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The Night of the Party — Laura Conway
PRIVET COURT
The ancestral home of the Albans stood shrouded in mystery, deserted, its grounds overgrown. Juliet, the youngest Alban, had never entered the house. Her father, following tradition, had willed Privet Court to a distant male relative. When Serle Alban came to take possession of his inheritance and invited Juliet to help him bring the old place to life again, it seemed her wildest dreams of romantic happiness had come true. But the house harbored a menacing presence -- a restless spirit that stalked its ancient halls. A long-ago tragedy became a frightening new obsession for Juliet -- and her young love for Serle was put to a terrifying test of THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY...
JULIET AND THE SPIRIT
I was still half-blinded by tears; the autumn sun shone through the diamond-paned window of the book-lined sitting room and dazzled me. It must have been that which made me think I saw…I saw…
Only for a vivid instant, but there was a glimpse, a movement, as though the window curtain had been pulled aside and now was dropped. Someone had been standing there; a man whose fair hair the sun burnished, and it had also glinted on a fiery stone decorating the long, elegant white hand which held a fold of the curtain. Instinctively I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles, and then he was there no longer, I was alone.
The ancestral home of the Albans stood shrouded in mystery, deserted, its grounds overgrown. Juliet, the youngest Alban, had never entered the house. Her father, following tradition, had willed Privet Court to a distant male relative. When Serle Alban came to take possession of his inheritance and invited Juliet to help him bring the old place to life again, it seemed her wildest dreams of romantic happiness had come true. But the house harbored a menacing presence -- a restless spirit that stalked its ancient halls. A long-ago tragedy became a frightening new obsession for Juliet -- and her young love for Serle was put to a terrifying test of THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY...
JULIET AND THE SPIRIT
I was still half-blinded by tears; the autumn sun shone through the diamond-paned window of the book-lined sitting room and dazzled me. It must have been that which made me think I saw…I saw…
Only for a vivid instant, but there was a glimpse, a movement, as though the window curtain had been pulled aside and now was dropped. Someone had been standing there; a man whose fair hair the sun burnished, and it had also glinted on a fiery stone decorating the long, elegant white hand which held a fold of the curtain. Instinctively I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles, and then he was there no longer, I was alone.