by Ava Stone
“He’s lovely,” she said instead. “How old is he?”
“Older than I’d like,” Sidney replied. “Sixteen. He’s been with me for half my life now.” He squinted and grew thoughtful in the silence.
“Sixteen isn’t so old for a horse,” Tilly sought to reassure him. “My father’s old mare lived to over thirty.”
He glanced sideways at her, a subtle grin on his perfect lips. “Then I shan’t lose hope. Now tell me, what is the vicar’s daughter doing hiding out in the forest alone?”
“Oh,” she said. “I-I always come here. To think.” She held up her journal. “To write.”
“You write?”
A little laugh escaped Tilly. “Only my most personal thoughts.” And then her cheeks heated all over again, remembering that she’d been writing about Sidney before he’d intruded upon her quiet moment.
“Your most personal thoughts?” Sidney sat up and turned to face her. “I must admit I’m intrigued, and the gossip in me is desperate to ask you to read a page, but I’m far too polite to ask such a thing, so I won’t.”
Tilly laughed. What a peculiar man. She’d never met anyone quite like him. Truthfully, she’d not met a lot of men at all — Father made certain of that. But if she had to meet only one in her lifetime, she was rather glad it was this one.
“I started this diary when I was ten. I’m certain I could find something intriguing to share with you from then.”
Sidney rubbed his hands together, as if he were savoring the anticipation of hearing the inner thoughts of a ten-year-old girl. “How delightful.”
Tilly flipped the book open to the first page. It was all about how Lila had nicer ribbons than she, and how Tilly was forced to wear Lila’s old clothes. Not terribly interesting, so she moved on to the next page. And the next. And the next. Goodness, she’d been rather jealous of Lila, hadn’t she?
“Ah, here we are,” she said, coming to a particularly humorous incident. “Twelve, January, 1809. Lila convinced me to go walking with her, even though the snow was piled to our knees. It was quite miserable, really, and though I’ve been in front of the fire for nearly an hour now, I still have not recovered. It is not, however, entirely her fault. The Carter boys from up the road were lying in wait for us behind the stone wall, and plied us with firmly packed snowballs as soon as we walked by.”
Tilly looked up at Sidney, whose eyes were wide with surprise. “Terribly ill-mannered boys, it would seem,” he said. “Are they still around? I think I’d like to have a word with them.”
Tilly lowered the journal to her lap with a sigh. “Well, Adam is off in India somewhere, from what I understand. And Jonathan…he never came back from the war.”
Sidney nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Wanting to change the subject, Tilly asked, “Shall I continue?”
Sidney gestured to the book. “Please.”
Opening the book again, Tilly continued on. “I might have been angry with the Carter boys, except that I was already so angry with Lila, and seeing her get her just deserts made me quite happy.”
“A vindictive little witch you are,” Sidney interrupted, and when Tilly looked up at him, he wore a smile of approval that made Tilly’s toes twitch.
“I do feel badly for Mother though,” Tilly went on, and an unsettling feeling formed in her stomach. “She’s not been feeling well and now she has to care for Lila, who seems to have taken cold.”
“Is something the matter?”
Tilly didn’t want to talk about Mother. It had been seven years since she’d passed, but the pain could still startle her out of nowhere. Or from the pages of her diary.
She slammed the book shut and pushed to her feet. “It’s getting dark,” she said. “And I have to help Lila and Anna set the table for dinner. If I’m late, Father will…”
Sidney was on his feet now too, watching her curiously, but not trying to stop her. As a matter of fact, he even picked up her blanket and folded it over his arm.
“I shall walk you home, then.”
Panic washed over Tilly. “Oh, you mustn’t!” she cried. “Father would have an apoplexy if he saw me coming out of the wood with a man.”
That sly smile spread Sidney’s lips again, sending jolts of something inappropriate right to Tilly’s core. “He wouldn’t be the first father I’ve given apoplexy to.”
Tilly didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not, but she chuckled in spite of herself. “You are positively shameful, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.” And then he winked at her. Lud, she’d fall in love with him if he wasn’t careful. “But the last thing I would want to do is cause you undo distress. So I will leave you to journey home alone…on one condition.”
Tilly’s heart raced. Was he going to demand a kiss from her? Why did she hope so desperately for that? She nodded, urging him to go on.
“That I may call on you tomorrow to make certain you made it home safely.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time. “I, ehm…” She couldn’t possibly allow him to come to the manse. Father would lock her in her room for all eternity if any man came to call on her, let alone this one. A worldly Londoner with his sights set on the vicar’s youngest daughter? Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all.
“I shall come to you!” she finally blurted out, her mouth moving much faster than her brain. Goodness, had she really just committed herself to visiting Marisdùn? Lila didn’t seem to mind going, and Anna went frequently to paint the gardens, but Tilly…well, Tilly had never had reason enough to go and explore the haunted castle.
Until now.
“Come to Marisdùn?” Sidney repeated, a tone of surprise in his voice. He opened his mouth to protest the odd turn of events, but Tilly cut him off.
“Oh, yes!” she gushed. “I’ve never been, though I’ve heard tell of it from my sister and my cousin often. I think I would very much like to…” she swallowed over the large lump in her throat, “…see it for myself.”
“How is it you’ve grown up in this town and never stepped foot into Marisdùn Castle?” he prodded, taking a step toward her, a curious glint in his sapphire eyes.
She tried not to breathe, for if she took in his scent with him standing so very near to her, she would surely lose her senses and do something foolish. Like try to kiss him.
“I-I-I don’t know,” she sputtered out. “I’ve just…never had reason to go.”
One corner of his perfect mouth curved up in a sly smile. “And now you do?”
Tilly swallowed again. And then she stood there for what felt like an eternity, before she couldn’t stand it anymore, and he knew it, the cad! She had two choices: Plant her lips to his or run for her life. She opted for the latter, and before he could say another word, she was tearing down the path, out of the woods, toward the safety of her own home.
Sidney watched as Tilly ran away from him, her caramel colored hair coming loose from its moorings and blowing about as she made her escape. He bit back his laughter, but he couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face. She was such a curious girl. Young. Much younger than his usual paramours, and quite a bit younger than him. Yet there was something so mature about her —something different that set her apart from all those chattering debutantes in London. And yet again, she had an innocence about her that was refreshing. She wasn’t vying for his attention — or demanding it, as many a young lady did.
Sidney rolled his eyes. If he had a ha’penny for every foot stomp or pout or fake tear that rolled down a rosy cheek, he’d be a terribly wealthy man. As it was, he was wealthy anyway, thanks to some well-placed bets.
Once Tilly was out of sight, he turned back to his horse.
“All right, Sebastian,” he said, striding toward the glorious beast. “Time to head home before it gets dark and we lose our way.”
Sebastian gave a snort of agreement before Sidney climbed upon his back once more and began to steer him back towards Marisd�
�n. But they didn’t get far before an uneasy pit formed in Sidney’s belly. He wasn’t always the most honorable of men, but he did have a conscience, and he couldn’t allow a young woman, no matter how well she knew these woods, to journey home alone.
Taking Sebastian by surprise, Sidney yanked on the reigns and turned him in the opposite direction. The direction in which Tilly had run.
He passed the tree against which she’d been writing in her diary, and continued along the path, assuming she wouldn’t have strayed from it. After only a few minutes, he came to a clearing—a wide-open field of green, upon which sat a small house, and behind it, the sun was setting in brilliant reds and oranges. It would be completely dark soon, but Sidney didn’t care. He was just glad he got to see her home, even if she didn’t know it.
She wasn’t running anymore, now she approached the door of her home. Her hair was almost completely loose, and some of it tumbled about her shoulders and down her back. Sidney watched her, trying to sort out what exactly he was feeling. He’d never felt this about a woman, let alone a girl. For that’s what she really was. Barely out of leading strings, really. She’d probably not even be out in London yet. And yet…why subject her to a Season of torture when there was a perfectly eligible gentleman interested in her right here? Right now.
The door flung open just before Tilly reached it, and a tall, middle-aged man stood there, holding it open for her, disdain on his face, if Sidney was judging properly from this distance. The change in her posture was immediate and obvious, even from this far away. Her head tipped down and her shoulders slumped as she crossed over the threshold. And then the vicar slammed the door behind her, leaving Sidney alone in the near darkness.
Feeling somewhat defeated, he turned Sebastian back onto the path, but before they gained speed, Sidney caught sight of something lying on the ground. Something familiar. Something he ought not to have possession of, but that he couldn’t very well leave there, lying on the ground, damn it all.
He swung off his horse and stood over the diary. He looked back toward her house, then back to the diary. She clearly must have dropped it in her mad run for home. It would take everything in Sidney’s power not to open its pages and devour every word, every thought Tilly had deemed important to document since she was ten years old. He wanted to know her better, but he knew that wasn’t the best way to go about it, no matter how badly he itched to do so. So, he picked it up, testing its weight in his hand before tucking it beneath his coat. He would send word to her this evening, reassuring her of its safety, and then she’d have no excuse not to visit him at Marisdùn tomorrow.
Quent and the triplets encountered Garrick, who had slid away from them earlier in the day, just as they arrived at Marisdùn, Bendle greeted them at the door, informed them that David Thorn had arrived during their absence, and that a certain pink ribbon had been discovered in the middle of the grand staircase earlier in the day.
“My ribbon!” Patience nearly shrieked with joy. “Where is it, Bendle?”
“Mrs. Small placed it on your bed, my lady.”
“Wonderful!” Patience bounded up the staircase without a thought about decorum.
“And Mr. Thorn?” Quent asked the butler. “Where did you put him?”
“No one puts me anywhere,” Thorn said from the entrance to the great room, his usual smirk firmly in place.
“I trust your travels were safe.” Quent smiled at his friend.
“The safest,” Thorn assured him. “And short, as luck would have it. I’ve spent the last day at Torrington Abbey with Chetwey and Brighid.”
Yes, yes, Garrick had said something to that affect, hadn’t he?
“Oh, and, sir,” Bendle began as Quent and Garrick were just about to join Thorn in the great room, “Lord Bradenham sent word from Braewood. He and Lady Bradenham have arrived.”
“And there goes the end of our fun,” Hope complained.
“The three of you can have dinner here before you have to head over,” Quent said.
“A short reprieve, but no pardon.” She heaved a sigh.
“Come on.” Grace linked her arm with Hope’s. “We’ll change for dinner and enjoy the time we have left.”
With the girls on their way to their chambers, Quent and Garrick started once again towards the great room.
Thorn looked past them and said, “You know, Quent, even after all this time, I can’t tell one of those girls from the other.”
Few people could. “I’m sure Braden would prefer you not think about them at all.”
Thorn laughed at that. “You wound me. As though I’m more dangerous than Kilworth.”
Garrick bit back a smile. “The one in green is Hope—”
“Speaking of Kilworth,” Thorn muttered.
“—And the one in yellow is Grace.”
“And now they’re changing clothes and that information will be completely useless to me.”
“Do tell us how things are at Torrington.” Quent stopped at the sideboard to pour a couple glasses of whisky. “Still no babe?”
“No, not yet. Though it shouldn’t be too much longer.” Thorn dropped onto the closest settee and stretched his legs out in front of him. “If I was a betting man—”
“Which you are,” Garrick cut in.
Thorn grinned. “I would wager that she’ll deliver on Samhain, fitting for a witch, don’t you think?”
“I think—” Garrick dropped into a seat across from Thorn “—that you’d better not let anyone hear you call Brighid Chetwey a witch.”
Thorn glanced around the great room as though someone might be listening in. “Perhaps outside these walls, but anyone alive or dead at Marisdùn is well aware of the lady’s powers.”
“Not my sisters.” Quent handed one glass to Thorn and another to Garrick. “Callie didn’t want everyone to know all the details as she’s fairly protective of Brighid,” he said before turning back to the sideboard to retrieve a drink of his own.
“I will not mention the little witch’s abilities in front of the ladies, in that case,” Thorn promised.
“I say,” Garrick began, but he was interrupted by a sudden high-pitched wail that came out of nowhere.
What the devil! Startled, Quent splashed a healthy amount of whisky into his tumbler and onto himself. Damn it all. That sounded like one of his sisters. He dropped the whisky decanter back onto the sideboard and started for the threshold in a hurry, with Garrick and Thorn quick on his feet.
“Never a dull moment at Marisdùn, hmm?” Thorn drawled from somewhere behind Quent as they raced up the stairs and started for the family wing.
“Things had been fairy peaceful until now,” Garrick replied.
But Quent paid the conversation very little attention. The wailing they’d heard in the great room was only intensified the closer they got to Hope’s set of rooms. Hysterical sobbing spilled down the hallway and reverberated off the stone walls. What in the world was going on? Quent couldn’t get down the corridor fast enough.
“What happened?” he bellowed, when he was close enough to be heard over the wailing.
Grace appeared from in front of Hope’s door, touching a hand to her heart as though the wailing had taken a good year off her life too. “She’s missing an earbob, but it’s not life threatening.”
Another despondent wail echoed from Hope’s chamber and drifted through the castle, rattling the teeth in Quent’s head. For the love of God! All of this insanity over a missing earbob? “Hope!” he barked. “Do pull yourself together!”
Hope wailed louder in response.
Damn it all!
“Dearest,” Grace called through the door, “I’m sure it’ll be just like Patience’s ribbon and will turn up.”
That would most definitely be the case, Quent was sure. Thieving little ghosts. Things would have been perfectly pleasant the last two days if not for their pilfering ways.
“I can’t wait that long!” Hope wailed, sounding the most pitiful Quent had ever heard h
er. “What if they don’t give it back before the masquerade?”
Was that all? “You have lots of earbobs,” Quent called. “It will be fine.” Which was apparently the wrong thing to say as she let out another ear-piercing scream, one so filled with pain it nearly broke Quent’s heart. He shot a glance at Grace. “What in the world is wrong with her?” he whispered.
Grace winced a bit. “They were, umm, special earbobs. They, uhh, match her eyes. She brought them specifically for the masquerade. The set is very important to her.”
The Samhain masquerade was not for a few days. “Patience already has her ribbon back,” he muttered to the level-headed sister at his side.
“I don’t think Patience cared about her ribbon nearly as much as Hope does those earbobs.”
“We could search the castle for it,” Thorn suggested from behind Quent. “Especially if Lady Hope might stop crying in order for us to do so.”
Quent glanced over his shoulder to find Garrick nodding in agreement. Not that searching would do any good if those little ghostly thieves didn’t want the earbob found, but…perhaps Hope could be convinced otherwise and she might calm down enough to be reasonable. Honestly, he would look the place over from top to bottom if she would stop her ear-blistering screams.
“Did you hear that, my dear?” he called through the door. “Thorn, Garrick and I will search Marisdùn over if you can stop crying long enough for us to think.”
“We’ll turn the place inside out,” Thorn vowed.
A heaving sound, as though Hope was struggling to catch her breath, came from her chambers, which was a good sign. Hope gasping for breath was preferable to her bellowing like a banshee.
And then her door clicked open.
Hope’s cheeks were stained a brilliant shade of red. Quent had never seen her look so miserable. With shaky hands, she lifted up a pear-shaped emerald earbob, encrusted with tiny diamonds along the edges, for Quent’s inspection. “I-it—” she struggled for breath “—looks like this one.”
“And you’re sure it’s not in there?” Thorn asked, gesturing to Hope’s chambers with a flick of his hand.
