“We’ll have to set reasonable goals,” Miss Pelham continued. “This castle wasn’t built in a day, and it won’t be made livable in one day, either.”

“Judging by the architecture, building it took a few hundred years,” Izzy said. “I hope making it livable doesn’t take that long.”

Miss Pelham turned at the bottom of the stairs and smiled. “You must know so much about castles. From dear Sir Henry, of course.”

Here we go.

“Yes.” Izzy pasted a sweet smile on her face. “I always loved hearing my father give his lectures.”

“How lucky you were to have him.” Miss Pelham looked her over. “And how clever you are today. I’ll have to change into my work smock, but here you’ve had the foresight to wear yours already.”

Izzy touched the skirts of her frock—her best morning dress—and tried to smile.

As they turned a corner, she recognized a familiar set of stairs. “Let’s go up here.”

Miss Pelham followed reluctantly. “There can’t be much up here. The stairs are too narrow. We’ll have to resist the urge to explore every nook just yet, or we’ll never complete our survey of the castle. We’ll walk through the main towers today, and by afternoon, we should be able to narrow down the options for your bedroom.”

Thirty-two, thirty-three . . .

“This one,” Izzy said, emerging into the turret room. “This is the room I’ve chosen.”

The turret room was even more enchanting by day than it had been by night. The vaulted ceiling tapered to a point above, and a golden shaft of sunlight pierced the sole window.

As Izzy went to the window, her heart beat faster. An inspiring green vista of rolling hills and castle walls spread below. Oh, there was even ivy climbing the walls, with songbirds nesting in it.

“This one?” Miss Pelham didn’t sound as though she saw the room’s charms. “This would be terribly impractical, what with all those stairs. Drafty, too, I’m sure. There isn’t even a hearth.”

“No hearth means we wouldn’t have to clean out a chimney.” No hearth means no bats. “And it’s summer. I can make do with blankets.” Izzy circled the room. “This must be my chamber.”

“You truly are little Izzy Goodnight, aren’t you?” Miss Pelham smiled broadly. “Oh! Shall we paint the ceiling with silver moons and golden stars?”

She referred to Izzy’s bedroom in The Goodnight Tales—the one with a purple counterpane and the starry heavens painted on the ceiling. The room that had never even existed.

“No need to do that,” she said. “At night, I can see the real stars.”

She didn’t want to feel like a little girl in this room. In this room, she was a woman. A temptress. This was where she’d had her first true kiss.

A kiss from a roguish, impossible duke, who’d only kissed her under duress. But it was a kiss nonetheless, and one she still felt at the corners of her whisker-rasped lips.

“Well,” Miss Pelham said, “eventually, on the floor below we should make you a proper suite, with a sitting room and quarters for your lady’s maid. But I suppose this room will do for a start.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it?” She linked arms with Izzy and squeezed tight. “I’m so pleased, I could squeal.”

Please. Please don’t.

“We have a hard day’s work ahead of us,” Miss Pelham said. “But tonight, we’ll have a proper bedchamber. We’ll plait each other’s hair. Dive beneath the coverlet and tell tales until an ungodly hour. Oh, this will be such fun.”

And it was fun, for an hour or two.

But in the end, that night was just like every other night of Izzy’s life.

Once again, she woke to darkness, her heart pounding with terror and her throat scraped raw.

Strange noises assailed her from all sides.

I am not alone, she told herself, struggling to master her breath. I have Miss Pelham here with me.

But she would feel much better if Miss Pelham were awake, too. Izzy tossed back and forth on the bed, hoping her movements would wake her companion.

When Miss Pelham didn’t stir, she moved on to direct methods. She laid a hand on the young woman’s shoulder and gave it a brisk shake.

Nothing.

“Miss Pelham. Miss Pelham, I’m sorry to disturb you. Please wake.”

The vicar’s daughter snored, once. Loudly.

But she did not wake.

Good heavens. Just before bed, she’d opined that she wasn’t afraid of ghosts. That good Christians had no reason not to sleep soundly. She hadn’t been joking about that sleeping soundly bit. The woman slept like a rock.

Which now struck Izzy as highly unjust. Had she been a bad Christian all her life? She didn’t attend church so often as she likely should, but she wasn’t precisely a heathen.

Although, to be fair, in the past twenty-four hours, she’d shamelessly kissed a duke and spent a great deal of time pondering the idea of . . . magnificence.

A distant wailing rattled her to the bones.

That was it. She was getting out of bed. That noise was definitely not her imagination.

Izzy shook Miss Pelham’s shoulder. “Miss Pelham. Miss Pelham, wake.”

“What is it, Miss Goodnight?” The young woman turned over lazily, hair mussed from sleep. It gave Izzy a small sense of satisfaction to see Miss Pelham with her hair mussed.

Then the moaning began again, and she lost all interest in coiffures.

“Did you hear that?” Izzy asked.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s a very loud nothing. Hush. There it is again.”

Miss Pelham frowned and listened. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

Thank God. I’m not going mad.

“What could it be? I’ve heard that there are wild cattle in the park, but that noise sounds much too close.”

They listened to it again—that low, broken howl.

Miss Pelham sat up. “A shepherd blowing his horn?”

“At this time of night? Over and over?” Izzy shuddered.

“Well, it’s not a ghost. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Neither did I until I moved in here.”

Miss Pelham sighed. “There’s only one way to find out. We’ll investigate.”

“Must we?” Izzy asked. “On second thought, I can live without knowing. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“You are the one who woke me, Miss Goodnight. I don’t think you’ll sleep well until we’ve put the mystery to rest.”

Izzy was afraid she’d say that. “Perhaps someone is just playing tricks on us.”

“It’s certainly possible.” Miss Pelham reached for her dressing gown. “I wouldn’t put it past the duke. No doubt he wants to lure us out of our bedchambers in our shifts. Be sure to close your dressing gown with a very tight knot.”

“He’s blind. How would he be able to tell?”

“He’d be able to tell.”

Yes, Izzy supposed he would.

Though Izzy wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of skulking through the castle at midnight again, she felt more confident knowing that Miss Pelham would be joining the sally.

Once they’d each knotted their dressing robes and donned boots, they lit candles. Izzy patted her pocket. Empty. Snowdrop must be out hunting or curled in her nest.

Lucky Snowdrop.

They took the stairs together, proceeding slowly in the dark. One after the other. Sometimes Miss Pelham would speed up and turn the corner before Izzy, and her figure and candlelight would drift from view. Then Izzy would hasten to catch up, sure she could feel ghostly fingers on the back of her neck.

“Do you see anything that way?” Miss Pelham asked, once they emerged into the corridor.

Izzy held the candlestick high with her right hand and peeked through the fingers of her left. “No.”

“Nothing to this side, either.”

The noise came again.

“Not to worry, Miss Goodnight. Old buildings like these make all sorts of strange sounds. No doubt it’s just timbers settling, or a door creaking back and forth on rusted hinges.”

Both those explanations sounded reassuringly plausible.

They emerged into the courtyard, and were nearly across it when an immense figure emerged from the shadows, stopping them in their path.

“Duncan,” Izzy gasped, pressing a hand to her thumping heart. “You scared us.”

The valet held his lamp aloft, illuminating the stark lines of his face. “What are you ladies doing out of bed?”

Once again, a keening howl rose up into the night, lifting every hair on Izzy’s arms with it.

“That’s what we’re doing out of bed,” she said.

“What can it be?” Miss Pelham asked.

Duncan shook his head. “Likely cats wailing or foxes having a fight. Whatever it is, I’ll scare it off. You ladies should return to your chamber.”

“We’re coming with you,” Izzy said.

They’d ventured this far. She’d rather face whatever it was with Duncan present than make that walk back to their chamber alone.

“Really, Miss Goodnight. It’s not—”

Before he could finish his warnings, Miss Pelham shrieked and pointed. “A ghost!”

A white, filmy apparition came streaking out of the tower. It writhed and howled, twisting its way across the courtyard like a wraith.

It wasn’t a ghost.

It was Magnus.

Poor wolf-dog Magnus, caught in a Holland cloth they’d hung up with the washing. He was moving so swiftly, it took Izzy a few moments to discern the reason for his distress.

But she ought to have guessed at the cause.

Snowdrop.

The ermine had gone hunting, all right—hunting for big game.

She was attached to the end of Magnus’s tail, holding on by the strength of her vicious teeth. The dog caromed around the courtyard, whipping and howling in an effort to shake her off.

“Oh, the poor thing.” Laughing, Izzy set off in pursuit. “Duncan, can you catch him?”

It took some doing, but eventually they managed to corner the beasts. Duncan held the dog still while Izzy pried Snowdrop’s jaws from his tail.

“There. You little menace.”

Miss Pelham winced as she studied the bite wound on the dog’s tail. “I’ll see to bandaging the poor dear. It’s a deep wound. In my kit, there’s some salve that will help. It’s in the great hall. Duncan, we’ll need bandages.”

Duncan started off before she even finished. “Of course, Miss Pelham.”

Izzy cradled the ermine in her hands. “I’ll take Snowdrop back up to the turret and make sure she can’t escape, and then I’ll join you.”

The plan established, they parted and went their separate ways.

Izzy mounted the stairs, Snowdrop tucked securely in the pocket of her dressing gown. The ermine seemed to have tired from the chase, and she went to sleep at once.

“The duke will be most put out with you,” Izzy chided, locking the animal into her gilded ball. “And put out with me, no doubt.”

Where was Rothbury, anyhow? He couldn’t possibly have slept through all that howling. And even if he could, he ought have noticed that the commotion involved his own dog.

Despite her questions, Izzy’s steps were light and carefree as she made her way back down to the great hall. Now that their keening, wailing ghost had been unmasked and proved to be something so benign, she felt a new sense of bravery welling in her chest.

She truly could do this. She could make this place her home.

And then . . .

While breezing down the corridor, Izzy caught a glimpse of something in one of the vacant rooms.