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his leave, wondering why he hadn’t reached this point with her long ago. Certainly he found her annoying and she was entirely too intelligent for her own good. But she was family and he liked this whole idea of having a sister. After all, wasn’t it already his duty to watch over her? Didn’t he owe that to his brother? And wasn’t it a responsibility he had shirked? Well, no more. For a man who prided himself on living up to his responsibilities, it was something of a shock to realize he hadn’t when it came to his brother’s widow.
    He left Veronica’s with an newfound spring in his step and an odd sense of exuberance. He could not remember the last time he had felt anything remotely resembling exuberance but surely it was many years ago. Perhaps it could be attributed to facing a challenge, a goal that could not be easily achieved. Much in life had not been the least bit difficult for him.
    And blast it all, when had he become so grim and overbearing? Certainly, he had taken over all of the family responsibilities from his father, which carried with them a sobriety his father had never displayed. But no sense of humor, indeed. Why, he found any number of things amusing, and if he did not show that amusement it was only because it would be frivolous to do so. He was certainly not a frivolous man and had no intention of becoming one. Still, he could be a little less of an ill-mannered boor.
    His carriage rolled toward home and the oddest thought popped into his head and refused to go away. It would be a lucky man who got to worship the ground beneath Julia Winterset’s feet.

*
    “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?”
    The now-familiar voice drifted through Julia’s head and she groaned. Blast it all, another dream. It began as it always did, with Hermione’s voice and Julia dreaming she opened her eyes.
    “I have had quite enough of this nonsense,” Hermione said. “Do sit up and greet me properly.”
    Why not? It was only a dream. Julia struggled to sit up, and sighed. “Good evening, Hermione.” She yawned. “Or is it morning?”
    “Much better.” As usual, Hermione sat at the foot of her bed. “Now then, this will come as something of a shock as I suspect as you are very nearly as stubborn as I. I fear it runs in our blood.”
    “Oh, fortunate me.”
    “Sarcasm, my dear child, is not becoming in a lady.”
    “My apologies,” Julia muttered, heat rising in her face. As always, she marveled at the vividness of these dreams.
    “Brace yourself, my dear.” Hermione leaned forward and met her gaze directly. “I am not a dream.”
    Julia snorted. “Don’t be absurd. I have been dreaming of you since I began reading your memoirs.” She shook her head. “I cannot believe I am arguing with a dream.”
    “You’re not arguing with a dream. You’re arguing with—dear me, how shall I put this?” Hermione thought for a minute. “There’s really no good way to say it. You’re arguing with a ghost.”
    “A ghost.” She scoffed. “Utter nonsense.”
    Hermione raised a brow. “I assure you, I am quite real. Although
real
is a relative term I suppose, but I am as real as a ghost can be.”
    Julia studied her closely. “If you’re a ghost, why can’t I see through you?”
    “You could if I wished you to but I don’t. I find that transparent nonsense to be quite unnerving and that’s from my point of view. I can’t imagine how it would be from yours. Why, I might be extremely frightening and I really don’t wish to frighten anyone.” She aimed a stern look at Julia. “But I am tired of being ignored.”
    “I haven’t ignored you.” Julia narrowed her eyes. “If you’re a ghost, why do you look like that?”
    Hermione glanced down. “I think I look very nice. I always did love this dress.”
    It was indeed an exquisite deep blue silk, with dropped shoulders and puffed sleeves, trimmed in lace with small bunches of violets attached here and there.
    “You look like