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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Prologue
“Now, Millicent...”
“Don’t you ‘now Millicent’ me, Jonas Middlebury!”
“But, Millicent—”
“No!” Millicent determinedly shook her head, sending wisps of golden hair flying around her pale face. “I have been listening to your excuses for one hundred and fifty years, and enough is enough.”
“Not really, sweetlings,” Jonas began placatingly. “I mean, I may have died a hundred and fifty years ago, but you’ve only been dead for fifty years or so.”
“Eighty-one years,” she corrected. “Eighty-one years, four months and seventeen days, and in all that time have you made the slightest effort to get into heaven? No,” she rushed on when he opened his mouth. “And all you have to do is a good deed. Just one good deed.”
“Done lots of good deeds in my time,” Jonas muttered.
“Ha!” Millicent gave a ladylike sniff. “If you had done lots of good deeds when you were alive, Jonas Middlebury, you wouldn’t be in this predicament now that you’re dead!”
“It’s not the good deed I object to,” he continued doggedly. “It’s the way that sanctimonious old puffguts at the gate told me I had to do it.”
Millicent gasped. “Jonas Middlebury, you mind your tongue! That’s an angel you’re talking about, which is more than you’re likely to ever be.”
“I’ll do the good deed, but in my own time,” Jonas insisted. “I’m not about to be forced by no pen-pushing—”
“When?” Millicent demanded.
Jonas blinked. “When what?”
“When are you intending to do your good deed and get into heaven? At the rate you’re going, the final judgment is a surer thing!”
“Now, sweetlings, you just don’t understand how it goes against the grain for a man to be told what to do.”
“I understand that I’m lonely.” Millicent’s lower lip trembled and her pale blue eyes looked huge through the tears that welled in them. “I understand that thanks to your selfishness I was cheated out of having a family and children.”
“My selfishness!” Jonas’ bushy black beard stiffened in outrage. “And was it my fault that I was drowned trying to earn a living for you in the only way I know how—whaling?”
“If you hadn’t been drunk, you wouldn’t have fallen overboard in the middle of the Atlantic,” Millicent pointed out. “And if you hadn’t fallen into the water, then poor Elias Simpson wouldn’t have drowned himself trying to rescue you.”
“Didn’t ask the fool to come in after me,” Jonas muttered. “Elias was always sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He only did it because he wanted to hold it over my head afterward.”
“I don’t know about that, but I do know that Elias got into heaven the minute he died, while you are still wandering about trapped between heaven and earth. Or worse,” she added ominously.
“Ain’t never heard no talk about them wanting to send me to the other place,” Jonas said testily.
Millicent stared into his beloved black eyes and felt a confusing mixture of anger, exasperation and love swirl through her. Jonas had been stalling for eighty-one years, and if she didn’t force the issue, he’d probably stall for another eighty-one.
But if Jonas refused... Millicent felt a flash of blind panic. She might lose him altogether. She wouldn’t even have these snatched bits of time to cherish. She drew a deep, steadying breath. It was a risk she was going to have to take. She simply couldn’t go on like this. Jonas was no closer today to doing a good deed than he’d been when he’d died, a hundred and fifty years ago. He needed a shove. And it was up to her to give it to him.
Millicent took another deep breath and asked, “Do you love me?”
Jonas turned a bright red under his deep tan and tugged ineffectively at the collar of his rumpled white shirt. “Asked you to marry me, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and drowned yourself before you could. And now you refuse to do a simple good deed so you can be with me. Do you know what I think?”
“Don’t need to think,” Jonas mumbled. “No good ever came of a woman thinking. It’s not natural.”
“I think you don’t love me at all.” Her voice broke at the pain of the thought. “I think I’m just a habit. A hundred-and-fifty-year-old habit.”
“Millie, that’s not true!” Jonas looked horrified at the charge. “I do! You know I do.”
“Do what?” Millicent demanded.
“Love you, dammit!” he blurted out, then blushed a fiery red. “But there’s no call for you to make me say it. Words aren’t important. It’s how a man acts that counts.”
“Precisely!” Millicent nodded decisively. “And you consistently refused to act so that you can be with me.”
“I told you, Millie, that’s not it. I just don’t like them letting Elias right into heaven when he was always such a meddling do-gooder and then telling me I wasn’t quite the thing.”
“If they haven’t taken your point after a hundred and fifty years, they never will,” she said with uncharacteristic tartness. “I’m telling you, Jonas, that you must either do your good deed and get into heaven or—”
“Or what?” Jonas demanded aggressively.
Millicent’s lower lip trembled again and a tear trickled down her soft, pink cheek as a feeling of hopelessness washed over her. “Or I’ll have to finally face the fact that I’m not important enough for you to make the effort.” She forced the words out past her constricted throat muscles.
“Millie, no! Don’t say that.”
“I should have said it years ago,” she murmured sadly.
Jonas stared for a long moment, her tormented expression tearing at him.
“All right,” he said at last, capitulating. “I’ll do it, but only because it means so much to you.”
“Jonas!” She flung her arms around him in sudden, overwhelming joy. “You won’t be sorry!”
“There, there.” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, but made no effort to escape from her enthusiastic embrace. “No need to go overboard. That’s how this whole mess started.”
To his intense disappointment, she jumped to her feet and, moving to the edge of the cloud bank where they were sitting, peered down at the New Hampshire coastline below. “Are there any restrictions on your good deed?” she asked.
Jonas frowned, trying to remember what he’d been told. “No,” he finally said. “It just has to be significant in the life of someone.”
“That might present a problem,” she said slowly. “What about the old lady who lives in our house now? Didn’t you mention that she was having some troubles?”
Jonas nodded. “Since they built that new resort up the coast aways, she hasn’t been able to rent out any of her rooms.”
“Sounds to me like there’s a good deed there,” Millicent said.
Jonas absently scratched his beard. “Only way I can think to help her is to burn down the new resort so her clients’ll come back, and I doubt if that sactimonious old pen pusher at the gate would accept that.”
“No,” Millicent agreed. “But there has to be another way.”
Jonas frowned. “I could get her some money so that she doesn’t need the income from the inn, but the only way to do that is to steal it, and while that might help her, it won’t help me.”
“There appears to be more to this good-deed business than first meets the eye,” she said uncertainly.
“I could have told you that eighty-one years ago,” Jonas said acerbically. “In fact, I rather think I did!”
“You promised,” Millicent reminded him.
“And I’ll do it. I just got to figure out what it is I’m doing.”
“You’ll think of something.” Millicent smiled at him with a confidence that Jonas wished he could share. Now that he’d finally given in, he wanted to do his good deed and marry his Millicent. He watched with a nagging sense of loss as she slowly faded away.
Jonas got to his feet and absently brushed at the wisps of cloud clinging to his pants. He’d better get down to earth and see what he could work out. He heaved a disheartened sigh. If people thought living was hard, they ought to try dying!
One
“What you need is a gimmick, Aunt Hannah.” Cassie Whitney absently scooped up a handful of fresh, red raspberries from the bowl on the kitchen table and began to munch them.
“No, dear, what I need are paying guests. Even one or two would be nice.”
Hannah sighed despondently as she began to expertly shape the pastry for the raspberry tarts. “I feel so bad about Gertie. She depends on the money I pay her for cleaning the guests’ rooms to supplement her social security, and if there’re no guests...”
Cassie eyed her aunt worriedly, beginning to fear that the situation was even worse than she’d originally thought when she’d arrived last night to find the normally bustling inn silent. It wasn’t like Hannah to sound so discouraged. She had always been one of the most positive people Cassie had ever known. In fact, Cassie’s father claimed that after forty-four years of reading The Little Engine that Could to her kindergarten classes, Hannah had been brainwashed into believing that anything was possible.
“And if the truth were told, dear, I feel sorry for myself, too.” She gave Cassie a rueful smile. “I need the money the guests bring in. My pension is more than adequate for normal living expenses, but...” She glanced around the spacious, old-fashioned kitchen with affectionate resignation. “There’s no denying China View is very expensive. The heating bills alone are horrendous, and something always seems to need fixing or painting or replacing. And the taxes...” Hannah shuddered.
“Are the taxes in arrears?” Cassie cut to the heart of the matter.
“Not exactly,” Hannah hedged.
Cassie frowned as she considered the matter. “I would have thought you were either in arrears or you weren’t.”
“Well, you see, property taxes are paid in two installments. The first installment was due June first.”
“And this is June twenty-second. So you’re late.”
“Technically, but the tax office always gives you a ninety-day grace period before they take any action. And I was able to make a partial payment,” Hannah added.
“How much do we owe?”
“No, dear.” Hannah shook her gray head emphatically. “How much do I owe. China View is my white elephant, not yours.”
“It’s the family’s white elephant,” Cassie insisted. “Whitneys have been living here forever.”
“Only since 1844, when Jonas Middlebury died and left it to his fiancée, who was a distant relative of ours.”
“How romantic.” Cassie’s blue-gray eyes softened dreamily. “To die tragically and leave the love of your life all your possessions.”
“From all accounts, demon rum was the love of his life,” Hannah said tartly. “He’d have made poor Millicent a terrible husband.”
Cassie jumped at the sound of a thump coming from the pantry behind them. She turned and looked across the kitchen at the closed pantry door. “What was that?”
“Probably the wind blowing through the open window knocked something over,” Hannah replied, dismissing the noise. “You’ve been living in New York City too long. You’re nervous of your own shadow. Not only that, but you’ve lost weight.” She frowned at Cassie’s cheekbones, which were a shade too prominent beneath her creamy ivory skin. “You need fattening up.”
“It’s been a long, stressful winter in the advertising business.” Cassie massively understated the case. “But also a very successful one. You are looking at Welton and Mitchell’s newest vice president.”
“Congratulations, dear.” Hannah beamed with pride at Cassie’s achievement.
“Thank you. And, since I got that promotion because I’m very good at selling things, why don’t I use my expertise to sell China View to prospective guests? A month from now, when my vacation is over, you’ll need my room for the surplus guests.”
“Wouldn’t it be a comfort to be booked full?” Hannah popped the tray of tarts into the oven. “But this is your vacation, dear. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“And I will,” Cassie assured her. “But lying around doing nothing palls very quickly. I much prefer to have a project percolating in the back of my mind. It keeps me from getting bored.
“Now then,” she went on briskly, “I think our first order of business had better be the taxes. I’ll give you a check, and you can pay them.”
“I just don’t feel right taking money from you,” Hannah said worriedly.
“Think of it as a temporary loan. I do earn an excellent salary.”
“But I’m the adult and—”
Cassie laughed. “Aunt Hannah, it may have slipped your mind, but I’m thirty-four years old.”
Hannah shook her head in disbelief. “It doesn’t seem possible, but I guess you are. But even so...”
“Think of it as allowing me to invest in a piece of the family’s history. Now, what we need is a plan of action.” Cassie changed the subject before her aunt could think of any more objections. “Your business has dropped off because...?” She looked at her expectantly.
“Business has disappeared,” Hannah corrected. “And it’s because of that new resort they built four miles up the coast. I hear it’s the last word in luxury. They have a swimming pool, plus the ocean at their doorstep and a fancy French chef.”
Cassie munched on more raspberries as she considered the situation. “We don’t want to compete with their strengths.”
“We can’t compete with their strengths!”
Cassie ignored the home truth. “They’re offering an anonymous luxury that could be found anywhere. What we need to do is to push the local flavor of China View. This place is the essence of New Hampshire’s whaling past, from the collection of scrimshaw in the living room to the widow’s walk on the roof.
“Which brings us back to a gimmick.” Cassie absently tucked a stray reddish brown curl behind her ear. “We need something to make China View stand out from the resort. Something to make it unique.”
“Unique?” Hannah washed the flour off her hands as she considered the idea. “We could claim that the original owner brought back a treasure from one of his trips to the Orient and buried it on the grounds, and then drowned before he could retrieve it.”
Cassie shook her head. “We’d have guests digging up every flower bed on the place.”
“We could tell them that digging wasn’t allowed?”
Cassie eyed her aunt with affectionate amusement. “That tactic may have been successful in your kindergarten classes, but I guarantee it doesn’t work with adult greed. Anytime there’s money to be had, and free money at that, the rules of civilized society seem to go by the board. No, we need an attraction that appeals to something safer than people’s greed.”
“You mean like their intellectual curiosity? They...” Hannah frowned at what sounded like a pan falling off a shelf in the pantry. “Oh, dear,” she muttered. “I hope I haven’t gotten mice again. I do so hate to kill the poor little things.”
“That’s it!” Cassie exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with sudden excitement. “It’s perfect. It’s even timely.”
Hannah frowned in confusion. “Mice?”
“No, ghosts! Don’t you see, Aunt Hannah? It’s the perfect gimmick. We’ll say that China View is haunted!”
“But that’ll drive people away,” Hannah protested.
“No, it won’t,” Cassie said with absolute conviction. “People love ghosts. I’ll bet we’ll be filled to capacity as soon as the news gets out.”
“But how’s it going to get out?”
“We’re going to help it, of course.” Cassie’s soft pink lips lifted in a mischievous smile. “All we have to do is tell a few people that we saw what looked like a ghost, and the story’ll be all over the coast by week’s end. Maybe I can get Ed Veach at the newspaper to do a feature story on the sighting.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“Isn’t that false advertising?” Hannah asked worriedly.
“Only if we actually claim that the inn has a ghost. And all I’m going to do is imply like crazy.”
“But...”
“If you don’t like the idea, Aunt Hannah, then of course I won’t use it. But I really don’t think it’s wrong. It’s not like we’re charging more and promising a ghost.”
“Our customers do get good value for their money,” Hannah said slowly.
“And they’ll have a great time trying to contact our ghost,” Cassie added. “Do you know if there’s ever been a hint of a ghost here at China View?”
“Not a murmur. I think ghosts are supposed to haunt places where violent deeds occurred, and nothing like that ever happened here.”
“What did happen here?” Cassie asked.
“Not much. Jonas Middlebury built China View for his fiancée, Millicent Whitney, and drowned at sea right afterward. He left the house to Millicent, and she lived here until she died, shortly before the First World War. She willed it to her nephew, who was your grandfather, and when he died, he left it to me, since your papa had already moved to Boston. Nobody has ever even died here.”
“Hmm, not much to work with.” Cassie wrinkled her small, straight nose in disappointment. “Too bad we didn’t have a more adventurous set of relatives. Jonas sounds the most interesting of the lot. How about if we claim that he’s our specter?”
Hannah pushed her glasses back on her nose as she considered the idea. “He’s probably our best choice. But what happens when no one ever sees him? People will stop coming, and I’ll be right back where I was.”
“What makes you think that they aren’t going to see him?” The twinkle in Cassie’s eyes deepened perceptively.
Hannah stared at her uncertainly. “Are they?”
“Yes,” Cassie said slowly. “Not indiscriminate sightings, of course. Just an occasional glimpse.”
“Moira Featheringham,” Hannah unexpectedly said.
Cassie blinked. “Who?”
“An old friend of mine, dear. Moira is very active in our local theatrical group. She might know where we could hire someone to play the part of Jonas.”
“Aunt Hannah, that’s perfect!” Cassie beamed approvingly at her.
“Thank you, dear. I’ll call Moira right now. Would you check the pantry for signs of mice and then keep an eye on the front desk for me? The only reservation I’ve had in weeks is supposed to arrive sometime late this morning.”
“Glad to.”
“And if you should need me for anything, dear, I’ll be up in the attic. I want to make a start on going through the old trunks up there for the church rummage sale.” With a preoccupied smile, Hannah disappeared up the back stairs.
Cassie finished off the last of the raspberries and then went to check the pantry. Opening the door, she stuck her head inside and glanced around. The window was closed, which left a mouse as the culprit. Stepping inside, she moved a few pans, looking for telltale droppings, but there was nothing to be seen.
Cassie frowned as she picked up an aluminum pie plate lying on the floor. It must have been stacked off balance and finally fallen, she decided as she carried it back to the kitchen. She set it down on the counter to be washed and then poured herself a mug of coffee, bringing it out to the tiny room off the lobby that served as an office. While she had the chance, she intended to go over the inn’s books to try to get some idea of how her aunt stood financially.
Two hours later, Cassie had a much clearer picture of the situation, as well as a more optimistic view of the future. While it was true that China View was expensive to run, Hannah had resisted the impulse to borrow. With the exception of the taxes, she had no outstanding debts. If they could just lure some of her guests back, Hannah and Gertie would be fine.
Cassie looked up as she heard the sound of a car engine straining up the steep incline of the inn’s driveway. Aunt Hannah’s lone reservation? she wondered as she got to her feet. She straightened the front of her copper silk camp shirt and adjusted the thin leather belt on her white linen slacks before going to greet what she hoped was a paying customer.
She hurried through the inn’s small lobby to the large window that faced the parking area in front. She peered out, but in the bright sunlight all she could see was a dark shape inside a white car. A rental car, she discovered, recognizing the sticker on the bumper.
Cassie instinctively leaned forward as the car door opened, curious as to what kind of guest they were about to get. Not the senior-citizen type China View normally attracted, she realized with sudden interest as a man slowly emerged from the car. This man was younger. Much younger. She studied the long, lean length of his legs, which were covered by a pair of tan cotton-twill pants, for an appreciative moment. Then her gaze skimmed upward over his flat stomach to linger speculatively on the width of his broad shoulders. Shoulders made even broader by the thick white cotton sweater he was wearing.
As she watched, he turned and, keeping one hand on the car door as if for support, studied the inn. The bright June sunlight poured over him, gilding his tanned skin to a shade of deep amber and adding a golden sheen to his honey brown hair. He looked aloof, remote and untouchable. As if he were a Greek god suddenly transported to earth.
Cassie shook her head in an effort to break the strange spell that the stranger’s presence had enmeshed her in. It wasn’t like her to react so fancifully to a man, she thought uneasily. Her years in advertising had long since taught her that physical looks counted for very little. They could be altered to create almost any image a person desired, just as they could mask virtually anything. It was the personality behind the looks that counted.
She watched as the man reached into the back seat of his car and pulled out a battered leather suitcase. He had a nice tush. In fact, he had a nice everything. Did everything include a wife? Her eyes narrowed consideringly. Somehow he didn’t look like anybody’s husband. He looked too... Cassie struggled to put a name to her impression. Unrestrained, she finally decided. He had an aura of being free and accountable to no one.
The sound of his footsteps on the weathered wooden boards of the front porch interrupted her speculations, and she retreated behind the reception desk.
The string of small bells above the front door gave off a silvery tinkle as the man pushed it open and stepped inside. His gaze swept around the small lobby assessingly, coming to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of Cassie. Leaving his suitcase just inside the door, he walked over to the reception desk and gave her a warm smile.
Even though Cassie was well used to the orthodontically perfect, gleaming white smiles of the male models she worked with, she was still taken aback. It wasn’t that this man’s smile was whiter or wider. It was that it was real, she realized. There was honest amusement in it. An amusement that was reflected in the tiny golden flecks that seemed to float in his dark brown eyes.
She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth. She didn’t know what this man had that was so potent, but whatever it was, she was certainly susceptible to it!
“This is China View, isn’t it?” His deep voice vibrated through her confused thoughts. It fitted him exactly, she thought distractedly. Powerful, darkly intriguing and sexy as hell.
“Um, yes.” She made a supreme effort to respond with her normal competence. “And you are...?”
“Dan Travis. I have a reservation.”
Cassie checked her aunt’s notation on the reservation sheet. “You’re in Room Fourteen.” She pushed the registration book toward him. “How long do you expect to be staying with us, Mr. Travis?”