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" I 'm surprised to see you here," James told the duchess as she settled down at the dinner table.

"I thought it was about time I joined you for a meal," the duchess said smoothly. "Don't you think so?"

"Well, you know I've been asking you to dine with me since I arrived here," James said. "I did wonder when your little tantrum about it might come to an end. I'm glad to see that you've decided to do the mature thing."

He wondered if she would rise to the bait, but she didn't. She merely smiled demurely and picked up her glass of wine.

James had to admit that he was disappointed.

If he was honest with himself, he had hoped that he would get a rise out of her, and he didn't like that he'd failed to do so.

It wasn't clear to him why he felt that way, exactly.

Maybe it was just the fact that she was indicating that she didn't care about him—that she didn't care what he thought.

I don't care if she cares what I think—but I do think people generally should pay attention to what I think about them . Yes, that was probably what wasn't sitting right with him. He wanted more respect out of her, that was all.

At least she had come to the table, and that was certainly better than what he had gotten from her thus far. "I'm glad you decided to join me," he said. "It's the appropriate thing to do, after all."

"I thought I owed you that much after you so graciously allowed me to keep my cats," she said.

He examined her face for signs that she was being sarcastic with him, but he couldn't be sure.

It was possible that she was being sincere.

He hoped so. He had been generous by allowing her to keep those cats.

"I'm pleased you recognize that," he said.

"As long as I never see them again, It will do no harm for them to be in the house until you marry and take them away with you. "

"Of course," the duchess said smoothly.

"Thank you, Duchess."

"You may as well call me by my name," she said. "I realize it's a bit informal, but since we're going to be living together for the time being, it might be best for us to drop the formalities. You should call me Victoria."

James was tempted to tell her no—to say that this was part of the problem with her behavior.

She cared too little for the customs of society.

That was why she'd made herself such an outcast. If she took more trouble to appeal to people, she would be well-liked, and then no one would have suspected her of murder.

Instead, they would have sympathized with her loss.

They would have been inclined to take her side in the whole thing.

But on the other hand, it would be nice to have something to call her.

"All right, Victoria," he said. "You may call me James.

But only while we're in the house. When we go out to balls and other events, you must return to formal address, and I will do the same.

The point of those occasions is to find you a husband, and that won't happen if you and I look as if we are too familiar with one another. "

"I understand," Victoria said. "And I can agree to that."

"I never thought I would see the day when you and I agreed on anything," James admitted.

"Well, I wouldn't get used to it."

"Indeed. After all, you won't be here for that much longer."

"You know, having thought it over, I must say that in some ways my impending departure comes as a relief," Victoria said.

"A relief?" James repeated. "That's odd. I thought you were so insistent that you didn't want to marry. That you didn't want to leave this house."

"That's true," Victoria said. "But there are things about this place that I won't miss in the slightest."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…I don't want you to think me foolish."

"I won't think that," James said, although the truth was that he could make no such guarantee. He had said it merely out of a desire to convince her to keep talking.

She obliged. "It's just that I've often thought this place must be haunted."

James stared at her. "Did you say haunted ?"

"I knew you would think I was a fool." She sighed. "It's all right. I'm not that concerned with what you think of me. You already think I might be a murderer, and I've had to make my peace with that. I can make my peace with this too. I don't need your good opinion."

"But you did say the place was haunted? I heard you correctly?"

"Well, there's a room on the second floor that none of the staff are willing to enter," Victoria said, lowering her voice as if she was afraid of being overheard. "I don't know whether or not you knew that."

"I didn't know that, no."

"They don't talk about it. They won't even admit it if you ask them about it directly—they act as if they just don't know what you're talking about. But I've seen the way they are. The way they avoid that room. In two years living here, I have never seen one of them enter it, not even to clean."

"I see," James said. It didn't sound very conclusive to him. "And based on that, you believe the place is haunted?"

"Of course not only based on that. I went into the room myself once."

"And what happened?"

"Nothing, at first. But then, all at once, I felt a chill come over me. The windows were closed, and besides, it was a perfectly warm day out, so there's no reason I should have felt such a thing. It was very mysterious."

"That still doesn't prove anything. I certainly wouldn't conclude ghosts based on what you're telling me."

"There's also the matter of everything that gets lost around here," Victoria said.

"Things are forever going missing. When I lost my mother's earrings the first month I lived here, I thought one of the servants must have taken them.

They were a precious treasure to me, and I would never have misplaced them myself.

But when I asked the servants, they all insisted they hadn't touched them. "

"If someone stole your earrings, they would hardly be likely to confess it to you just because you asked."

"No, I agree, but I am usually a good judge of whether or not someone is telling the truth, and I believed them," Victoria said.

"You still might have been wrong."

"Shortly after that happened," Victoria went on, ignoring his last comment, "the servants also began to report that things were missing.

And not treasures like my mother's earrings, but little things.

Inconsequential things. One of the maids set down a cleaning rag and looked away for a moment, and when she looked back, it was gone. "

"A maid lost her cleaning rag?"

"James, I've already told you that I don't need you to believe me.

If you don't think this is true, that's all right.

All I'm saying is that it will be a relief for me to get out of this house and away from the worries over whether or not the haunting is real.

It's something I worry about. That's all I'm saying. "

"Well, I'm glad you won't have to worry anymore, then," James said.

He was struggling to keep a straight face.

He wanted to burst out laughing at the things she'd told him.

It was so obvious what was happening—she'd made up this tale about a haunting to try to get him to abandon the house.

Not only was it not going to work, she was doing a very clumsy job of presenting it to him.

All the servants knew about these things, but would they lie if they were asked?

He was almost disappointed in how obvious she had made what she was doing.

He decided to have a little fun with her. It was only fair, he thought, since she had tried to toy with him.

"You know," he said, "I think I might have experienced something like what you're talking about."

"Oh? Don't tell me something of yours has gone missing too."

"Oh, several things," James said. "But I often misplace my possessions, so I thought nothing of it.

" That wasn't true at all. He was fastidious about keeping track of his things.

But he was very much enjoying the enthralled look on her face.

She believed that he had bought into her story, and she was pleased with herself for having sold it to him.

The knowledge that she was so happy about the possibility of a lie having worked against James made him very unhappy, but on the other hand, he was taking control of the situation now by using her own lie against her and that made him feel as if he was back in control of things.

"It might well be the same phenomenon," Victoria said. "I can ask the staff to keep a lookout for your things, though, if you tell me what's gone missing."

He couldn't do that, because nothing actually had gone missing. The whole story was made up. "I can speak to my staff about it if I decide that needs to happen," he told her.

"I was only trying to help," she said mildly. "If you don't want my help, that's quite all right. You're free to handle it yourself."

"That's right."

They sat in silence for a moment in the wake of that little spat.

Eventually, James spoke. "As I said," he said, "that wasn't what I meant when I told you I had had similar experiences.

I was referring to walking through cold spots in the house.

That never made sense to me. The first time it happened I thought I must have contracted a chill.

But now I think it's more likely to have been what you're suggesting. "

"So—so you do believe me about the haunting?"

"I'm not saying that I believe or disbelieve it. I'm only saying that I experienced something like what you've described," James said. "I don't know if that has any significance, but I do know that it happened."

Victoria looked troubled. She set her wine glass down very slowly.

James felt a surge of triumph. This confirmed what he had thought.

He'd been right that she was lying about her own experiences—about the cold spots in the house and her suspicions that ghosts were involved.

She had never felt anything of the kind.

She must have read somewhere that this was a sign that might indicate a haunting, and she had brought it up hoping to scare him.

But by telling her that he had experienced it too, he was lending credibility to the story, and now she was the one who was frightened.

James couldn't help it—he was amused by her.

He knew that he shouldn't have been. She was lying to him and trying to trick him, and that was the sort of thing that ordinarily would have had him in a rage.

But for some reason, he felt different because it was her.

He didn't know how to explain it. He only knew that he was enjoying teasing her.

He was enjoying the fact that she looked nervous.

And the amount of enjoyment that he found himself getting out of this shared meal had him looking forward to what was to come—all the balls that they would attend together and all the experiences they would share.

He hadn't wanted to come to Stormwell. He hadn't wanted to meet his late cousin's wife and deal with her damaged reputation.

But now the he was here, against all odds, he found himself enjoying it.