One More Haunted Evening Read online

  Damn it. They’d had this argument in London and Quent had been fairly certain the matter had been satisfactorily resolved. The triplets had, after all, traveled to Ravenglass with Braden’s permission. Quent squeezed Grace’s shoulder as he stepped into the room. “I’ll take care of it,” he muttered, loud enough for only her to hear.

  His brother was rubbing his brow as though he suffered from the worst sort of headache. “Do not start,” he began, glancing up at Quent. “I’ve heard all the wailing I can take for one day.”

  If he’d told the girls they couldn’t attend the masquerade, there was sure to be more wailing and even more wailing until it was time to depart for Marisdùn. And if he never relented, there’d be wailing all the next sennight as well. He must realize this.

  Quent heaved a sigh. “Braden, we’ve been through all of this. We’ll all keep an eye on the girls. There’s no reason they shouldn’t attend.”

  His brother tipped his head back and met his gaze with a wary one of his own. “They’re up to something, the three of them. I can tell it.”

  “We’re not up to anything,” Grace protested, stomping her foot in the process. “We haven’t even done anything wrong, Braden. This is completely unfair.”

  Braden scoffed, leveling the girl with one of his iciest gazes. “You are most definitely conspiring about something together, Grace Post. I’ve known the three of you all of your lives. I am not a simpleton. Please do not treat me as though I am.”

  Grace stood a little taller, her chin jutted out rather stubbornly. “We are most definitely not conspiring. And I am quite offended—”

  “You can save your breath,” he grumbled. “You’re not going and that’s it.”

  That was fairly harsh, especially as the girls had been so excited about attending the masquerade. “What makes you think they’re conspiring?” Quent asked.

  Braden glanced from Grace back to Quent. “The three of them have been huddled together for nearly a day, whispering back and forth, stopping whenever they spot me as though I’m too half-witted to notice. They are up to something, Quent. And with all the people that will be at Marisdùn tonight, their identities hidden by masks, I’d be a fool to let the three of them run wild when they’re very clearly plotting something.”

  “We are not plotting anything.” Grace harrumphed and folded her arms across her middle, quite indignantly.

  “What are the three of you talking about?” Quent asked. “Just tell Braden whatever it is and all will be well.”

  A blush instantly stained Grace’s cheeks. Damn it. They were plotting something. Braden was right. What the devil were they up to?

  “Grace…?” he urged.

  “It’s nothing.”

  Braden shot Quent a look that made it quite clear he didn’t believe that for even half a second. And neither did Quent.

  “Grace,” Quent tried again. “What are the three of you up to? You know we’ll find out in the end. Better just to come out with it.”

  “We’re not up to anything!” she insisted.

  “And that, my dear sister,” Braden began, “is why the three of you will be remaining at Braewood this evening.”

  “We haven’t even done anything.” She glared at him, green fire flashing in her eyes. “That is completely unfair, Braden, and—”

  “And as your guardian, I intend to see that you don’t do anything foolish,” Braden returned. “If you can’t be trusted—”

  “It’s nothing even untoward,” she said hastily and then winced as though she shouldn’t have said that.

  “What’s not untoward?” Quent asked. “If you’re not plotting something, there’s no reason you can’t tell us what the three of you have been up to, is there, love?”

  She heaved a giant sigh. “It’s nothing that should prevent us from attending the masquerade.”

  “Wonderful,” Braden said. “Why don’t you tell us what it is, then, dearest?”

  It was a shame Patience was nowhere in sight, she would have broken long before now. That must be why Grace was the one down here with Braden and Patience was…somewhere else.

  “We’ve just been talking about Lila Southward is all, and that is it. I swear it, Braden.”

  Lila Southward? Quent frowned at his sister as his heart twisted a bit in his chest. “What about Miss Southward?”

  Grace’s gaze dropped to the floor and she shrugged. “I’ll tell Braden, but I don’t want to tell you.”

  To hell with that. “What the devil is it, Grace?” Quent barked, his patience very close to gone.

  Her eyes flashed back up to his, but she clamped her lips closed. Damn it, she did have to be the most stubborn of all of them.

  “Patience!” Quent bellowed. “Hope! Where are you?”

  “Hope is, once again, crying her eyes out.” Braden scrubbed a hand down his face. “And Patience is by her side, calling me all sorts of unflattering names, I’m sure.”

  Quent folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes on his most stubborn sister. What the devil was the trio up to in regards to Lila Southward? Just the idea that they’d been conspiring against the pretty brunette made his blood boil slightly. “Last chance, Grace. Patience will break, we both know it. And then when she does, I won’t let any of you attend the masquerade, no matter what Braden says.”

  “But you promised…” Her brow furrowed.

  That was before they’d conspired against Lila. Why would they even do that? He thought they liked her. Lila was the most charming, most perfect girl. Why would they single her out for some nefarious plan? “Yes, well, punishment for your stubbornness. So either tell me now what you’re plotting for Miss Southward or your whole journey to Cumberland will have been for naught.”

  “Very well.” She snorted, which would have earned her quite the reprimand if her mother had been present. “I don’t know why we were trying to help you anyway, you stubborn, overgrown—”

  “Yes, yes,” Quent replied. “Out with it, Grace. What’s this about Miss Southward?”

  “We want you to kiss her,” she said, completely and totally taking Quent off balance. Of all the things he thought she might say, that wasn’t even on the list.

  He actually stumbled slightly. “I-I beg your pardon,” he couldn’t help but stammer. What the devil had gotten into his sisters? They wanted him to kiss Lila? He wanted to kiss Lila, but that was certainly none of their concern.

  “Well—” she glared at him “—you said you’d recognize your angel if you kissed her, and…Well, we think you should kiss Lila instead.”

  Quent couldn’t find his voice to respond to that.

  “Who Quent does or does not kiss is none of your concern,” Braden began.

  “We think he might enjoy kissing her, just as much as he enjoyed kissing his angel and—”

  “And,” Braden cut her off. “Miss Southward is quite above reproach, Grace. I don’t imagine she would appreciate this conversation or your interference for that matter.”

  “But she’s perfect for him, Braden. We’ve all seen it. He’s just so focused on finding some figment of—”

  “Do not finish that sentence,” Quent warned.

  She glared petulantly at him. “You’re an idiot if you don’t see it yourself, Quentin. Your visage softens around her. You’re more charming. You’re—”

  “I hardly think Miss Southward would be interested in kissing Quent,” Braden remarked under his breath.

  But Quent heard him and his blood boiled anew at that. “Thank you very much for that, Braden.”

  His brother gaped at him in surprise. “I hardly think you’re her sort.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, more irritated than he probably should be.

  “That she’s a pious vicar’s daughter and you’re…you.” He flicked his gaze towards Grace, silently stating that he wouldn’t say more than that in their sister’s presence.

  So Quent was a bit rakish. Damn it, he was more than a bi
t reckless from time to time too. But he refused to acknowledge that his brother might have a point as Braden’s dismissive air was more than insulting. Besides, as Lila’s pained expression from that morning flashed once again in his mind, he was fairly certain that the pious vicar’s daughter in question would kiss him if he ever got the chance to get her alone and into his arms.

  But none of that was Braden’s concern, and none of it was his sisters’ concern. Quent flashed his gaze back at Grace and said, “You will mind your own affairs and leave Miss Southward alone. Do you understand?”

  “If you insist on being an idiot, why should it matter to me?”

  He was done at Braewood. He glanced at his brother and said, “I wanted to ask your opinion about the blacksmith’s pension, what I should offer his widow. But I’ll talk to you when I’m not so annoyed with everyone under this roof.” And then he turned on his heel and strode right out of Braewood’s doors.

  “Poor Mrs. Caldwell,” Anna muttered to herself as she entered the back gardens to Marisdùn. Her tears were spent, but she barely spoke the entire time Anna was with her. A heartbreak this deep might not ever recover, and there was nothing Anna could do. Other friends were gathered with the recent widow so she felt comfortable leaving the poor woman. Had she been alone, Anna would have remained through the night if necessary.

  Taking a deep breath, and trying to put the sadness behind her, Anna stepped into the herbarium and was brought up short to find Brighid and Mr. Chetwey sitting at the scarred table in the center of the room. Her friend had a hand braced behind the small of her back and she was turning pages of an old book, much like she’d been doing the same time last year, minus the belly heavy with child.

  “What are you doing?”

  Mr. Chetwey glanced up in surprise and then grinned at her. Almost as if he was laughing at a jest only he understood.

  “Research,” Brighid answered.

  “Into what?” Anna placed her basket on the table. “Shouldn’t you be at home?”

  “Yes!” Mr. Chetwey answered.

  “Something isn’t right here and I need to determine what it is.”

  “This is Marisdùn,” Anna reminded her with a laugh. “Has it ever been right?”

  Brighid dismissed her. “It’s different. Something has happened and nothing good will come of it.”

  “Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic? Nothing can be worse than Mary Routledge haunting the place.”

  Brighid blinked up at her. “I fear this may be worse.”

  A shiver ran through Anna’s body. “What of the masquerade?” Dozens of people were already here, with more to arrive. “Are the guests in danger?”

  “That, I do not know.”

  “All the more reason I should return you home,” Mr. Chetwey insisted.

  “You know I cannot leave until I figure this out. I’d never forgive myself if others were harmed because I was sitting at home.”

  “But the babe,” he reminded her.

  “Will stay or arrive at its own leisure. There’s little I can do, and being at home changes nothing, except I’ll worry about what is happening here and that I should be doing something to avert it.”

  “It could change where the child is born,” Mr. Chetwey bit out and Anna suspected this wasn’t the first time the two of them had had this conversation.

  “And, I told you, that if the child arrives, it will be protected inside this room.”

  “I do not like it.”

  “Yes, dear,” Brighid answered sweetly, placing her palm against Mr. Chetwey’s cheek. “I know very well your feelings on the matter.” Then she turned and looked at Anna.

  “Will you be attending the masquerade then?” Anna asked.

  “My wife is not leaving this room,” Mr. Chetwey answered.

  “I’d advise against you attending as well, Anna,” Brighid said.

  Anna glanced between Brighid and Mr. Chetwey, then back to her friend. “You are that concerned?”

  “Only in that I don’t know what it is, but there’s an evil here.” She set the book aside and slid another in its place. “Besides, it isn’t as though you need to look for the gentleman you sketched as you’ve already found him.” She grinned up at Anna. “Or, he found you, rather.”

  Mr. Chetwey chuckled then ducked his head.

  “What do you find so humorous?” she finally asked.

  “Just that you have made a rather unforeseen impact on my friend.” He laughed again.

  What had Mr. Thorn told him? Were they both now laughing at her?

  Well, she would show Mr. Thorn. Just because she was different than others, did not mean she should be laughed at. When she saw him tonight, and she would most definitely find him, she’d give him a piece of her mind.

  “Ignore my husband.” Brighid shot Mr. Chetwey a look of warning. “Just stay home tonight, inside, and be safe.”

  Anna had no intention of doing so, but inclined her head anyway. She didn’t wish to argue with Brighid, or upset her. She appeared worried enough about a problem that Anna didn’t quite grasp.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” her friend asked.

  “Do you have something to help a person sleep? I was going to look amongst your tonics, but as you are here, you can assist.” She was careful not to say who she wished to help sleep. Brighid might not help if she knew Anna intended to give a sleeping draught to her uncle.

  “To get to sleep or stay asleep?” Brighid asked.

  If she could get Uncle Walter asleep earlier than usual it would give her more time, but she also needed him to sleep until morning. “Both. The falling asleep and then staying asleep.”

  Brighid frowned at her. “Have the dreams returned?”

  Goodness, she’d forgotten about those, but for a long time, Anna had difficulty sleeping. She seemed to dream all night long, waking often and then exhausted during the day. It seemed to take forever until she finally was able to rest again and that was because Brighid had prepared a special tea for her to use.

  Instead of answering, Anna simply nodded. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She had been dreaming of late and they usually involved Mr. Thorn, but not so much that it disturbed her sleep as in the past.

  “I have just what you need. It will only take me a few moments to put them together.”

  Anna watched as Brighid took jars from the shelves and tried to ignore the guilt of tricking her friend. This was for the best and completely necessary.

  “I’m putting catnip, chamomile, marjoram and mint in this jar. Use just a teaspoon of the mixture in a cup of tea.”

  Anna nodded and took the jar from Brighid.

  “The Agrimony and Hops are going in this cloth.”

  “Why?” If she had the tea, why did she need anything else?

  “I’m making a sachet to put under your pillow. It will insure you sleep through the night.”

  It would be easy enough to get her uncle to drink the tea since she made him a cup every night, but how was she going to get the sachet under his pillow. She never went into his room.

  With a shrug, Anna decided to worry about that later. If she couldn’t figure out something, she was positive Tilly or Lila would.

  Tilly lay awake in her bed that night, unable to sleep. Her body was exhausted, but her mind raced with all that had happened that day. From her sublime time at Marisdùn in Sidney’s company, to Father’s destruction of Anna’s favorite sketch of her Mr. Thorn, to Lord Quentin’s attack, to the tragic news of the blacksmith’s death. She’d almost forgotten all about her lost diary. But once she thought of it, she couldn’t think of anything else. Mother had fallen ill shortly after that first entry. That book held Tilly’s last memories of her. To lose them would be…

  She squeezed her eyes shut and let the tears fall down her cheeks. She couldn’t lose them. Those blasted children had to give her back her memories, dead or not.

  Father had insisted no one leave the house, not until they knew who had attacked Lord Quentin and p
ushed the blacksmith into his kiln. He was certain the person was one and the same, and Tilly had no reason to believe otherwise. But she had to get out of the house. She had to get to Marisdùn to retrieve her diary. And to see Sidney.

  The masquerade would take place that evening. If she and Lila and Anna could put their heads together, surely they could come up with a plan to circumvent Father’s edict. Unfortunately, by the time Tilly went downstairs for breakfast, Anna and Lila were already gone.

  “But I thought we weren’t allowed to leave the house today,” she argued with her father, hope fluttering in her breast. If he let Anna and Lila go, perhaps he’d let her go too.

  “Anna has gone to see Mrs. Caldwell,” Father said, before taking a sip of his black coffee. “And Lady Bradenham asked for Lila’s company.”

  Lady Bradenham? Father didn’t even like Lady Bradenham. That was hardly fair. And Anna was visiting the blacksmith’s widow? She was never one to go visiting—she always left that to Lila and Tilly—she must be up to something. Tilly was only upset she’d not had the idea first.

  “They will be back soon,” Father went on.

  “But to let them go alone, Father,” Tilly said, sliding into her place at the table. “Do you not think it dangerous? Lord Quentin was attacked in broad daylight, after all, and he’s quite a large man.”

  “I will thank you not to comment on the physique of a gentleman, Matilda,” he said sternly. “Lila will be surrounded by her ladyship’s family. And as for Anna…” He shifted in his seat. For the first time in her life, Father seemed uncomfortable. “If she’s not back within a reasonable time, I shall go looking for her myself.”

  Blast it all, he wasn’t going to let her out of here, was he? “Yes, Father,” was all she said, and then began to eat her breakfast in silence.

  She was bored out of her mind until Lila arrived a few hours later, and she had all the same questions Tilly had had about Anna’s trip to the Caldwells’. With Father working on his sermon, she and Lila, ran to their room, and eagerly awaited Anna’s return.

  “Do you think we ought to go this evening?” Tilly asked Lila as she stared out the window of their bedchamber. The sky looked ominous, as if rain was in the offing.