“Yes. About that…” Mr. Ludlow glanced at Edwin. “Did I hear a little bird say something about—”
Edwin held up a hand. “All in good time.” He finished making introductions, after which there was the ringing, dull peal of a gong. “Grand. Let’s eat. That’s the dinner gong.” He led the group into a large dining room that could easily have sat twenty but had been set for six.
As the group took their seats, Miss Eagle asked, “There are five of us. Who is the sixth setting for?”
“The ghost,” Uncle Edwin said mysteriously.
Mr. Fairbanks shook his head slightly. Mrs. Hemlock snorted. Miss Eagle’s eyes widened, whilst Violet rolled her eyes and Mr. Ludlow cocked his head.
The first course was a stodgy, thick, potato soup seasoned with garlic and parsley. This was followed by roast lamb with mint sauce and boiled potatoes, and a strawberry trifle for dessert. Once the guests had dined well, the men and women separated for a few minutes, leaving Violet in the company of the Misses Hemlock and Eagle.
In the main drawing room, Violet sat in one of the large, plush chairs and sank into its delicate and overstuffed green cushions. It was stuffed enough to be comfortable, and not too much. She could easily see herself spending an afternoon sitting and reading.
“So what is your uncle about?” Mrs. Hemlock asked. “What are we all doing here?”
Violet looked up. “I assume you received a letter?”
“I did. But just with a vague invitation. I’ve only ever met your uncle once. Why am I here?”
Miss Eagle cocked her head. “If you only met him the one time, why did you come?”
“He’s rich, and I’m bored. I recently became a widow and I wanted to leave Town for a spell. I’ve been trying to decide between two suitors and I can’t make up my mind. I thought a little jaunt in the country would be diverting.” Mrs. Hemlock touched her hair, patting her brunette waves that dangled over her shoulder.
“Suitors. Oh, tell. I love romances,” Miss Eagle said.
Violet snorted softly and rose from her chair, crossing the room to the wine decanter that sat off to the side. She helped herself to a glass of red wine and drank. It wasn’t very tasty, but it would take the edge off of the evening, and make Miss Eagle and Mrs. Hemlock tolerable, she supposed.
“I don’t see you talking about beaus, Miss Thorn,” Mrs. Hemlock said.
Violet reddened and set the wine stopper back in the bottle. “That is because I have none.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Miss Eagle said. “But I don’t understand. You’re so pretty. Why are you unchaperoned?”
Mrs. Hemlock gave an unladylike snort. “That is no great mystery. Our Miss Thorn is not a debutante, but a spinster.” She eyed Miss Eagle’s maid sitting quietly in the corner with some knitting.
Violet felt her ire rising. “I am not. But if I were, better to be a spinster than a middle-aged harpy with too many suitors.”
Mrs. Hemlock laughed. “Do not lie, Miss Thorn. We will be much thrown together in this party. Lies don’t become you. Perhaps you are a spinster by choice, but I doubt it. I rather suspect it is your personality that the men find unattractive. And your parents have already given up on you, which is why you did not travel with a servant. Unless they were unable to provide you with one? No. No good upstanding family would let a young woman travel alone, unless… She was no longer worth the concern. It’s a pity. No doubt that is why you keep eyeing Mr. Fairbanks.”
Violet turned. “That’s not true. I’ve had beaus before.”
“Like who? Name one,” Mrs. Hemlock challenged.
“Now, now, ladies. Let’s not fight. Not when we have business to discuss,” Edwin said, leading the men into the drawing room.
Violet and Mrs. Hemlock exchanged a glare, and both looked away.
Once they were all gathered and sat comfortably, Edwin said, “The reason I called you all here is a little bet I made with a chum of mine. He believes this house is haunted.”
“Really?” Miss Eagle asked, her eyes wide.
“Ha.” Mrs. Hemlock tossed her head. The effect shifted her dangling brunette tresses from her shoulder to her back, which, considering the low-cut scoop bodice of the red dress she wore, attracted no small amount of male attention. She shot Violet a triumphant look.
Violet glanced away and said, “Go on, uncle.”
“Yes, well. My friend believes the house is haunted by a real ghost and bet me five hundred pounds that I couldn’t spend the night without running for the hills.”
“So you invited us?” Mrs. Hemlock asked.
