Chapter 1

England 1908

When you are born with the ability to see ghosts, you have two choices: one, a mental institution, or two, become adept at ignoring them. I choose the latter. 

My one saving grace? I could not hear them, only see them.

My mother died in a mental hospital after developing an infection from a severe cut on her leg. I was ten.

“Do not let them know you have the sight.” She would warn me during my visits to her as a child, and no one was within earshot. “You must ignore the ghosts, no matter what, promise me.”

I promised.

My father, Lord Byron Drake, Earl of Summerset, loved her. He just did not possess the ability to deal with her—affliction—is what he called it.

Throughout my twenty-three years, I often wondered if my fate would be hers. Would my father institutionalize me if he knew I saw ghosts? I could never be sure, so I concealed it.

Word spread about my mother, even though Father did his best to veil it, hiring the most expensive doctors and putting Mother in the most prestigious facility. He even paid extra for discretion. 

Unfortunately for us, the year I turned ten, someone sold our story to the papers. Word reached the ton that my mother was touched and that I, Lady Clarissa Drake, had to be as well, despite my father’s protests that I had never shown any signs. It branded me a pariah and unmarriageable to my gentry peers. Needless to say, my debut was a disaster. Unfortunately, that hasn’t stopped my father from searching for the right husband.

He traveled all the way to North America to find a suitable lord (an honorary title) who was looking for a wealthy bride and willing to overlook my unfortunate circumstances, if the dowry was fitting.

“Clara, did you hear me?” My father’s booming voice startled me out of my reverie.

I looked up from my soup and met my father’s blue eyes. “I beg your pardon. Could you please repeat that?”

When did his blond hair start turning gray?

“Oh, Clara.” My father gave an exasperated sigh. “I said, Lord Randolph wants to meet you before he signs the marriage contract. You need to present yourself in the best possible light if you are going to make a good impression with this lord.” He wiped his graying blonde mustache with the silk napkin from his lap. “You will be staying with them for one month. At the end of the month, he will decide whether or not you will make a suitable bride. You must be on your best behavior. No more flightiness. God forbid they think you take after your mother.”

Yes, God forbid, I thought, anger flushing my face even as I kept my features neutral.

“Yes, Father,” I said with no trace of scorn. It was not his fault that he did not understand. I knew he just wanted what was best for me.

His eyes softened. “Forgive me, Darling. You know how much I loved your mother.” His eyes dropped to the plate of roast being set before him as he regained his composure and cleared his throat before continuing. “I took a chance when I married her for love. She was the bastard daughter of a very wealthy lord and a Romani woman. I believe your grandfather would have married your grandmother if she hadn’t died in childbirth. Your grandfather never did marry, bequeathing everything to your mother. With the title and wealth your mother held, no one dared shun her for the circumstance of her birth, but her mental condition, well, no amount of money could shield her from the stigma that followed that.”

Yes, I have heard this story a thousand times. I finished in my head as he spoke that last line. It felt rehearsed after all these years.

Although a part of me blamed him for sending my beloved mother to that dreadful place, I kept it to myself. I did love my father, and I tried not to blame him for his ignorance. Sometimes, it was just difficult not to be resentful.

I heaved a heavy sigh. “You are quite right, Father, as always. I shall be conscientious moving forward.”

When the ghost of a housekeeper whom I never knew in life drifted by, I dropped my eyes to my roast and took a deep breath of the savory steam wafting up from the meat. Watching out of the corner of my eye as the housekeeper’s shade drifted out of sight, I took a bite of mashed potatoes.  

We finished our dinner without any more conversation.

After I ate the last bite of my cherry tart dessert, I asked, “When do we leave?”

“In the morning. The maids have been packing all day.”

I wondered what the flurry of activity had been about all day. I had just assumed it was because Father was home. Excusing myself from the dinner table, I meandered through the house, saying a silent farewell to my childhood home.

That night, I tossed and turned, thinking about marrying a stranger. I had no idea what he looked like, how old he was, or whether he was kind or cruel. I finally fell asleep before the light of dawn hit my window.

“My Lady, wake up.” Millie gently nudged me.

I groaned, shoving my face into my down pillow.

Sluggishly, I dragged myself out of bed. I took the teacup she offered and sipped it, feeling a bit better when the hot liquid warmed me as it slid down my throat.

Millie slid the dress shirt over my lifted arms and helped me into the fitted navy and white striped skirt. After fastening the last button on my finest traveling suit, I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror.

My dark chocolate curls were somewhat tamed into a coif on top of my head. I always wished I had my mother’s raven locks. She was a beauty beyond compare. I did, however, inherit her Romani high cheekbones and sharp jawline. My eyes were my father’s crystal blue, which stood out against my dark lashes.

Smoothing the white and navy striped dress jacket over my waist, I glanced around the room. This might be the last time I see it. Tears threatened to spill over my lashes, and I blinked them away.

“Are you all right, My Lady?” Millie asked, concern lighting her green eyes.

I nodded. “I shall be fine.”

“America, what an adventure. Can you imagine? I hear it is warm, beautiful, and rich in gold and minerals.” Millie prattled on as she fixed the wide-brimmed hat to my head.

The large white feather fell to the side, and I scowled at it. I hated hats. My hair was thick and heavy as it was, and the added weight of a hat only furthered my discomfort. 

I met Millie’s eyes, and she smiled encouragingly. She was to stay with me as my lady’s maid in my new home, that is, if Lord Randolph decided to keep me. Father would say to leave the details to him whenever I asked questions, so I stopped asking because it only annoyed me. I was beginning to feel like a prized mare.

Millie followed me down the grand staircase, still babbling, “Can you believe it? We are going to travel on the RMS Mauretania. They say it is the largest ship ever built. This is history in the making. I bet we even break the speed record.”

“Millie, please,” I implored, stopping before I walked through the housekeeper’s ghost and using my exasperation with Millie as an excuse to avoid said ghost. “Can you give me some peace for just a moment?”

Millie turned red. “Forgive me, my Lady. I’m just so excited.”

I softened my expression. “And there is nothing wrong with that. I just need a few minutes of quiet to gather my thoughts.”

“Of course, My Lady.” Millie beamed a smile.

The ghost disappeared, and I resumed heading for the front door. I savored the cold April day because it was dry and sunny, not rainy.

Millie kept quiet on the carriage ride to the docks. My father, on the other hand, did not.

“You are going to love the Mauretania, Darling. It is said to be the largest ship ever built.”

Millie grinned at me as if to say, I told you. I refrained from rolling my eyes.

We reached the cruise liner without incident. I stared up at the relatively new ship, the salty air stinging my nose.

New often meant no ghosts, the one thing to which I was looking forward. It would be nice to avoid any otherworldly encounters while in close quarters with others.

The boarding process was quick. We were on deck and shown to our suite of rooms within ten minutes of boarding.

The cabin was small compared to my room at the manor. A single bed sat on the right wall. A red couch was built into the left wall, under the window, and a wall-sized mahogany wardrobe covered the wall ahead, with the bathroom door to the right of it.

Inspecting the bathroom, I found a sink, toilet, and claw-foot tub. I wandered back to the main room: the golden wallpaper, rich mahogany wood, and plush fabrics made up for the lack of space.

I sat on the bed and unpinned my hat, setting it aside as I stared out the window above the couch. The ocean beckoned beyond.

“Farewell, England,” I said in quiet sadness.

Depressed, I fell back against the bed. Even the canopy of the four-poster bed was intricately embroidered with gold and silver thread, depicting trees and a large manor estate stretching from the headboard to the footboard.

I wondered what the estate in America would look like, certainly not like my beloved centuries-old English manor with its rolling hills and river running alongside the property. I heard America was rich in thick forests, hot in the summer, and cold in the winter.

Closing my eyes, I wondered how long I could politely stay in my room. I could feign seasickness with no one the wiser, but a knock followed by Millie’s voice reminded me that it would be impossible with Millie’s enthusiasm to explore the ship.

Willing her to go away was futile as she entered my room and pulled the curtains above the couch fully open, then prattled on about how grand the ship was.

“You just have to see all the people gathered to see us off. We are leaving in twenty minutes.” She glanced at me with a frown. “Are you feeling well, My Lady?”

For her sake, I smiled and sat up. “Just tired.”

“Some fresh air will perk you right up.”

Fussing over my hair, she fixed my hat back into place, and I followed her to the deck overlooking the gathered crowd.

“Look at all the people,” she said.

The bright sunlight made Millie’s blonde hair glow like spun gold. Her cheeks were a healthy pink, and her green eyes were shining with the possibilities of adventure. I envied her passion.

I had to admit her enthusiasm was slightly contagious as she exuberantly waved to the people below.

The roar of the engine was lost in the sudden thunder of the crowd. The massive ship lurched forward, and my heart with it. I glanced at Millie with her frantic excitement and took a deep breath, vowing to make the most of my new life.

A small seed of hope blossomed in my chest as I waved to the cheering crowd below.

* * *

Dinner was to be an affair. Apparently, the captain requested that we be seated with him, along with a few other prestigious guests. The grand dining room reached two stories high and had a glass-domed ceiling in the center. We were ushered to the second floor, where Captain Pritchard sat overlooking the grand dining hall.

 Sir Arthur Herbert Dyke Acland joined us, as well as a Mr. William D. Gordon, an American attorney and politician. Two more men joined us as we were served drinks: Sir James Knott and Mr. Alfred William McCune, a railroad tycoon from Utah.

“Ah, Sir Knott, checking out the competition, are we?” Sir Dyke accused in a jovial tone.

Sir Knott chuckled. “I think I shall stick to coffee rather than passengers, thank you.”

The evening progressed with the inevitable political debate, and when it started to heat up, I excused myself and took some air on the veranda adjoining the dining room.

The cold air cleared my head as I stared out at the stretch of black water.

After only a minute, my cheeks were numb, and my hands stung from the biting wind blowing off the icy Atlantic, so I headed back inside. As I passed through the doors and into the warmth of the ship, the window showed my reflection. The exquisite black beaded dress weighed me down by a good two pounds, pressing the heavy cream-colored silk lining to my body.

I loved evening time, the one time of day I could get away without wearing a hat in public. Curls of silky chocolate framed my face while the majority of my hair was pulled up on top of my head.

I startled when an older man passed between me and my reflection. He paused to study me, a glass of brandy in one hand. An older woman trailed sadly behind him; her haunted eyes focused on him. I quickly looked away from her, realizing she was a ghost—his wife, perhaps?

 “My dear, you look radiant. Who is the lucky fellow?” he asked me, his accent American.

When the woman looked up at me, I gave no indication that I saw her. Ghosts could get scary when you acknowledge them.

The man waited for a reply. “He lives in America. I am currently on my way to meet him.”

He held his glass up to me. “Lucky fellow.”

When several men from the dining room drifted into the hallway, I took that moment to leave. “Good night, sir.” I bowed my head and hurried off down the hall to my room.

Closing my sitting room door, I gulped in a few deep breaths. I had forgotten that ghosts could attach themselves to people as well as objects.

“Millie?” I called in the direction of the small room off my sitting room, where Millie was staying.

She poked her head into my room. “My Lady? You’re back early. It’s barely even nine o’clock.” She glanced at the grandfather clock. Nine-fifteen, to be exact.

“Headache,” I explained.

She gave a curt nod. “I’ll get the tonic.”

“No, I just need sleep. Could you help me out of my clothes, please?”

Rushing over, she said, “Yes, My Lady.”

After changing into my bedclothes, I settled onto the soft mattress.

Millie put my clothes away in the wardrobe when I informed her, “I won’t need you for the rest of the night if you would like to explore the ship.”

Her eyes brightened, and she curtsied. “Oh, thank you, My Lady.” She rushed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I thought about the older woman’s ghost, and my mind wandered to when I was sixteen, and I laid eyes on the ghost of a young boy. He seemed so lost. He followed his mother, our cook, around like a puppy. I never knew him in life. Our cook had only been in our service for less than four months. Father liked to rotate servants often, just in case I had an episode. He never said that, but I knew it was the reason. Even though I never had an episode, at least not that I could recall.

One day, the boy was out in the yard with our cook, and I made the mistake of looking at him. When he realized I could see him, he ran to me. For days afterward, he followed me, trying to get my attention, not letting me sleep, and bothering me when we had company. I tried ignoring him, but he made it almost impossible. Finally, I reached the point of asking my father to hire a new cook, citing that I could not abide her cooking. It riddled me with guilt to do it, but I could think of no other way to be rid of the ghost boy.

Father found her a new job in London, and thankfully, the ghost of her son went with her. We had a French cook after that.

After that experience, I truly understood why my mother said to ignore them. To this day, I do not know what caused my father to send her to the hospital in the first place. He never said, and he always made sure to be within sight of me whenever we visited Mother.

When she would warn me to ignore the ghosts, it was always when my father was occupied with the doctor, out of earshot but still within sight.

The ship swayed, and I closed my eyes. It did not take long for me to fall asleep.

* * *

For the next four days, I managed to feign seasickness and stay in my cabin.

The fifth and final day had me going stir-crazy.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror as Millie arranged my hat just so.

“Perfect, you look radiant, My Lady.” She tilted her head at me, admiring her handiwork.

Running my hand down the red and white striped jacket, I smiled to myself.

I look like a human candy cane.

I met her green eyes in the mirror. “Thank you, Millie.”

She nodded. “We should be in America by late afternoon,” she added excitedly.

I headed to the promenade deck. The sun sparkled off the waves, temporarily blinding me as I made my way to the open-air Verandah Café. I found Father just inside, perusing a paper.

With the sun shining, it was not as cold as it had been on previous days. In fact, in my candy cane suit, I felt a little too warm.

I glanced over his shoulder at the paper, The New York Times. An ad for one of those motorized vehicles was prominent in the bottom left corner. The Rambler, it said.

“Morning, Father.” I sat across from him, the wicker chair squeaking under my slight weight.

He peered over the paper at me, “Feeling better, my Dear?”

“A bit.” I folded the silk napkin on my lap and poured myself some tea. “I expect we shall arrive shortly,” I added, determined to make the most of my situation.

Father folded the paper and set it aside. “A few more hours.”

He took a sip of tea, wiping the drippings off his mustache.

“Where will we be staying during my trial period?” I asked.

My father huffed out a breath. “Must you say it like that?”

“Well, that is what it is, a trial period.” I raised a dark eyebrow, challenging him to refute it.

As he shifted in his chair, the wicker squeaked beneath him in protest.

My eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Pardon?” he blustered. “Now, do not get into a snit. You will have Millie with you the whole time—”

“Father?” I interrupted. “What have you done?”

He would not meet my eyes. “Tis just that I have a lot to do at the estate, and I can not be gone that long, you understand? I will get you settled and stay for a week to be sure everything is in order, but after that, I need to return home.”

I felt the blood drain down my face and neck. “You are leaving me alone?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Now, do not be like that. You will not be alone. You shall have Millie, and you know I can not stay away for a full month.”

Now, heat flooded my cheeks. “Yes, you can,” I replied suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I did not want to upset you, but I met someone, so I can not be gone that long.”

My whole world dropped out from under me, and the room began to spin.

“Clara!” His wicker chair fell backward as my father lunged out of it and dove for me. “Clara!”

Everything went black.