of becoming a mother, but the prospect served to strengthen her resolve. Greystone would not care about the baby any more than her, but with some careful arrangement she could bear it without destroying her or Margaret’s reputation. She had heard stories of girls who went away to Scotland or Ireland to have a secret confinement, and returned a year or two later wearing wedding rings and pretending to be widows while presenting their infants. Everyone suspected the truth of such matters, but accepted the pretense.
Would she be bold enough to try the same?
The hope she felt soothed her, and she closed her eyes for a moment. That moment stretched out as she fell into a doze, and then into a dream.
Jennet found herself standing in a cemetery, her costume now covered with black feathers. Before her gaped a deep rectangular hole in the ground framed by four long, sharp-looking scythes. She took a step back, and then leaned forward to look into the grave, which thankfully proved empty. A black marble headstone had been placed at one end, but dozens of names had been chiseled into its surface.
All of them ended with the same surname: Thorne.
“I should like to awaken now,” Jennet said, removing the velvet mask from her face. The fabric had turned black, and fell apart in her hands, fluttering to the ground to become more gleaming dark plumes.
“You are in no immediate peril, my dear,” a deep voice said. “Yet I think you must awaken very soon.”
She turned toward the other end of the grave, where stood a tall, heavy-set older man wearing clothes from a century past. A powdered wig sat somewhat askew on his head, which he absently adjusted as he gazed down into the grave. That he was partly transparent and floated slightly above the ground made it obvious he was some form of apparition.
Jennet blinked, but he did not vanish. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“On the best of days Dredthorne Hall is a precarious place, my dear,” the old man told her. “This is All Hallows’ Eve. Tonight, every soul lost within these rooms has been awakened. Most intend only to wander, but among them walk malevolent and vengeful spirits that one should not cross.”
“I do not believe in ghosts or spirits,” Jennet told him. “Nor have we been introduced. Pray, what is your name?”
“Forgive my discourtesy.” The man bowed. “I am Emerson Thorne.”
“You are the gentleman who built Dredthorne Hall?” When he nodded, she belatedly remembered to curtsey. “Of course, I must be dreaming.”
“You have a gift of seeing what others do not,” Thorne told her. “Even in your sleep, I would wager. I am sorry to say that ladies with your talent do not fare well in my house.”
Jennet smiled politely. “I am imagining you, sir, so I have no need for your reassurance.”
The cemetery became flooded with shadows, which whirled around them before receding. She found herself walking through the gardens, the ghost of Emerson Thorne floating beside her. All around them sprang flowers and vines and leaves made of ice and frost, which sparkled in the bright moonlight. The dazzling radiance made her squint until she spied other diaphanous silhouettes moving along the pathways. All of them appeared to be ladies, each dressed in gowns from the last century.
When they noticed Jennet and Thorne, they flew back into the hall, passing directly through the stone walls.
“If you are indeed haunting Dredthorne, what keeps you here?” she asked Thorne.
“Before I built my home, there stood on these grounds the ruins of an ancient fortress. It fell during the invasion of William the Conqueror. Many hundreds of Saxons died here, where I built my dream home.” The old man sighed. “I should have respected the dead, but I was in love and had not a thought for anyone but my lady. I had the ruins cleared, and Dredthorne built. My rival murdered my wife here. Many other Thorne wives were killed, or driven mad.”
His rambling sounded like the stuff of delusions, but Jennet felt a sudden welling of dread. “I am not married to a Thorne, or any man, for that matter.”
Thorne chuckled sadly. “My family has many branches, including a very distant connection to the Gerard family. Midnight has passed, so you have spent the night in my house, and made yourself William’s wife in everything but name.”
Jennet wanted to laugh it off as part of this ridiculous dream, but in her heart she felt the truth of what