by Jen Turano
Miss Dunlap took a single step Lucetta’s way, completely ignoring everything that had just been said. “Who are you?”
“Mr. Haverstein’s distant cousin, Fauna Fremont,” Lucetta said promptly.
Miss Dunlap tilted her head. “I think not, especially since you’ve suddenly been able to regrow teeth and lose a wart.”
“I don’t believe a person can actually regrow teeth” was the only response that came to Lucetta.
“Which means you’re in disguise, and . . .” Miss Dunlap’s gaze shot from Lucetta to settle on none other than Mr. Skukman, who’d assumed his usual stance—arms folded across his chest, shoulders thrown back, and a scowl on his face. She inched his way. “I’ve seen you before. At the New York Theater a few weeks ago. You were guarding that actress, that . . .” Her eyes widened as she looked back at Lucetta again. “On my word, you’re Lucetta Plum.”
Miss Cooper’s mouth dropped open. “Why, you’re right. She is Lucetta Plum. I can see it now, but . . .” Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you try out for our meager little play when you perform in the city on a renowned stage?”
“That, my dear, as I’m sure you’re quite aware, is none of your business.”
Looking up, Lucetta found Abigail edging into the room, followed by Iris and Archibald, who immediately put his recent instruction regarding opening and closing doors to good use by shutting the door behind him.
“We’ve been hearing outlandish tales,” Iris began as she looked around before settling her sights on Miss Dunlap and Miss Cooper. “You two . . . out.”
Miss Dunlap’s mouth went slack. “Why . . . I never . . .” She squared her shoulders. “Miss Cooper and I walked in on your son kissing none other than”—she pointed a bony finger Lucetta’s way—“Miss Lucetta Plum, the . . . actress.”
Iris blinked, just once, right before she raised a finger of her own, pointed to the door, and said in the iciest voice Lucetta had ever heard, “Now.”
In a flurry of skirts, Miss Dunlap and Miss Cooper quit the room, their mutters ending abruptly when Archibald, who’d returned to his door duties and had opened the door for their exit, closed it as soon as the last flurry of skirt disappeared over the threshold.
“What could you have been thinking?” Iris demanded a mere moment later, advancing on Bram with her hands on her hips. “You have, in case you’ve forgotten, a castle filled with local Tarrytown folk, your grandmother in residence, no less, as is a young lady whose identity we were supposed to be protecting.” She stopped right in front of him and actually poked him with her finger. “Why would you have chosen this particular time, and this”—she gestured to the storage room at large—“particular place to try to woo Miss Plum? A lady, if you’ll recall, who we’ve told all those gathered is your cousin, which makes all this”—she gestured around the room again—“seem rather tawdry.”
“She’s supposed to be a distant cousin,” Bram reminded her.
“And one with a wart and no teeth,” Ruby added, her lips curving ever so slightly.
“I don’t believe you’re helping my situation,” Bram muttered.
“Goodness, you’re right.” Ruby smiled before she moved to Mr. Skukman, took his arm, and attempted to prod him toward the door. “Since the storage room is quite crowded at the moment, and since outlandish rumors are probably even now spreading like wildfire out there, Mr. Skukman and I will go assess the situation and see if there’s anything that can be done to stem the amount of damage done to both of your reputations.”
Mr. Skukman hadn’t moved a single inch even with Ruby trying so determinedly to get him to the door. He sent a single nod Lucetta’s way. “Would you like me to stay with you?”
“I think assessing the situation might be a better use of your time,” Lucetta said. “Especially since I’m fairly sure Miss Dunlap and Miss Cooper are even now spreading the word regarding my true identity.”
Cracking his knuckles again, Mr. Skukman released a grunt. “Would you like me to dissuade them from spreading the word?”
“Goodness, Mr. Skukman, get ahold of yourself,” Ruby said before Lucetta could respond. Grabbing him with both hands, she tried yet again to get him to move, releasing a pent-up breath of air a moment later when he refused to budge.
Sending Ruby a look that seemed to have a touch of amusement mixed in with clear exasperation, Mr. Skukman turned and caught Lucetta’s eye. “Just call if you decide you have need of me.” With that, he headed for the door with Ruby still firmly attached to his arm.
“I believe, since this is a family matter and I’m not a family member—at least not yet—I’ll go help Mr. Skukman and Ruby assess the situation.” With those cryptic words—words that left Abigail standing with her mouth slightly open—Archibald opened the door with a flourish, strode over the threshold, and pulled it closed behind him.
“What do you think Archibald meant by . . . yet?” Bram asked slowly.
“This is not the time to be pondering anything other than what you’re going to do now,” Iris said with a distinct edge to her tone as she shook her head at her son. “You’ve been caught in a compromising situation with Miss Plum, and . . . there’s no getting around what has to be done now—you’ll have to get married.”
Lucetta’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for us to be hasty about anything, Mrs. Haverstein. Bram and I barely know each other. Add in the fact that I’m an actress, for heaven’s sake, and . . . well, it’s not as if I enjoy a pristine reputation, so no harm done, and that’s that.”
Iris plopped her hands on her hips. “What about Silas Ruff?”
“I don’t want to marry him either.”
She wasn’t certain but she thought Bram’s lips twitched just a touch. But, seeing those lips suddenly reminded Lucetta that she’d recently been very close to those lips, and . . .
“Your identity has now become public knowledge, Miss Plum,” Iris continued, pulling Lucetta abruptly away from thoughts of lips, heat, and . . . closeness. “It will not be long until Silas learns your direction, and from what I’ve been told, he’s determined to acquire you.”
Lucetta shot a look to Bram, hoping for some assistance, but she found that Bram, curiously enough, was looking vacantly about the room, his thoughts clearly not on the present and oh-so-concerning situation. Resisting the urge to smack him back to the conversation at hand, she drew in a breath and returned her attention to Iris.
“I’m not certain why you’re pursuing this idea of marriage between me and your son so adamantly, Mrs. Haverstein. Clearly, I’m not the type of lady a mother would actively seek out to become her daughter-in-law, and again, Bram and I barely know each other.”
Iris lifted her chin. “My mother heartily approves of you.”
Abigail drew in a sharp breath and raised a hand to her chest as her eyes turned suspiciously bright. “What a lovely thing to say.”
Iris smiled. “I’ve seen that you truly do have only the best interest for your grandchildren at heart, Mother. And since you care so deeply about Miss Plum, and my son apparently cares about her—because he’s never been caught kissing a lady in a storage room before—who am I to stand in their way?”
Alarm traveled through Lucetta’s veins, increasing by the second as Iris and Abigail turned her way and began beaming bright smiles in her direction. Realizing that she was not getting through to them, she turned to demand assistance from Bram, discovering that he’d moved stealthily away from everyone and was now . . . furiously scribbling something down on a crumpled piece of paper that seemed to be covered in silver polish.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Bram stopped scribbling, lifted his head, blinked a few times, then straightened as he stuffed the piece of paper into a pocket and smiled at her. “Just had a thought” was his only reply.
“And you didn’t want to lose it,” Abigail said with a fond smile sent Bram’s way. “I do the same exact thing when something important str
ikes me.”
“Which is lovely to be sure,” Lucetta said slowly. “But this is hardly the time for random thoughts, Bram, unless they pertain to the abominable situation at hand. That situation, if you’ve neglected to realize, is that the general consensus seems to be that we, as in you and I”—she gestured between herself and Bram—“have no choice but to get married.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Iris said before Bram could respond. “You were discovered kissing.”
“Well, yes, I suppose we were, but . . .”
“There’s no suppose about it, Lucetta,” Bram said with the faintest hint of a smile. “You and I were caught in the act so to speak, which is exactly why we’ll be getting married.”
“I don’t particularly care to be told I’m going to marry you.”
Bram’s brows drew together even as his eyes turned distant again. “Right. Because independent ladies don’t like to be told things, they prefer to be asked, and . . .”
To Lucetta’s absolute confusion, and a good bit of annoyance, Bram suddenly pulled out the crumpled piece of paper he’d stuffed into his pocket, set it on a table that held a variety of silver-polish bottles on it, scribbled something else on the page, then straightened.
“Right,” he said again. “Well, I need to go attend to something, so I’ll leave you ladies to finish up with all the details of planning a wedding.”
Unable to summon up a single question regarding what was obviously complete and utter lunacy, Lucetta watched in speechless disbelief as Bram headed her way. He stopped directly in front of her, kissed her on the cheek, leaned back, considered her face for a second, then leaned toward her again, and pressed a kiss right on her mouth. He seemed completely oblivious that Lucetta had taken to sputtering, while Abigail and Iris had taken to tsking, although Abigail’s tsking seemed to have a rather pleased tone about it. Stepping away from her, he nodded, just once.
“That would work better—definitely on the lips,” he said to no one in particular before he seemed to shake himself. “Now then, if everyone will excuse me . . .”
With that, Bram strode from the room, vanishing from sight before she had the presence of mind to call him back.
“This is turning out to be a very peculiar evening indeed,” Abigail finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room.
“It’s not peculiar, Abigail—it’s downright insane,” Lucetta argued. “And . . .” She turned her head and caught Iris’s eye. “What in the world was that all about? Who just walks off in the middle of a life-altering conversation?”
Iris sent her a faint smile. “Perhaps Bram has gone off to compose a more suitable marriage proposal.”
Abigail immediately nodded in clear agreement with that. “I bet that’s exactly what he’s done.”
“I got the impression he thinks matters are settled between us,” Lucetta said slowly.
“And they will be,” Abigail returned. “Just as soon as we get all the wedding details in place.”
As Lucetta stood there with her mouth hanging open, Abigail and Iris linked arms, and then, chatting furiously in whispered tones, they hurried out of the room with phrases like “She’ll make such a lovely bride” and “We should hire Monsieur Lamont for the cake” trailing after them.
18
While I don’t claim to be an expert regarding matters of a romantic nature, I’m afraid you, Mr. Haverstein, have made a complete disaster of the situation with Miss Plum.”
Lifting his head from his Remington Model 1 typewriter, Bram found Tilda marching into the dungeon, wearing, oddly enough, a black skirt and blouse over which was a perfectly pressed white apron, an outfit normally only required for late afternoon and evening service. “Isn’t it a little early to be wearing black?” was the first thing to enter his plot-encumbered brain.
“It’s almost four . . . in the afternoon,” Tilda returned, coming to a stop directly in front of the medieval desk he’d purchased because he’d known it would be a great source of inspiration for his gothic novels, what with all the deep gouges and stains littering the surface of it.
“Is it really?”
“Indeed,” Tilda returned, crossing her arms over her chest. “On . . . Saturday.”
Bram blinked. “It’s only Friday.”
Tilda sent him a pitying look. “And that right there is why you’re in a great deal of trouble with Miss Plum. She’s beyond irritated that you’ve been nowhere to be found over the past two days. Believe me, she’s been trying her very best to wheedle that information out of every member of your staff—all of whom, you’ll be pleased to learn, have yet to give in to her wheedling.”
She shook her head. “Just so you know, Mr. Macmillan has promised everyone on staff a substantial bonus if they remain strong against the charm Miss Plum is now being suspected of plying rather heavily in order to pry information out of people.”
“How much trouble do you believe I’m in?”
“Nothing you can’t recover from—at least that’s what your grandmother said this morning before she and your mother went off to look at fashion plates at your mother’s house.”
“Ah, so do you believe Lucetta has accustomed herself to the idea of marrying me?”
Tilda arched a brow. “Not at all. I believe your mother and grandmother are refusing to face the truth—that truth being that Miss Plum never agreed to marry you. And after she got over the shock of being found in the storage room with you, she began to feel very put out indeed that anyone would assume, and I think you may be included with that whole anyone business, that she’d”—Tilda tapped a finger against her chin—“‘blithely sit back and allow everyone else to plan out my life when I’m fully capable, as well as willing, to plan out that life on my own.’”
Bram winced. “Am I to assume those were her exact words?”
“Or close enough,” Tilda said. “I’m afraid you’ve really made a muddle of this, Mr. Haverstein, and I’m also afraid that you won’t be marrying Miss Plum anytime soon, if ever.” She leaned closer to him. “She talks quite often to herself when she’s alone. Because of that, I’ve been privy to some interesting conversations, all of which center around the idea she’s not a woman who wants to lose her independent identity through marriage.” As an afterthought, Tilda added, “And . . . she’s come to the firm belief that you’re demented.”
“What?”
Tilda shrugged. “Can you blame her? You proclaim the two of you are going to get married—without asking her if that’s what she’d like, mind you—while allowing your mother and grandmother to believe they should start planning the wedding festivities. That, Mr. Haverstein, is not how it’s done. The bride gets a say in this day and age, and then, add in that pesky business of you disappearing and it’s little wonder Miss Plum is questioning your sanity.”
“Why didn’t someone simply tell me I was losing track of so much time?” Bram asked as he settled back in his chair.
“Because you are slightly deranged when you’re in the midst of writing, and everyone on your staff knows better than to approach you unless you ring for us,” someone who sounded very much like Stanley said from the far side of the dungeon, Bram’s room of choice to churn out his work.
With a sense of dread settling over him, Bram rose to his feet and craned his neck, wincing when he discovered Stanley lying on the dungeon floor. “You’re not still shackled to that piece of railroad track I set up, are you?”
“While I would love to be able to say no, that hairpin I told you I was certain I would be able to free myself with . . . didn’t exactly work out as planned.”
“But I must have shackled you to that railroad tie hours ago,” Bram said weakly.
“Oh, you did, but it’s been fine down here on the floor. It’s not overly cold, just a bit chilly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t get free?”
“And interrupt what will probably be your best work to date?” Stanley let out a grunt. “Not likely.
And that’s exactly how you’ll need to explain your less than chivalrous behavior of the past two days to Miss Plum. She’s an industrious soul, she’ll understand that, and it’ll go far in soothing her indignation over your leaving her to deal with the repercussions of what Miss Dunlap did after you, she, and Miss Cooper parted ways.”
Bram winced. “There were repercussions?”
“Indeed,” Tilda said. “Miss Dunlap, you see, put on quite a dramatic display after she went back to the ballroom, far more dramatic than anything that dreary production she was trying to direct could have achieved. You won’t like hearing this, but the woman actually took to the stage and told everyone the rehearsal, as well as the final production, had been canceled. Then she told everyone in the ballroom about you and Miss Plum—and that Miss Plum had been the very unattractive Miss Fremont—and that Miss Plum had obviously gone to great lengths to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, embarrassing the good folk of Tarrytown in the process by mocking their theatrical efforts.”
“Oh . . . no,” Bram said.
“Indeed,” Tilda agreed. “And unfortunately, it gets worse.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me everything all in one sitting, Tilda,” Bram said a little weakly.
“Don’t be a coward, Mr. Haverstein. It’s always best to hear all the bad instead of parceling it out bit by painful bit.”
Retaking his seat, he buried his face in his hands. “Very well, carry on.”
“Well, you see, Miss Dunlap was clearly distraught, as well as disappointed, that you’d been discovered kissing Miss Plum. Because of that, she said some very disparaging things about Miss Plum, and before long Mr. Skukman joined her on stage.”
“Oh . . . no.”
“Exactly. Well, Miss Dunlap didn’t take kindly to him arguing with her, and she . . . attacked him.”
Bram lifted his head. “She . . . attacked him?”
