Silence reigned over the front lawn, until Abigail released what almost sounded like a snort right before she turned on her elderly heel and hurried off across the lawn. That reaction was so unexpected that Bram just stood there and watched her for a moment—stood there until he recalled that poor, delicate Miss Plum had fainted dead away. Knowing that the ground beneath Miss Plum could hardly be comfortable and wanting to remedy that unfortunate situation as quickly as possible, Bram bent over, scooped Miss Plum up into his arms, and then staggered just a bit due to the unexpected weight of her.
Regaining his balance, he tightened his grip and headed for the castle, frowning when he passed his mother and saw that she was rolling her eyes at him. Realizing that now was not the time to stop and question his mother—since Miss Plum wasn’t growing any lighter—he pressed onward.
Stumbling up the few steps that led to the castle door, Bram was pleasantly surprised to find that Mr. Macmillan, his sometimes questionable butler, was actually at his post, holding the door open for him. Nodding his thanks, Bram carried Miss Plum through the doorway and down the long, long hallway, finally reaching the great room. Stepping into the room, he found his housekeeper, Mrs. Macmillan, supervising what seemed to be a dusting of the armor, her face sporting another sour expression as she glanced up and sent a single nod his way.
“I see you changed your mind about allowing at least one of the trespassers into the house, sir. Shall I ring for that tea I suggested before?” she asked, as if it was of little consequence that the trespasser she’d just mentioned was lolling about unconscious in his arms.
Coming to a stop because he needed to shift Miss Plum around, and take a second to catch his breath, he sent Mrs. Macmillan a frown. “Tea might actually be needed in this situation, Mrs. Macmillan. But to clear the air, oddly enough, the trespassers turned out to be unexpected guests that we’ve unintentionally abused quite dreadfully. As one of these guests is currently suffering from a bit of a swoon—that would be Miss Plum, whom I’m carrying—I need to get her settled straightaway. What tower room would you suggest I take her to?”
Mrs. Macmillan stared at Bram for a moment before she turned her gaze on Miss Plum. “That’s Miss Plum, as in the actress Miss Lucetta Plum?”
“Indeed.”
“What in the world is she doing at Ravenwood?”
“I haven’t gotten all the particulars just yet, Mrs. Macmillan.” He felt a droplet of sweat run down the side of his face. “I assume my grandmother, Mrs. Hart, who accompanied Miss Plum to Ravenwood, will soon divulge those particulars to me. But since Miss Plum has suffered not one but two dips in the moat, was set upon by the dogs, had a cannon fired at her, and then came face-to-face with my mother, which might have been the most frightening experience she’s had today, I really do need to get her settled.”
“If she’s here for a visit, you should put her in a guest room, not the tower,” Mrs. Macmillan said, even as Bram’s arms began to quiver.
“I want her in one of the best rooms, which you and I know are the tower rooms, so . . . which one would you recommend?”
Mrs. Macmillan crossed her arms over her chest, even as she let out a sniff. “Actresses are known to be a demanding lot, especially one with Miss Plum’s reputation. I highly doubt the staff is going to appreciate having to run up and down all of those steps to the top of the tower when we have plenty of guest rooms that are more convenient.”
“I’m beginning to lose my patience with you, Mrs. Macmillan.”
“Fine, the south tower was cleaned just last week, and I’ll send a maid up to freshen the linens.”
“That would be appreciated, as would the tea you offered to send for.”
“Will you want to give that grandmother you mentioned the other tower room?”
“I think the stairs might be a bit much for my grandmother, so we’ll give her one of the guest rooms in the main castle.”
“Very good, sir.”
By the disgruntled tone of voice Mrs. Macmillan was now using, he doubted she found anything good about the situation. However, since Miss Plum was growing heavier by the second, he knew now was not the time to argue with his housekeeper. Turning around, he headed for the door again.
“Good luck negotiating all of those steps,” Mrs. Macmillan called after him, apparently determined to have the last word.
Refusing to rise to the urge to retort, which he knew full well was pointless with a woman of Mrs. Macmillan’s disposition, he allowed himself a moment to ponder why he did keep such a disagreeable housekeeper on staff, even if positions were difficult to come by.
When a small voice in his head, one he had a feeling came directly from God, reminded him that unhappy people tended to lash out at others because of wounds their hearts had sustained, he released a breath, sent up a quick prayer asking for patience with his staff, and shifted Miss Plum around yet again in his arms.
Reaching a back hallway, he walked as quickly as he could over the marble floor, wondering for the first time ever why he’d thought buying a large castle with very long hallways and cavernous great rooms that took forever to cross had been a stellar idea. By the time he finally reached the stairs, he’d begun to perspire . . . profusely.
Eyeing stairs that now seemed downright daunting, he drew in a breath, hitched Miss Plum up a little higher in the hopes it would distribute her weight more evenly, then began to climb, counting the steps as he did so.
“. . . forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine . . . You’re really quite sturdy, aren’t you, Miss Plum? Fifty . . .”
By the time he eventually reached the tower room, he was completely out of breath, perspiration was dribbling down his face, and his arms were no longer simply quivering, they were now downright shaking. Stepping through the door of the tower room, he faltered for a moment, wondering what he should do next.
“You can just set me down right here, Mr. Haverstein.”
Miss Plum’s voice took him by such surprise that he almost dropped her right on the hard stone floor of the tower room. Looking down, he frowned when he saw something in her lovely eyes that he’d never, not once, expected to see, something that resembled, if he wasn’t much mistaken . . . amusement.
He’d always been under the impression that Miss Plum, being a fragile sort, possessed a somber and serious demeanor, spending her time away from the theater in a subdued fashion, embroidering samplers, or perhaps pillows, as she lounged on a settee, or learning her lines from the comfort of her bedchamber, but . . . what if he’d been wrong?
What if Miss Plum was not as delicate as he’d believed, and what if the woman he’d been enamored with for what seemed like a very long time, turned out to be completely different than what he’d imagined her to be?
“How long have you been out of your swoon?” he asked.
“Would you be very upset to learn that I never swoon?”
His mouth immediately took to gaping open. “Do you mean to tell me that you allowed me to scoop you up off the ground—which wasn’t an easy task by the way—carry you into the castle, and then all the way up a tremendous number of steps when there was absolutely nothing wrong with you?”
“I did.”
“I could have suffered an injury.”
“You seem to be remarkably fit, Mr. Haverstein, and I certainly couldn’t own up to the fact I was feigning my condition, especially since I was doing so to aid dear Abigail.”
Bram set her on her feet and rubbed his arms. “My arms feel like jelly.”
“I’m sure they do. You carried me a remarkably long distance, and I will admit that I was concerned you were going to drop me a time or two.” She pursed her lips. “Quite honestly, I was going to tell you to put me down right about step number forty-nine, but then you made that remark about how sturdy I am, and . . . I changed my mind.”
“Indeed.”
“I do beg your pardon.”
Miss Plum waved his apology straightaway with a delicate flick of her far-sturdier-than-he’d-believed wrist. “Think nothing of it. I’ve never been what anyone could call a waif. Truth be told, it takes an entire theatrical village to stuff me into those corsets so that they can then stuff me into those costumes my fervent admirers apparently enjoy seeing me in, but . . . that’s not a subject we should be delving into—especially since I seem to be missing my self-proclaimed chaperone at the moment. I’m sure she’d be appalled to hear me discussing unmentionables with you.”
“I’m right here, dear, and yes, I do most heartily disapprove of unmentionables being brought up in polite conversations, as you very well know,” Abigail said as she took that moment to breeze into the room. She stopped and beamed at Bram. “Unmentionables aside, though, aren’t you just a dear for taking such excellent care of my darling Lucetta when she was in distress and I was, er, unavailable?”
Bram felt his lips begin to curl. “I have a feeling, Grandmother, that you were fully aware of the fact your darling Lucetta had absolutely nothing wrong with her and was simply putting to good use her acting abilities in order to spare you a confrontation with my mother.”
Abigail stepped to his side, lifted her chin, and reached up to pat his cheek. “You’re a dear boy, with a chivalrous heart, even if you have yet to explain why you’re wearing this patch when you have no need of one.”
Since he certainly wasn’t comfortable telling his grandmother the truth, he settled for summoning up a smile. “It’s difficult to explain.”
“Indeed, and since I do seem to be dripping all over the Aubusson rug, which is surprising since it seems like forever ago that I took those dips in the moat, I’m going to excuse myself and leave you to see after Miss Plum.”
Beating a hasty retreat, even as he thought Miss Plum muttered something about a coward, he headed down the tower stairs and turned into the main section of the castle. Striding to his room, he opened the door and found Stanley waiting for him, laying out clean clothes from the looks of it.
He stepped farther into the room and shut the door firmly, causing Stanley to jump almost a foot into the air before he spun around.
“You have to stop sneaking up on me like that, sir.”
“Forgive me, Stanley, I didn’t mean to take you by surprise.”
Stanley raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sure you didn’t, sir. It’s just with the ghosts running amok at all hours of the night, ladies descending on us in droves while participating in all types of unladylike shenanigans, and now a grandmother I never knew you had showing up out of the blue, and in the company of Miss Lucetta Plum no less . . . well . . . I’m a little on edge.”
“There are no ghosts inhabiting Ravenwood.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that, sir. But speaking of your other grandmother, why is it that none of us have ever met or heard of her before?”
“My mother does not enjoy an amicable relationship with my grandmother, so in order to maintain a peaceful existence with my mother, I’ve had to keep my grandmother at arm’s length. My grandmother, however, has been going to fairly great lengths of her own over the past few years to get to know me better.”
Stanley tilted his head. “How so, sir?”
“She happens upon me at the oddest of times and places when I am in the city, and has even been known to steam past the dock here at Ravenwood, although she’s never stopped before.”
“And you haven’t taken the time to invite her in?”
“I’m not proud of that, Stanley. I just haven’t really known what to do, given that acrimonious relationship my grandmother shares with my mother. But now that both ladies are here, under Ravenwood’s roof, at the same time, we’re either going to see them set aside their differences once and for all, or . . . someone’s probably going to get arrested.”
“A cheerful thought, sir.”
“Indeed, and on that cheerful note, I should go clean up.”
Pulling his wet shirt over his head, Bram headed for the bathing chamber, pausing as he passed a mirror and getting a glimpse of his reflection—the glimpse reminding him of something he had no idea how to address. Lifting up the patch that covered his eye, he directed his attention to Stanley again.
“Why didn’t anyone mention to me that I was wearing this before I charged out of the castle?”
Stanley scratched his head. “Begging your pardon, sir, but since your vision has to be obscured while wearing that patch, I assumed you knew you were wearing it. Quite honestly, I thought you kept it on in order to appear more intimidating. You know—a pirate look, if you will.”
“I had to admit to Miss Plum that there’s nothing wrong with my eye.”
“And . . . that was difficult for you, sir?”
“Do you know how odd she must find me now, learning that I run about with a patch over a perfectly good eye?”
“She wouldn’t find you odd if you just told her the truth.”
“I can’t tell her the truth—or anyone else for that matter. Why, it would kill my mother if she found out.”
“Now you’re being a little overly theatrical, sir. But speaking of theatrics, you could tell Miss Plum that you were trying to get into the role you’ll be expected to play later on this week during the theatrical event your mother is hosting here at Ravenwood.”
“Mother’s hosting another one of those theatrical events at Ravenwood?”
Stanley released a loud sigh. “Do you ever check the calendar I keep for you?”
“I thought we agreed that you’d discontinue acting the part of my secretary?”
“I never agreed to that, but do know that when someone more capable of being a secretary or even a valet, for that matter, comes looking for a position, I’ll gladly abandon those duties. For now, though, you’re a gentleman with severe limitations on your time, which means you need all the assistance you can get.”
Bram smiled. “And while I appreciate that, Stanley, I don’t like the idea of you spending so many hours every week working in order to make life easier for me, while making it more difficult for you.”
Stanley lifted his nose in the air. “Since it is my time, sir, it’s up to my discretion how to use it, and until I feel I’ve sufficiently repaid your kindness for rescuing me from a life that would have eventually seen me locked away behind bars, you’ll just have to humor me.”
Knowing he’d lost the battle before it had really even begun, Bram blew out a breath. “Fine. Have it your way. But getting back to the theatrical event, do you think Miss Plum would believe me if I told her I was wearing that patch in order to get comfortable with a role?”
“I imagine she would, although, now that I think about it, using that as an explanation might turn problematic if the play that’s to be performed doesn’t have a pirate in it.” Stanley frowned. “But pirates aside, sir, why are you so overly concerned about what Miss Plum thinks of you?”
“I never said I was overly concerned.”
Stanley’s eyes widened. “She’s the lady you hold in high esteem—isn’t she!”
Seeing absolutely no benefit in denying it, Bram shrugged. “I might hold her in a bit of esteem.”
“Good heavens, sir, I would have never guessed Miss Plum was the lady we were only recently speaking about, and . . . how peculiar that we were just speaking about her and . . . she shows up in your moat.”
“It is an odd coincidence to be sure.”
Stanley suddenly looked a bit too knowing. “Your affection for the lady certainly explains much, especially your interest in the theater and . . . using that interest to delve into different aspects of your work.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you could be suggesting.”
“And I’m sure you know exactly what I’m suggesting, sir. Nevertheless, since you seem unwilling to explain what prompted you to take on work you had little time to take on, we’ll save this discussion for another time.”
“Must we?”
Stanley sent him a sad shake of his head. “You’re burying yourself in secrets, Mr. Haverstein, and secrets have a way of rising to the surface when we least expect them to do so. You might want to consider divulging a few of those secrets, before they slip out on their own and cause you all sorts of difficulties.”
With that rather ominous statement, Stanley sent Bram a single nod, brushed a piece of lint from the jacket he’d laid across the chair, then turned and quit the room.