony rose from her seat, went to the buffet, and poured herself a cup of hot chocolate, wondering if whisky wouldbe more appropriate for the conversation they were about to have. “I have a confession to make, I fear.”
“A confession?” He seemed strangely relieved.
“Aye, husband.” She returned to the table and smiled her thanks at him when he helped her with her chair again. “I am the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter of a long line of seers. Ghosties often reveal themselves to me.”
“I see.”
“Are ye unwell?” Without thinking, she leaned over and covered his hand with hers. “Ye have gone a bit pale, I fear. Dinna fash yerself. I promise I dinna speak of my gift to anyone outside of those I trust.”
“And you trust me?”
