Page 10 of Marrying Bluebeard

The girl looks up in surprise. “Are you talking to me?”

I glance over with a bemused smile. “Is there anyone else here?”

She looks around in confusion. “No, but… you can see me?”

“I would think that obvious.”

Her pale eyes grow wide. “Most people can’t.” A grin stretches across her face. “My name’s Jenny. What’s yours?”

“Adelaide.” I offer her a smile before returning my attention outside. The croquet game is still in full swing, but I notice Miss Dellum has joined a group of older ladies armed with parasols who are headed down toward the lake. Monsieur de Montragoux is nowhere in sight. “Tell me, Jenny. Were you a croquet girl? Or was lawn bowls more your style?”

She sighs, shoulders drooping. “Neither. Mother died when I was six, and Father wouldn’t let me leave the house for fear I’d fall ill like she did.” She leans forward, reaching her hand toward the window, and her translucent fingers press against the glass. “Even now I can’t seem to go outside. He kept me in to keep me safe, and now I’m a spirit bound to this wretched house for eternity.”

I shudder. “That sounds dreadful.”

“Dreadful is an understatement.” Another long sigh. “At least the woman who lives here now, Madame Gossard, is more entertaining than the last owner. She has all sorts of interesting guests. Like you.” She perks up as she looks me over. “Have you always been able to see ghosts?”

“For as long as I can remember. In fact”—I make a clucking noise with my tongue and a moment later a ball of white fur appears out of thin air before jumping onto my lap—“this is my cat, Whisper. She’s a ghost too.”

Jenny squeals, bouncing off the table and coming around to my side. She reaches out, tentatively scratching between Whisper’s ears. When her wispy fingers make contact, she beams. “I can feel her. Her fur is so soft and fluffy!”

Whisper soaks up the attention, rubbing her head against Jenny’s eager hand. “She likes you.”

“Aw, I like you too, Whisper.” Jenny giggles as Whisper rolls onto her back and stretches out. “I can’t believe there are two people at this party who can see ghosts. That never happens.”

My heart kicks up, and I try to keep my expression neutral. “Oh? Is there someone else here who can see you?”

Jenny nods. “The man with the funny blue beard.” She blushes. “He caught me spying on a couple having a romantic moment in the garden last night after dinner. Told me even little ghosts need to respect people’s privacy.”

“He’s right.”

“It’s rare, but I manage it every now and then.”

I gasp, and turn to find Monsieur de Montragoux smirking at us from the doorway.

“I see the two of you have met. But who is this little fur ball?” He strolls across the room and bends down, offering his hand for Whisper to smell. She gives it a cautious sniff, claws digging in my lap as her tail puffs out.

He grimaces. “Cats and I don’t get along. I suspect they know I’m a dog person at heart.”

I smooth a hand over Whisper’s back, attempting to calm her, but she refuses to settle. With a hiss in Monsieur de Montragoux’s direction, she hops down and disappears.

“I don’t think she likes you, Mr. Bertrand,” Jenny giggles, covering her mouth with her hand.

He clutches his heart in mock despair. “Yet another lady frightened away before I have a chance to prove myself.”

“This is a common occurrence, is it?” I smooth my skirts as I stand, and repress the urge to flutter my lashes as our eyes meet.

He smiles. “The curse of being different, I’m afraid.”

“A feeling I’m well acquainted with.” I glance back and forth between him and Jenny. “Although never one I’ve been able to share before now.” Curiosity mixes with anticipation, tying my tongue into knots as I attempt to put words to one of the myriad questions welling up inside me. “Have you… that is, how long have you been able to…?”

“See ghosts?” He winks at Jenny, who giggles in return.

A thrill unlike any I’ve ever felt rushes through me, leaving me breathless. Hearing it voiced like that, without the accompanying frown or worried concern—it’s exhilarating.

I exhale a laugh of my own. “Yes, exactly that.”

“How long…” He sighs, his expression growing serious. “It feels like a hundred years or more.”