Julia's Spirit by Emily Hendrickson

Author:Emily Hendrickson [Hendrickson, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance Paranormal
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1993-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

When had it happened? she wondered while staring out of the window at the setting sun. Muted peach and mauve flowed across the darkening blue sky, brushed by a master hand. Clouds scudded along, tumbled by an impatient wind. But the beauty of the scene was lost to this particular viewer.

“How could I be such a fool?” Julia whispered to the soft blue draperies. She rested her head against the window for a moment, then straightened as Hibbett entered the room with the plum-colored sarcenet Julia intended to don for the evening. She crossed the room to inspect the gown.

“Depressing thing, is it not, Hibbett?” Julia declared, holding out the limp skirt. “I cannot think what I was about when I ordered it from Madame Clotilde.”

“Too true, ma’am,” the abigail replied with her usual forthrightness. “As I recall, Madame did not like it above half. Said it made you look like a wilting sloe.”

“Hopeless. Quite, quite hopeless.”

“Now, I would never say that, my lady. If I had a bit of lace, or trim of some sort, I might contrive to change it the way that Madame suggested. Alter the neckline a trifle, fix the sleeves a bit. Wouldn’t be difficult.” The abigail studied the garment with zealous eyes.

Julia turned a speculative gaze on her maid. “Could you? I believe I shall make a trip to the village for a few things. Do you suppose there are any other of my gowns you might refurbish?” Julia cast her an encouraging look from beneath dark lashes.

“I shall inquire while at dinner as to the best shop to visit. If I may say so, it will be a pleasure to have you looking more your age for a change, instead of trying to ape some ancient dowager.” Hibbett gave an emphatic nod at these words, then set about doing what she could with the admittedly plain gown.

Once dressed, and her hair nicely arranged, Julia dismissed the maid, then sat staring into her mirror, toying with the demure string of pearls that curved around her neck.

“You,” she informed her reflection, “are a bloody fool! He desires your help, your talent, but not you. And you will stew over those silly gowns, as though they will do you any good. Why, oh, why did you accept this commission when you suspected the dangers involved? Couldn’t you have guessed?”

“Because,” her reflection replied, “you were already half in love with those beautiful, beautiful eyes. It was but a moment for you to love the entire man.”

She shut her eyes against the truth, sighing deeply. She pushed away from the dressing table, then picked up her plain white wool shawl. At the door, she paused, wondering if the ghost sympathized over lost love.

“Simpleton,” Julia scolded herself. “Peagoose!”

With those vastly encouraging words, she marched down the hall, ignoring the shadows where Mary Blackford might lurk.

The chandelier that hung above the landing of the grand staircase where it branched to wing up either side of the house from the central hall sparkled brilliantly with candlelight.

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