by Ava Stone
Why did Brighid have to go and ruin her dream? Not that she actually thought the handsome gentleman would fall in love with her and take her away from this place to sail around the world, but she did like to dream. An earl didn’t just up and travel. They had duties to attend to. Or, at least that’s what she’d been told. “I’m not looking to marry him. I just want to sketch him again.” It was a partial truth. And she’d been kicking herself for nearly a year for running away when he went to retrieve a glass of punch for her. She might not have left the masquerade at all if Lila hadn’t reminded her of the time, so they could be back before the vicar ever learned they’d snuck out in the first place.
Such an unpleasant man, her uncle. So unlike her loving and gregarious father. How were the two even brothers? Her father and mother had had a sense of adventure, wanting to explore and discover new things. Whereas her uncle was firmly settled in the scriptures and how one should live their life, and was perfectly content to never leave Ravenglass. Not that she had anything against the scriptures, and even when her parents were alive they went to church wherever they happened to be. But her uncle just didn’t understand there was a whole world out there she had yet to see. Or that Florence continued to call to her.
Oh, to be there again and cast her eyes on Michelangelo’s David.
With a sigh, she put the thought from her mind. She’d probably never see it again, or ever have a chance to sculpt her own David. Instead, she should focus on the small boons her uncle granted her, instead of hoping for what might never be. “Uncle has finally agreed to let me visit the coast to sketch and paint tomorrow.”
Brighid brightened. “That would be wonderful. I know how you chafe at being ordered to remain close to the vicarage.”
It was rare that Anna was granted enough time to be away so that she could sneak through the woods to see Brighid. Usually her uncle only allowed her so much time to go off with her sketchbook before she was to return to her duties within the house, or prayer, or reading her Bible.
“Where is Chetwey this afternoon?” she asked as she began to sketch the pictures from the books so she’d know what to look for.
“He’s playing billiards with a friend.”
“Oh?” Anna’s heartbeat increased. Could one of the other bachelors already have arrived? Were all three here already and what chance did she have of encountering them? Drat, she knew their names, but didn’t know which one of the gentlemen she had sketched, David Thorn or Sidney Garrick.
“David Thorn. One of the three bachelors you wish to sketch.”
Anna glanced up to meet her friend’s eyes. “Is he the one?”
“How would I know? You’ve never shown me your sketches.”
Anna studied her friend. There was mischief in her silver eyes. Brighid knew something she was not saying. Just as she was about to ask for this David Thorn’s description and take the year old sketch from her satchel, the clock in the hallway chimed, making Anna jump. “Goodness, it’s late.”
“Would you like to take the carriage?” Brighid asked, growing alarmed. They both knew she wasn’t supposed to be here.
“No, I should make it in time, if I hurry. I can’t afford to miss dinner and make my uncle unhappy or he might cancel my outing tomorrow.”
Brighid pulled herself from the settee. “When do you think you’ll be there? At the coast.”
“As early as possible. I hope to catch the sunrise just as it starts to touch the water.”
“Well, enjoy your day.”
Anna barely said goodbye before she was running down the lane and onto the path through the woods. She couldn’t be late. Worse, her uncle could not know with whom she’d been visiting. She’d been told time and time again to stay away from the healer, that Brighid was unnatural and a bad influence, but Anna continued to ignore him. Brighid was her dearest friend – she understood her when a lot of people didn’t. Maybe because they were both a bit odd.
When there are many words, transgression is unavoidable. But he who restrains his lips is wise. Proverbs 10:19
Working away on his upcoming sermon, Papa was in his study and therefore the vicarage was as quiet as…Well, as a parish church in the dead of night. Of course, it wasn’t the dead of night and it was the vicarage, not a parish church; but quietness was most definitely expected.
Papa was strict most of the time, but even more so whenever he was engrossed in his work. So Lila and her younger sister Tilly, silently helped Cook set the dinner table and waited for their father to emerge from his study. And they silently hoped he’d be in a cheerful frame of mind whenever he did emerge. And they also silently hoped that their cousin Anna would be home in time for dinner from wherever she was with her sketchbook. Because if she was not home in time, Papa would not be in a cheerful frame of mind. And all of that was the same as it was nearly every day at the vicarage, with very few exceptions.
But even as life seemed the very same as it had the day before, the week before and even the month before that, Lila couldn’t help the grin that was spread across her face. The walk home with Lord Quentin had been more than delightful, more than wonderful. He hadn’t kissed her again, but she got the feeling he wanted to, and if he wanted to kiss her, she had no doubt he would do so very soon. And there was nothing in the world she wanted more than for Lord Quentin Post to kiss her again.
And tomorrow there was lunch at the Roman Ruins with Lord Quentin. His sisters too, of course, but Lila thinking of anyone other than Lord Quentin was quite nearly impossible.
Slightly distracted, she clicked a spoon against a knife by mistake, which made a clanking sound; and Tilly gaped at her as though she’d just committed a cardinal sin.
“Sorry,” she whispered with a wince.
After glancing towards their father’s study, Tilly returned her gaze to Lila and shook her head. “Trying to get us yelled at?” she whispered in return, though the soft smile on her lips took the sting out of the chastisement.
“Distracted,” Lila said softly.
“Yes, ever since you arrived home. Something happen along the way to Mrs. Lattimer’s house?”
On her way to read to the elderly widow? Lila shook her head. “Something happened on the way home.”
Tilly’s blue eyes widened with interest.
Lila’s cheeks began to warm as she explained. “Lord Quentin Post and his sisters have arrived at Marisdùn.”
“The Lord Quentin?” Tilly teased softly. “And did you catch a glimpse of the paragon?”
“I talked to him, even.” Lila quickly nodded. “He walked me home, and he invited me to go for a picnic tomorrow with him and his sisters at the ruins.”
“What is going on with all of that hissing?” Papa’s voice boomed down the corridor. “Has a pit of vipers taken up residence in our dining room?”
Lila clamped her mouth closed, hoping to stave off any sort of lecture on the virtues of silence and obedience.
“Did you say yes?” her sister asked, pitching her voice even lower.
“Quiet!” Papa bellowed once more.
Tilly covered her hand across her mouth, though her eyes were still locked with Lila’s, still waiting for an answer to her question.
A grin spread across Lila’s face as she nodded enthusiastically.
Tilly grinned just as widely, and then concern flashed in her depths. “The Pugmire sisters,” she mouthed the words.
Lila clasped her hands together as though she was praying, silently begging her sister to visit the elderly pair alone the next morning. “Go without me?” she muttered so softly, she couldn’t even hear herself. “Please.”
Tilly winced and shook her head. “Don’t make me,” she soundlessly begged.
And Lila couldn’t blame her sister for not wanting to visit the pair of old maids alone. Both Miss Pugmires were miserable souls, the voices of doom and gloom, and escaping their sitting room was quite next to impossible. However, going in pairs was the most efficient way of making an escape. Tilly
would remind Lila that they still had to visit the Dickinson family and see if Sally Dickinson needed assistance with her overflowing brood. Or Lila might remind Tilly that they still had to head into the village and pick up that muslin they’d ordered the week before. Really, any excuse would do after a few hours, but it was always easier to have someone agree that the task at hand was most necessary in order to expedite their escape.
“Anna?” Lila suggested wordlessly.
Tilly shook her head. “Papa already promised her she could go to the coast and sketch,” she whispered.
“What in the world!” Papa’s angry voice boomed off the corridor walls and then the sound of an irritated vicar stomping down the hallway hit their ears.
“Sorry,” Tilly muttered just as Papa stalked into the dining room.
“Do you know how difficult it is to create a new sermon every week?” He looked from Lila to Tilly and then back, one arrogant brow arched upwards.
“I am sorry, Papa.” Lila started towards their father. “It’s my fault. Marisdùn Castle is inhabited again and I couldn’t wait to tell Tilly, but I should have waited for dinner, and I am sorry that we disturbed you.”
Their father’s cool blue eyes landed on Lila and nearly chilled her to the bone. Marisdùn Castle might be haunted, but there was nowhere in Ravenglass more frightening than the vicarage when Papa was in a temper. “Lord and Lady Bradenham have returned to Ravenglass?” he asked, his tone rather clipped, even for him.
“Not yet, Papa.” Lila shook her head. “I believe they’re due at Braewood tomorrow. But, you know, Lord Bradenham has gifted the castle to Lord Quentin? He and his sisters have taken up residence today at Marisdùn.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Papa frowned. “Quite a bit of ruckus Bradenham and his friends caused last year. His brother was right in the thick of all that, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Lila sighed as though she was in complete agreement with their father’s irritation. It was, after all, generally best to appease Papa if at all possible. “However, I am hopeful that with his sisters in residence things will be much tamer this year.”
“Neither Bradenham nor Lord Quentin attended services when they were last in the district.” Papa’s mouth drew up to a frown. “A heathen influence this village does not need.”
“Of course not, Papa,” Tilly agreed. “I think it would be best if Lila, Anna and I befriended the ladies, don’t you? I’m sure they would benefit from our friendship and in turn the entire village will benefit as well.”
Papa narrowed his eyes on Tilly as though he suspected she was up to something, but he couldn’t prove it. “Perhaps,” he grumbled, noncommittally.
“Would it be all right with you if we called on them tomorrow after visiting with the Misses Pugmires, then?”
We? Tilly was going to insist Lila visit the bitter old maids with her and then planned on joining her on the picnic? Lila frowned slightly at her enterprising sister.
Papa heaved a sigh. “If you can keep quiet until dinner.”
Tilly beamed. “Of course, Papa.”
He turned on his heel and stomped from the room without another word.
“You’re coming with me?” Lila muttered under her breath.
“You know we can escape better if we’re together.” Tilly’s blue eyes twinkled. “Besides, after the way you float up to the clouds whenever the man’s name is mentioned, I am quite curious to meet your Lord Quentin.”
“Matilda!” barked Papa’s disembodied voice.
“Sorry, Papa. Being quiet now,” her sister promised and then straightened the spoon at their father’s place setting.
All things considered, Marisdùn was rather quiet that evening as far as the ghosts in residence went. There was a breeze that had come from nowhere to smooth through Quent’s hair, but other than that, the spirits at the castle seemed much more at rest than they had the last time he was at Marisdùn.
Of course the same could not be said about his sisters. The triplets were very different from each other on any given day, but their bickering, which had started sometime that evening, seemed more pronounced than usual and it was starting to drive Quent slightly mad.
“Just give it back to me!” Patience whined from the corridor outside his study.
“I don’t have your ribbon. I don’t even like pink,” Grace grumbled. “You probably just misplaced it.”
Oh, for the love of God. All of this commotion was over a blasted ribbon?
“I did not misplace my favorite ribbon…and you always compliment it.”
“Yes, well, I’m always being nice. But I don’t have your ugly ribbon and I don’t even want it.”
Quent pushed out of his seat and started for the threshold just as…
“Ugly!” Patience echoed, her voice an octave higher than normal. “I would hardly—”
“What the devil?” Quent complained as he stepped from his study. “We traveled all the way from Buckinghamshire without incident and now the two of you can’t get along for five minutes?”
“Well, Grace didn’t abscond with my ribbon along the road from Highfield.” Patience glared at their sister.
“For the last time, Patience, I don’t have your ribbon and I don’t want it.”
Before Quent could say anything else, someone cleared her throat just a few feet away. Mrs. Small? Quent hadn’t even noticed her until now. “You haven’t by chance located a stray pink ribbon, have you, Mrs. Small?” he asked, hoping beyond hope.
The plump housekeeper shook her head. “No, sir. But I would imagine that when the Mordue children are done playing with it, it will be easily found.”
“The Mordue children?” Patience echoed, sounding still rather vexed.
“Yes,” Quent answered. “They and their nurse died here during the black plague.”
“Excellent memory, my lord,” the housekeeper replied, seeming very pleased he knew that bit of information.
“But they’re thieves, Mrs. Small?” Quent asked, as he hadn’t known that before.
“Not really thieves.” She shrugged. “They tend to borrow things. They’ve, of course, seen everything there is to see in the castle and do find pretty new baubles or trinkets rather fascinating. But once they tire of the item, they always return it. Or their nurse does. Honestly, I’m not certain who does what. But I do know that missing items at Marisdùn always turn back up.”
Grace heaved an irritated sigh. “I believe I am owed an apology.”
Patience looked between the housekeeper, Quent, and her identical sister. Then she shrugged. “If you didn’t take it, then I apologize.”
Grace’s lips twisted in annoyance. “That is not an apology. If-thens are not apologies, Patience. I didn’t take your ugly ribbon and I am owed a proper apology.”
“Fine,” Patience retuned. “After you apologize for calling my ribbon ugly, then I’ll apologize for accusing you of taking it.”
For the love of God. Quent glanced at the housekeeper and said in way of an apology of his own, “They’re only staying the one night. Then they can argue to their hearts’ content at Braewood.”
Mrs. Small smiled slightly. “Mr. Garrick has arrived, my lord. I thought you’d like to know.”
Garrick was already here? Quent frowned. Not that he wasn’t happy to see his friend, but it was odd the man should arrive so soon. “A day early,” he said, and then a moment later silently thanked God for it. Sidney Garrick would be vastly more entertaining than Patience and Grace squabbling over ribbons and flounces.
Sidney Garrick stepped over the threshold into the large bedchamber that would be his for the next few weeks, and took a good look about, drinking in the details. Mahogany four-poster, ancient rug atop polished hardwood, an armoire that could fit several grown men, roaring fire in the hearth, and a worn blue-velvet sofa. Beyond all that, out the windows of the chamber, sat the grounds of this ancient, haunted castle. The same castle that he had sworn he’d never return to just a year earlier. Yet
here he was, and if truth be known, he was ready for another adventure, ghostly or otherwise. The events of last year had practically sent him running in fear, but ever since the day he’d arrived back in London, he’d been craving that excitement, that thrill of the unknown, of danger. Something that would frighten him out of his wits again. He couldn’t explain it, except that he’d never felt more alive.
He walked to the window and stared down into the garden where Lady Bradenham had returned to the land of the living during the masquerade party last year. A smile spread his lips. Braden’s great-grandmama was vanquished, but that didn’t mean the castle was free of ghosts. There were the Mordue children who ran amok in the night, for one. He’d heard them many a time last year, much to his chagrin. But now he’d be disappointed if they didn’t disrupt his sleep.
He wasn’t sure what had happened to him that night, or in the year since, but he was a changed man.
Well, not completely changed, he supposed. He still loved his horses and racing and, of course, women.
He furrowed his brow and turned away from the window to his trunk. He yanked the lid open and began removing his personal belongings. He didn’t typically unpack his own trunk, but he’d not brought his valet along with him, and frankly, he was quite enjoying the mundane task of unpacking. It eased his mind somehow.
“Ah, there you are!” came a familiar voice from the doorway of his chamber.
Sidney whirled around, a crisp, white shirt in hand, and smiled at his friend. “Nice to see you too, Quent.”
Quent wandered into the room and plopped himself onto the blue sofa. “I’d heard you had arrived, but I thought to expect you tomorrow.”
That had been the plan, but he’d grown bored of London and decided to make his way here a day early. “Yes, well…I just couldn’t stay away, wondering what excitement awaited us at this year’s masquerade.”
“I’m not certain there will be much excitement, though I do hope to see an angel.”
“Ah, yes…the angel, of course. Any leads on the mysterious lady?”
