One More Haunted Evening Read online

  “…Or you can marry us and show my future husband how…” What was the word Quent had used? Ah yes, “…reasonable you can be.”

  “I, um, do have a special license,” Quent added softly.

  “Over my dead body,” Papa grumbled.

  And then inspiration hit Lila. Or perhaps it was just renewed bravery. Papa was such a stubborn man, but she thought she knew how to use that to her advantage all of a sudden. She turned her attention to Father Matthew and said, “We could ride back to Gretna with you, sir. If you wouldn’t mind doing the honors once we cross the border?”

  A Catholic priest and a Scotland wedding. Papa would have an apoplexy at just the suggestion. He did start to cough.

  “The last thing I’m going to do is let him marry you.” Papa glared at the Scottish priest.

  “Does that mean you’ll marry us yourself, Mr. Southward?” Quent asked, warming to Lila’s tactic.

  “I won’t have it said that my daughter was married by a Catholic priest,” he almost growled, which was as good as an acquiescence, at least as far as Papa was concerned.

  “Wonderful,” Quent continued, as though Papa’s demeanor hadn’t affected him in the least. “We’ll let you do the honors today then, before Father Matthew has to head back home.”

  Papa folded his arms across his chest, but he didn’t refuse to marry them, and that was as good as it was likely to get.

  Seeing as they were on the other side of the room, it was hard to make out what they were saying. Tilly looked on with great interest, trying to read their lips or catch what she could of the conversation, but in the end, it was the grateful smiles that told her Lila and Lord Quentin had been successful.

  Tilly’s heart sank. There was no way Father would allow her to follow suit. Lila was the oldest, and Lord Quentin was, well, a lord. That spoke for something. And Anna wasn’t his own, not to mention, she’d already married Mr. Thorn and consummated her marriage. There wasn’t much Father could do to undo that particular situation.

  Tilly, however, was only seventeen still. Even if she did want to run away to Scotland, Father could veto the marriage. And he’d not let both his daughters get away with marrying reprobates from London, whether that description was true or not.

  Sidney appeared before her, in all his blond-haired glory. He was so very beautiful, and kind, and thoughtful, and… Her cheeks heated as she thought of their evening together in his bedchamber. They knew one another far more intimately than they should, and Tilly ought to be ashamed of her actions, according to what Father would think. But she wasn’t. She never would be. On the contrary, she would cherish that night forever. On lonely nights, when she sat with Father, listening to his endless lessons on morality, she would think of him. Of how very thoroughly he’d loved her, and she him.

  “I suppose it’s our turn,” Sidney said, taking her hands in his and winking at her, that sly grin on his lips that turned her to mush, but that Father wouldn’t appreciate in the least.

  He started to tug her toward the table at which Father sat, taking his tea, but Tilly yanked him back. His eyes met hers. She knew she must look like a frightened doe. She was frightened. Father wasn’t easy to deal with on his best days. After learning that his daughter and niece were leaving his home to yolk themselves to a pair of rakes, he’d surely be in a black mood.

  “Matilda,” he called from across the room, and Tilly pulled her hand from Sidney’s before Father could see their familiarity. “I don’t suppose you have anything you wish to ask me, do you?”

  Father’s cold, calculating eyes glanced toward Sidney, then back to her, though Sidney couldn’t see it, since his eyes never left Tilly’s face.

  The confused look he wore tore at her heart. “No, Father. Nothing of import.”

  It had happened. It had finally happened. In all his years of tearing through London’s ballrooms, breaking the hearts of innocents everywhere, not a one had ever had the opportunity to break his heart. He’d never allowed himself to get close enough to any of them for that to happen.

  And now here he was, in Ravenglass, of all places, staring into the eyes of the woman he loved as she trounced upon his heart. He searched those blue depths for an answer, but there was none. She clung to her cousin’s arm, a clear sign she wasn’t interested in going with him, whether it be to talk privately or pronounce their love to her father. She was staying right where she was.

  The last time Sidney had shed tears was when he was a boy and he’d learned of his mother’s passing. It seemed impossible that tears were welling up in his throat now, because of a woman—a girl, really. A young, silly girl, who had toyed with his emotions and now made a mockery of him in front of a room full of people. People who had seen them display their affections to one another with little abandon over the last few days. People who knew they’d spent hours alone in the dungeon in one another’s arms. Some of whom might have even been privy to the fact they’d gone to bed together in his bedchamber the other night.

  Anger and indignity bubbled in his belly. His skin felt as if it was on fire, and his nostrils flared of their own accord. He had to get out of there before he said something he’d regret. He didn’t want to break his gaze with her—perhaps just a moment longer and her eyes would reveal the answer to this game she sought to play with him. Give him a sign that she had a plan beyond sending him back to London a completely broken and devastated man. But then he realized he could stand there for a lifetime and she’d probably never offer him an explanation. And so he turned abruptly on his heel and strode from the room. His horse would be far better company than that harpy would be, anyway.

  Tilly wished she could crawl into a hole, curl up and die. It would be far preferable than the excruciating pain she felt as she watched the only man she’d ever loved—and likely the only one she ever would love—walk away from her.

  “Good,” Father said, loudly enough for Sidney to hear as he stalked from the room. “Go and gather your things. After I am forced to marry Lila and…Lord Quentin,” he ground out the man’s name as if it tasted of vinegar, “we will return home.”

  Tilly glanced at her sister. She was marrying him today? Never again would they share a room. Tilly would have no one to giggle into the darkness with, or to tell her deepest secrets to.

  A sob bubbled to her throat. It felt as if her whole world was crumbling before her. Everyone she loved was leaving her. However would she survive this heartbreak?

  Before she broke down into tears in front of the room full of people, she removed herself from the salon, and ran back to her chambers. Lila was right behind her, and as soon as they were alone in the room, she engulfed Tilly in a comforting hug.

  “You will be all right,” she said, pulling away and swiping at Tilly’s wet cheeks.

  Tilly nodded. “Yes, I know,” she choked out, though she didn’t know anything of the sort. She would never be all right again.

  But she took a few deep breaths and pulled herself together. She had to be there for her sister today, no matter how her heart was breaking.

  Quent didn’t like leaving Lila alone with her father, but he did need to retrieve that license. And he did owe Father Matthew quite a bit of thanks for helping to bring Mr. Southward back to his grumbly old, but no-longer-possessed, self.

  He begged a minute of the Scottish priest’s time as he headed off towards his study. “I can never thank you enough for coming to our aid as you did.”

  Father Matthew smiled softly. “I’m not done yet, Lord Quentin. This castle is practically teeming with spirits who all need to cross over to the other side.”

  In recent days, the spirits had been practically nonexistent. “It’s been so quiet with the other ghosts, I almost forgot Marisdùn was haunted.”

  The priest shook his head. “They’ve been hiding, waiting for Cynbel to be dealt with, my lord, but they are still present, have no doubt.”

  “They’re mostly tame,” Quent said as they rounded a corner. And mostly they w
ere.

  “They need to be freed. It’s unkind to keep them trapped between these worlds. They need to pass on to the other side to find their redemption or salvation once and for all.”

  “Freed?” Quent echoed. “How does one go about freeing ghosts?”

  “Every room in this castle needs to be blessed, my lord. I mentioned that upon my arrival, and it’s what needs to be done.”

  “You want to bless every room?”

  Father Matthew nodded. “And I want to take possession of that jewelry box of yers. I doona think ye want anyone else stumbling upon it as ye and yer friends did.”

  Quent stopped in the middle of the corridor. He certainly didn’t want to hold onto the thing. He wished he’d never found it in the first place. But why would Father Matthew want it? “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Hide it,” the man said simply. “Hide it and keep anyone else from findin’ it.”

  That sounded like a decent plan, but…”How can you make certain no one will ever find it? I’m sure whoever hid it in that priest hole thought they’d found the perfect hiding place.”

  “There are places for such…artifacts. I’d like to send yers to Rome. Have the contents detailed and then sealed away for safe keepin’.”

  “Have the contents detailed?” Quent asked. “You mean the box would be labeled with a warning for anyone else that should come upon it?”

  “Precisely.” The priest agreed with the nod of his head.

  “There’s a place for such things in Rome?”

  An enigmatic expression flashed across the vicar’s face. “I’m not really at liberty to discuss these things, Lord Quentin.”

  Then Quent wouldn’t press for more. After all, he owed the man quite a bit as it was. “I trust it will be safer with you than whatever we might come up with.”

  “Good,” He smiled slightly. “And if it’s all right with ye, I’d like to get to blessing the castle this afternoon. It’ll take a while, but we’ll cleanse Marisdùn Castle so it’ll be safe for ye and yer bride for many years to come.”

  “I do like the sound of that.” Even if Lila never wanted to step foot in the place when all of this was said and done.

  Quent could only stare at Lila across from him in the great room. How perfect it was that she’d decided to wear that same sparkly white dress that had first enchanted him the previous year. Of course, Lila had enchanted him long before he’d stumbled upon her at last year’s Samhain masquerade. He’d just been too foolish to acknowledge it.

  She smiled up at him, soft tears shimmering in her eyes as Vicar Southward begrudgingly pronounced them man and wife.

  Quent drew Lila to him and gently brushed his lips across hers, while all of their friends and family cheered them on….Well, all except for Vicar Southward. But Quent didn’t really care what Lila’s father thought about the situation or even that his angelic bride had essentially blackmailed her father into performing the ceremony. All that really mattered, all that would ever matter, was that she was his from now until the end of time.

  Tilly, Anna, Callie, Hope, Grace and Patience all rushed forward, each hugging Lila and offering their congratulations. Quent winked at his bride, wanting her to enjoy this bit of celebration after the last few trying days they’d experienced. And then he left her to the ladies and made his way to where his brother stood by the giant hearth.

  Braden lifted a tumbler of whisky up in a mock toast. “I truly didn’t imagine this would be the result when we headed up to Ravenglass again.”

  Neither had Quent, though he couldn’t be happier for the outcome.

  “I suppose it’s all right that you never found your angel,” his brother whispered.

  Quent’s gaze darted back to Lila across the room. “She’s my angel, Braden, never doubt that.”

  His brother clapped him on the back and smiled. “Much better choice than a figment of your imagination, hmm?”

  “Much better,” Quent agreed, not wanting to reveal that last secret to his brother. Braden was much happier thinking he’d been right all along. Besides, Braden was right. A living, breathing Lila Post was better than a thousand mysterious angels.

  His new wife appeared at his side a moment later, her silvery eyes gazing at him with such adoration Quent’s heart nearly flowed over. “You left me?”

  “Only to the throngs of ladies wanting to gush over you, my lady. I think I was in the way, if Grace’s pointy elbow was any indication.”

  “You could never be in the way,” she replied softly.

  “No, but apparently I am,” Braden muttered and then he excused himself and started for that very same throng of ladies.

  “Father Matthew said he’s cleansing the castle of all its spirits.”

  “Freeing them, he told me,” Quent agreed.

  “It will be so odd not have people refer to this as haunted Marisdùn Castle any longer.”

  “People are superstitious. They’ll probably call this place haunted until the end of time.”

  “Probably right.” She agreed with a nod of her head. “Is that your plan then, Quent? Do you want to stay here in Ravenglass?”

  “I want whatever will make you happy, love.”

  “Ravenglass has always been my home. You wouldn’t find it boring with no ghosts and no Samhain masquerades?”

  He quirked her his most rakish grin. “I’m fairly certain that my wife will keep me entertained no matter where we are.”

  When she blushed, he drew her closer and captured her lips, and that same magical feeling he’d first experienced in her arms washed over him anew. He could drown in that feeling and never come up for air….Except he did have to breathe air. Quent lifted his head slightly and said, “Am I to take it you want to stay, then?”

  “I don’t know what Papa would do with all of us gone. And I do run Mama’s charity. And…”

  “Then welcome home, Lila Post.”

  The ceremony was lovely and simple, and Tilly managed not to cry, even though she desperately wanted to. Sidney wouldn’t even look at her throughout the short service, and when it was over, he was gone, more than likely to pack his things so he could leave Ravenglass.

  Tilly cried herself to sleep that afternoon, and if it hadn’t been for Cook, she would have missed dinner entirely. As she unpacked and prepared for the evening meal, she realized she’d never retrieved her diary from Sidney’s bedchamber. Goodness, could this day get any worse? Blast it all, what if the Mordue children got hold of it again? Or what if Sidney, in all his thwarted rage, decided to read it, just to spite her? Oh, heavens. Whatever was she going to do?

  Sidney sat on the edge of his bed, testing the weight of Tilly’s journal in his hands. His trunks were packed. He was ready to depart for London at first light, which wouldn’t be long now. But what the devil was he supposed to do with this bloody diary? And what the devil was he supposed to do with his life? He’d never felt this way, ever. This twisting, heart-wrenching pain threatened to overtake him, and he suddenly felt guilty on top of it. Guilty for all the women he may have put in a similar position. Who knew that chasing ghosts, banishing demons, and toying around with a vicar’s daughter would change him so?

  But he was changed. He couldn’t go back to the life he’d known before. Hell, he wasn’t even certain he could go back to London. Not in this state, at least. People would wonder at his morose demeanor. They’d talk and gossip and he’d be on the front of the society pages:

  What’s eating Mr. Garrick?

  From rogue to spoilsport: the downfall of the modern man

  He smacked the leather-bound book against his forehead. No, he couldn’t go back. But he could go to Gloucester, couldn’t he? Father didn’t need to know what befell him, and his brothers were rarely in residence, so he need not worry about them. He was starting to warm to the idea, but then a vision of Tilly danced in his head. His lovely Tilly. How could she have done that to him? How could she so suddenly, and without warning, deny their love? And wha
t if she carried his babe? She’d not know for some time. What would she do if she did carry a babe? What would her father make her do?

  Damn and blast, he couldn’t leave Ravenglass. He couldn’t leave her. Sidney didn’t care what it took, he would make certain that Tilly was his, one way or another.

  David and Anna stood on the steps outside of Marisdùn while a footman loaded Father Matthew’s belongings into the carriage. Not only had he blessed every room in the castle, save two, but he had blessed Brighid’s daughter as well. The herbarium and small chamber where Chetwey’s child were born were the only two rooms Father Matthew believed were already protected, claiming he felt the difference the moment he stepped inside.

  Vicar Southward had grumbled at the blessing of the child and made Chetwey promise to bring the babe to the church the next day so that she could be properly baptized in a proper church, by a proper minister. As it had been Chetwey and the witch’s plans to do that all along, he agreed to present himself and his daughter before the vicar the next morning.

  Father Matthew stopped before them, a concerned look upon his face. Surely the man wasn’t worried about Vicar Southward becoming possessed again. Or, was it something else they weren’t aware of.

  “I understand ye will be traveling to Florence in a month.”

  “Yes,” Anna said with a grin.

  “Might I prevail upon ye to travel to Rome first?”

  David shared a look with Anna. What was the priest about?

  “I do love Rome too,” she said.

  “Is there a particular reason you wish us to?” David asked with wariness. “A letter you wish delivered?” He hoped it was as simple as that but his gut warned otherwise.

  “Aye, along with this.” He held out the box containing the possessed ring. The priest had also tied it securely with rope, wrapping it so tightly that you could barely see the box within.