The Perfect Mistress. Victoria Alexander

the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

      “Then you have never heard the story about a crowned head of one of those tiny European countries, a scullery maid dressed as a poodle, and a pony. Now that, my dear, was ridiculous.”

      Julia stared. She certainly did have an excellent imagination.

      “But I digress.” Hermione gestured in a nonchalant manner. “Where was I? Oh yes.” Her eyes narrowed. “I am not a dream, I am not something you invented. I am not a result of indigestion or imagination. I am a ghost like Scrooge’s Marley or Hamlet’s father.”

      “Ah-hah.” Julia aimed a triumphant finger at the alleged specter. “They were both fictional, concocted from man’s imagination as surely as mine has conjured you.”

      Hermione’s brows drew together in a forbidding frown. “Lord Mountdale was right, I see.”

      Julia narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

      “Why, he found you most annoying.” Hermione’s expression brightened. “And how would I know that if I were not a ghost? If I have not been watching over you?”

      “You would know that because I know that.” She shrugged. “It was obvious.” Indeed, she’d never met anyone she was as certain disliked her as much as Lord Mountdale did.

      “Even to the dead?”

      “Apparently.”

      “He is dashing, though.”

      Julia shrugged. “If you like that sort.”

      “What woman in her right mind doesn’t like that sort? The sort that is tall and handsome with piercing blue eyes that seem to caress you with every look—”

      “They did not!” Although why would her dream say they had if they hadn’t?

      “And his hands. Did you notice his hands? You can tell a lot about a man by the size of his hands. And Lord Mountdale’s hands—”

      “That’s quite enough!” Odd, Julia couldn’t remember noticing his hands but obviously she had. “This is absurd.”

      “Not as absurd as when Lady Ridgemont had her portrait painted dressed as a mermaid.” Hermione shook her head. “Sea green was not the woman’s color and fish scales are never attractive.”

      Julia glared. “You’re digressing again.”

      “I am, aren’t I? I do hate it when I do that.” Hermione thought for a moment. “I was about to mention that in addition to his handsome face and his ha—”

      “Stop that!”

      Hermione continued without pause. “He is extremely wealthy and would make someone an excellent husband.”

      “Would he indeed?” Was Julia really thinking such a thing? Surely she must be if the idea would surface in her dreams. Still, it was a revelation she was not willing to accept. Why, she didn’t like the man and he didn’t like her. Nor did he like her lamp.

      “The gentleman has everything you need. Marriage to him would solve all your problems. And you could scarcely do better.”

      “Marriage to Lord Mountdale is out of the question. Furthermore he has nothing to do with this discussion.” Julia directed a firm look toward Hermione. “We were discussing your … your nature.”

      “I assure you, I am indeed a ghost.”

      “Prove it, then.” Julia folded her arms over her chest and nodded. “Go on. Prove you’re a ghost and not a dream.”

      “What do you suggest I do?”

      “I have no idea.” Julia shrugged. “Something ghostly, I suppose.”

      “I’m not going to vanish and reappear, change my appearance, float near the ceiling, that sort of thing. I don’t do parlor tricks.” She sniffed. “Besides, anything of a ghostly nature you will simply attribute to the idea that you are dreaming.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I should have appeared to you during the day when there wasn’t a doubt in your mind as to your wakefulness. Perhaps tomorrow—”

      “No,” Julia said without thinking.

      “No?” Hermione raised a brow. “Then you do believe me.”

      Julia shook her head. “No, I don’t. I simply don’t want the idea that you may pop up at any minute haunting my thoughts all day.”

      “Haunting your thoughts?” Hermione grinned. “What a telling phrase.”

      Julia sighed. “I am now going to bury my head in my pillow and force everything from my mind, thus ending this dream.”

      “You can bury your head in the desert sands for all the difference it makes, I shall not go away,” Hermione said in a tone that was as pleasant as it was determined. “I have no idea how I shall prove my nature but prove it I shall. We shan’t accomplish anything until I do,” she added under her breath.

      “What do you wish to accomplish?” Julia said slowly.

      “Why, I am here to help, of course.”

      “At the moment you can help by allowing me to get some much-needed rest.”

      “If I’m a dream then you are asleep and already getting rest.”

      “I have scarcely had a decent night’s sleep since I began reading your memoirs.”

      Hermione cast her a satisfied grin. “They are stimulating, aren’t they?”

      “They are scandalous, disgraceful, and completely outrageous.”

      “They should sell very well then.”

      Julia smiled wryly. “Yes, they should.” She drew a deep breath. “And you have my thanks for writing them.”

      “It was entirely my pleasure.” Hermione smirked. “In so many ways.”

      Julia groaned. “Good Lord.”

      “I know. You have not reached page one forty-seven yet. What if I tell you what’s on that page? It’s not something you already know. That should prove I know things you don’t.”

      “My dear Hermione, I can very nearly guess the type of incident that will be recounted on page one forty-seven.”

      “Yes, well perhaps.” She thought for a moment, then smiled slowly in an entirely too wicked manner. “What if I told you a secret you couldn’t possibly know and would never suspect?”

      Julia narrowed her eyes. “What kind of secret?”

      “About your Lord Mountdale.”

      “He’s not my Lord Mountdale.”

      “It’s the reason why he, and his mother before him, are so concerned with scandal.”

      “How very interesting. Still …” Julia shook her head. “That sounds like gossip to me.”

      “And?”

      “And I try not to indulge in gossip.”

      “Gossip, my dear, serves a necessary purpose. Without gossip, how does one ever learn anything of interest?” Hermione rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “Besides, you won’t be indulging in gossip, I will. You’ll just be listening. Although the point is moot as this isn’t gossip. This is something I know for a fact.”

      Without warning, Hermione vanished from the foot of the bed to reappear at once sitting beside Julia, close enough to speak low into her ear. Dream or not, it was most unnerving. Julia realized she felt Hermione’s presence although she had no sense of her substance. Even in a dream it was enough to make a shiver run up her spine and so disconcerting that it took a moment for Hermione’s words to sink into her mind.

      “Good Lord!” She stared.