An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 19.1. Feminine Hysteria

   She should have known that her aunt could not remain close mouthed about her ghostly encounter in the rose garden for long. The day after the picnic, Charlotte arrived home from an afternoon walk with her uncle to find the parlor once again in utter chaos. The clink of teacups could barely be heard between the excited flow of female chatter. Every matron in Chistlebury appeared to be in attendance for this emergency meeting.

   "Ladies, please, let us have order," implored the sensible Widow Randall. "Madness will not catch a ghost. Nor will it assist our fund-raising attempts to repair the church steeple."

   "Shall we lay a trap?" one lady asked quite seriously.

   "A trap?" Aunt Penelope pursed her lips as Charlotte swept into the room with a frown of disapproval.

   She was sorely tempted to shake the gentle-hearted woman for this impulsive betrayal of Benedic to her friends. She could only hope that when word of this reached Edward, he would pass this development off as so much feminine hysteria. Would he really believe that his middle-aged neighbor had spoken with Benedic's spirit in the garden?

   The robust red-haired Lady Millington shook her head. "One of us would have to volunteer to be, well, the bait."

   "I'll do it," Paulina offered through a mouthful of gingerbread, her freckled face ingenuous.

   "You shall do nothing of the sort," her mother said in horror, flinging a napkin between them.

   "Why not?" Paulina asked. "I'm the one Madame Mara said he wanted. It would seem I should be the logical choice of bait."

   "You are far too young to face such danger," Lady Millington insisted. "It will take a woman of some experience to lay this spirit to rest."

   Lady Swanston, a baroness with five daughters of her own, added her agreement. "This a dangerous endeavor. An older woman would be better able to handle him in the event he turned on her."

   "Did Strathmere  . . . attempt to force himself upon you?" Lady Millington asked Penelope.

   "I took my precautions, my dears," Penelope replied rather smugly.

   The eight ladies in attendance leaned forward from their chairs as one.

   "Precautions?" whispered the baroness.

   Penelope nodded. "I sprinkled a protective powder of salt in a circle around my feet before I began the ritual."

   The group glanced expectantly at Charlotte, who raised her brow and murmured, "Well, don't look at me. I did not see the ghost."

   Which she would not qualify as a lie. The Benedic Charlotte knew was a breathing, infuriating, flesh-and-blood human being. A man capable of inciting very carnal, earthly emotions indeed. There was certainly nothing ethereal about the way he had taken over her life.

   "How do we set this trap?" Lady Swanston asked.

   "Are we all to be involved?"

   "Should the parson be present?"

   "Will it be necessary to lure him? This Strathmere Ghost, I mean, not the parson."

   Another squall of conversation broke out. The ramifications of such a courageous sacrifice were discussed in the frankest detail. The assembly concluded, not unhappily, that the ghost would most likely continue his nocturnal seductions until he was stopped.

   The exact plan for setting the trap was temporarily put aside as the discussion veered to settling on the identity of the ghost's next victim, now that Paulina was under her mother's protection.

   "I don't know why he should come to you in the first place, Penelope," said Lady Norwood a trifle sourly.

   Paulina leaped to her mother's defense. "We're living in his former house, for one thing. We were his closest neighbors."

   "And we have taken his beloved dog to our bosom," Aunt Penelope added.

   The ladies glanced at the rather overweight dog sprawled out across the hearth as if it had only now occurred to them to associate the beast with his wicked master. Ares, a few moments ago regarded as a benign mutt, suddenly assumed the menacing appearance of a hound from hell.

   "Do you think that animal communicates with the viscount's spirit?" Lady Millington whispered behind her hand.

   Aunt Penelope nodded. "Naturally."

   Lady Brookfell narrowed her eyes. "Why don't we ask him to show us his master's next victim?"

   "An excellent idea," Aunt Penelope agreed. She closed her eyes. She pressed her fingertips together in a prayerful attitude.

   The cozy parlor grew so quiet one could hear only the popping of the coals in the grate. A bottle fly buzzed against the window. Then even the insect fell silent fell silent as if caught in the spell of suspense.

   "Ares," Aunt Penelope said in a low, breathy voice that made Paulina elbow Charlotte in amusement. "Communicate with your master. Ask him the name of whom he will seek solace from next."

   Her nostrils flared with emotion.

   The hound lifted one eyelid and gazed indolently around the room. His tail thumped the carpet.

   "Show us," Aunt Penelope commanded, her voice rising. "Show us the person your master seeks if she is in this room!"

   Of course there was no contest.

   Charlotte's lip curled in disgust as the lazy cur, who must have gained half a stone since coming to Crowbridge Manor, designed to rise from the hearth to scratch its rear end.

   Charlotte had walked that dog for hours. She had brushed and petted the useless hound, allowed him to sleep in her room. But Aunt Penelope had been sneaking Ares sausages bits under the table for days.

   The dog padded straight across the carpet and poked his muzzle between her knees.

   Aunt Penelope cleared her throat and nudged the animal discreetly to her side.

   "Perhaps we could move on to the matter of the annual bal masqué?" Lady Millington suggested with a faint sneer.