Suddenly the ghosts cried out and the elevator door opened, and Captain Lightbourne guided her to the relative steadiness of the corridor. “Good night,” she said in a mild, pleasant voice to the elevator attendant, who muttered something she did not quite hear (no doubt the correct warding spell) and closed the door behind them.

“Do you know,” Cecilia said as they stood for a moment, trying to decide which way to go, “I can barely breathe in this dress.” She tugged at the bodice and waist, writhing with discomfort. “I should have stolen one bigger.”

“Sh,” the captain said, and Cecilia rolled her eyes at his rudeness. A woman passing by also appeared aghast, as any woman would in response to a man publicly shushing his wife.

Wait. Wife?

Cecilia frowned, trying to remember that part. But she could not, and so she shrugged. The movement tightened the gown even further, and she abruptly reached the end of her tolerance. “No,” she said. “I cannot wear it one minute longer.” She began slipping the bodice down.

Captain Lightbourne caught her hand, to which she responded by pulling the glove from it, dislodging his grip, before continuing to undress. He countered by lifting her into his arms and carrying her along the corridor. Cecilia removed her other glove and slapped his face with it. He winced but did not stop.

“This is scandalous,” she declared, tossing her gloves to the ground in emphasis.

“I shouldn’t worry if I were you,” he replied. “It will get lost among all the other scandals of the evening.”

“And now I am gloveless and might fall victim at any moment to the Great Peril.”

“Ah yes, freckles. Well thank goodness there’s no risk of that tonight.”

“Nevertheless, I insist you put me down at once!”

“Don’t be anxious, Lady Victoria. It’s not wrong for your husband to carry you.”

“Oh. True. Very well, then, Lord Albert, but move a little more gently if you please, I’m becoming rather queasy.”

He paused beside several doors along the corridor, listening at each, attempting a handle here and there. Finally he opened one and stepped through into a dark room.

“This should do,” he said, and set Cecilia on her feet. She swayed alarmingly but managed not to fall. The captain tossed his hat onto a sideboard and moved about turning on the gas lamps. As the room blossomed into view, Cecilia saw a wide, plump bed draped in gold satin (and some other furniture she barely noticed due to the presence of The Bed). All at once she felt a torrid heat press against her skin from within.

“That’s a—bed.” She whispered the word as if it was lewd.

Captain Lightbourne glanced over his shoulder. “Yes,” he agreed.

“I mean, there is only one of it.”

“Of course. Have you ever heard of an unmarried couple who have to stay at an inn being presented with separate beds?”

Her wits dragged themselves up, shoving arms into jackets, slapping helmets on heads, coming more or less to attention. “This room will suit me,” she said. It sounded good and gave her wits the confidence to stand even straighter, gripping the pommels of their swords; one even saluted. “Will you take another nearby?”