by Jen Turano
“The eye patch?”
“I was contemplating a pirate-laced plot, but . . . writing a hero with a disfigurement like that—well, it just wasn’t working.”
“And the necklace?”
Bram released a sigh. “I’ve never seen that necklace before in my life.”
“Ah, so all the mysteries can’t be solved on our ride to Abigail’s, can they?”
“I’m afraid not, but . . . to return to the subject of . . . us. . . . Since I have now divulged my deepest and darkest secret, how do you feel about my previous suggestion, the one regarding me courting you?”
Lucetta regarded him for a long moment before she released the smallest of sighs. “This would be so much easier if you really were a madman, but since you’ve been so forthcoming with me, it’s only fair that I’m now forthcoming with you.”
Of anything he’d been expecting Lucetta to say, that had not been remotely close.
“You have secrets of your own?”
She smiled just a ghost of a smile. “Most people do have secrets, Bram, and I’m afraid my secrets are going to put a rapid end to your desire to court me.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she looked out the carriage window for a moment, nodded, just once, and then turned and caught his eye.
“While it’s true that I’m one of the most sought-after actresses in the city, there’s a lot about me that no one in New York knows. I did not grow up in the tenements, nor did I have to claw my way out of the stews, using my unusual looks to procure a role on the stage. What I don’t tell anyone is that I grew up on a plantation in Virginia.”
“Your parents worked on a plantation?” he asked slowly.
“My parents owned the plantation.”
Bram’s eyes widened. “Did it burn down during the Civil War, and that’s when your father died of that blood poisoning that Mr. Cabot mentioned, and then you were forced to live in a one-room hovel, where your mother then married that horrid Nigel person, and you ran away to New York to finally escape the poverty you were living in?”
“Goodness, you really do have an imagination, don’t you,” Lucetta said before she seemed to stifle a grin and continued on with her tale. “While your version of my life would make a most riveting tale, that’s not even close to what happened. You see, my father was not your typical plantation owner. We did not own slaves, nor did we produce much in the way of crops. My father bred horses, but he was also a well-respected attorney who worked in Washington when Congress was in session. Because of that, when the Civil War began, both sides agreed that our plantation, Plum Hill, would not be touched, and it wasn’t.”
Bram frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand then how you came to work as an actress when you were destined to become a southern belle.”
“Ah, yes, the allure of the belles. I did, at one time, believe I would take my place amongst those lovely ladies, presiding over one ball after another. But alas, it was not meant to be for me, especially after my father died of blood poisoning, as you mentioned. But he didn’t die until I was thirteen and—”
“And that’s when you found out his fortune had disappeared and you were left with nothing?”
“No . . . and rein in that imagination of yours, if you please, so I can finish the true tale without becoming overly distracted.”
“I won’t say another peep,” Bram assured her.
“Wonderful. To continue, Plum Hill, our plantation, survived the Civil War, as did everyone in my small family, and as I grew older, it became obvious that I’d inherited something from my father that I don’t discuss often, if at all, because it’s what most people find a rather unsettling gift.” She smoothed out a wrinkle on the velvet gown she was wearing and then lifted her head to catch his eye. “I have a perfect memory.”
Bram blinked. “A . . . what?”
“A perfect memory—which means I can recall pages I’ve read years ago word for word, and . . . I can not only remember numbers, but I can tally them up in my head without having to use pen and paper or an abacus.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone capable of doing such things,” he said slowly.
“I’m a bit of an anomaly, but the reason I said you’d soon have no desire to court me is this. . . . Not only was I born into a well-respected, socially acceptable family—which is why I do know how to manage my way around a formal table setting and dance the quadrille—I’m very good at, and have been very successful with . . . investments. That means I am not one of those poor, unfortunate souls you enjoy saving from dismal circumstances.”
Bram simply looked at her for a long moment, feeling as if he’d lost all control of the conversation. “I would think being successful with investments is a mark in your favor,” he finally settled on saying, earning a rolling of the eyes from her in the process.
“Well, yes, normally that would be true, but . . . you’re a gentleman who receives a great deal of satisfaction from providing better lives for others.” She smiled ever so slightly. “I’m financially independent—don’t actually need to work in the theater any longer because of that—and . . . I’m not sure I’m a lady you’d actually care to court since I don’t need a knight in shining armor to swoop in and rescue me.”
Bram narrowed his eyes. “I don’t remember making the claim that my deepest desire in life was to swoop in and rescue you.”
“You enjoy playing the hero.”
“You say that as if there’s something wrong with having a chivalrous nature.”
“I don’t think you’ll be happy with me,” she finally said in a small voice.
For a second, he had no response to her words, but then, he felt his lips quirk into a grin. “For an apparently overly intelligent sort, you’re remarkably obtuse about some things.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well, it is true that I enjoy saving people, lifting them up so to speak, but I also enjoy spending my time with flawed people, especially if they are amusing as well. And you, my dear Lucetta, are incredibly flawed, but you make me laugh. That’s the person I’d like to court, if you’d give me the opportunity.
“And while I must admit that I’m incredibly disappointed to discover you’re financially independent—because who wouldn’t be disappointed to learn that the lady they wish to spend their life with is somewhat clever—well . . . I suppose I’ll just have to learn to struggle along with my disappointment and perhaps encourage you to pair up with Ruby to increase all of our fortunes. And then . . . we’ll have more money to hire on additional people from the tenements, and maybe procure an entire herd of goats to keep Geoffrey company.”
Lucetta’s brows scrunched together. “I don’t believe you’re understanding the true nature of the problem. You relish being the knight in shining armor, but I’ll never care to be your damsel in distress.”
Bram nodded. “Because you’re much too intelligent for that.”
She leaned forward. “Are you smiling, because my oddness is a true obstacle that . . .”
As Lucetta launched into all the reasons behind why he wouldn’t be comfortable courting her—reasons that he didn’t agree with in the least, even if he’d been slightly taken aback to learn she really had just as many secrets as he did—the carriage slowed, coming to a stop a mere moment later.
Before he was able to jump back into the conversation to assure her that he’d be willing to face whatever obstacles were thrown their way—especially since he’d come to the realization that she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met in his life—the carriage door burst open. A young lady stood on the other side of the door, a young lady he’d seen a few times at the theater but had never been introduced to before. Her identity became clear, though, when Lucetta let out a shriek of pure delight and scrambled out of the cab.
“Millie!” she yelled before she snatched the young lady into a hug.
Even though Bram couldn’t resist a smile at the sight of Lucetta being reunited with one of her best friends,
he also couldn’t resist a small sigh of regret, because with the arrival of Millie, and their arrival at Abigail’s brownstone, further talk of courtships was certainly going to be set aside for the foreseeable future.
21
What in the world are you doing here?” Lucetta demanded when the former Miss Millie Longfellow and present Mrs. Everett Mulberry, gave Lucetta a final squeeze and stepped back, even though she did not release the hold she had on Lucetta’s hand.
“Abigail sent me a telegram stating that Silas had absconded with you.” Millie shuddered. “I barely took a second to pack before I hopped on a train and headed to New York. Everett, I’m afraid, did not make the trip with me, staying back in Boston with the children. We didn’t want to put them in harm’s way again, not after all they’ve been through over the past year.”
“Indeed not, although I’m confident Silas won’t be a threat for some time to come, especially since he’s currently on his way to jail to face kidnapping charges.”
Millie smiled as she shoved brown curls out of her eyes. “Thank goodness he’s finally getting exactly what he deserves—jail. And I can’t put into words how wonderful it is to see you unharmed. I kept envisioning—which I recently learned means picturing—you tied up and stowed in a dirty room, with a leering Silas pacing back and forth in front of you as he rubbed his hands together and chuckled rather menacingly, while maybe rattling some chains.”
Lucetta blinked. “Have you discontinued reading those sweet romances you’ve always been so fond of reading in lieu of something a little darker?”
“Funny enough, I have.” Millie grinned. “I’ve decided to bridge out a little, explore different genres, if you will. And because you, my very good friend, are starring in a play penned by none other than the renowned—which I’m sure you know means celebrated—Mr. Grimstone, I decided to try a few of his gothic novels.”
“What did you think of the Grimstone stories?” Bram asked from behind them.
Turning, Lucetta found that Bram had stepped out of the carriage and was looking dashingly rumpled, with his hair standing on end and his face streaked with soot here and there. Glancing at Millie, Lucetta found her friend considering Bram closely, right before she nodded at Lucetta and arched a brow.
“The mysterious grandson, I assume?”
“One and the same.” Lucetta pulled Millie forward, stopping right in front of Bram. “Millie, I’d like to introduce you to Abigail’s grandson, Mr. Bram Haverstein. Bram, this is one of my very dearest friends, Millie Mulberry, formerly Millie Longfellow.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mulberry,” Bram said, bringing Millie’s hand to his lips and placing the expected kiss on it. “Lucetta and my grandmother speak most highly of you.”
Millie smiled, the action causing a dimple to pop out on her cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Haverstein. I won’t embarrass you by relaying all the things your grandmother told me and Lucetta about you over the past few months. Although I will admit I thought she was exaggerating your attributes—and that means features—but . . . never mind about that.” Her smile widened. “I’m very relieved to discover that you appear to be relatively normal, and that you’re not sporting a humped back or any other peculiar deformity, something Lucetta and I were afraid your grandmother was trying to hide.”
Bram quirked a brow Lucetta’s way. “You’d thought I’d be deformed?”
Smiling, Lucetta shrugged. “Abigail made you out to be so mysterious, who could blame us for concluding the worst?”
“She kept calling you a dish,” Millie added with a grin. “Which only goes to show how determined she is to see you, as well as any other eligible person within her direct vicinity, well settled, but—”
“Honestly, Millie,” none other than Abigail interrupted as she hurried down the sidewalk toward them. “When you said you heard a carriage and were going to investigate, I thought you’d come right back and tell us what you’d discovered, not stand around discussing my matchmaking propensities.”
“You’re exactly right, Abigail, but I fear I got horribly distracted by a topic that Lucetta and I have always found slightly alarming—your matchmaking schemes,” Millie said, earning a shake of her head from Abigail right before the older lady pulled Lucetta into an embrace and gave her a good squeeze.
“You shall promise me here and now, young lady, that you will never do that to me again.” Abigail relaxed her hold and stepped back, but only to tuck Lucetta’s arm in hers. “You’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine, a little tired, a little rattled, but . . . Bram and his staff did a wonderful job of rescuing me.”
Abigail nodded. “Tilda just ran inside to tell us you were back safe and sound, apparently realizing someone”—she sent a pointed look to Millie, although she softened it with a smile—“had gotten distracted.”
“You can’t truly blame me for getting caught up in the moment, Abigail,” Millie argued. “I mean, honestly, with Lucetta being gone for so long it was all looking very grim just a short time ago, and yet now . . .” She beamed Lucetta’s way. “Here she is, standing in front of your brownstone—wearing one of the most hideous gowns I’ve ever seen, but still standing here nevertheless.”
“Speaking of standing here,” Mr. Skukman suddenly said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Evening is fast approaching, it’s getting dark, and if none of you have noticed, even though it’s still October, but just barely, it’s downright brisk tonight. While I’m delighted we’ve gotten our Miss Plum back, and that certainly is a cause for a joyful celebration, I’m now going to suggest we take the celebration into the warm confines of Mrs. Hart’s home before our feat of rescuing Miss Plum becomes all for naught when she catches her death due to a cold.”
Millie blinked before she walked right over to Mr. Skukman, gave him a hug—which had his eyes widening just a touch—and then linked her arm with his. “I do believe that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you string together, Mr. Skukman. May I hope you’ve been following my example and have taken to studying them?”
“Studying . . . what?” Mr. Skukman asked slowly.
“Words, Mr. Skukman, words.” Millie prodded him toward the house. “There’s nothing like a good grasp of the English language to make a person feel more confident about life.” With that, they headed toward the front door, Millie’s offer to lend Mr. Skukman one of her many dictionaries drifting back to Lucetta on the breeze.
“She enjoys words?” Bram asked as he offered Abigail one arm and Lucetta his other.
“Millie’s been improving her vocabulary for quite some time,” Lucetta said as they moved up the sidewalk. “She grew up in an orphanage and didn’t have access to a proper education, so she decided to learn on her own. She’s an avid reader these days, and has apparently taken to reading Mr. Grimstone novels.” She sent Bram a wink, which he pretended not to notice as Lucetta turned her attention to Abigail. “May I assume everyone is still gathered here?”
Abigail nodded. “Indeed. Iris and Ruby rode down from Tarrytown with me, along with Archibald of course, and Mr. Kenton. Archibald has been traveling back to his house every evening, but he comes back first thing in the morning, bless him.” She got what almost seemed to be a dreamy look in her eyes for all of a second but then seemed to shake herself. “Everyone will want to make certain you’re quite alive and well, but after you’ve allowed everyone to hug and exclaim over you, I want you to head up to your room for a good soak in the tub. I’ll send Bertha up to get that dress you’re wearing and . . . have her burn it.”
“That would be most appreciated.”
Walking through the front door, Lucetta found herself greeted with a chorus of cheers, and she spent the next ten minutes being hugged and fawned over by Iris, Ruby, Archibald, Mr. Kenton—although he insisted on maintaining his distance in case his cold was still lingering—and all the members of Abigail’s staff. After being given a strong hug by Abigail’s coachman, who assured her she w
as not to worry about his greatcoat that she’d lost in Bram’s moat, or his pistol that she just then realized she’d lost as well, she found her arm taken by Millie as Abigail shooed them up the stairs, telling everyone else it was time for some tea, coffee, and treats in the drawing room.
After assuring everyone she’d join them soon, Lucetta walked with Millie up to the second floor, strolling arm in arm down a narrow hallway until they reached the suite of rooms Abigail had so generously given to Lucetta. Stepping over the threshold, Lucetta grinned when she caught sight of numerous glossy boxes with French names stamped on them that were stacked in a corner.
“I see Abigail hasn’t quite finished with the new wardrobe she apparently believes I need,” Lucetta said.
Millie grinned. “I think she ordered all of that”—she nodded to the boxes—“a few months ago, and it’s just now showing up in the States. I’ve had numerous deliveries from Paris and England at my home in Boston, and I have to say, Abigail does have a keen sense of style.”
Stepping into the bathing chamber a moment later, Lucetta discovered Bertha, one of Abigail’s maids, already there, readying the bath for Lucetta. Dipping a hand in the water to evidently check the warmth of it, Bertha straightened, looked Lucetta over from head to toe, and immediately began clucking.
“We need to get you right out of that garish rag,” Bertha declared, setting to work on the buttons that marched down the back of the gown. “How in the world did you get into this, dear, or . . . is that a question you’d rather not answer?”
Slipping out of the gown once Bertha had it undone, Lucetta caught Bertha’s eye. “I know everyone must be so concerned that Silas took unacceptable liberties with me, but I barely saw the man while I was being held captive. In fact, he only showed up a few hours ago at the rooms he’d stashed me in. We spent less than an hour together having a meal, and then . . . Bram showed up and saved the day, along with Mr. Skukman and Bram’s staff, of course, and . . . here I am. Tired, but fit as a fiddle.”
