One Haunted Evening (Haunted Regency Series Book 1)

by Ava Stone

  And then everyone surrounded her. Daphne, Lila, people she’d never seen before. Daphne hugged her tightly, and Callie hugged her back with equal force.

  “Oh, Daphne,” she began as she pulled slightly away. “You do look lovely in that dress. You should keep it.”

  Her friend choked on a laugh. “Only you could vanish for days only to emerge and tell me to keep your dress.”

  Callie couldn’t help but laugh. “But it looks so much lovelier on you than it ever did on me.”

  “Silly girl,” Daphne laughed as well.

  And then Lila threw her arms around Callie’s neck and hugged her for all she was worth. “I was so scared,” her friend whispered in her ear.

  “So was I,” Callie whispered back. Then she tightened her arms even more around her friend. “What are you doing here? Your father will kill you.”

  “As though I could stay home when we had the chance to find you.” Lila drew back from her and grinned. “Besides, with a bit of luck, I can sneak back through the window and he’ll never know I was gone.”

  Hopefully, that was true. Lila would be in for it if Vicar Southward knew she was out at this time of night. “I’m so glad you were here.”

  “Me too.” Lila squeezed her hand. “But I’d better leave.” She lowered a domino over her face and added, “Please come to the vicarage tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” Callie nodded quickly. “Of course, of course.”

  After one last smile, Lila took off through the crowd and Callie turned on her heel to find Braden still there, awe and wonder shining in his eyes. “Callie Eilbeck, I don’t want to live one more day without you.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Exactly how soon could he marry her? If only they were in London. It would be much easier to get a special license in London. Of course, this far north, they could just head to Scotland. He certainly wasn’t about to wait three weeks for the banns to be read.

  Callie seemed to slump a bit and Braden pulled her back into his arms. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  “Starving,” she whispered faintly.

  Of course she was. She hadn’t eaten in days! What an idiot he was. He should have thought of that immediately. “We’ll remedy that right now.”

  He scooped her up into his arms and Callie’s melodic laugh was like a balm to his weathered soul. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you something to eat.”

  Panic flashed in her eyes. “Not in the castle.”

  Braden stopped where he stood and gazed down at her. “My great-grandmother is gone, Callie. She can’t hurt you any longer.”

  His great-grandmother? Mrs. Routledge was responsible for her disappearance? “What do you mean she can’t hurt me any longer?”

  Braden heaved a sigh. “Miss Glace banished her last night. Sent her away so she couldn’t ever hurt anyone else.”

  “Brighid?” Callie frowned. How could Brighid do any of that?

  Braden glanced to his side. “Where is Miss Glace?”

  “Fainted,” Cyrus replied. “Mr. Chetwey took her back inside the castle a little while ago.”

  “She fainted?” Callie echoed. “Is she all right?”

  “Chetwey will ensure that she is,” Braden replied. “And I will make certain that you are. And you need to eat something, Callie. It’s been days.”

  She glanced towards the castle and couldn’t help but shiver. “You’re certain it’s safe?”

  “You will always be safe from here on out, sweetheart.”

  The intensity of his hazel gaze convinced her of the truth of that, so she nodded her consent. “To get something to eat,” she stressed. “I don’t want to live here, Braden.”

  He grinned from ear to ear as he started down the garden path with her. “Actually, I was thinking of giving the castle to Quent. What do you think?”

  Callie thought she could never love anyone as much as she did Braden. “Brilliant idea. We can stay at Braewood if you want to visit him in the future.”

  Braden laughed, a rich, rumbling sound that filled Callie with warmth all the way to her toes. “Your wish is noted, sweetheart.”

  Before Callie knew it, she was in a private parlor somewhere in the castle with tea and scones laid out before her. Braden hovered over her like a worried mother hen. So she took a bite of scone and grinned up at him. “I am fine, Braden,” she stressed.

  He smiled, a bit more relaxed, and then dropped onto the settee beside her. His arm settled at her back and she leaned against him, so glad she was able to feel him this time. “I saw you, you know?”

  “You saw me?” he echoed.

  Callie nodded. “From wherever I was. I sat with you in the dungeons and I slept with you one night.”

  He sucked in a breath. “I could have sworn I smelled your scent.”

  “But I couldn’t talk,” she tried to explain. “I couldn’t make any sound. I couldn’t feel you. It was the worst thing I could have ever imagined.”

  His arm tightened on her shoulders. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again.”

  “Nor shall I let you out of mine.”

  He tipped her chin up and pressed his lips to hers. Tingles raced across her skin. His tongue swept into her mouth and Callie grasped the edge of his jacket to steady herself as need washed over her and fire pooled in her belly.

  She could have sat there, wrapped in his arms, kissing him for all she was worth the rest of her days, and would happily have done so if Lord Quentin hadn’t burst into the room singing an uncouth sea shanty.

  Braden heaved a sigh as he broke their kiss and glared at his brother. “What the devil, Quent?”

  Lord Quentin grinned like an errant schoolboy. “I just danced with an angel.”

  “An angel?” Braden echoed, squeezing Callie’s shoulder. “You are foxed.”

  His brother agreed with an incline of his head. “Aye, and happily so.” Then he turned his smile on Callie. “Ah, and welcome back to the world of the living, Miss Eilbeck! You were missed.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She couldn’t help but grin at him. He was such a good-natured scoundrel.

  “I just danced with an angel,” Lord Quentin said again.

  “You said as much,” Braden replied.

  “And she kissed me.” He frowned a bit. “And then she disappeared.”

  A shiver raced through Callie at those last words. “Disappeared?”

  Lord Quentin moved to the front of his chair and shook his head. “Not like you did, Miss Eilbeck. I saw you disappear right in front of my eyes.”

  Had he? Callie had no idea.

  “No,” he continued, “my angel, she disappeared into the crowd and I haven’t been able to find her. She didn’t come through here did she?”

  “No angels in here,” Braden said. Then he coughed. “I mean, other than Callie.”

  She couldn’t help but giggle. “I am not an angel.”

  “You are to me.” Braden’s hazel eyes held her gaze and she couldn’t look away, not for anything in the world. “Do you think your brother would frown at the idea of us heading to Scotland, Callie?”

  “Scotland?”

  “I have no desire to wait for banns to be read or to leave you to acquire a special license, and—”

  “Kilworth has a special license,” Lord Quentin tossed in from his spot across from them.

  “Kilworth?” Callie asked. She had no idea who that was.

  “Why would he have a special license?” Braden asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

  “A present from his grandfather,” Lord Quentin explained. “Told him that when he met the right girl, he shouldn’t wait.” Then he laughed to himself. “Hope’s been trying to get her name on that thing. Thought you knew.”

  A muscle twitched in Braden’s jaw. “I didn’t.”

  “I’m sure he’d give it to you,” Lord Quentin continued. “Only keeps it with him because his grandfather made him promise to do so. He can always get another one. It’s n
ot as though he’s in a hurry to use it.”

  “He better not think to use it with Hope,” Braden grumbled.

  “Well, if you have it, he couldn’t now, could he?”

  Braden heaved an unhappy sigh, then glanced down at Callie and a smile lit his lips once more. “What do you say, sweetheart? Should we take a license meant for reprobate and marry tomorrow morning?”

  There was nothing Callie wanted more. She nodded quickly and said, “I only wish we could wake Vicar Southward tonight.”

  Braden kissed her once more and Callie was lost once again, the happiest she’d ever been. She barely heard Lord Quentin say, “Guess I’ll go find Kilworth, then.”

  October 31, 1816 – Marisdùn Castle, Cumberland

  Callie, the Marchioness of Bradenham, stood beside the very fountain where she’d emerged from the mist the previous year. The memories of her days caught between the worlds of the living and the dead had been ever prevalent in her thoughts ever since she and Braden had returned to Ravenglass this last sennight. But, now, standing where she’d stood the year before, right beside the gazanias, she couldn’t help but suck in a panicked breath.

  Oh, Marisdùn had been quite tame the last twelve months. No one had gone missing and the staff vowed that mostly benign spirits remained at the castle. But she would never forget the days she’d spent in darkness, terrified she would be lost forever.

  She wasn’t quite sure why she was even here tonight. Braden had insisted she didn’t have to attend Quent’s Samhain party. He had to brave the castle in order to keep a watchful eye on his sisters, and Callie could have remained at Braewood with Cyrus that evening.

  But she’d ventured out, determined to prove to herself that there was nothing to be afraid of.

  A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her backwards against a man’s chest. “Doing all right, sweetheart?” Braden whispered against her ear.

  She nodded, and rested her arms on top of his, still holding her tight. “Perfectly.” Then she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Has your brother had any luck finding his angel?”

  Braden shook his head. “Who’s to say the girl even exists? You saw him last year. He was quite deep in his cups.”

  He had been that, but Callie didn’t think Quent had dreamed up the girl. “Perhaps she only exists when the veil between the worlds of the living and dead is at its thinnest.” It was a theory Quent had confided in her a while ago. It was the sole reason for the party this year—to recreate, as close as possible, the same events from the previous year with the hope that Quent’s angel would reappear. Though Callie had no idea what her brother-in-law would do with the girl if she did turn out to be from the other side. Still, he’d been quite obsessed with finding her ever since she’d escaped from him the year before.

  “Perhaps he should focus on girls who aren’t figments of his imagination.”

  “Speaking of girls,” she began, spinning in his arms and sliding her hands up his chest to settle on his shoulders. “I can’t believe you’re not guarding your sisters right now.”

  He scowled slightly. “Wolf and Chetwey are watching them at the moment. But if Kilworth takes a step in Hope’s direction…”

  “You’ll stick his head on a pike,” Callie laughed. “I know. Everyone knows. You’ve made that rather clear.”

  “Have I?”

  Callie nodded, then she gestured to the fountain beside them. “This is where we met.”

  “Mmm,” Braden agreed. “This is where I fell quite in love with you.”

  “And this is where you saved me,” she added.

  But Braden shook his head. “No. This is where you saved me, Callie.” Then he dipped his head down and bushed his lips across hers. “I’d have been lost without you.”

  They’d have been quite lost without each other. But, together, over the last year, they’d both found all the happiness and joy that life had to offer.

  The author of several Regency Noir Romances, Ava Stone first fell in love with Mr. Darcy, Jane Austen and Regency England at the age of twelve. And in the years since, that love has never diminished. If she isn't writing Regency Era romance, she can be found reading it.

  Her bestselling Scandalous Series is filled with witty humor and centers around the friends and family of the Machiavellian-like Lady Staveley, exploring deep themes but with a light touch. A single mother, Ava lives outside Raleigh NC, but she travels extensively, always looking for inspiration for new stories and characters in the various locales she visits. 

  Ava can be found at www.avastoneauthor.com and at Lady Jane's Salon Raleigh-Durham, where she is one of the salon's directors. You can also find her at Facebook and on Twitter.

  Ava Stone’s SCANDALOUS world…

  A Scandalous Wife

  A Scandalous Secret

  A Scandalous Pursuit

  A Scandalous Past

  My Favorite Major

  The English Lieutenant’s Lady

  To Catch a Captain

  An Encounter With an Adventurer

  In the Stars

  Promises Made (Encounter With Hyde Park)

  A Scandalous Deception

  And the Regency Seasons Novellas…

  A Counterfeit Christmas Summons

  By Any Other Name

  My Lord Hercules

  A Bit of Mistletoe

  For Eric, who, despite his fear of otherworldly things, always indulges me in spooky pursuits. There's no one I'd rather be scared out of my mind with.

  ~Jerrica

  Alastair Darrington, Viscount Wolverly, most commonly known as “Wolf” to his compatriots, peered out the window of his carriage as they approached the supposedly haunted estate known as Marisdùn Castle. It had taken them several days to travel from Newmarket, and it had not been the most pleasant of trips, what with his friend Sidney Garrick snoring most of the way. Good God, the man would sleep away his life if he wasn’t careful. His excuse being that the motion of the carriage made him sleepy, but Alastair knew his friend slept an inordinate amount even outside the carriage. The lazy ne’er-do-well.

  Nonetheless, they were pulling up to their destination, so Alastair gave Sidney a swift kick to the shin with his boot. Sidney’s eyes shot open as he reached down to rub his leg.

  “What the bloody hell was that for?” he asked, wide-awake now.

  “We’re here,” Alastair replied without any hint of remorse in his tone. He knew what it took to get his friend out of a deep sleep quickly. There was no sense making an apology for doing what had to be done.

  With a smile pulling at his lips, Alastair turned to Sidney. “I see no ghosts floating about.”

  Sidney scowled. “You don’t see ghosts.”

  “Then how will you prove to me they exist?”

  “I won’t prove it,” Sidney snapped. “They will.”

  Alastair rolled his eyes and then hopped down from the conveyance, eager to stretch his legs after being cooped up inside for so long. The sun was bright on this crisp, fall day, and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the light. Before him stood the Castle, grand but not at all haunted looking. Alastair didn’t believe in any of this nonsense, but his curious nature had forced him to come. Well, that and his insistent friends. Besides, what would he do in London without his cohorts to keep him company?

  A low whistle came from behind him as Sidney stepped onto the drive. “Certainly lives up to its reputation, doesn’t it?”

  Alastair shrugged. “It’s just an old, medieval castle, like any other. Moss covered walls are hardly an indication of ghosts.” But even as he voiced his skepticism, an errant shiver ran up his spine, damn it all.

  In front of him, his other friends alighted their own carriages. Eugene Post, Marquess of Bradenham, along with his brother, Lord Quentin, stepped to the drive and gave the house the same once-over Alastair and Sidney had given it. Behind them, David Thorn stumbled out of Chetwey’s carriage, but didn’t give even a moment’s notice to the ho
use. Instead, he strode purposefully to meet the others on the drive.

  “Everything all right, Thorn?” Alastair asked. “Where’s Chetwey?”

  “In the carriage,” Thorn replied, his tone grave. “He is not well.”

  “Damn.” Braden’s hands went to his hips as he turned toward the carriage. “Someone ought to go for a doctor then. None of us is equipped to handle an episode.”

  Alastair couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll go,” he said, giving anyone else little time to reply.

  The household servants had just emerged from the house and made their way toward them, a tall, thin man at the lead, and a plump older woman just behind him.

  “You must be Bendle.” Braden stepped toward the man and quickly made the introductions, before asking the whereabouts of a doctor.

  “Dr. Alcott is just in town, my lord. You’ll find his lodgings off High Street, directly adjacent to the Pennington Arms. There’s a sign just above his door.”

  His driver, John, who had just finished unloading the trunks, didn’t hesitate to climb back up to the seat. Alastair would rather have ridden, but there wasn’t time to unhook the horses from the carriage. Still, he needed some fresh air, so he joined John on the driver’s seat.

  “Thank you, Bendle. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  Daphne Alcott was just putting the last lid on the last jar of rum butter for today’s deliveries when a frantic knock came at the front door.

  “Oh, blast,” she muttered to herself with a quick glance down. Sticky, sugary butter covered her ugly, brown work dress. She ran a smoothing hand down the fabric, only to get the goo in her fingers. Well, there was no hope for her dress, but her hair on the other hand―

  She paused with her hand hovering near her head. The cloth covering her hair would undoubtedly look better than revealing the mess underneath. With a disgruntled sigh, she glanced at the door. Not typically the way she preferred to receive visitors, but the knocking grew more and more frantic the longer she stood there.