Page 3 of A Ghost of a Chance

Osanne rounded on Frank and John. “You hurt someone. Cease these foolish pranks. Now!”

The Larkins shrugged but wandered outside with less swagger than before, no doubt seeking their customary Hallows’ Eve “fun” elsewhere, the juvenile curs.

“I’ll see to him,” Atwood said to the stranger. “Come, Jake. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He escorted the victim of John and Frank’s cruel pranks into a back room.

The stranger picked up a table and set it to rights. Behind him, a wisp of smoke from an ember smoldered. A tiny flame leaped up. Osanne hurried to snuff it out lest it turn into a blaze. She quietly righted a stool.

The stranger continued picking up tables and chairs, and even put the candles back where they belonged. What kind of man would help an innkeeper set his room to rights? A kind one, of a certain. Inspired by his kindness, Osanne quietly helped clean up in the darkest corners.

“You aren’t afraid of the spooks then?” he asked with a tinge of humor in his voice.

Perhaps he spoke to Atwood or the injured man, Jake. She glanced about, but the two of them were alone in the room.

“You and I are the only ones who didn’t run.” He paused, looking directly into her eyes. His were both bright and pale at the same time.

Osanne froze. She dared not move. How was it possible that this courageous, handsome man spoke to her?

His lips curved into a gentle, wry smile. “You’re shy, aren’t you?”

Did she imagine this? Could it be a product of her loneliness? Cautiously, she said, “I did not see the need to run.”

He nodded. “Nor I. There’s always a logical explanation. You can’t convince me that spooks and ghouls roam the earth—not even tonight.”

Osanne remained motionless. How long had it been since someone such as he had acknowledged her existence—someone other than the annoying Larkin boys, that is? Still cautious, she asked, “You do not believe anything is unique about All Hallows’ Eve?”

A wry smile touched his mouth. “I’ve seen a great many strange things, but nothing that would convince me the dead walk about.” A chuckle shivered his words and he looked her in the eye again.

’Twasn’t her imagination. This handsome stranger was, in truth, having a conversation with her. “Perhaps you haven’t visited the right places,” she suggested.

He grimaced. “I’ve slept in the middle of battlefields where the dead lay where they fell, and in graveyards where they were buried—yes, even on All Hallows’ Eve—but I never saw or heard anything to give me reason to believe ghosts float around scaring people on this or any other night.” He picked up another table and set a candle in the middle of it.

Battlefield? He must have fought in the war against Napoleon. Such news had reached even this tiny corner of England.

She moved closer and asked, “What, I pray thee, did you believe when everyone else here thought spooks were about?”

“That a couple of mischievous boys good at sneaking about were taking advantage of shadows and the superstitions of this night.” He looked back at her with those intriguingly pale, bright eyes.

She smiled, bathing in the unique sensation of a gentleman like him conversing with her. “You are correct. ’Twas the Larkin boys. I’m persuaded ‘tis a tradition of sorts for them to frighten people on All Hallows’ Eve.”

The extraordinarily handsome stranger—who spoke to her!—nodded as he picked up a lit taper behind the bar. “I suspected some such.”

Smiling, Osanne placed the rest of the candles back on each table. Though taller than most men, the stranger stood on a chair and re-lit the candles on the chandelier. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve broken all rules of etiquette. Since there’s no one to introduce us, please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Rafe Beauchamp.”

“Rafe Beauchamp?” An unusual name, to be sure.

Smirking, he held up his hands. “I know; Rafe is odd. It’s an old family name. Generations ago it was Ralph, but the old way of pronouncing Ralph was Rafe, so my grandfather changed the spelling of his son’s name to reflect the pronunciation.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “But that’s probably more information than you wanted. Forgive me if I put you to sleep with that explanation.”

She smiled. “No, I found it fascinating.”

“And you are, if I may be so bold as to ask?” he said.

“Osanne Jewell.” She curtsied.

He bowed, without taking his attention off her face. His eyes went soft. “Jewell? Yes, I believe you are.”

Osanne found herself speechless.

He added another log to the fire in the hearth. “But Osanne? Now that’s a fascinating name one doesn’t hear every day. It’s a variation of Hosanna, isn’t it?”