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    Upon a Ghostly Yule
    Upon a Ghostly Yule
    Upon a Ghostly Yule
    Ebook77 pages1 hour

    Upon a Ghostly Yule

    By Amanda DeWees

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    About this ebook

    Can the ghost of a tragic beauty teach a spirited Victorian belle how to live—and love? Find out in this spooky, sweet story from the author of the Daphne du Maurier Award–winning With This Curse!

     

    In this delightful short story of about 60 pages, when debutante Felicity Reginald impersonates the ghost of a willful 18th-century beauty at a Christmas house party in 1856, she is embarking on a dangerous masquerade. The real specter is hungry for life—and when she steps into Felicity's skin, nobody, least of all dashing Sir James Darrington, is prepared for what happens next. James and Felicity must overcome the bitter misunderstanding that has kept them apart in order to solve the mystery and save Felicity before the ghost's growing influence takes over entirely. Prepare yourself for spooky chills, charming romance, and "DeWees' signature witty repartee" (Volatilisanguis, reviewer) in this fun-filled short story starring Felicity Reginald, first seen in Sea of Secrets, winner of the 2012 RONÉ Award in mystery.

     

    Fans of traditional gothic romance in the tradition of Mary Stewart, Victoria Holt, and Barbara Michaels will delight in what reviewers are calling "a beautiful, haunting tale filled with twists and turns" (Caitlyn, reviewer) and "a thoroughly enchanting story of romance, betrayal, secret passageways, and ghostly occurrences" (Darrell, Goodreads). And if this is your first time exploring Amanda DeWees's Victorian gothic works, you won't want to miss a single one of her other books in the genre: Sea of Secrets, With This Curse, Nocturne for a Widow, and Cursed Once More.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAmanda DeWees
    Release dateMar 30, 2016
    ISBN9781524221096
    Upon a Ghostly Yule
    Author

    Amanda DeWees

    Amanda DeWees received her PhD in English literature from the University of Georgia and likes to startle people by announcing that her dissertation topic was vampire literature. Amanda's books include the widely praised historical gothic romance "Sea of Secrets," a finalist in the 2013 Maggie Award for Excellence historical category, and the Ash Grove Chronicles, a captivating young adult "paranormal lite" romance series set in modern-day North Carolina. Besides writing, Amanda's passions include theater, classic film, Ioan Gruffudd, costume design, and the preservation of apostrophes in their natural habitat. Visit her at www.amandadewees.com to explore book extras and more delightful diversions.

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      Book preview

      Upon a Ghostly Yule - Amanda DeWees

      I

      The first portent was the unlighted window.

      Mind you, my older sister is always telling me that believing in portents is absurd, especially for someone my age. After all, I am now eighteen years old and truly grown up. I wear my hair up, I came out last Season, and I was presented to Her Majesty in a gown with a train so long that it could have wrapped twice around Buckingham Palace, so I ought to be past such childish things.

      Childish or not, however, I could not help but feel a foreboding chill in my breast when the carriage neared Tatham House, the Tregonne family seat, on the evening of December 23, 1856. The snow-covered grounds and topiaries glowed eerily purple in the twilight, and the warmth of the lighted windows of the house did little to check the gathering shadows—especially because one large window on the second floor was dark. It stood out as starkly as a dead spider in a bouquet of fresh roses.

      Probably this deficiency was due to no more than a draft, or a need to refill a lamp, and a servant would soon remedy it. Nevertheless, I could not conquer a foolish dread that it meant I was less than welcome.

      To misquote Shakespeare, however, there needed no portent from beyond to tell me this. Despite Amelia’s assurances and those of her mother, the perpetually anxious Mrs. Tregonne, I feared I might be in for another round of what my brother would have called the fish-eye.

      That was a kinder way of saying that I was a pariah.

      This had been clear from the very first ball of the Season, during which I had been eyed with interest but scarcely ever asked to dance. Our hostess was forced to bring her male relations to take me for a turn on the floor. And I looked quite as fetching as the other girls, if not more so, in my beautiful new primrose satin ball gown with four flounces on the skirt and a bodice that showed a bit of décolletage. Occasionally a young man would approach me where I sat demurely with Amelia, pretending not to care that my new dancing slippers were getting no use at all. But one by one their courage visibly failed them; their smiles faltered, and they backed away to seize upon girls not tainted with the scandals of Ellsmere.

      Those were Amelia’s words. Of course it isn’t entirely your fault, she had added in an effort to console me.

      My fault! I should say not. I had had nothing to do with the strange events that had taken place at the Reginald family estate, or with the whispers about my father’s remarriage. And Papa and Aunt Gwendolyn aren’t to blame for the law forbidding a widow to marry her husband’s brother. If the clergy in Scotland saw fit to marry them, why should English society refuse to countenance it?

      I don’t think it was that alone, Amelia said. There was the matter of that man dying at Ellsmere—and under such peculiar circumstances—

      It was merely an unfortunate accident.

      That isn’t what they are saying, Felicity. And I’ve also heard them say that the reason your father and stepmother have settled in Italy is because he might have been put on trial for attempted murder had he remained within reach of the law.

      I stared at her. What utter nonsense! They left because... because...

      The truth was that her words struck uncomfortably close to home. My father and stepmother had indeed retreated to Italy to be free from the scandal that surrounded them, and although they had not told me in so many words, I suspected that they were also evading a real possibility of legal action.

      Even so, I had not quite been able to reconcile myself to having to make my debut in society without Aunt Gwendolyn’s supervision. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever known, like a princess out of a fairy story, and no one could meet her without being enchanted by her. Under her wing I would have had a charmed Season. My older sister would have been almost as delightful a chaperone, but she was expecting another child, so that was out of the question.

      Instead I had been foisted upon Mrs. Tregonne, and she made it clear that she was none too pleased with the arrangement. First of all, I am more attractive than her daughter. This is not immodesty in me to say; all of the Reginalds are handsome. Amelia has a pleasant face, glossy nut-brown hair, and a fetchingly plump figure, but my blonde hair and green eyes have always drawn attention, whether I wish it or no. Amelia and her mother might reasonably have wished for a plainer companion for her, particularly since this was not her first Season. She had made her debut the previous year, so there was greater urgency for her to find a husband than there was for me. Yet my presence seemed not to draw her potential suitors to me but to drive them away from us both.

      With an effort I forced my mind back to the present as the coach crossed the bridge over the thin, frozen brook and drew up before the great front staircase of Tatham. I took a deep breath to calm my fluttering stomach and reminded myself that this house

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