Page 14 of A Ghost of a Chance

“You don’t mind?”

“I’d be delighted if you would.”

She played another song, more intricate and lovely than the first. Then she paused and played more slowly, almost hesitantly. “No, not quite.” She played a variation of the last few bars, nodded, and continued. She stopped rather suddenly.

“Why did you stop?”

She gave a start as if she’d forgotten his presence. “It’s a piece I began composing but hadn’t been able to make progress on it... in a long time.” She smiled a blast of pure delight. “Not long after we met, I heard the next stanza in my mind.”

“You composed that?”

“I’m still working on it.” Her smile faded. “Was it terrible?”

“Quite the contrary. It was exquisite. Will you play more?”

“I do not hear any more at the moment. Perhaps additional stanzas will come to me later. Moreover, I dare not continue playing, lest we tempt fate overmuch. Perhaps ‘tis time we take ourselves off to other parts.”

“Indeed.” Her formal tone and speech of a bygone era had a certain charm. Everything about her had a certain charm.

He opened the door and peered about. The housekeeper who had caught him in the music room was hurrying down the corridor again but stopped short when she spotted Rafe. “Oh, it’s you. Were you playing just now, too?”

Rafe casually pulled the door partially closed to shield Osanne from view. “I hope I didn’t disturb anyone,”

The housekeeper nervously giggled like a girl half her age. “Oh, no. It was beautiful. I just thought...well, I didn’t want to alarm you earlier, but some say the music room is haunted.”

Rafe lifted his brows. “And you believe that nonsense?”

She giggled again. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Well, good evening, madam.” Rafe walked toward the drawing room with his head high. As he had hoped, the woman opened a door leading to the servant’s stairway and disappeared.

Rafe glanced back toward the music room. Osanne had stepped out. She gave him another heart-stopping smile and led him out of the house. Outside, the crisp night air chilled Rafe’s cheeks. As Osanne led the way down the path, she turned. Her backward glance of longing at the house stirred his imagination.

“Was that your family home?”

She paused, then answered quietly, “It was.”

Ah. That explained why she knew her way around it so well. She had clearly been the daughter of a fine gentleman, accustomed to living in the village Great House. The estate had probably been entailed; when she lost her family, the new male heir—possibly a cousin—took possession. But why had they failed to provide for Osanne?

“The owners are distant relatives, I take it?” he ventured.

“I truly do not know, only that they have been renting the house for the past several years.”

“And you....?”

She looked at him, her dark, dark eyes unreadable. “I make do.”

Had he asked too personal a question? “Forgive me,” he hastened to say. “It was not my intention to pry.”

She gave him a sad smile but offered no explanation. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to play.”

“Thank you for favoring me with your beautiful music. I still hear your composition over and over in my thoughts.”

They headed back toward Madding Hollow while the notes of her haunting melody repeated in his mind. He shot her constant admiring glances like a schoolboy in the throes of his first tendre, and finally said, “Have you named that piece?”

“I believe I shall call it Reflection.”

He nodded. “It’s fitting. Truly, I’m impressed. Have you composed others?”