by Ava Stone
“Visit the gardens often?” he asked, stepping a bit closer to her. His eyes, brown with a bit of green, seemed to twinkle with mirth.
“It’s my first time, but she—” Callie turned to gesture to the woman in blue, but the woman wasn’t there.
“She?” the man echoed.
Callie swallowed nervously. Where had the woman gone? “I don’t know her name.” And neither did Callie know where she’d gone. “She said she sits here from time to time to calm her nerves.”
“Well, I can see how it would do so. I think it is my favorite part of Marisdùn so far.” The gentleman smiled, disarming Callie completely, making questions about the woman in blue disappear completely from her thoughts. “I’m Bradenham, by the way.”
Bradenham. She knew that name. “Lord Quentin’s brother?” she asked.
“If you’ve met my brother,” he said wryly, “I suppose I owe you an apology for something.”
Callie giggled. She couldn’t help it. Lord Bradenham was quite charming. And handsome. And he seemed genuinely nice. “He apologized for himself, my lord.”
“I suppose there’s a first time for everything, then.” Bradenham’s brow lifted in surprise.
Heavens, there was something about him, something wholly wonderful and wildly attractive. “He said something about a masquerade you would be hosting here at the castle.”
The smile he cast her made Callie’s belly flip. “I do hope he invited you, Miss—”
Oh, she was a dolt. He’d told her his name but she hadn’t mentioned hers. “I’m so sorry. I’m Callie Eilbeck of Braewood Manor.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Eilbeck. If you like the gazanias, I’ll have to show you the pelargoniums. I just found them myself this morning.”
“Oh!” Callie nodded quickly. “I would love to see them.”
“In that case.” He offered her his arm, which Callie happily accepted.
“Do you garden, my lord?” she asked, looking up at him as he led her around a hedge. He did seem quite botanically natured. She doubted Cyrus could tell the difference between gazanias or gazeboes, let alone what pelargoniums looked like.
“I have a black thumb,” he admitted. “But my step-mother and my sisters are quite proficient in the art. I always enjoy seeing their creations.”
“You have sisters?” How wonderful. Callie rarely traveled from the area, but Lord Bradenham’s arrival had certainly brought many new faces to town and she did love to meet new people. “Did they come with you to Ravenglass?”
“They did not.” He shook his head. “They’re back home in Buckinghamshire.”
“Perhaps next time,” she said.
“Ah, here we are.” He stopped and gestured to the pretty array of pelargoniums just a few feet away. They had the most vibrant red flowers amongst the shrubbery and were quite breathtaking. Certainly more lovely than Callie could ever manage.
“I do wish my thumb was greener at times.” She smiled up at him. “Braewood’s gardens can’t compare at all to Marisdùn’s.”
“But Braewood has you, Miss Eilbeck. Everything in Marisdùn’s gardens pale next to you.”
Callie’s cheeks warmed anew. Never had anyone said anything so wonderful to her before. That such a handsome and charming gentleman would be the one to say those words was quite surprising. She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. What could she possibly say?
“My brother did invite you to our masquerade, didn’t he?” he continued smoothly.
She nodded quickly, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. “He did, but—”
“She said she wasn’t the adventurous sort,” Lord Quentin said, rounding a hedgerow just a few feet away. Then he smiled at Callie and said, “How are you today, Miss Eilbeck?”
“Fine,” she replied, still trying to compose herself from Lord Bradenham’s compliments. “Thank you, my lord. And you?”
Braden glanced over his shoulder at his brother. He’d been having such a delightful time talking with Miss Eilbeck, attempting to flirt with her. It was just like Quent to arrive when he was least wanted.
“Bit of a headache this morning, actually.” Quent touched a hand to his brow.
“Over indulged, did you?” she teased, which did grate Braden’s nerves slightly. How unfair that Quent should have met her first, that she felt familiar enough with his brother to tease him.
Foolish and petty of him to feel that way, certainly. But there was something about Callie Eilbeck. Something about the way her flaxen curls perfectly framed her heart-shaped face. Something about the soft pink of her lips that continually drew Braden’s eyes to them. Something about the way her pretty green eyes crinkled when she smiled. How unfortuitous that she was smiling at Quent.
“How is it you know me so well, Miss Eilbeck?” Quent laughed.
She shrugged. “My brother has certainly over indulged from time to time.”
“So has Braden,” Quent gestured to Braden with a tilt of his head. “But not everyone can do so as well as I.”
“I hardly think that’s something to boast about,” she said on a laugh.
“Says the girl who isn’t adventurous,” Quent quipped, making Braden want to punch his brother right into the pelargoniums at his back.
“Lord Bradenham!” Bendle called from the castle before Braden could shove his brother into the flowering shrub. “Are you out here, my lord?”
“Here!” Braden called in return.
A moment later, the butler rounded the hedge and glanced from Braden to Miss Eilbeck and back. “The magistrate, Sir Cyrus Eilbeck, is asking to see you.”
Quent groaned at the same moment the pretty blonde’s grasp on Braden’s arm tightened. What the devil was this about? He glanced at his brother and said, “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Quent shook his head. “At least I don’t think I did anything.” He didn’t look entirely certain, however.
“It’s my fault,” Miss Eilbeck said softly. “I didn’t mean to tell him about the rock, but I did and—”
The rock?
“There you are!” An angry looking fellow appeared from around the shrubbery, as he’d apparently followed Bendle into the gardens. The man frowned when his eyes landed on Miss Eilbeck. “I thought you were waiting with the buggy.”
Whoever the fellow was, Braden didn’t like the tone he took with Miss Eilbeck. But who was the magistrate to her? That was the question? The brother she mentioned earlier? Her husband? At that unhappy thought, Braden released the girl’s arm. She hadn’t corrected his assumption that she was Miss Eilbeck. But was she Mrs. Eilbeck instead?
The girl nodded quickly and said, “I just meant to see the gardens while I waited, Cyrus.”
The man huffed. Then he turned his glare on Braden. “You are reckless, sir! You could have killed Miss Southward yesterday and I don’t even want to imagine what sort of libidinous thoughts went through your mind as you carried her home. But I’ll have you know, she is my intended and you will keep your distance from her unless you’d like to meet me at dawn one morning.”
“Cyrus!” Miss Eilbeck gasped.
Though he’d just been threatened by the blustering buffoon, all Braden could think about was that if Miss Southward, whoever she was, was the magistrate’s intended, then Miss Eilbeck was Miss Eilbeck and not Mrs. Eilbeck, thank God.
“Get back to the buggy, Callie,” Sir Cyrus ground out.
But she didn’t move an inch as though she was completely shocked by the man’s outburst. “In the first place,” she said rather calmly. “Lord Bradenham was not present when the rock hit Lila yesterday. And in the second place, I cannot believe you would threaten the man or anything else you just said for that matter.”
At once, the man looked a little sheepish. “This isn’t him?”
Quent cleared his throat and said, “I believe I’m the one you’re looking for.” He stepped slightly forward. “The rock was an accident, and I certainly did not take any libertie
s with your intended. I simply made certain she made it safely back to the vicarage.”
“You!” Sir Cyrus’ face turned a bit red. “You’re responsible for Amos Shackley’s broken nose!”
Quent shook his head. “He fell on his own face. I had nothing to do with that.”
Oh good God! This is what happened when Braden didn’t keep a keen eye on his brother, apparently. “We’ve only come to see the property I inherited. We’ll be on our best behavior from here on out,” he promised. “All of us.”
Sir Cyrus snorted. “Your best behavior! I heard all about this masquerade you’re planning. I will have you know, Bradenham, I am the magistrate and I will not tolerate you turning Ravenglass into a circus.”
Braden wouldn’t really call it a circus, more like one night of revelry.
“People from London flooding the castle to encounter ghosts, turning Ravenglass upside down in the process. I will not have it.”
Before Braden could reply, Miss Eilbeck said, “That is too bad.” She sighed. “Lila was so looking forward to attending.”
Sir Cyrus’s eyes flashed to the pretty blonde. “Vicar Southward knows about this? He approves?”
Braden looked down at Miss Eilbeck beside him and saw her fingers crossed behind her back. “He said it sounded quite the thing,” she said, so sincerely that Braden almost believed her himself.
“Well—uh—” Sir Cyrus hedged, “if the vicar approves, I suppose it’s all right.”
Miss Eilbeck glanced up at Braden and flashed him a charming smile. “I do hope you’ll have fun at your masquerade, my lord.”
That simple smile warmed Braden’s blood like nothing had in a long while. “And I do hope you’ll join us that night, Miss Eilbeck.”
“On the night when the worlds of the living and dead collide?” She shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I prefer much more bland events, my lord.”
So did Braden, honestly. None of this had even been his idea. “Tea, then?” he pressed. “I would love it if you would come in for tea.” When the magistrate coughed, Braden added, “And Sir Cyrus, of course, as well,” because it was expected.
But Miss Eilbeck shook her head once more. “You are kind. My brother and I are headed into town just now, however.”
Braden’s heart dropped a bit. It shouldn’t. He’d only just met the girl. But his heart dropped, all the same.
“Perhaps you could take tea at Braewood tomorrow,” she suggested, her pretty pink lips upturned in a very sweet smile. “I would love to hear more about your family in Buckinghamshire.”
And Braden would love to talk to her about anything and everything for as long as she’d listen to him. “I would like that very much, Miss Eilbeck.”
Damn it all, she truly was the most lovely girl Braden had ever seen. And levelheaded. How refreshing that was. Most girls he encountered in Town were flighty things with very little between their ears, only concerned about the next societal event and not much else. Braden stared down the garden path the pretty blonde and her oafish brother had long since departed down.
“You asked her twice to attend our Samhain party,” Quent said, sporting a larger than normal grin.
“I was being neighborly.” Braden glared at his brother.
“Neighborly.” Quent tsked. “You should be ashamed of yourself. She’s entirely too young to attend such an event.”
Was she? Braden glanced once more down the path she’d taken as though he could spot her again and the question of her age would magically be answered. He’d only been concerned that she was married a few moments ago. Her age hadn’t even been a consideration until now. Damn it all, he hoped he wasn’t some sort of lecher. “How old is she?”
“Eighteen,” his brother said, mock-condemnation filling the air. “I know how you feel about that age. I mean, if our sisters are too young…”
Braden narrowed his eyes on Quent. Eighteen wasn’t too young and his brother well knew it. He was just using the opportunity to needle Braden. Irritating jackanapes. “The girls are not coming, Quent. You can stop trying to force my hand in that regard. How do you even know her age?”
“She led me all the way to the vicarage while I carried Miss Southward. We discussed all sorts of things during the jaunt. What else would you like to know about her?”
Why had he been plagued with such a brother? “Just keep your hands to yourself, Quent. No need to anger that magistrate over his intended again. I thought the man’s head might explode right off his shoulders.”
Quent scoffed. “I hardly think virginal vicars’ daughters are my sort.”
That was true. Quent had never been one to give a proper girl more than the briefest glimpse. “Do me a favor and be on your best behavior from here on out. I did make the man a promise, after all.”
“Though they may be your sort all of a sudden,” he continued as though Braden hadn’t said a thing. “Is that why it’s all right for Miss Eilbeck to attend our masquerade, but not all right for Hope, Patience and Grace to do the same?” He smirked rather knowingly. “You did ask her twice,” he teased. “Were you hoping she’d arrive without her drawers, Braden? Is that it?”
Before Braden realized what he was doing, he’d crashed his fist into his brother’s right eye, sending Quent backwards into the pelargoniums, which made red flower petals drift to the ground at his feet.
His brother quickly covered his eye and pushed back to his feet. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Leave Miss Eilbeck and her drawers alone, Quentin.” Braden took a calming breath, as he often had to do when dealing with his brother.
Despite the pain that must be pulsing from his eye, Quent simply laughed. “Has it finally happened? Has the mighty Marquess of Bradenham finally met a girl he actually likes? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I like plenty of girls.”
“Never one you’ve punched me over before.” The all-knowing look on Quent’s face was slightly maddening. “Oh, this is going to be a very interesting holiday. So glad I’m here to see it.”
“Keep it up,” Braden grumbled, “and you won’t be able to see out of your other eye either.”
But that only made his brother laugh harder, damn him. “On that note,” he chuckled, “I’ll see you with both of my eyes later.” Then he started back for the castle.
“Where are you going?” Braden called after him.
“Into town,” Quent glanced back over his shoulder.
Into town? To cause more havoc? “Stay out of trouble! I gave my word.”
“Might be the last time you do that.” His brother laughed as he rounded a hedgerow, disappearing out of sight.
Blast that man! Where was his ladylove now? Did she seek her own chamber sometime in the early morning hours, before the servants were up? Brighid had half a mind to find the woman, instruct her on the proper brewing of the tea and leave it to her to nurse Blake back to health.
Brighid had not anticipated how badly it would hurt to see him in bed with another woman. It also surprised her that she would cry her eyes out half of the night, leaving them dry and scratchy this morning.
Why couldn’t he look at her in the same way she looked at him? Why did he only see her as a witch in the woods?
She rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and ran right into the chest of a gentleman striding down the hall and nearly unbalanced the tray. Brighid pulled back and looked up. He must be another one of Bradenham’s guests. He looked down at her, holding one hand over an eye.
“Pardon me, miss.”
His hand fell away, and she immediately noted the slight swelling and redness about his eye. Had he gotten into a fight with someone, or was he one prone to accidents?
“Are you hurt?”
“It is nothing,” he assured her.
“It is not nothing.” She anchored the tray on her left hip and held it securely with her arm before linking her hand at the crook of his elbow. “Come along.”
T
he man chuckled slightly. “It would be my pleasure.”
She weaved her way through the corridors of the old castle until she came to the kitchens. Entering, she placed the tray on the table and asked Cook to boil some more water before pulling the man into the herbarium. A quick gust of wind struck her and Brighid heard a woman cackle. She glanced back at the servants in the kitchen, but none of them were laughing. A chill ran down her spine but she chose to ignore the oddity. This was Marisdùn and strange things happened all of the time.
Until now she had been able to avoid being in here, as she often tried to do when visiting the castle. She only spent the necessary amount of time to hang the herbs and prepare the leaves and ointments. Nothing had changed in the herbarium since she was a child, when she accompanied her grandmother and mother here, and she suspected it had not changed in the centuries her family had served as healers in the castle.
A scarred wooden table sat in the center of the room with four stools. A large fireplace lined the back wall with a black cauldron waiting for the dried wood to be lit beneath it. From the rafters hung the recently harvested herbs and an ancient leather trunk rested beneath the one small window. Her mother may have opened the trunk, but Brighid never would. She couldn’t bring herself to do so. The family secrets lay within and she wanted nothing to do with them.
He stopped beside the table and looked about while Brighid grabbed a mortar and pestle, along with already dried herbs from the back wall of shelves which were laden with jars of dried leaves, roots, salves, ointments and lotions.
“Please have a seat. . . I’m sorry; I don’t know your name.”
“Quentin Post.”
She stilled. “You are Lord Bradenham’s brother?” If she remembered correctly, the family name was Post, but hoped she was wrong. If he were of a relation to the owner, he should not be in here. Anyone with blood of the castle, which was anyone who was a descendent of Mrs. Routledge, was denied access to this room. Brighid pushed down the panic that threatened to clog her throat. She may have just escorted one in, thus breaking the protection.
