The Perfect Mistress. Victoria Alexander

started to respond then realized she was probably right. “I can do that.”

      “We shall see.” Veronica studied him closely. “She likes men who have a sense of humor.”

      “I have a sense of humor.”

      Veronica scoffed. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

      “What else?”

      “She prefers men who appreciate her mind as well as her appearance.”

      “Yes, she would, wouldn’t she?” He thought for a moment. “Is she dreadfully intelligent?”

      Amusement twinkled in Veronica’s eyes but her tone was somber. “Dreadfully.”

      “That can’t be helped, I suppose.” He nodded. “Anything else?”

      “She likes what all women like. Consideration, thoughtfulness, a man who will worship the very ground she walks on. Who could not bear to live if she was not in his life. A man who would sacrifice what he wants most for her.”

      He stared. “You sound like you’re reading from a romantic novel.”

      “You asked what women want and there you have it.” She shrugged. “For most women, such a man is only found between the pages of a novel. They are forced to settle for far less. For some of us however …” She drew a deep breath. “I found all that with Charles. And should I ever find it again, I shall snatch the poor man up before he can take so much as a single breath.” She cast him a wry smile. “Although I have no desire to marry again.”

      “Nonsense, all women wish to be married,” he said staunchly. “You are still young and quite lovely. If it were not for—” He caught himself.

      “For my independent, stubborn nature?” She laughed. “Yes, well, that is a hindrance. But one never knows what might transpire in life.”

      “I suppose not.” He chuckled.

      She stared at him then shook her head as if to clear it. “Harrison, I swear on my mother’s grave I have seen you smile more today than I have in the entire seven years I have known you.”

      “My apologies for that, Veronica. I shall endeavor to be more …” He searched for the right word. “Amusing in the future.”

      “That will be interesting.” She considered him for a moment. “Julia is not what you are looking for in a wife.”

      “Most certainly not. You have already said we would not suit.”

      “It bears repeating.” She paused. “Of course, marriage would be one way to get legitimate possession of the memoirs.”

      “But as much as I am willing to pay.” Harrison shook his head. “That price is entirely too high.”

      They discussed the details of Veronica’s dinner for a few minutes more before Harrison took his leave, wondering why he hadn’t reached this point with her long ago. Certainly he found her annoying and she was entirely too intelligent for her own good. But she was family and he liked this whole idea of having a sister. After all, wasn’t it already his duty to watch over her? Didn’t he owe that to his brother? And wasn’t it a responsibility he had shirked? Well, no more. For a man who prided himself on living up to his responsibilities, it was something of a shock to realize he hadn’t when it came to his brother’s widow.

      He left Veronica’s with an newfound spring in his step and an odd sense of exuberance. He could not remember the last time he had felt anything remotely resembling exuberance but surely it was many years ago. Perhaps it could be attributed to facing a challenge, a goal that could not be easily achieved. Much in life had not been the least bit difficult for him.

      And blast it all, when had he become so grim and overbearing? Certainly, he had taken over all of the family responsibilities from his father, which carried with them a sobriety his father had never displayed. But no sense of humor, indeed. Why, he found any number of things amusing, and if he did not show that amusement it was only because it would be frivolous to do so. He was certainly not a frivolous man and had no intention of becoming one. Still, he could be a little less of an ill-mannered boor.

      His carriage rolled toward home and the oddest thought popped into his head and refused to go away. It would be a lucky man who got to worship the ground beneath Julia Winterset’s feet.

      * * *

      “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?”

      The now-familiar voice drifted through Julia’s head and she groaned. Blast it all, another dream. It began as it always did, with Hermione’s voice and Julia dreaming she opened her eyes.

      “I have had quite enough of this nonsense,” Hermione said. “Do sit up and greet me properly.”

      Why not? It was only a dream. Julia struggled to sit up, and sighed. “Good evening, Hermione.” She yawned. “Or is it morning?”

      “Much better.” As usual, Hermione sat at the foot of her bed. “Now then, this will come as something of a shock as I suspect as you are very nearly as stubborn as I. I fear it runs in our blood.”

      “Oh, fortunate me.”

      “Sarcasm, my dear child, is not becoming in a lady.”

      “My apologies,” Julia muttered, heat rising in her face. As always, she marveled at the vividness of these dreams.

      “Brace yourself, my dear.” Hermione leaned forward and met her gaze directly. “I am not a dream.”

      Julia snorted. “Don’t be absurd. I have been dreaming of you since I began reading your memoirs.” She shook her head. “I cannot believe I am arguing with a dream.”

      “You’re not arguing with a dream. You’re arguing with—dear me, how shall I put this?” Hermione thought for a minute. “There’s really no good way to say it. You’re arguing with a ghost.”

      “A ghost.” She scoffed. “Utter nonsense.”

      Hermione raised a brow. “I assure you, I am quite real. Although real is a relative term I suppose, but I am as real as a ghost can be.”

      Julia studied her closely. “If you’re a ghost, why can’t I see through you?”

      “You could if I wished you to but I don’t. I find that transparent nonsense to be quite unnerving and that’s from my point of view. I can’t imagine how it would be from yours. Why, I might be extremely frightening and I really don’t wish to frighten anyone.” She aimed a stern look at Julia. “But I am tired of being ignored.”

      “I haven’t ignored you.” Julia narrowed her eyes. “If you’re a ghost, why do you look like that?”

      Hermione glanced down. “I think I look very nice. I always did love this dress.”

      It was indeed an exquisite deep blue silk, with dropped shoulders and puffed sleeves, trimmed in lace with small bunches of violets attached here and there.

      “You look like you’re going to a ball.”

      “One never knows,” Hermione murmured.

      “You died when you were in your sixty-seventh year. You don’t look much older than I am.”

      “This is how I appeared when I was eight-and-thirty.” She smoothed her hand over her throat. “My neck had not yet begun to sag, there were only the tiniest wrinkles at the corners of my eyes from laughter. I rather liked them. And my breasts …” She smiled smugly. “My breasts were magnificent, as you can clearly see.”

      Julia smiled in spite of herself. “They do look very nice.”

      “While I was somewhat of a remarkable beauty in my youth—”

      “And humble,” Julia said under her breath.

      “—at eight-and-thirty, I was