The Ghost of Glendale by Natalie Kleinman is a modern romantic take on the classic genre. This is a charming historical romance, with a paranormal twist.
Can Phoebe and Duncan bring peace to a tortured soul…?
Having never been in love, twenty-four-year-old Phoebe Marcham has no interest in marriage. Fiercely independent, she spends her days helping to manage Glendale, her ancestral home — a centuries-old estate full of long-buried secrets.
While out riding, Phoebe crosses paths with Duncan Armstrong, a charming wanderer who has just returned from the Continent. Finding that they share a penchant for mystery, Phoebe shares the biggest enigma that haunts Glendale: the tortured ghost of her ancestor, Simon Marcham, who took a secret sadness to his grave.
Convinced that Simon’s soul will never be at rest until they uncover his secret, Phoebe and Duncan set about unravelling the riddles that he left behind. As they delve deeper, a story of heartbreak and intrigue soon starts to emerge.
Faced with the darkness of the past, Phoebe is determined to make the most of the future. And as she and Duncan grow closer, she soon begins to wonder
whether she has at last met her fate…
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Are you intrigued?
Now you have a chance to read an Excerpt from the book:
Phoebe gasped as
she entered the gallery, for in spite of the intense heat outside it felt icy cold. She
looked at Duncan and it was evident from his expression that he was
experiencing the same sensation, one heavy dark brow raised in question.
“I have been
here many times, but never before have I felt his presence so strongly,” said Phoebe.
“It would seem
your ancestor is trying to tell us something.”
“You believe
that?”
“There are many
unexplained things in this world, and to dismiss them out of hand would be foolish. Come,” Duncan said, taking
her hand,
“let us walk the length of the room and see if anything happens.”
Phoebe chose to
disregard the effect his touch had upon her and would indeed have been
reluctant to withdraw her hand from his. The iciness dissipated a little but
returned with full force as they came abreast of a statue said to be of Simon
Marcham and his lost love. The couple were entwined in what was all too
obviously a loving embrace. Phoebe found she was gripping Duncan’s hand rather
tightly.
“Allow me to
introduce you to my great-great … I know not how many greats … grandfather.”
“The family
ghost?”
“The very same.”
“Perhaps now
might be the time for you to tell me his story, but let us first adjourn to another room.”
Phoebe was happy
to do so. She had never before felt uncomfortable with Simon’s ghost, but today’s
experience had taken on a whole new dimension. Though she felt no fear, she was certainly
shaken. And she didn’t think it right to talk about her ancestor in front of him. Whatever
am I saying? she thought, but she realised that she had always been convinced there was some truth in the
story she was about to relate to
Duncan, blasé though she might seem to be.
She and Duncan were soon settled in her
mother’s drawing room. It had an airiness about it, the mahogany doors a good
deal lighter than the oak to be found in much of the rest of the house. The
fretwork motif of the doors was replicated around four hand-painted panels that
adorned the walls. It was an altogether feminine room, and even after all
these years Phoebe could still feel her mother’s presence there. Her father could no longer bring
himself to enter as it reminded him too acutely of his loss, but for Phoebe it
was a sanctuary.
“There was no
way Simon and his love would be allowed to marry,” she explained to her companion. “There was conflict between their families, and they were torn
apart. It was Simon who found her lying under a tree in the home wood, or so
the story goes. He was inconsolable and for many years became reclusive.
Eventually, realising it was his duty to continue the family name, he married
without love and produced an heir. Lucky he did, or I would not be standing before you today!” Phoebe smiled faintly, trying
to lighten the tone. Duncan, though, was still looking serious.
“Poor man. No
wonder it is so cold in there. His soul is not at rest.”
“And it is said
it never will be until his secret is discovered.”
“What secret is
that?”
“That’s the
trouble. Nobody knows.”
“Then we must
make it our business to find out, for he is in torment.”
Phoebe could
only be amazed that this huge bulk of a man held so sensitive a spirit. Most
would have ridiculed such a suggestion, and so she told him.
“I have handled many pieces of antiquity. Some are cold to the touch and some, even though carved from stone, have a warmth when one’s hand is laid upon them. I did not touch Simon’s statue today. I wanted first to hear his story. Forgive me for being presumptuous, but do you hold any records that might give us a clue?”
“There are a few
accounts:
people’s experiences of encountering Simon in the gallery, records of the date
he withdrew from the world and again when he emerged from seclusion.”
“I would see
them, if
I may.”
Phoebe, recognising his
genuine desire to help, told him she would fetch them immediately. It seemed
that Phoebe’s mother, Emily, had also been intrigued by the tale and had insisted during her
lifetime that she had
several times encountered Simon’s ghost. She’d
gathered what information she could, and it was now stored in a chest within a flat-fronted mahogany
sideboard that stood beneath their ancestor’s portrait. Phoebe had just placed
the chest on the table between them and was about to lift the lid when the
sound of horses was heard through the open window. “Oh no, it is my
aunt! Isn’t it just like her to come at this moment!”
About the Author:
Natalie's passion for reading became a compulsion when she attended a ten-week course in creative writing some sixteen or so years ago, She takes delight in creating short stories of which more than forty have been published, but it was her lifelong love of Regency romance that led her to turn from contemporary romantic fiction to try her hand at her favourite genre.
Raised on a diet of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer, she is never happier than when immersed in an age of etiquette and manners, fashion and intrigue, all combined into a romping good tale.
She lives on the London/Kent border, close to the capital's plethora of museums and galleries which she uses for research as well as pleasure. A perfect day though is when she heads out of town to enjoy lunch by a pub on the river, any river, in company of her husband and friends.
Natalie is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association, the Society of Authoors and the Society of Women Writers and Journalists.
You can find out more about Natalie on Twitter @NatKleinman, Facebook/NatalieKleinmanAuthor and on her website nataliekleinman.com
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