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shifted the petticoat and corset aside to look at the dress Martha had chosen for her. The bodice had a basque, giving it the appearance of a jacket, and was open over a chemisette of white muslin with a lace frill of broderie anglaise. It had a pointed waist that she liked, but it was the color that appealed to her the most, an emerald green that would set off her hair nicely. Though Tamara had shown no eye for suitors in the nearly half a year since her grandfather’s death, it was always possible that there were some fit young men who would have an eye for her.
    She raised the dress off the bed and returned to the mirror, still wearing only her chemise. The chill breeze felt wonderful. She draped the dress across her body and studied the effect.
    The green was sumptuous, really, and though the dome of the skirt was a bit wider than she liked—the styles were beginning to change—she thought Martha had made a wise choice. Tamara turned slightly, first to the left, and then to the right, the mirror image shifting with her.
    “Oh, no. Please, anything but that. You might as well join the convent.”
    It was a man’s voice. Tamara spun, holding the dress in front of her in a hopeless attempt at modesty. Her first instinct was to flee from the bedchamber into her sitting room and out into the corridors of Ludlow House. But even as she turned, her heart quickening, she recognized the voice.
    The room, of course, was empty.
    Tamara planted her feet, the dress still pressed against her, and raised an eyebrow. Shadows danced in lamplight, but none was deep enough to hide an intruder.
    “How long have you been here?” she demanded, glancing about the room.
    The voice returned. “Long enough to sample the delights of your garden, my dear. Spring brings the loveliest flowers, and the breeze carries only their sweetest scents.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “Why spy on me? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
    “I honestly hadn’t intended to spy. I arrived to find you flushed with self-regard, and was so lost in my admiration that it never occurred to me to make my presence known until it became clear you intended to wear that awful, stuffy, old woman’s gown to your soirée this evening.”
    Tamara frowned. “It’s a lovely dress, and perfectly proper.”
    The lamplight seemed to freeze in place, the flames pausing in unnatural hesitation. Between her bed and the door that led out of her chamber there appeared suddenly the spectral form of a man, a roguish phantom with dark, curly hair and a boyish charm to his features. His eyes danced with playfulness, though he crossed his arms and gazed at her with affected disapproval. His sudden materialization was accompanied by a crackling noise, as of damp wood blazing in the hearth.
    “Proper?” the specter cried in alarm. He shook his head disapprovingly. “My dear Tamara, how is it we have been acquainted so long, had so many late-night conversations in this very room, and you are still capable of uttering the word proper as though it were a quality to be admired? I accept that you are not yet prepared to indulge in full-fledged decadence, but surely there is something in your wardrobe that would be more appropriate for an evening out. Something that accentuates your loveliness, rather than hiding it away.”
    Tamara could not prevent the smirk that lifted one corner of her mouth. “By loveliness, you mean, of course, my breasts.”
    “Every inch of you is lovely, dear Tamara, but I hardly think I might convince you to attend the party in a state that would reveal your perfection in its entirety.”
    “Oh, yes, wouldn’t that be a sight?”
    “It is,” the ghost replied. “Trust me.”
    “Nothing like scandal to destroy the family name completely. It isn’t as if William and I aren’t having trouble enough deflecting the less savory suggestions about the nature of our father’s illness.”
    The translucence of the ghost flickered, and for a moment there was