Page 34 of A Ghost of a Chance

Eventually, Rafe would stop coming and find a mortal girl to love—perhaps Kitty. Their families clearly welcomed a union between them.

Osanne was doomed to continue on as she was before she met him. Unconnected. Unwanted.

Alone.

Chapter Nine

As sunrise approached, Rafe stuffed down his panic that he must once again lose her for an entire year. Instead, he donned a charming guise and held his arms out to Osanne. “Forgive me for becoming maudlin. These nights with you have been the happiest of my life, and I look forward to them all year long. I’m fortunate to know you.”

She offered him a wobbly smile. “I feel the same way about you. And I thank you for the gift of your companionship.”

“Until we meet again.” He stopped just short of calling her ‘my love.’

He loved her. After only three nights together, he loved her.

No, it couldn’t be. Infatuation, to be sure, but not love. How could he love a woman he only saw once a year and could never touch?

As she faded away, he kept his smile in place and waved. Instead of dissolving into a puddle of messy emotions that lapped at his heart, he went straight to the vicar’s house. Humming, Mr. Brown stepped out of his back entrance.

Rafe hailed him. “Mr. Brown.”

The vicar’s face lit up. “Ah, Mr. Beauchamp. I didn’t see you last eve.”

“Did you attend the soiree at the Great House?”

He smiled. “I did, with my bride of four months.”

Rafe grinned. “Bride? Congratulations. Is she the Morris girl?”

Mr. Brown chuckled and nodded. “Can you believe she would have me—a poor country vicar?”

Rafe shook his head mournfully. “There’s no accounting for a girl’s taste.”

Mr. Brown chuckled. “How are you this morning, my friend?”

Friend. How long had it been since someone called Rafe that? Perhaps Mr. Brown only meant it as a casual expression, but Rafe had missed true friendship. Since Benjamin’s death, Rafe had maintained cordial but distant relationships with everyone. Until now, he had failed to realize how much he missed deeper connections.

Mr. Brown cocked his head. “Was that a difficult question?”

Rafe smiled sheepishly. “Forgive me. I was woolgathering. I’m well, thank you.”

“You look better than the last few All Saints’ Days.”

“Well, for one thing, I drank a great deal less last night.”

“That will do it. You seem to have something on your mind.”

How could he answer that? Instead, he asked, “Do you know who has lived here the longest—anyone who might have known the Jewells when they resided in the Great House?”

Tapping his chin, Mr. Brown said, “Hmmm. That would probably be the widow Grainger. As I understand, she and Mrs. Jewell were friends way back. She still speaks of her.”

“Would you introduce me to Mrs. Grainger?”

“She doesn’t often leave her home. I’m not sure she’s entirely all there,” he tapped his head, “if you know what I mean.”

“Is she lucid enough to tell me of the family?”

“Perhaps, but she is over 90 years old. Don’t be surprised if she suddenly starts complaining about a cow that got into her garden yesterday, when, in fact, it happened about ten years ago.”