A young widow escaping her controlling father. A former spy in disguise. And a long-ago but never-forgotten kiss.
Thisbe Rose moves into the haunted cottage she inherited from her soldier husband. She’s not afraid of ghosts, nor is she worried about smugglers and highwaymen—but she’s not so sure about the very odd housekeeper who’s already there.
Gervaise Transom returns from years as a spy with no taste for society, and wagers a friend he can spend six months in disguise without getting caught. When Thisbe moves into the cottage, he knows he should leave, to protect her reputation—but he also must stay to keep her safe.
Not only that, he’s sure he met her once years ago…
Meet Thisbe
Widowed Thisbe Rose leaves her controlling father to live in the cottage she inherited. She’s not afraid of smugglers, highwaymen, or ghosts, and is determined to make it on her own. But something strange is going on in the cottage—which has the oddest housekeeper she has ever met.
Meet Gervaise
Gervaise Transom spied for England, the country of his ancestors, against France, the country of his other ancestors, and now he’s torn up inside. He avoids family and society by accepting a wager with his best friend that he can spend six months disguised as a woman without being caught.
An excerpt from One Good Wager Deserves Another
Thisbe sat up, heart thumping. She knew where the sound had come from—the squeaky board in the room above her bedchamber. Annoyed, she turned up the lamp, slid out of bed, and donned her robe and slippers. She lit a candle and followed Eddie’s ghost to the door.
The gallery was in darkness, save for a faint light from the windows. She crept toward the staircase. No light showed either below or above. She must have been mistaken. Old houses did creak sometimes in the night, so why was Eddie pestering her?
The ghost pointed upward and made a shooing motion, urging her to take the stairs.
She balked. Ghosts didn’t understand human fears, since earthly danger didn’t affect them anymore. Who could possibly be up there? And why? Surely for something underhanded and perhaps dangerous!
Eddie rolled his spectral eyes—an unpleasant sight—and made an even more urgent motion with his hand, mouthing, “Hurry!”
She could ignore him, but he might have a good reason for wishing her to investigate that sound. She couldn’t afford to succumb to anxiety. No hesitation, she told herself. This was her house. She had every right to know what was going on.
She picked up another candlestick—the closest she could find to a weapon—and trod firmly up the stairs. Let the intruder hear her approach and tremble.
Unfortunately, there was no response from above, trembling or otherwise. Nothing but a nod and a grin from Eddie.
Thisbe trod gamely upward. Just as she expected, a flicker of light showed beneath the door of the garret above her bedchamber.
She thrust the door open. “What in heaven’s name is—”
A female figure by the window tossed a brief glance at Thisbe and said, “Hush!” Then she opened her mouth wide and let out a wail that would drown out a banshee.
It was Mrs. Wix, the housekeeper, wrapped in a heavy cloak with a hood obscuring most of her face. She proceeded to open and close the shutters of a lantern several times. Eddie’s ghost stood next to her, looking mighty pleased with himself.
“How dare you order me to hush!” Thisbe said, but in a softer voice. “This is my house, my garret, and you have no business being up here pretending to be a ghost!”
“I’ll explain in a minute,” the woman hissed, a finger to her lips, astonishing Thisbe so much that a furious retort died.
So much for respect for one’s betters. Not that Thisbe really believed that some people were better than others merely because of an accident of birth, but surely an employee should be polite to her employer—especially such an understanding one as herself.
Mrs. Wix continued opening and closing the lantern in a strange, rhythmic pattern. The air movement of the shutters, combined with the breeze from outdoors, wafted the scents of night and dead leaves, and closer by, horse and dirt. What had she been doing in the stable? The woman surely needed a bath.
Suddenly, Thisbe knew what was going on. “You’re signaling to smugglers!”
“I am not.” Mrs. Wix glanced at her again with a wide, mischievous grin. “I’m signaling to the revenue men.”
