Page 2 of Marrying Bluebeard

I jut my chin. “It’s not a ploy.”

“Do you really think I’m going to believe this rubbish?” Marguerite asks, looking exasperated. “You’ve been playing this weird game ever since Mama died, and I'm sick of it!”

Her voice fades into a low hum as I turn my head, gathering Whisper against my chest and blocking her out. It’s a lecture I've heard before, and will undoubtedly hear again. Marguerite is a good sister, but her logical mind refuses to accept my strange abilities. My brothers—Julien, Tristan, and Darren—none of them have ever believed me, either, although they've certainly enjoyed teasing me about it. Not one living soul has ever truly accepted me as I am, not even my family.

Is it too much to ask that the man I marry does?

2

ADELAIDE

“You're here! Oh, my dear, darling girls. Look at you, all grown up and sophisticated.” Madame Gossard flutters about as we step down from the carriage, her aging face lit with excitement.

Marguerite drops into a curtsy. “Madame Gossard, thank you so much for inviting us.”

The older woman waves a hand in the air. “None of this Madame Gossard nonsense now. You're to call me Aunt Charlotte, and I won't hear a word otherwise.”

“But we're not related.” I look past our hostess to the massive estate sprawling behind her. No, definitely not a relation of ours. I think of our modest flat back in London with a wry grin. My father may have been born a baronet, but all the title came with was a pressing need to fit in among higher-ranking nobility. Given the fact he and my brothers all work for a living (or he did, before he was convicted of forging bank documents to impress potential business investors), this seems a futile feat. Personally, I'd rather cast the title aside and be done with it.

“Oh, but we are,” Madame Gossard—that is, Aunt Charlotte—enthuses, drawing my attention back to the present. “In spirit,” she adds, pressing her hands against her bosom. “Your mother and I were as good as sisters, which most certainly qualifies me for aunt status.”

“I didn't know you and Mother were friends,” Marguerite says in surprise. I lean forward eagerly. Our mother died from consumption when I was two, and I love hearing stories about her. The idea that this woman might be a fresh source casts a whole new light on an otherwise dreaded event.

Aunt Charlotte hums. “The best of friends. The two of you take after her quite a bit.” Her gaze settles on my face, and there’s a knowing gleam in her eyes. “You in particular, Adelaide. I suspect you share several of your mother's attributes.”

Is she implying my mother could communicate with ghosts too? But no, she’s probably only referring to our physical appearance. She couldn’t know something like that at a glance. Whisper disappeared the moment we arrived, and holding her is my most obvious tell.

“I'm afraid you'll be sorely disappointed on that end.” The youngest of my brothers, Darren, hops down off his horse, the three of them just arriving. “Our mother was the toast of London when she was alive, and Adelaide...” He smirks. “Adelaide is simply toast.”

Our eldest brother, Julien, scowls as he dismounts. “Ignore the mannerless buffoon. I'm sure what he meant to say was it's a pleasure to be here.”

“I'm not one to let a little sibling cheekiness ruffle my feathers.” Aunt Charlotte holds her arms out expectantly. Julien is quick to comply, wrapping his arms around her.

“It's good to see you again,” he murmurs.

“It's been far too long, my sweet boy.” She pats his cheek and smiles at Darren and Tristan. “You're all so handsome and tall now, I can hardly believe it. Why, Darren was still wearing nappies the last time I saw you all together.”

“I believe he still is,” Tristan murmurs beneath his breath, earning a swift jab to the ribs from Darren. I snort, then try to disguise it with a cough.

Julien sighs. “Please forgive my siblings, Aunt Charlotte. They mean well, but their decorum can be a bit... lacking at times. We really do appreciate the invitation, and hopefully some time spent among higher society will smooth their rougher edges.”

“I'm sure they'll do just fine,” Aunt Charlotte says fondly. “Speaking of which, I'm eager for you to meet my other guests.” She slides her gaze my way and winks. “There are a number of intriguing prospects in attendance, and I plan to personally introduce each and every one of them to our Adelaide here.”

I balk. “Please don't...” Julien's eyes narrow in warning, and I swallow. “Go to too much trouble on my behalf,” I amend. “I'm sure you have a great deal to tend to as the hostess already.”

“Don't be silly.” Aunt Charlotte hooks our arms together and leads me down the walkway. “We old ladies live for matchmaking, you know.”

That's what I was afraid of. I hold back a grimace, my mouth curving upward in a wobbly smile.

“And what about you, Marguerite?” Aunt Charlotte hooks my sister with her other arm and pulls her along beside us. “What sort of gentleman would you be interested in meeting this week?”

Marguerite pales, and I smother a snicker as she shoots Julien a desperate look. “Me? But I-I'm much too old to be looking for a husband,” she stammers. “Really, I'm quite content.”

Aunt Charlotte gives her a long look before leaning in and whispering, “If it's a lady you'd prefer meeting, I'd be happy to arrange that too.”

Marguerite blushes. “Thank you, Aunt Charlotte.” A note of warmth colors her voice. “But I assure you, I have all the happiness I need at home.”

“Is that so?” Aunt Charlotte pats her hand. “Well, good for you then dear. I suppose I'll have to satisfy myself with finding a match for Adelaide. Unless, of course, any of your brothers are in the market for a wife?” she adds, raising her voice.