by Ava Stone
“It is good to see you again,” Quent said, offering his arm to Miss Southward as they started towards the castle’s ancient battlements. “I have quite missed Marisdùn and Ravenglass.”
“Does that mean you plan to stay in the village, my lord?” She cast him a sidelong glance. “Now that the castle is yours?”
“Perhaps,” he replied noncommittally. He truly wouldn’t mind spending most of the year in Ravenglass. The village was charming and picturesque, but…Well, he wasn’t sure what his future had in store for him and wouldn’t until he found his mysterious angel.
“We are much quieter here than what you’re accustomed to in London. No operas, no circuses, no romps in the middle of rivers…”
Quent couldn’t help but laugh at that last one. “You really did hear about Hope splashing through the Serpentine like a Bedlamite, hmm?”
She shrugged slightly. “Callie did mention it. She said Lady Hope’s youthful enthusiasm for a certain gentleman had caused quite the scene. She didn’t use the word Bedlamite, however.”
“I don’t know why not. It is the most apt description of the situation.” Hope had been a blasted idiot.
Lila shook her head and her dark curls bobbed against her shoulders. “How unromantic of you, my lord. Lady Hope is clearly quite in love with Lord Kilworth.”
In love. Only Hope would do something so foolish as to think herself in love with such a scoundrel. “Lady Hope is clearly quite a featherbrained ninny,” he replied.
“A featherbrained ninny because she’s in love?”
Quent snorted as they turned down the road that lead to the vicarage. “A featherbrained ninny because the gentleman in question is simply playing with her affections. And no matter how many times she has been warned about the blackguard, she pays the advice no attention at all.”
“Well—” Miss Southward’s breathy voice swirled across Quent like a caress “—I would imagine if one was in love, that the warnings from others would hold very little weight in comparison to one’s own heart.”
“You would imagine that, hmm? Are you speaking from personal experience, Miss Southward? Have you ever been in love with a scoundrel and refused to pay good advice any heed at all?”
An enigmatic expression splashed across her face and Quent would have given a hefty sum at that very moment to have some indication about what thoughts were going through her mind. “I suppose a scoundrel to one might be a knight-in-shining-armor to another, wouldn’t you agree?”
Quent would not agree with that sentiment. And he certainly wasn’t happy in the least to hear her say such a thing. Had Lila Southward become embroiled with some sort of scoundrel in quiet little Ravenglass, of all places, since he’d seen her last? The idea twisted his gut just a bit. “I think a man is who he is, Miss Southward.”
At that she smiled up at him, making heat course through Quent. “I’d wager there are some who would find you to be a bit of a scoundrel, my lord, and yet you’ve always been quite the gentleman with me.”
Some might find him to be a bit of a scoundrel? What the devil? “Did Callie write something about me in her letters?” he asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Though he was fairly certain he knew the answer to that question. His sister-in-law could have mentioned any number of things about his exploits in one of her letters. Damn it all. What had Miss Southward heard about him?
“Not to worry. She didn’t mention you at all, my lord.”
That he wasn’t expecting in the least. Shouldn’t Callie have made some mention of him? Even in passing? That was hardly flattering, was it?
“Should she have mentioned you?” Miss Southward continued, a teasing note to her voice. “Did you do something particularly noteworthy this last year?”
Not more than usual. Quent had spent the season as he usually did – racing as often as he got the chance, an occasional evening at a bawdy house, a night here or there in front of a hazard table, and quite a bit of time at his club with his friends. Of course, he’d spent very little time with his sister-in-law as Callie and Braden were as dull as ditchwater, much as he cared for them both. That must be why Callie didn’t mention Quent in her letters, she simply hadn’t seen him very often.
“You do wound me, Miss Southward,” he teased right back. “Everything I’ve done is worthy of note. I am quite shocked that Callie’s letters home have not been stocked full with tales of my adventures.”
She giggled at that, which made Quent smile in return. She had such a sweet sound to her laugh and he would never tire of listening to her, not in all of his days, he’d wager.
“You are the tiniest bit arrogant, my lord. Did you know that?”
Quent agreed with an incline of his head. “Alas, I have been told that before.”
She laughed again and Quent’s smile only grew larger.
Four
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 Matilda, or Tilly as she was generally known, 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 ap
ology 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.
Five
It had taken Lila and Tilly a full half hour longer to escape the home shared by the Pugmire old maids than they had expected. A full half hour. And all the while, Lila could have just leapt right out of her skin from anxiety.
Lord Quentin had returned to Ravenglass, but she had been stuck in a stale-smelling sitting room, listening to tales on the woes of gout. Even suffering through one of Papa’s sermons would have been preferable.
“I think Anna’s keeping something from us,” Tilly said a few moments after they departed the Pugmires’ cottage.
“Keeping something from us?” Lila frowned slightly as she cast her sister a sidelong glance. “What are you talking about?”
Tilly shrugged. “It’s just a feeling. There was something different about her at dinner last night. Didn’t you notice?”
Lila shook her head. Their artsy cousin could have come to dinner naked and wearing nothing but a tea service on the top of her head the night before and Lila wouldn’t have noticed. How could she be expected to notice anything? Her mind had been swirling over and over ever since she’d returned from Marisdùn Castle. Now that Lord Quentin had returned to Ravenglass, it was impossible for Lila to think about or notice anything else.
“It’s like she has a secret of some sort. She had a sly little smile like there was something going on.”
“Could just be your imagination,” Lila replied, tightening her wrap as a wisp of cool autumn air blew past them.
