Page 43 of Love At First Fright

Juliet shook her head. “Keep them. I worry that eventually we won’t be able to hold things anymore and then they’ll be lost to history. Use them.”

“I will. What will you both do now?”

“I think we’ll stay here for a little while longer. I heard someone in the crew saying that there will be a Regency show filming here next, something called Bridgerton ? We’d both like to see what the fuss is about.”

Rosemary thought about the ghosts witnessing the not-entirely-historically-accurate TV set of Bridgerton and grinned. “I think you’re going to love it.”

“Well, if you see a candle floating in the background of a shot you’ll know it was us,” Juliet said.

And that was that. Rosemary said goodbye.

As she walked down the stairs, Rosemary spared a look back at the ghosts on the balcony.

In the winter sunlight they appeared almost translucent, the bottom of their dresses fading.

It struck a bittersweet chord with Rosemary.

She suspected that they were each other’s unfinished business, and that now they had indeed found each other and told the other how they felt, their time here would be limited.

But perhaps she was wrong. Meeting Juliet and Cecilia had taught her how little she truly knew about ghosts, and how powerful a motivator love was.

Maybe they would be able to stick around longer if they wished.

It was strange, though, seeing the two of them, Juliet with her arm around Cecilia’s waist as they pointed and talked about the film crew below them, knowing that she would never see them again. Not in this life, anyway.

—

“We’re here,” Ellis said, tucking a lock of hair behind Rosemary’s ear.

She hadn’t intended to fall asleep in the car back to London, but Ellis had seat warmers in his car, Fig was tucked into her lap, and the sound of Ellis humming along to folk rock on the radio had lulled her into a nap.

At some point he must have pulled off his jacket, because it was covering her and Fig like a blanket.

Groggily, Rosemary rubbed her eyes and pushed her glasses up her nose.

So, this was Ellis’s home. It was not what she’d been expecting.

She immediately kicked herself; of course, she should have known that Ellis wouldn’t choose to live in some kind of McMansion with gaudy pillars.

No, this house was Ellis through and through.

It was fancy without looking expensive, with ivy-laden walls and surrounded on all sides by nature.

“What does that sign say?” Rosemary pointed at a wrought iron shop sign that hung over the front door.

“The Old Bakery. There used to be a mill nearby, and this was the local bakery. Funnily enough, sometimes I can smell freshly baked bread in the living room.”

They had pulled up to the front door on a short gravel driveway, a monkey puzzle tree overhanging in the front garden, where she noticed a few tall evergreens afforded privacy.

The house itself was sandstone brick, with a large, rounded maplewood door set into its side.

The moment she was out of the car, Fig set off to sniff and run around the garden, no doubt to check that her territory was still intact.

“Your home is beautiful,” Rosemary said, watching the way Ellis’s entire body seemed to soften and exhale.

“I’m glad you like it. I don’t know why, but I was worried you wouldn’t.

” He laughed, though she could hear the nervous inflection in his voice.

This was a big moment for them both, she got that.

She was a little shaky herself, standing behind Ellis as he unlocked the door.

Fig came bounding through Ellis’s legs—it was time to check her inside territory as well.

Rosemary was surprised by how quickly she’d become familiar with Fig’s little canine eccentricities.

Rosemary glanced up and looked around her. The hallway had a high ceiling, was painted white, and the warm wooden floors led off down a hall and twisted up a staircase. Up to where Ellis slept. Where she would be sleeping with him. Rosemary felt totally normal about that.

Ellis kicked off his shoes and took Rosemary’s hand, leading her through the downstairs of the house, Fig at their heels.

“This is the living room.” Ellis ducked his head through an arched door.

“My sister, Annie, is always telling me that I have enough money so I should have a separate library room, but I really just like being able to see all my books when I’m on the sofa.

” He grinned. Rosemary briefly wondered if she liked this room even more than she liked Ellis.

“I see her point, but this room is perfect, I could live in here,” she said, gazing around at the wood panelling and bookshelves and the low, wide green velvet couch under the window. In the spring or on sunny days, she bet the light would come in here just right.

“I know you said your friends want to meet me, what if we invited them and Annie over for a Sunday lunch? I know how important Dina and Immy are to you, and I suspect I need their approval if I’m going to be your boyfriend.

” He spoke so earnestly that Rosemary felt a flood of warmth in her chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

“Boyfriend?”

“If you like.”

“I would love that.”

Just then, Rosemary heard it. A quiet humming, slightly out of tune.

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air.

She looked over at one of the bookshelves and there was the faintest outline in silver, of a portly man carrying a tray of loaves.

They might have belonged to the spirit world, but Rosemary could swear she saw them steaming.

“There’s a remnant,” she whispered, though it was clear the man couldn’t see them. He wasn’t really a man. More of an impression of a person who had once been here, who had loved this work, the bakery.

“A remnant? Like the ghost impressions you told me about?” Ellis looked around the room and sniffed the air. “The bread?” he asked.

“Yeah. There’s a baker, right there. He’s faded, already. He must come and go, and he’s probably here whenever you smell fresh bread.”

“Whoa.” Ellis was wide-eyed. “A bakery ghost.”

“As hauntings go, I think you lucked out.” Rosemary grinned, and started back down the hallway. “What’s in there?” Rosemary gestured towards a closed door to the right of the living room.

“Nothing,” Ellis said far too quickly.

“Nothing?”

“I mean, it’s not ready yet. Just don’t go in there, okay?”

“Why do I feel like you’ve installed some kind of sex dungeon?” Rosemary deadpanned.

“No sex dungeon, but hey”—Ellis wagged his eyebrows—“there’s a couple of spare bedrooms upstairs that could do with a makeover.”

Rosemary rolled her eyes, letting Ellis guide her into the kitchen.

It was the kind of kitchen that haunts the dreams of every twenty-nine-year-old living in a cramped apartment.

Navy cupboards with brass handles and white marble countertops curved around to the left with a floating island, and after it, two steps led down to a sunny conservatory with another sofa and big wooden dining table.

A row of copper pots and a full set of orange Le Creuset saucepans were arranged artfully in the kitchen.

Beyond the cosiness of the kitchen and the sunny conservatory, a row of glass doors opened to the garden, where green surrounded them on all sides.

“Holy shit, Ellis. You could probably fit three of my New York studios in here.”

“It’s good for dinner parties.” He grinned and stepped close behind her, pulling Rosemary flush with his chest. “I’ve been dreaming about doing some filthy things to you on that breakfast counter,” he whispered in his low, honeyed voice.

“And over there, on that sofa. In fact, I don’t think there’s a single place in this house I haven’t pictured fucking you. ”

“Which one first?” She turned around, her hands splaying out on his hard chest, feeling the way his heart thrummed faster under her touch.

“First, I want to show you the garden.”

He went back to grab their shoes and coats since the English weather had now dropped down significantly.

From inside, Rosemary could kid herself that the sun and clear blue skies meant it was warm, but she was suddenly glad that Ellis had brought back her jacket.

It was freezing, the air crisp and frosty.

Ellis was in his element. Rosemary realised that the tour of the ground floor of this house was only a prologue compared to Ellis’s real pride and joy: his garden.

“This is the vegetable patch. There will be potatoes and carrots in time for Christmas.” He pointed at the shrubs that lined the garden walls and the patches of empty soil beneath them.

“Most of these are evergreens but I’ve planted lots of tulip, daffodil, and bluebell bulbs over the years, so in spring it’s a real riot of colour. ”

“Tulips are my favourite,” Rosemary said.

“Are they? I need to plant more then,” Ellis said, incredibly seriously.

He took her hand, his warmth encompassing hers, and led her down a twisting, cobblestoned path lined with ferns and what looked like wildflower stems, to another small green glade.

“How big is your garden?” she mused.

“Bigger than the house.” He smirked. “I don’t think I ever told you, but I grew up in a really small flat.

It didn’t matter that we had no garden, my dad had window baskets hanging out of every single window—our kitchen was filled with plants, too—so we could grow all the herbs and flowers they wanted.

I always loved tending to those little pots with him, so I told myself that when I could afford to buy my own place, I would get a big garden of my own. ”

“That’s lovely, Ellis. What do your parents think of it?”

“They’re big fans. Prepare yourself for lots of family barbeques…well, when they’re in the country anyway. They’re on a trip to Jordan at the moment, spending their retirement seeing the world.”

“Seems like a pretty good way to spend it. What’s over there?” Rosemary pointed at a wooden archway entangled with vines.

“The loveseat area. Very hidden from view.”

“Let me guess…”

“Yes, I will be fucking you there, too. As a matter of fact…”

During the next fifteen minutes, Rosemary didn’t feel the cold, and her appreciation for Ellis’s large garden and high evergreen walls tripled.