One Haunted Evening (Haunted Regency Series Book 1) Read online

  “On the table over here,” Callie directed. Then she rose from her spot and gestured both gentlemen to keep their seats. “How do you take your tea, Braden?” she asked after the butler had placed the service and refreshments on the nearby table.

  “Just a bit of milk,” he said, though he was still eyeing Cyrus; and her brother was still eyeing Braden.

  Things would be so much easier if Eilbeck did know something about Braden. There wasn’t a fellow in London, or Buckinghamshire for that matter, who would balk at Braden’s request to court their sister. In fact, any gentleman of his acquaintance would be quite happy to consider Braden’s suit, at least he thought they would. He’d never given anyone any reason to doubt his honor or his ability to provide and care for those under his charge. He really was far removed from London society in this Cumberland outpost.

  Callie handed him a teacup and offered him a scone, which he quickly took. Then she prepared the same for her brother, who was still eyeing Braden as though he was Hades, intent on snatching Persephone and spiriting her off to the Underworld, without so much as a by your leave.

  Was that it? Was the man simply afraid of losing his sister? The pair’s parents were gone. If Braden suddenly lost Quent, as irritating as his brother could be, he would feel quite alone. Perhaps Eilbeck was facing that imminent reality all of a sudden. The blustering magistrate didn’t seem to have a collection of friends, though perhaps Braden just hadn’t encountered the man’s set during the short time he’d been in Ravenglass.

  After filling her own cup, Callie resumed her spot beside Braden, and his heart felt lighter. She was everything he’d ever wanted, if he’d ever sat down to make a list – kind, level-headed, enchanting, beautiful. They were even of a same mind about things. If only Sir Cyrus could be convinced.

  Perhaps the man would be more amendable to the idea if things seemed to move a bit slower. Braden took a sip of his tea, then he nodded in the magistrate’s direction. “I want to court her to see if we’ll suit in the long run. After the next sennight, she might decide she doesn’t like me in the least.”

  Callie’s brow lifted in surprise. “You’ve that many bad habits, do you?”

  “I—uh—do spend a fair amount of my time stocking my stables,” he said for lack of any other bad habit that popped to mind. Of course, he snored, or at least he’d been told he did. Though he thought the better of mentioning that, at least while her brother was present.

  “Your stables?” she asked, then lifted her teacup to her pretty lips for a sip.

  Braden managed to keep from licking his own lips, more than jealous of that teacup. “Well, a man has to keep his stables stocked.” Damn it all, watching her was going to drive him half-mad. So he shifted on the settee and turned his attention to Sir Cyrus. “I noticed your cabriolet yesterday. Very nice conveyance.”

  The magistrate couldn’t seem to help the smile that spread across his face. “New this last spring. Wish it was a bit faster.”

  Perfect. Braden had found the one topic, or at least he suspected he had, that would turn the tide in his favor. “You’ll have to come see the barouche I keep in London. She was built by Mr. Davies and is the fastest there is. Taking her along the Bath Road to Salt Hill is more like flying than riding.”

  “You race?” Sir Cyrus asked, sliding to the edge of his seat, his light eyes wide in awe.

  “Since I was in leading strings.” It was the one bit of their father that he and Quent had both inherited, that love of racing, the thrill of the wind rushing through one’s hair, the strength it required to keep any conveyance upright at the speeds they took. “Member of the Four-in-hand club. Actually, all the fellows with me at Marisdùn are members as well.”

  Callie gasped and her face took on a lighter pallor. “Racing is so dangerous.”

  “It can be,” he agreed. Taking into consideration her aghast expression, Braden opted not to mention that racing had resulted in his own father’s death. Besides, there was no reason for her to worry. He was, after all, much more careful than his father had ever been. “But you’ll be hard pressed to find a fellow who can handle his horseflesh better than me.”

  She didn’t look convinced, however.

  “Davies made your barouche, you say?” Sir Cyrus asked, clearly more thrilled with the idea of Braden’s hobby than his sister was.

  He nodded, placing his tea and scone on the table to his side. “Very well sprung. Almost like riding on clouds.”

  “I should like to see it, I think.” The magistrate sat back in his seat. “The next time I get to London.”

  “You’ve never been to London,” Callie muttered.

  “No,” her brother agreed. “But I might just go now.” Then he rose from his spot. “I saw an advertisement you might be interested in, Bradenham. Excuse me a minute.”

  And then he was gone, leaving Braden alone with Callie who was frowning at him all of a sudden. “Don’t you dare get him involved with racing, Braden.” She set her tea on the table as though she didn’t have an appetite any longer. “He doesn’t have the aptitude for it. He’ll only end up killing himself.”

  But at the moment, Braden didn’t want to spend even a second of his time pondering Sir Cyrus or his aptitude for driving, not when he suddenly had Callie all to himself. “Just be glad he likes me,” he said softly. Then he leaned closer to her on the settee and brushed his fingers across the apple of her cheek.

  Callie’s green eyes widened. “Braden,” she whispered just before he pressed his lips to hers.

  She had the softest lips, plump and inviting. He could kiss her all afternoon and never tire of the sport. She leaned into him, sliding her arms around his neck and kissed him back with youthful abandon. Her soft gardenia scent invaded his senses like nothing ever had before, and Braden was most certainly lost to her.

  Damn it all. Such an innocent kiss could drive him half-mad for wanting more. When she sighed, Braden took the opportunity to sweep inside her mouth, touching his tongue to hers. Passion coursed through him and it was all he could do not to pull her to his lap and touch every part of her.

  Callie moaned slightly, which only stirred him even more. She was untrained at kissing like this, but she was a quick study and followed his lead, kissing him back as ardently as he was kissing her. She tasted of tea, rum butter and pure heaven, but Braden only wanted more. He wanted to taste all of her, to run his fingers across her bare flesh, to make her his in every way.

  An unhappy sound from the threshold, however, hit Braden’s ears and he very reluctantly broke their kiss. Callie’s eyes fluttered open and Braden couldn’t tear his gaze away from her, not even knowing that her brother, most likely, was standing just inside the parlor.

  Yes, he was going to enjoy spending his life with Callie Eilbeck. Every second of it. She’d like Highfield and London and anywhere else she wanted to go.

  “Do believe it’s time for you to take your leave, Bradenham,” Sir Cyrus grumbled from the doorway.

  “Come to Marisdùn tomorrow?” he asked, soft enough for only her ears.

  Callie’s brow furrowed slightly but then she nodded. “Your gardens?” she suggested.

  Because she didn’t want to enter his haunted castle. But Braden didn’t care where he saw her, just as long she came to him. “Beside my gazanias at noon?”

  Her pretty green eyes twinkled as she nodded. “Noon.”

  Two days. It had been two days since Callie had laid eyes on Braden. Two days since he’d kissed her. Two days since he’d told Cyrus he meant to marry her. Two dreary, storm-soaked days, stuck at Braewood Manor while he was stuck at Marisdùn Castle. The memory of his kiss, of his words to her that day in the yellow parlor were enough to drive her mad, knowing that he was nearby but being completely unable to see him.

  Callie thought she might have very well climbed the walls of Braewood Manor if she’d been stuck there one more day. She’d had half a mind the previous day to trek out into the storm anyway, just to make certain
she hadn’t dreamed everything that had happened in her yellow parlor. If Braden hadn’t been holed up at Marisdùn, she might very well have braved the autumn storm that had rampaged their coastal town, but the last thing she wanted was to be stuck at the castle, even if her adoring marquess was in residence at the place as well.

  Actually, she’d handled being sequestered at Braewood as best as she could. At least, she thought she’d handled it rather well. Cyrus might be of a different opinion, not that Callie had asked for her brother’s thoughts on the matter. She was, after all, still put out with him for making Braden leave their home the other afternoon.

  When she awoke this morning to find patches of sunlight streaming through the clouds, her heart had lifted ten fold. She’d penned a quick note to Braden and could hardly keep herself from dancing through Braewood’s corridors as she asked Muckle to have it delivered to the castle.

  After days of solitude, she would finally get to see Braden. She would get to wrap her arms around his neck once more. And she would get to kiss him for all she was worth. Of course, she’d had to tell Cyrus that she was headed over to the vicarage so her brother wouldn’t barricade the doors and windows to keep her from leaving. He truly was behaving strangely about all of this, which she didn’t understand in the least. Didn’t he want her to be happy? Why was he being perfectly boorish?

  Just as Callie reached the castle grounds, a chill raced down her spine. How in the world did Braden manage to sleep in this place? The mere sight of it set her on edge. But the gardens were safe and beautiful, and the first place she’d ever seen Braden. She smiled at the memory. She’d brave the gardens a hundred times over just to see him again.

  As she stepped through the battlements into the castle’s courtyard, Callie noticed the woman in blue, the one she’d spotted that first day, stepping from the gardens to the main courtyard. The woman noticed her too, smiled in greeting and gestured for Callie to come closer.

  Callie smiled in return as she started towards the gardens door. “We meet again,” she said, rather happy to see the woman once more. There was something so soothing about her, and after the last few days Callie had suffered, a soothing influence was most welcome.

  The woman’s dark eyes seemed to beckon Callie even closer. “Lovely day after the storm, isn’t it?”

  In so many ways. The day was bright and sunny, and Callie’s future was even brighter. She gestured towards the garden with a sweep of her hands. “Peaceful this morning?”

  “Very,” the woman replied. “I’ve been enjoying the colors of the gazanias.”

  The gazanias. Where she was supposed to meet Braden two days earlier, where she was supposed to meet him today, though she was still early. “Did you see his lordship, by chance?”

  The woman in blue smiled once more, putting Callie completely at ease. “I did hear someone coming just a moment ago. I’ll lead you there, if you’d like.”

  She would like that. There was something so calming about the woman, almost as though all the sounds and all the worries in the world disappeared in her presence. “What’s your name?” Callie asked. Honestly, she should have asked long before now.

  “Mary,” she replied, turning on her heel back towards the garden gate. “And you’re Miss Eilbeck.” Her blue dress swirled with the movement, and Callie couldn’t pull her gaze away from the soft flow of the material. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, nearly mesmerizing in the way it shimmered and moved. “Follow me,” Mary said softly, almost like a whisper on the breeze; and Callie couldn’t help but follow the woman, her gaze locked on Mary’s swirling blue skirts.

  Butcher’s bollocks! Quent sloshed through the gardens, more than irritable. His mood was understandable, however. No one could blame him for his temper as he’d been locked up inside Marisdùn with his impossible brother for two straight days.

  In all his life, Quent had never seen Braden quite so prickly as he had been the last few days, barking at servants, sulking over each repast, and staring out windows at the dreary weather like a heart broken idiot. Thank God the rain had let up early this morning, because if he had to suffer one more day with Braden in such a state, Quent would be half-tempted to toss his brother outside into the storm, no matter how bad it happened to be, just to be rid of his sour mood.

  Miss Eilbeck was certainly in for a delightful life married to Braden. Quent scoffed at the very idea of his brother taking a wife. How the devil had Braden even decided to marry the girl? She was a pleasant sort, of course, and quite comely, but their acquaintance had certainly been brief. If deciding to get married left his brother in such a temperament, Quent was quite certain he never wanted to fall victim to the parson’s noose himself.

  It was, however, quite difficult to imagine Braden married. His brother had never seemed inclined to take a wife. He’d avoided the marriage mart, as had Quent, except when escorting their sisters to something that required their presence. He’d never considered courting any girl in either London or in Buckinghamshire. He’d never even given pointed attention to any girl, at least none that Quent was aware of. But now…Now Braden was going to willingly meet Callie Eilbeck at the altar and spend the rest of his days with the girl. It was more than surprising to say the least.

  Quent rounded a hedgerow and noticed a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye. A silk dress, he thought. Odd, that. He quickened his pace to the end of the row, turned the corner, and he shook his head. Damn it all. Speaking…Or rather thinking of the devil. Miss Eilbeck was apparently in as big a hurry to see Braden as he was to see her. At least his brother would be in a decent mood for the rest of the day. Everyone would be happy about that. However, she was headed the wrong direction.

  “Miss Eilbeck!” Quent called out, but she didn’t seem to hear him as she navigated the row without slowing her pace at all. And she was headed straight for a large hedge! What the devil was wrong with her? Didn’t she see it? “Miss Eilbeck!” he called again, quickening his step in the process.

  And then…Quent winced as she disappeared right into the hedge. Or had she? The bushes didn’t so much as flutter and she hadn’t cried out, but she was most definitely not there now. Quent hastened towards the spot where his would-be sister-in-law had just been, but there wasn’t a sign of her anywhere. He pushed his hands into the hedge and yanked them back when all that met him was poking branches and a wall of leaves. Had she stepped into that, she’d have let out an awful yelp.

  Was he losing his mind? He would have sworn on his life that she’d been right there. “Miss Eilbeck!” he yelled, louder than he had before. “Where are you?”

  But nothing met his ears except the sound of a distant fountain and a pair of birds chirping somewhere nearby.

  Quent scratched his head in confusion. She had been there, hadn’t she? He hadn’t imagined her presence. He wasn’t seeing things, was he?

  “Wait, Mary!” Callie Eilbeck’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, soft and rather haunting.

  Quent spun around in a circle, hoping to catch another glimpse of the girl. But there was no sign of her golden dress or flaxen curls anywhere. What the devil? “Miss Eilbeck!” he shouted in vain as a bit of panic settled in his chest.

  Braden hastened towards the sound of his brother’s yell. Why the devil was Quent calling out Callie’s name? He rounded a hedgerow and stopped when his eyes landed on his brother, standing in the middle of the row, looking more than distraught, both of his hands poised on either side of his head as though he couldn’t quite believe something had happened.

  Callie, however, was nowhere in sight.

  “Were you talking to Miss Eilbeck?” Braden strode towards his brother.

  Quent’s face went nearly white. “Did you hear her too?”

  Hear her? Braden shook his head. “I only heard you screaming her name. Where is she?”

  His brother scoffed in disbelief. “On my word, Braden, I have no idea. She was here and then she just...” He seemed to search
for the right word. “…Vanished.”

  “What do you mean ‘vanished’?” he asked, glancing up and down the row. Had Quent said something obnoxious and sent her running off? “Callie!” he called, brushing past his brother. “Callie, are you all right?”

  “I swear on my life, Braden, she just disappeared right before my eyes.” Then his brother gasped and Braden turned back in time to see Quent stumble slightly as he dropped to a stone bench. “It’s like our great-grandmother. It’s like that story grandfather always told us when we were children. I never really believed him, but…”

  “I hardly find that amusing.” Braden narrowed his eyes on his younger brother. Callie Eilbeck did not simply vanish into thin air. Such a thing wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. “Did you upset her? What did you say to her?”

  “I said nothing,” Quent vowed. “Nothing except her name. I saw she was about to walk right into those—” he pointed accusingly at a hedge “—bushes. But it was like she didn’t hear me. And she walked right into them and vanished.” He shook his head as though not believing his own tale. “But they didn’t even move, Braden. They didn’t rustle at all. It’s like she vanished before she even touched them.”

  “I don’t want to hear one more word about her vanishing.” It was a horrible thought. One that wasn’t possible and for his brother to keep saying those blasted words over and over struck a bit of fear into Braden’s heart. He slid his hand into his pocket and ran his thumb over the edge of the note she’d sent him that morning. It was still a bit early for her to arrive. “If you saw her, then she must be here somewhere.”

  Quent stared at Braden as though he were a simpleton. “Aye. Somewhere. But not here, Braden. I know what I saw.”

  “I had no idea you’d taken to imbibing so early in the day,” Braden returned, which only earned him a scowl from his brother.

  “I’ll gather up the others, if you want, to help search for her,” Quent offered. “But I’m telling you she van—”