Page 19 of A Ghost of a Chance

The only other explanation was too irrational to entertain.

“Do you have a place to sleep tonight, Mr. Beauchamp?”

Rafe nodded. “I have a room at the Black Horse.”

“Perhaps you ought to seek your bed before you fall over. I wish to spend some time finishing my sermon for the All Saints’ Day Service. If you wish to speak with me later, I will be at your disposal after the service.” He paused. “We welcome newcomers. We ring the bell at ten o’clock.”

Rafe stood. “Thank you for the tea, and for your...perspective.”

They bade each other farewell. Rafe left with even more questions, not the least of which, how could he have become smitten with a ghost?

In his room at the inn, Rafe collapsed on the lumpy bed. Sleep skittered out of reach. His heart yearned for the unforgettable lady he could never have.

Chapter Six

Osanne came into wakefulness as she did every sunset on All Hallows’ Eve. Ordinarily, her first thought centered on how she might learn what happened to her brother, followed quickly by how she could keep the townsfolk from the Larkin boys’ mischief, while leaving time to play the pianoforte and continue her composition.

This evening, her first thought focused on Rafe and that unforgettable night they spent together. But though a day to her, a year had passed, and a year was a long time to mortals. He had likely forgotten about her and found a living lady to love him. He certainly deserved it.

Now that she had experienced such bliss, how would she ever find pleasure in her music? Granted, pleasure as a disembodied soul was thin and shallow at best, but music had given her purpose in her strange existence. Some souls merely wandered aimlessly, or caused grief to the living. At least Osanne attempted to prevent mischief and harm, and sought to create beauty—even if another soul would never hear it.

As darkness spread, Osanne recalled her vow from last year—to do anything to know love, or even friendship, again. Her wish had materialized. But such a blissful night could not last, and surely would not be repeated.

As John and Frank Larkin and the other spirits moved toward the village square, Osanne lingered, reading the tombstones. No new markers. No mention of her parents or brother. If only she could apologize for her failure and for causing them grief, or at least learn of their fates.

Shadows darkened, and the bare tree branches shivered in the breeze. The moon and stars shone down from a cloudless sky.

Osanne glanced at Ravenswood Manor on its hill. Gilded by a silver and white moon and backlit by stars, it appeared exactly as it had when she and her family had lived there. Now, interspersed with memories of her family, lay memories of Rafe and all they had shared.

At a distance, the flickering firelight in barrels scattered along the main road beckoned to her but she stayed next to the carved statues and monuments, consumed by her profound emptiness. What a fool to wish for a human connection! That sweet night with Rafe threw into sharp relief her meaningless existence.

“Osanne?” On the main path leading from the churchyard to the village square stood Rafe.

Rafe!

He took a few steps forward, his smile turning from uncertainty to disbelieving wonder.

For a moment, Osanne could think of nothing to say. She began drifting upward and had to consciously remind herself to keep her feet near the ground so she appeared to stand. “You’re here....” A champion of obvious statements, she changed tactics. “Why are you here?”

His wonder turned to one of...joy? Surely not. He truly did not care that much. Did he?

“I’m here for you. I had to see you.” He took another step forward. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

If she were in possession of a beating heart, it would have leaped about in happiness. She glided closer. A strong longing to throw her arms around him rose up within her. Instead, she stopped in front of him.

Grinning, he looked her over as if assuring himself she truly appeared before him. “After all, I had to satisfy myself that you were real and not part of a vivid dream.”

He had only come to satisfy his curiosity. Still, he had come seeking her. She smiled. “Was it a good dream?”

“The best.” A shadow dimmed the light in his eyes. “Until I watched you disappear.” Almost instantly, he brightened. “But we shan’t think of that right now. I’m happy just to be here with you.”

In truth? He was happy to be with her? He smiled, a slow curving of his lips that drew her to him. He had shaved, which better revealed a fine, strong jawline and emphasized the shape of his mouth.

How would it be to feel the press of his lips on hers? To bask in the beauty of his kiss?

Fool! She was a ghost; she felt nothing, at least, nothing on the physical level.

His voice, so familiar and so dear, wrapped around her. “Shall we go play the pianoforte at Ravenswood Manor? Or find the Larkin boys and keep them out of trouble? Or....” He cocked his head. “What would you like to do?”