Feeling more the thing after having washed the moat water off him and changed into the clean clothing Stanley had left out for him, Bram headed out of his room, brushing an errant strand of hair from a now patch-free eye.
He still had no idea how he was going to explain that matter, because even though Stanley had come up with a plausible explanation, Bram wasn’t comfortable, and had never been comfortable, fabricating the truth. Granted, he could always volunteer to play a pirate at his mother’s theatrical event, but . . . there really was no guarantee the play was of a nautical bent, and . . . he’d draw his mother’s suspicions for certain given that he never volunteered to perform in any of the local performances. She would definitely realize something was amiss, and then . . . she’d throw herself into the process of trying to puzzle out exactly what that something was.
While he loved his mother dearly, she was very opinionated regarding what she felt was, and was not, appropriate for her children. Bram had the sneaking suspicion she would not be pleased to discover he was enamored with Miss Plum. Especially since mothers were rarely keen on their sons forming alliances, no matter how respectable, with actresses.
“Ah, Mr. Haverstein, I was just coming to look for you.”
Lifting his head, he found Mrs. Macmillan heading his way, holding a feather duster in one hand and a piece of armor, oddly enough, in the other.
“I’m just now returning from delivering a message to your grandmother—a message I was forced to deliver all the way up to the tower room, I might add.” She continued with a telling narrowing of her eyes his way. “The message concerned a troubling situation that is currently transpiring between your mother and Mr. Kenton. As you are the head of Ravenwood, I thought you should be apprised of the situation posthaste, or as quickly as I was able to seek you out after having traveled down all of those many, many stairs leading from the tower.”
“I appreciate your dedication to your position as housekeeper,” Bram said, doing his best to keep his lips from curving, even though that’s exactly what they wanted to do as he faced his extremely cantankerous housekeeper.
“Your mother is in the red drawing room.”
“I’ll go straight there.”
Mrs. Macmillan lifted her chin. “See that you do.”
Continuing down the hallway even as he reconsidered his positon on keeping unsuitable members of his staff in his employ yet again, Bram made it to the first floor and walked down another hallway, finally coming to the red drawing room a few moments later. Moving through the door, he scanned his surroundings, barely noticing the dark and heavy furnishings he’d paid a small fortune for, or the ornate tapestries of bloody battle scenes that hung from each and every wall. As his gaze settled on his mother, who was sitting in an ugly chair upholstered in brown tweed, and then drifted to the man sitting in a chair opposite her, he wasn’t able to resist a grin.
The gentleman, curiously enough, was wearing a cheery gown of yellow, paired with a matching hat, but the hat had taken to listing to the right while the white wig the gentleman was wearing was listing to the left, giving the man a lopsided look. Upon closer observation, Bram realized that the man truly was Mr. Kenton, his grandmother’s butler, and a man Bram had spoken to a few times when he’d unexpectedly encountered his grandmother out and about around New York.
He’d once come across Mr. Kenton and his grandmother while he’d been riding a horse in Central Park, although it had been more of a case of almost being run down by them. They’d been in an open phaeton, which had taken him aback, given that phaetons were fast vehicles normally reserved for the younger set. But there Mr. Kenton had been, holding the reins in hands that had clearly been shaking while Abigail beamed back at Bram from her seat beside her butler.
Another time he’d come across her in the gentlemen’s suit section at Arnold Constable & Company, where she’d immediately sought his assistance in helping Mr. Kenton choose the perfect suit, even though, in Bram’s opinion, Mr. Kenton hadn’t been aware he was suit shopping until that very moment.
The last time he’d encountered Mr. Kenton had been on the Hudson River, right beside Bram’s private dock. He’d been about to board his steamboat when a horn had blasted, and the next thing he’d known, Abigail was waving madly to him from a steamboat she was on, calling to him that she and Mr. Kenton were on their way to visit friends. Before he’d been able to invite her to come in and enjoy a cup of tea with him at Ravenwood, she’d turned and yelled something to the captain of the boat and they’d quickly chugged away down the Hudson.
Her behavior had seemed somewhat peculiar to him, but after further reflection, Bram had come to the conclusion that Abigail had most likely been trying to sneak a peek at Ravenwood and had gotten caught in the process, which had evidently left her flustered and fleeing. That’s when Bram had begun to realize that his grandmother might be trying to build some type of relationship with him, and had also realized that she wasn’t nearly the ogre his mother had always made her out to be.
“They’ve been staring at each other without speaking for the past twenty minutes.”
Tearing his attention away from his mother and Mr. Kenton, who were, indeed, staring, or rather, glaring at each other, Bram turned and settled it on a distinguished older gentleman. This gentleman was looking completely at his ease, even while wearing a gown of ivory trimmed in lavender that Bram was fairly certain he’d seen Miss Plum wear a time or two. When the gentleman rose to his feet, Bram moved to join him, shaking the man’s extended hand.
“I’m Mr. Archibald Addleshaw, Mr. Haverstein, but since your grandmother and I are fast friends, do feel free to call me Archibald.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir, and you must call me Bram.” Bram withdrew his hand. “May I assume you’re related to Oliver Addleshaw?”
Archibald nodded before he settled himself once again into the wing-backed chair positioned in front of floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows. Gesturing to a matching chair right beside him, he waited until Bram took a seat before he leaned forward. “Oliver’s my grandson, and I’m delighted to learn you’re acquainted with him.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know him well, sir. Oliver and I never mingled in the same social circles, although I have run across him in some of the gentlemen clubs throughout the city. I did hear rumors he’d gotten himself engaged lately, so please pass along my best wishes to him when you see him next.”
“He’s actually married now, to Miss Harriet Peabody, a great friend of Lucetta’s and a dear friend of your grandmother’s.” Archibald smiled. “Abigail will probably tell you at some point that she was responsible for bringing Harriet and Oliver together, as well as having a bit of a hand in seeing one of Oliver’s best friends, Mr. Everett Mulberry, and Miss Millie Longfellow well settled.”
Bram frowned. “When you say responsible . . . ?”
Archibald’s smile turned into a grin. “She fancies herself something of a matchmaker these days.” After speaking those slightly concerning words, Archibald leaned back in the chair and crossed a leg in a very unfeminine manner, the crossing having the skirt of his gown lifting up a few inches, showing a remarkably white leg in the process. That the leg sported a black sock that was currently pooled around the man’s white ankle had Bram grinning.
“I don’t mean to be forward, sir, but I’m more than willing to lend you a change of clothing if you have nothing of your own to change into,” Bram said. “I’ve never actually worn a gown before, but I have to imagine they’re not as comfortable as trousers. And since it’s clear you’re not wearing, er . . . petticoats, I have to imagine you’re experiencing a few drafts here and there.”
Archibald returned Bram’s grin. “Gowns do seem to be a little breezy, and while I thank you for the offer of a change of clothing, I did bring a trunk of my own.” He nodded to Iris and Mr. Kenton and lowered his voice. “I just didn’t feel comfortable leaving Mr. Kenton alone with your mother, since I’m well aware of the strained relationship those two share.”
Before Bram had an opportunity to ask a single question about the strained relationship his mother apparently shared with Abigail’s butler, his grandmother suddenly sailed into the room. She immediately looked her daughter’s way, shuddered ever so slightly, and then made a beeline for Bram and Archibald.
Stopping beside Bram as he rose to his feet, she sent him a lovely smile and reached up to pat his cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve abandoned that patch, dear. You have such a handsome face—though the patch did lend you a rather rogue-about-town appearance.” She patted his cheek again in a very grandmotherly fashion. “Do be sure to avoid the patch subject if at all possible the next time you’re with Lucetta, though. I’m fairly sure you don’t actually have a reasonable explanation as to why you were wearing it, and it won’t earn you her esteem if she decides you’re too peculiar.”
“How do you know I want to earn Miss Plum’s esteem?” he asked slowly.
“You’d be a fool not to, dear, and I’m your grandmother—we know everything, especially as pertains to our grandchildren, as well as their love—”
Whatever else she’d been about to say got lost when Iris suddenly let out a loud huff, shot to her feet, and advanced toward them with a look on her face that had Bram longing to make a hasty retreat.
“It’s about time you decided to put in an appearance, Mother.”
Abigail seemed to swell on the spot. “If you must know, Iris, I’ve been seeing to Miss Plum. If you’ve forgotten, she did recently suffer from a swooning attack. I, being responsible for the young lady and her welfare, needed to stay with her until I felt she was somewhat recovered from her ordeal.”
Iris released a snort. “Miss Plum, as even I know, is an accomplished actress, her skills unrivaled on the stage. Because of that, it was obvious to me that Miss Plum’s swoon was nothing more than a ploy to divert attention away from you, as I’m sure you knew from the moment she sank so perfectly to the ground. Furthermore, I’m sure you’ve been making yourself scarce in an effort to readjust whatever madcap scheme you’re currently involved with, a scheme that has you bringing an actress of all people to Ravenwood.” Iris crossed her arms over her chest. “I think some explanations are in order, Mother.”
Abigail crossed her arms over her chest as well. “And I will be perfectly happy to oblige after you explain to me what you were trying to do to poor Mr. Kenton.”
“We were communicating,” Iris said with a sniff.
“By glaring at each other?” Abigail pressed.
“I think Miss Iris is still put out with me over the whole pulling her from the window episode,” Mr. Kenton said, walking slowly their way on legs that looked anything but steady.
Striding forward, Bram took hold of the elderly gentleman’s arm and steered him to the nearest settee, helping him take a seat. “Would you like me to ring for someone to show you to a room, Mr. Kenton? I have yet to be apprised of all that has happened, but I’m assuming all of you have experienced some long hours. Because of that, I’m sure my mother would agree that any discussion of past events can surely wait until you’ve rested.” He leaned closer to the gentleman. “You’ll not win an argument with her if you’re not at your best.”
To Bram’s surprise, Mr. Kenton sent him a smile. “I do appreciate your concern, Mr. Haverstein. Do know that even though I haven’t had much to do with your mother over the past thirty years or so, I well remember how difficult it is to win an argument with her. Truth be told, that is exactly why I resorted to muteness for the past half hour.”
Iris let out another snort, but when Bram looked up at her, the very corners of her lips were curving—until she turned her attention to him and wrinkled her nose as her gaze lingered on his eye, the eye that had recently been covered with an unexplainable patch. To his relief, she shook her head and returned her attention to Mr. Kenton, quite as if she wasn’t up to discussing her son and his peculiar ways at this particular moment.
“There would be no need for us to argue about anything, Mr. Kenton, if you’d only apologize for thwarting me in my desperate attempt to run away from home.”
Abigail immediately began tsking. “Honestly, Iris, that thwarting happened decades ago and since you still managed to become Mrs. Haverstein, you were obviously successful with the running-away-from-home business in the end. Because of that, I’m not certain I understand your continued animosity toward Mr. Kenton, who was simply trying to prevent you from breaking that all too stubborn neck of yours.”
Abigail moved to the chair Bram had recently abandoned and took a seat, gesturing Archibald into the seat right beside her. Waiting until he’d rearranged the skirt of his gown, she looked back at Iris, who’d plopped down on a light pink fainting couch that didn’t actually suit the décor of the room. “If you’ve forgotten, dear, Mr. Kenton stopped you in your attempt to climb out your third-floor bedroom window. The tree you’d intended to climb down was little more than a scraggly sapling, so in all fairness, you should be thanking the man for saving your life.”
“I’d climbed out that window numerous times without a single mishap. And if Mr. Kenton had not stopped me when it was imperative I make my escape, I wouldn’t have been forced to run away in the midst of my engagement party.”
Bram’s ears perked up. “I never knew you had an engagement party.”
“That’s because it was not a party of my choosing, nor was the intended outcome seeing me engaged to your father.” Iris shot a glare to Abigail before turning her attention back to Bram. “Your grandmother came to the unfortunate conclusion that your father was not good enough for me. She staunchly refused to listen to my professions of love for Phillip and insisted that I would outgrow my feelings for ‘that German man,’ as she referred to him. She then proceeded to go about the troubling business of arranging a marriage for me—one that would see me wed to a Mr. Wilbur Something-or-Other. It was completely archaic, the notion of her handling my future, which is why I took matters into my own hands and ran away.”
“It was Mr. Wilbur Gilbert, a gentleman with stellar connections, and a distant relation of the Schermerhorn family,” Abigail said. “Poor Mr. Gilbert was completely distraught after you left him floundering in the middle of the ballroom floor with a ring in his hand, but no blushing fiancée in sight.”
Iris’s eyes turned dangerous. “There would have been no cause for him to become distraught if he’d simply approached me about the whole engagement matter instead of taking your advice and trying to spring it on me in the midst of a ball. I was completely appalled by the events of that evening, and have yet to recover from the idea that you, my mother, tried to corral me into a marriage I didn’t want.”
Iris drummed her fingers against the curved edge of the fainting couch. “Do you honestly believe that I would have been better served to turn my back on the man I was desperately in love with—and still am, mind you—and marry your Mr. Gilbert, whom, again, I barely knew and had nothing in common with, so that I could . . . what . . . attend all the right parties in town?”
To Bram’s surprise, Abigail nodded. “At the time, yes, that’s exactly what I thought was best for you, as did your father, God rest his soul. If you’ll recall, your Mr. Haverstein wanted to sweep you off your feet and all the way to Cuba, a land I thought was somewhat savage, and a land where he’d gotten involved with a sugar refinery, of all things.”
“Since that sugar refinery, along with the sugar plantation we eventually purchased, ended up making us millions, and continues to do just that, Mother, I’m not sure you’re aiding your case by bringing it up.”
Abigail narrowed her eyes. “Can you truly say that if Ruby, your one and only daughter, came to you and told you that she wanted to marry a man you knew absolutely nothing about, and that the gentleman wanted to spirit her away to the wilds of some mysterious land, that you and Phillip wouldn’t try to put an end to her nonsense?”
“We’re not talking about my daughter at the moment, Mother. We’re talking about you and your meddling ways.”
“A subject that, in my opinion, is less than riveting and certainly doesn’t need to be discussed further.” Abigail narrowed her eyes another fraction. “Why don’t you want to discuss Ruby?”
For a second, Iris looked a little shifty, but then she lifted her chin. “I never claimed I didn’t want to discuss Ruby. But, I do believe, given the odd circumstance of you being here at Ravenwood, as well as bringing Miss Lucetta Plum along with you, that we have more important matters to discuss than my daughter.”
Abigail’s gaze sharpened on Iris’s face. “Ruby’s causing you difficulties, isn’t she?”
Before Iris had an opportunity to respond, a loud noise, one that almost sounded like some type of animal, suddenly drifted into the drawing room from the hallway—mixed with the sound of what could only be pounding feet.
Immediately heading for the door, Bram stopped in his tracks when he reached the hall and a sight he’d certainly not been expecting to see met his gaze.
Miss Plum was running toward him, her gown practically falling off her, as if it hadn’t been fastened all the way up in the back. She didn’t seem at all concerned with the idea that she was giving him, and anyone else, an eyeful of her chemise, corset, and . . . charms—probably because she was running as if her very life depended on it, holding up the skirt of her dress as she flew ever closer to him, the lifting of that skirt giving him an unobstructed view of legs that were well turned out and feet that were . . . bare.
“Don’t just stand there, Mr. Haverstein. Do something about your goat,” she yelled as she pounded past him.
The word goat had him looking down the hallway, and sure enough, a goat was charging his way, and not just any goat, but Geoffrey—one of the meanest goats Bram had ever had the misfortune of owning.
What the beast was doing inside the castle, he really couldn’t say, but since Geoffrey held an intense dislike for females, or more specifically, females wearing dresses, Bram surged into motion, hoping to intercept the goat before it managed to catch up with Miss Plum.
Unfortunately, Geoffrey seemed determined to get past Bram, so with a butt of its head, it sent Bram sprawling and continued charging after its prey, bleating in a menacing sort of way.