by Ava Stone
Braden looked at the viscount as though he’d lost his mind. “Envy what exactly?”
Wolf shrugged. “The bond you have with Quent. You’re as different as night and day, but the two of you do have that brotherly bond that I imagine is quite comforting at times.”
“You mean the times I’m unconscious?”
His friend agreed with a nod. “And other times too, I’m sure.”
There were many other times, honestly. Braden and Quent were close in age, though not in personality. But together they’d survived their own mother’s passing and then their father’s. They loved and doted on their sisters and both enjoyed carriage racing beyond almost anything else. But Wolf was an only child, orphaned at a young age, and nearly raised himself. Braden supposed that could be a lonely existence at times. When it was most important, Quent would always be there for Braden, and Braden would always be there for Quent, even if his brother did enjoy tormenting him until that time.
They continued on to Ravenglass, discussing the racing circuit, Thorn’s Arabian filly, the stud Braden had purchased a month ago and whether or not he could expect the same success with any new colts or fillies in the coming seasons.
Once in town, Braden took in the village. Ravenglass was quaint, with a definite seaside feel to it. Wolf started in the direction of the Pennington Arms, or really the building next door. The name Alcott hung from a sign and caught Braden’s notice. Wolf had come into town to see the local doctor? The one who’d been attending Chetwey?
But before he could think more than that, the door beneath the doctor’s name opened. “Thank you, Daphne. I’ll tell Lila you asked after her,” Miss Eilbeck said as she stepped out onto High Street. Damn it all. The girl was just as lovely now as she had been in the garden that morning, the way the sun caught the golden strands of her hair, the cheerful twinkle in her pretty green eyes.
What wonderful luck to see her again. And without her oafish brother or his foolish one anywhere in the vicinity.
She must have felt his eyes on her because she met his gaze and cast him the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.
“You know that girl?” Wolf asked under his breath.
“Not nearly as well as I’m going to,” Braden replied, unable to pull his eyes from the captivating Callie Eilbeck.
Callie wasn’t certain she’d ever smiled so widely in her entire life, but seeing Lord Bradenham in the middle of High Street, staring at her…Well, smiling might be all she was capable of doing. Thank heavens he wasn’t closer as she might not have been able to form a coherent sentence or find her voice for that matter.
“Miss Eilbeck!” He started towards her.
Heavens! She hadn’t expected to see him again. Everything in Marisdùn’s gardens pale next to you. His earlier words echoed in her ears and made her heart lift once more. “My lord,” she returned, relieved that her voice hadn’t failed her. “This is a surprise.”
“Certainly a pleasant one for me.” Then he quickly introduced his friend, a Lord Wolverly who nodded a greeting before Lord Bradenham turned his complete attention on Callie. “Where are you off to, Miss Eilbeck?” he asked.
“The vicarage,” she replied, lifting the small basket on her arm higher in the air. “My friend mentioned she was out of Miss Alcott’s rum butter yesterday and I thought to bring her some more today.”
“Rum butter?” He frowned just a bit.
Callie nodded quickly. “Wonderfully good, especially on fresh scones. And Miss Alcott’s is the best in all of Cumberland.”
“I’ll have to try some while I’m in the area, then.”
Callie could certainly accommodate that wish. They had quite the stock at Braewood as Cyrus could eat his weight in the stuff on a weekly basis. “Tomorrow, when you come for tea?” she suggested.
“Perfect solution.” Then he glanced up one end of High Street and said, “You haven’t seen my brother, have you?”
“Not since this morning in your gardens.” Callie glanced towards the other end of the street, looking to see if she could spot Lord Quentin in the opposite direction. “Is everything all right?”
Lord Bradenham snorted. “Just trying to make certain he stays out of trouble.”
Cyrus and his threats. Callie shook her head. “Don’t mind my brother. He was in a temper this morning because of Lila’s injury. Any other day of the week he wouldn’t care less about your masquerade.”
“Is that why you told him that lie about the vicar approving?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Callie’s cheeks heated instantly. How terribly embarrassing! Heavens! How did he know she’d lied to her brother?
He must have noticed her state of discomfort because he hastened to explain, “You did cross your fingers behind your back this morning.”
He’d seen that? Callie winced and dropped her gaze down to her basket. “It just didn’t seem fair that he should try to ruin your party because he was in a temper. I hope you don’t think badly of me.”
“That you tried to save my masquerade?” he asked, amusement lacing his words. “A party that you don’t even want to attend?” Then his voice softened as he added, “I don’t think I ever could think badly of you, Miss Eilbeck.”
Callie tilted her head back to find his warm hazel eyes leveled on her with such sincerity, he took her breath away. After a moment, he gestured to her basket on her arm. “You’re headed to the vicarage now?”
She nodded. “To deliver this and make sure my friend is feeling all right.”
“Should I come with you?”
And walk with her all the way to the vicarage? What were the odds Callie could keep from floating up to the clouds somewhere along the way?
“See if the vicar might approve of our party before your brother learns the truth?” Lord Bradenham grinned. “I’d hate for you to get into trouble on account of my masquerade.”
A snort escaped Callie. Blast! That was embarrassing. When his brow lifted in question, she explained, “I’m in no danger of Cyrus learning the truth from Mr. Southward. My brother will be fortunate if he’s able to attend this week’s services without the vicar smiting him on the spot.”
Which didn’t explain anything, not if the frown now splashed across Lord Bradenham’s face was any indication. “I beg your pardon?”
Callie shook her head. How to explain the situation without making Cyrus look like more of a buffoon than he was? “I’m afraid my brother loudly and rather passionately professed his undying love for Lila in the middle of the church courtyard right after last week’s services. All of Ravenglass was there and her father was less than amused.”
Lord Bradenham was amused, however. His hazel eyes twinkled and his lips pressed together as though he was trying to smother a laugh. “Well,” he began after a moment, “hard to fault a man who so clearly adores his intended.”
Callie scoffed. She couldn’t help it. “That’s just it, my lord. Lila is not Cyrus’ intended, no matter how much he wishes she was.”
“Well, that is a different story then.” A laugh burst from Lord Bradenham and he shook his head as though to bring his levity back under control. “He certainly is a passionate fellow, your brother. I’ll give him that.”
And that was the nicest way anyone could describe Cyrus. It was kind of Lord Bradenham to find the nicest way. Most people didn’t even try. Even though Cyrus drove Callie half-mad most of the time and he embarrassed her more often than not, he was her brother and she did love him. Though some days it was easier to love him than others.
“You are welcome to join me at the vicarage, if you like,” she said. “Just don’t expect Mr. Southward to give your masquerade his blessing.”
“Oh, I think I would much rather talk to you than your vicar anyway.” He smiled, warming Callie from the inside out.
She was definitely going to float up to the clouds, Callie had no doubt. Hopefully, his lordship wouldn’t notice.
“Carry your basket for you?” he asked.
“Oh! Thank you, Lord Bradenham.” She lifted her basket out to him. “That is kind of you.”
“Just Braden.” He offered her his arm. “My friends call me Braden.”
And was that what they were? Friends? Callie’s heart fluttered at the thought. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought she’d meet a man as dashing or handsome or kind as Lord Br…Braden. And to think he thought of them as friends! She accepted his arm with another wide smile and said, “Then you must call me Callie. My friends do.”
“I would like that very much.”
She had no artifice whatsoever, Braden was happy to note. Every blush, every smile was as genuine as she’d first seemed in Marisdùn’s gardens that morning. And that was quite different than what he was accustomed to in London – girls who’d been trained since birth how to bat their eyes, how to giggle just right, how to best allure a titled fellow to his knees. His own sisters were quite proficient at all of that. But not Callie Eilbeck. She was exactly as she seemed, and that sincerity was much more alluring than any practiced London debutant he’d ever encountered.
“Do you plan to stay in Ravenglass long?” she asked as they started their course for the vicarage.
He hadn’t planned on anything of the sort. Of course he hadn’t planned on inviting half of London to attend a ridiculous Samhain masquerade at Marisdùn either, but he had in the end anyway. Staying beyond the masquerade though? He didn’t particularly care for the castle. It was dark and drafty and came filled with the most superstitious of servants. But Callie could most certainly tempt him to stay a bit longer. He didn’t have anything he was racing home to do other than see after his sisters and see how his new stud was settling in at Highfield. “I hadn’t thought about staying past the masquerade, but I suppose that is a possibility.”
The smile that lit her face was so brilliant, Braden thought for a moment he might be dreaming. But he wasn’t. She was quite real. Her arm hooked with his as they continued their stroll.
“If I do stay for a bit,” he continued, “which of Ravenglass’s sights should I see, Callie?”
“Well, I’m afraid we can’t compete with London.”
“You must have something of interest in the parish,” he pressed.
“Hmm…” Her lips tilted up in the most charming grin. “Well, there’s always the vicarage,” she teased, and the sound of her melodic voice washed over Braden like a caress. “But we are headed there now.”
“True,” he conceded with a feigned frown. “Anything else?”
“Braewood Manor.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “I’m certain the girl who lives there would be quite happy to entertain you.”
“That particular girl is my favorite thing in all of Ravenglass.”
The innocent blush that stained her cheeks was so becoming Braden nearly stumbled. He recovered quickly however, and was relived that she didn’t seem to notice his misstep.
“But if you’re to stay in Ravenglass for any amount of time, Braden, you really ought to visit Marisdùn Castle. It has quite the reputation.”
“I hear they have a lovely garden there.”
Her blush deepened. “And dozens of ghosts.”
At that, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Not you too, Callie. You seem much too sensible to believe in ghosts.”
She stopped in her tracks and looked up at him. All light-hearted teasing gone, she looked as serious as he’d seen her thus far. “You haven’t encountered anything unusual, then?”
“Not unless you count puerile servants who jump at the wind.”
A frown creased her brow. “I don’t like the place. I never have.”
“Did something happen to you at the castle?” Something that might explain that frown or her trepidation?
She quickly shook her head. “I’ve never stepped foot on Marisdùn land until this morning. Just seeing the castle from afar has always sent a chill racing down—”
“You’ve never stepped foot on the castle grounds until today?” he interrupted. He couldn’t have understood her properly. It just didn’t make sense. She lived in Ravenglass. She had to have been at Marisdùn sometime before this morning.
But she shook her head once more. “Lila says I’m silly. She’s been there dozens of times, but…” Her frown deepened. “There’s something about it, Braden. Like some sort of evil just emanating from the place. Do be careful while you’re there.”
Braden would hardly call Marisdùn evil, but she did look so concerned, so he nodded in response. “I’ll be careful if it will make you rest easier.”
“So is it just you and Sir Cyrus at Braewood?” Braden asked as they approached the vicarage.
Callie heaved a slight sigh. “Papa’s been gone so long, I barely remember him. And Mama passed on last year.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” he said, hating that he even broached the subject.
She shook her head as though to put him at ease. “She was very sick for many years, at least she’s in peace now.” Then she smiled up at him once more, and Braden felt it reverberate around his soul. “You mentioned your mother and sisters?”
“Step-mother,” he corrected automatically. Though there was nothing outwardly unpleasant about Lady Bradenham, she wasn’t his or Quent’s birth mother. They’d always felt a bit of contempt from her and had since the very first day she’d entered their lives.
Callie stopped along the path and blinked up at him with the most lovely shade of green eyes. “I feel there’s something you’re not saying.”
Braden bit back a smile. There was something about her, something that made him perfectly happy to share all of his secrets with her. “You want to know all the skeletons in the Post family closet, do you?”
She shrugged slightly. “You said we were friends.”
But even some of his friends didn’t know all of it. It had, after all, happened so long ago. “Well, she’s not a mean sort of woman, not really. But she made it clear early on that Quent and I were not her children. My aunt once confided to me that Lady Bradenham was jealous of my brother and me, which didn’t make a lot of sense at the time, but I can understand it better now.”
“Jealous?” she echoed, her pretty brow scrunched up into adorable wrinkles.
“Father already had an heir and a spare before they married,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Quent and I stood solidly in the way of her ever being able to give him the same. Looking back to those early days, I believe that definitely bothered her.”
“Such is the lot for any second wife.” Her frown deepened. “But certainly she knew of your existence before she married your father.”
Braden scoffed in response. His step-mother had been quite aware of his and Quent’s existence long before her marriage. “Yes, well, you see, she’d loved him for many years prior to that.”
Callie only blinked at him as though his statement didn’t make any sense at all.
So Braden heaved a sigh and told her the truth of it. “Apparently, she’d been father’s mistress long before my mother’s death. Then Father married her only a fortnight after Mother died, and—”
“Heavens!” she gasped. “A fortnight?”
Braden shrugged. “Fortunately, Quent and I were too young at the time to realized the scandal behind that.” Though they were certainly old enough now to recognize the disrespect the swiftness of their father’s second marriage had showed their mother and the whole of the Routledge family.
“And your sisters?” she asked. “Are you close with them?”
Braden smiled at the thought of his sisters. No matter that he and Quent didn’t particularly care for their step-mother, their sisters were another matter. “I adore the triplets, though—”
“Triplets?” Her green eyes widened in surprise.
Triplets were a rarity, of course. Braden nodded. “I do wish father had lived long enough to meet them. They truly are children born out of his love.” While he and Quent were children who had been born out of their father’s d
uty, but Braden didn’t say those words aloud. There was no point in drudging up that particular past.
“You said they were in Buckinghamshire?” she asked, starting once more for the vicarage entrance.
“Home at Highfield,” he agreed, keeping pace with her onto a small stone path. “Probably quite put out with me at the moment.”
“Why?” she asked.
Because they so often were and had been during the entirety of the last season. “At the moment because they haven’t been invited to our masquerade.”
A laugh escaped Callie. “You didn’t invite your own sisters?”
He certainly wasn’t about to explain the details around that particular decision: Thorn, Quent and the others’ obsession with masked girls who weren’t wearing drawers. So instead he said, “Well, they have no connection to Marisdùn. The castle came to me from my mother’s uncle.”
Thankfully, she nodded as though that made sense. “Lord Quentin did say your grandfather was from Ravenglass,” she said just as they reached the old wooden door of the vicarage.
“He did tell us quite a few tales from here when we were children.”
“You’ll have to tell me any you remember.” Callie grinned as she rapped lightly on the door.
But Braden had no intention of telling her any of the frightening tales his grandfather had told him as a child. Marisdùn already scared her enough as it was. Luckily, the door to the vicarage opened before he could reply, revealing a rather pretty brunette.
“Callie!” Lila said as she opened the door. “What a pleasant surprise!”
Callie reached into the basket Braden still held and retrieved the jar of Daphne Alcott’s rum butter. “You said you were fresh out yesterday.”
“Oh, you are the sweetest,” her friend said, opening the door wider and taking the jar from Callie.
“Daphne asked after you,” she said.
“I hope she’s well.”
Their friend had seemed quite well, even as she’d rushed Callie out the door as though there was some secret she wasn’t sharing.
“Come in, come in,” Lila continued, motioning Callie and Braden over the threshold.
