Excerpt of Cinderella and the Ghost by Marina Myles

As Ella passed the drawing room, she halted. Eerie goose
bumps blanketed her arms. She felt drawn to the room as
though she’d been in it before.

Heart thumping, she crossed the threshold under a sudden
trance. Icy stabs of déjà vu assaulted her because the
ornate furnishings and draperies seemed extremely
familiar. Perhaps, she considered, I’ve seen the room in
one of Adelaide’s real estate or decorating magazines.

Taking a few steps forward, she noticed a huge blank spot
on the east wall. The area’s wallpaper not only showed a
variance in color, it outlined a missing, life-sized
painting or tapestry.

How odd. Why had the art work been removed? Where was it
now?

An unrelenting force summoned her closer to the blank
spot. Her inquisitiveness grew. If the missing object was
indeed a life-sized painting, it must have taken forever
to complete. She wondered about its subject. A landscape?
More likely, a portrait.

Prodded to start a hunt, she went through several rooms
on Château de Maincy’s main level. She searched the front
parlor, the back parlor, and the music room. Her favorite
was the ballroom. As she entered, a spark met her toes.
Wide-eyed, she noticed that rays of sunshine cast a
sparkling aura over its faded parquet floor. A glittering
chandelier hung in the center of the gold-toned room,
anchoring the enormous space.

When the chandelier caught a beam of sunlight, Ella
received another spark. She put her hand to her warm
cheeks. She could almost hear strains of a quadrille—and
the drone of chatter as if she were at a party.

Not a party. She rephrased the thought. A ball.

Eyes blurred, she slipped into a deeper trance. Suddenly,
she was wearing a stunning costume and was stepping into
waltz with a debonair nobleman sporting a mask. The
nobleman pulled her tightly against him. Other guests
wearing masks looked on.

It was a masquerade ball! More scenes flashed before
Ella. Warm wind gusted into the room and then—

Exiting the trance, she realized that the hair on the
back of her neck stood on end. Why in heaven had she
experienced that?

Her father had written that Ella had been at the château
before. Yet she had no conscious memory of the visit.
Maybe, she thought as she rubbed her eyes, the atmosphere
of this house is too seductive to resist.

Still reeling from the vision, her attention shifted to a
long-case clock in the corner. Its shattered face was
visible through a hinged glass panel that hung ajar. The
top of the clock bore a large, vertical gash.

How odd.

Ella inched closer. The open door revealed that the time-
piece had been frozen at twelve o’clock. She touched the
immobile hands—and in the bright light of the room, she
noticed that the clock’s maker had etched his name and
creation date into a groove bordering the clock’s
pendulum.

Montbleu ~ 1703.

All at once, Ella remembered standing in front of the
long-case clock, precisely like this. But how could that
be? She must have repressed memories from her visit here
as a child. Yet, she couldn’t explain the vision of
herself dancing with the handsome man.

Once she confirmed that a life-sized painting wasn’t
hanging in the ballroom, she made her way up the grand
staircase. Inexplicably, she felt drawn to where she was
going. When she reached the second floor of the house,
she studied a wall of faded frescoes depicting late
seventeenth century life. When something told her to go
on, she padded to the third floor landing.

A palpable hush filled the corridor ahead of her. Then a
charged stream of energy rushed through the hall. Since
all the curtains were drawn over the arched windows, the
hallway sat in darkness and shadow. Ella should be doing
so many things. Unpacking. Cleaning. Deciding which
bedroom would be hers. But a sense of urgency prompted
her feet to continue.

What will I find in this part of the house? Glimpses of
the valiant but very dead Jean-Daniel Girard?

Gulping, she opened door after door and peeked in. She
finally came to a storage space, with an additional
staircase leading up to an attic. Creeping up those
stairs, Ella surveyed the articles on the landing. Broken
mirrors and articles of furniture draped in white sheets
lay strewn about. Tangled strings of cobwebs swathed the
wood paneling.

A glowing beam of sunlight angled into the room. Ella’s
pulse sped. In the corner, she spotted an item covered
with a black cloth. The object reclined against the far
wall—and appeared to be larger than she was. Pushing the
curtains open, she allowed more sunlight to bathe the
space. Hands quivering, she moved back to the draped item
and pulled away the black cloth.

The painting’s gilded frame was stunning. On it, Ella
located a nameplate.

Jean-Daniel Girard—Viscount de Maincy

1677-1703

Slowly, as though her life was being altered with every
centimeter, her stare ascended to the nobleman’s
astonishing face. Instantly, the world fell into a
compelling silence.

Jean-Daniel Girard was tall, muscular, and inarguably
handsome. In fact, his good looks were so striking that
Ella could barely breathe as she gazed upon them. More
than that, she knew she’d seen his face somewhere before.
While she racked her brain about where she’d seen it, her
gaze roamed over Jean-Daniel’s sold body, penetrating
aquamarine eyes, and angular features. He could be
described as classically handsome. The epitome of male
beauty, really. And thankfully, that classic quality
helped him transcend the fanciful clothing and wig he
wore.

Ella took a step in and studied him some more. True to
subjects painted in that era, he wasn’t smiling. Rather,
he seemed a pensive and a bit melancholy. However, she
could tell from the laugh lines bracketing his generous
mouth that he grinned often.

Incredibly lifelike, Jean-Daniel seemed capable of
emerging from the painting right then and there. Ella’s
skin tingled.

Her gaze drifted to the adorable dog sitting at the
viscount’s feet. A splendid example of a hound, it
possessed a gleaming brown-and-white coated, an open
mouth, and a protruding tongue. Oddly, the dog seemed to
be smiling.

“I can tell you loved your master,” she murmured.

Mesmerized by the man in the painting, Ella stared at his
image for what felt like hours. The more she analyzed it,
the more she noticed its “lost soul” quality. She crossed
her arms. No, that wasn’t it. Instead, there seemed to be
something underlying the viscount’s solemn face. As if he
weren’t solemn at all. As if he possessed a sense of
unfinished business.

To die so young…

She finally looked at the portrait’s backdrop. A vivid
depiction of Château de Maincy surrounded Jean-Daniel. A
cluster of servants was working in the fields adjacent to
the splendid house. Wide-eyed bluebirds perched on the
tree branches over his wigged head.

So that’s the way the estate looked in its heyday.

Stepping closer, she zeroed in on Jean-Daniel’s
astounding eyes. They seemed to come alive—and for the
briefest moment, he did as well. If only they were on a
first-name basis! The thought exhilarated her.

While she and the figure locked stares, a new layer of
goose bumps sprang up on Ella’s arms. She retreated.
Despite the warmth of the room, a chill barraged her
body.

“Jean-Daniel Girard is quite swoon-worthy, non?”
whispered an unfamiliar voice.