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"Well then," the duke intoned, "Let us start with you, ghostly Duchess. What tragedy befell you that you haunt these grounds? Why does your spirit linger at Redhaven?"

"I…" Alethea was not sure how to respond.

"Tell us your story," Oliver said, encouragingly.

Alethea's mind went blank for a moment. She had never made up a story on command, certainly not with all eyes upon her in expectation.

Through the irregular hole Oliver had ripped, she saw four faces watching her eagerly. She cleared her throat.

"How about the rest of you go first?" she said, shyly. "I shall save my story till after."

"I can start," Eleanor grinned, eagerly and puffed out her chest. "Mine is an adventure of high chivalry.

I am Sir Ellie, a noble knight errant from a kingdom far beyond the seas.

I journeyed here after slaying a dreadful dragon that threatened my homeland.

The beast's fiery breath singed off my eyebrows," she wiped an arm across her brow, "But I emerged victorious! "

Alethea nodded, amused by how seriously this little exercise was being taken.

"But I had to return, alas," Eleanor said in mock defeat. "For my work was not yet done. Rumor spoke of a haunted manor in England inhabited by all manner of curious souls. I came to investigate, to offer my sword in service."

"Bravo, bravo," Oliver broke out in applause. Alethea found it heartwarming how encouraging he was to his sister, who was now smiling gleefully.

It had to be said that the girl's creativity and confidence were infectious; Alethea felt an affectionate warmth toward her.

"Now it is my turn," Clara's eager voice chimed in. The little girl had crawled to the center of the circle on her hands and knees and sat back on her haunches, panting playfully. "I will tell you how I came here."

"Go ahead," Alethea nodded, trying to show the same level of encouragement that Oliver had.

Clara barked enthusiastically, and Alethea had to stop herself from chuckling at the sight.

"I was born a puppy in the finest house in the next town over. But I chased so many cats that my owners said ‘enough!' and sent me away."

"I wandered and wandered, eating scraps and sleeping under hedges, until one day I smelled something delicious on the wind. I followed it all the way to this house."

"What was it you smelled, little dog?" Eleanor interjected with a grin.

Clara wrinkled her nose, considering.

"It was cherry tarts! The cook had left cherry tarts cooling by the window. I snuck into the kitchen and gobbled five whole tarts before anyone could stop me," Clara continued on, making everyone around her erupt in gleeful laughter.

"When I was finally found, my belly was so big and round from all the tarts I could barely run!" She made a big circle over her stomach with her small hands. "And then Master Oliver was merciful to me. Instead of throwing me back out into the cold, he asked me to stay."

Once again, Alethea felt herself grow warm at the story. It was these little things that made it clear what sort of relationship Oliver had with his siblings.

Oliver bent and scooped Clara up into his arms, fur scraps and all. "And I stand by it," he said, kissing her cheek loudly as she giggled. "We did need a good dog. The very best dog, in fact."

The others clapped in appreciation for Clara's story. Alethea applauded as well.

It struck Alethea again how much Oliver had filled the void for his siblings after their parents' untimely deaths. He had only been a teenager when he took on the role of guardian He raised them, Alethea thought with wonder. No wonder they adored him enough to enact these playful rituals together.

"And what of you, Your Grace?" Theodore shifted the conversation over to his brother. "Tell us your story."

"The Duchess may go before me," Oliver said, glancing at Alethea teasingly.

"You first," Alethea insisted, still not quite ready yet.

"In my homeland," Oliver began, "everything is quite backwards, as I mentioned. We wear our clothes inside-out, walk on our hands instead of our feet, and address each other not by name but by our most embarrassing quality."

"So if you were from there, I'd have to call you Duke—hmm—Duke Pumpkinfeet, perhaps?" Eleanor suggested.

"Just so," Oliver nodded. "In that land, the sky is green and the grass is blue. We take our breakfast at midnight and supper at dawn. It's a place of grand absurdities."

"Sounds like a rather inconvenient place to live," Theodore commented, laughing.

"It is a grand place," Oliver said, looking over at Alethea. "But now I am here in Redhaven, where the Ghostly Duchess haunts us all."

It was a subtle prompt for Alethea, signaling that it was her turn now.

"Well, then," Alethea gathered herself. "I suppose, if I am a ghost, then I must have died, mustn't I?"

"Naturally," Oliver nodded, dropping into a nearby armchair.

"Well then," Alethea cleared her throat, "I.."

"Let your imagination run wild," Oliver suggested, noticing her hesitance.

So she took his advice. But instead of fantastical lands, her mind instead went to a rather dark place.

"I lived here once, long ago," she started, "When I was alive, this was my home. But I was not a well-behaved daughter."

She hadn't intended to say that; the words simply spilled out, and at once she imagined a stern faceless figure of a father glowering down at her.

In reality, her memories of her real father were nearly nonexistent, but in nightmares she often gave him the features of the cruel headmaster from the nunnery.

"I disobeyed my father," she went on, trying to keep her tone light, "One night I did something I should not."

There were gasps, and it was reassuring that her story was coming across as engaging.

"My father was very angry with me," she continued, losing herself in the storytelling process as well, "So I ran away and hid in the woods, right beyond the garden. It was a stormy night, and terribly dark."

Alethea's heart thudded. She realized the rest of them had gone quite still, all except Clara who was nibbling her lip.

No, I mustn't scare them.

"But the next morning, the storm passed. I crept back to the house, fearful of what punishment might await. And I found my father searching for me."

"Alethea," Oliver tried to interrupt, casting a worried glance in direction.

No, her story was getting too dark. She could see the worried faces of the little girls staring back at her.

"He was so worried that I had been lost. When he saw me, he swept me into his arms and…" her tone did not sound so convincing anymore, but she had to lighten the story, "And forgave me at once for disobeying. I was not in trouble after all."

She paused to swallow against a lump growing in her throat. Why did saying those words make her chest ache? She had never known such forgiveness.

"All was well again," she continued softly, shaking off her thoughts. "Or so we thought. Because that very afternoon, I ventured out for a walk under the open sky to celebrate the fine weather, and a bolt from the heavens struck me down on the spot."

Theodore gasped while Oliver straightened, eyebrows lifted.

"And that," Alethea concluded, "is how I became the wandering spirit of this house."

Her story was met with silence at first. Alethea could feel the duke's gaze still resting on her.

She wondered if she had said too much. Did he sense the kernel of truth buried in her story?

"My turn, I believe," Theodore broke the tension, "Gather near, friends, and let me tell you of my journey from distant lands..."

He winked at Alethea as if to say I'll lighten the mood .

With relief, she stepped back and let Theodore tell his own story.

"I was born in the court of Versailles. Raised among the most refined ladies of France. But alas, my cruel parents forbade me to marry the man I loved."

"Tragic!" echoed Eleanor and Oliver in unison.

"They wanted me to wed some dull aristocrat instead. So on the eve of my wedding, I fled."

He threw out one arm dramatically.

"I discarded my shoes, and I ran off into the night. My love had promised to meet me here, in this very county. Until then, I bide my time among these kind people, hoping not to be discovered."

"Brava, Lady Theodore! What a romantic rebel you are," Alethea nodded.

The storytelling came to an end. Alethea made a move to stand in order to return to her chambers, but the duke stopped her.

"Where are you going?"

"I thought that we were done with the festivities of the night," she said, sheepishly. "Are we not?"

"We will all sleep here tonight," he announced.

It appeared they all knew the routine intimately. Clara slid off Alethea's lap, toward Eleanor. Theodore moved about gathering stray blankets with the help of the servants.

"Is that also mandatory?" she asked. Part of her wondered if she ought to excuse herself to her own chambers now that the games were done. Was it truly proper for her, a grown woman, to sleep on the floor like a child among them?

"Don't tell me our fearsome ghost is planning to vanish at the stroke of midnight," Oliver teased, "We'd much rather you haunt us till dawn, Alethea."

Her cheeks warmed at his choice of words . He wanted her to stay.

"If I won't be intruding, I would like to remain," she admitted softly. "This is all quite new to me, but it has been wonderful."

"Of course you're not intruding," Oliver assured her. With that, he handed her a folded quilt from the stack. "Make yourself a comfortable spot."

Alethea accepted the quilt gratefully. She spread it out over the rug, and where Oliver had begun arranging the others into a large, informal bed of sorts.

Soon Eleanor and Clara wriggled into the bedding together, with Theodore plopping down on the other side of Eleanor.

Alethea carefully removed the sheet. She hesitated, then folded it and set it at the edge of the makeshift bedding area, uncertain if she should keep it as a blanket.

But Oliver noticed and with an amused smile, he reached to pluck the sheet from her hands.

He balled it up and tossed it aside without ceremony.

"Take a proper blanket," Oliver told her.

Before she could protest, he draped another soft quilt around her shoulders like a shawl.

So many little kindnesses, she thought, does he even realize what they mean to me?

"Thank you," she whispered instead.

She moved gingerly to settle at one end of the spread of quilts, lowering herself to lie on her side. She propped a pillow under her head that Theodore slid over in her direction.

"All set?" Theodore asked, his voice already drowsy.

"Yes, thank you," Alethea whispered back.

Oliver lay down on the other side of her—so that Alethea found herself between Oliver and the young girls, with Theodore beyond them. She could not help but note how Oliver had wordlessly placed himself right next to her.

He was close enough that when he stretched out on his back, one of his broad shoulders just brushed her arm through the covers. Alethea's breath hitched. She lay as still as possible, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of her own body in relation to his.

"Good night everyone..." Eleanor announced.

"Good night," Clara echoed sleepily.

"Good night," Alethea murmured in return, though her heart was not remotely ready to slow down for sleep.

In the stillness, Alethea listened to the others' breathing gradually deepen. Only Oliver remained somewhat awake; Alethea could tell because every now and then his head turned on the pillow.

Perhaps he's having as much trouble settling as I am , she thought. She kept her eyes shut, even though her mind whirled.