1
" As Lucetta continued going on and on about what he should do, in that rather bossy manner he’d never imagined she possessed, he found himself having a bit of a difficult time concentrating on what she was saying. Her lips were moving rapidly, and while he was certain she was probably giving him sound advice, he found himself more concerned with the idea that it seemed to him as if she’d done something to her lips—something that made them seem quite spinster-looking, as if their very plumpness had been squeezed right out of them. The lips he was looking at now truly did seem to belong to a woman who’d sport a wart on her face, but . . . how had she managed to make them appear so unattractive, so . . . Taking a step closer to her, he leaned forward, trying to puzzle out the mystery behind her lips. They looked thin, which was very peculiar, although . . . perhaps it was the wart she’d so cleverly put right above the upper lip that was . . . “Why are you staring at me like that? Has the wart moved?” Dragging his attention away from the wart in question, he looked up and caught her eye through the smudged lenses that he had no idea how she could see out of. Instead of answering her, though, his hand rose, almost of its own accord it seemed, and the next thing he knew, he’d plucked the phony wart straight off her face. “What has gotten into you?” she demanded. “I need that wart, and . . . did you just throw that over your shoulder?” “It was disgusting,” he said, dusting his hands together, pleased with himself over taking control of the wart even though Lucetta looked about ready to strangle him. “It was meant to be disgusting.” “Well, now it’s gone.” Lucetta let out a grunt before she tried to scoot around him, seemingly intent on looking for the wart he’d just tossed aside. Before she could pass him, though, he reached out, took hold of her shoulders and felt her tense. “What are you doing?” Instead of answering her, he drew her closer, smiling just a touch when he heard her take a swift intake of breath. “Bram . . . really . . . what are you doing?” “Trying to figure something out,” he said as he moved one of his hands from her shoulder and used a single finger to take a poke at her lip. “It’s still full,” he said, more to himself than to her. He poked it again before he pulled at her lower lip, exposing her teeth in the process. “You no longer appear to be missing your teeth.” “Stop that.” She smacked his hand away. “I knew I shouldn’t have snuck that second cookie backstage. It must have knocked the gum off.” “You used gum?” Lucetta nodded. “I did, Black Jack gum, created by Mr. Thomas Adams, who opened the first gum factory with his sons in 1870, although I suppose now is not actually the time to recite history when faced with such a concerning situation.” She blew out a breath. “I’m normally very careful when I use gum to make it appear as if I’m missing teeth, but I must have swallowed it when I ate that cookie.” “Do you think that’ll hurt you?” Bram asked slowly. “Hard to know at this point.” She closed her eyes and shook her head a mere moment later. “No, I haven’t read anything regarding a medical condition one can expect after swallowing gum.” Bram frowned as Lucetta opened her eyes. “You know it’s really not a normal occurrence for people to be able to summon up random tidbits like that at will, don’t you?” A ghost of a smile played around Lucetta’s mouth. “I’ve never claimed to be normal, Bram.” That smile struck him straight through his heart. It was a genuine smile, with a bit of a self-deprecating edge to it, and . . . Without allowing himself a second to reconsider, he leaned toward her as his hand moved from her shoulder to her waist, and pulling her ever so slowly against him, he lowered his lips to hers. "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
3
" Taking hold of the ladder, she began to climb, stopping when she got to eye level with him. That, however, turned out to be a mistake, because the moment her eyes met his, she forgot everything—even the lines she’d just committed to memory—because nothing else mattered to her except . . . him. “You wrote a scene with a strong heroine in it, and one where the hero gets dangled by his feet.” “I did.” “Why?” “Because I couldn’t figure out a better way to let you know I love you, the real you, without dangling from my feet and letting you cut me down.” Lucetta’s eyes immediately took to turning a little misty. “You . . . love me?” “I do, but before we continue this, I have to admit that hanging upside down is far less pleasant than I imagined, so if you’d be so kind, I really do need you to get me down from here.” Realizing he was completely serious, but also realizing if she cut him down he’d go plummeting to the hard floor and most likely suffer a horrible injury—which certainly wouldn’t have the night turning out well at all—Lucetta looked to the side of the stage and caught Mr. Skukman’s eye. As he, along with a good number of backstage hands, walked across the boards, whispers began circulating around the theater, growing louder after Bram got released and rose to his feet. Smiling ever so charmingly at the audience, he presented them with a small bow right before he took center stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, I must beg your indulgence for just a few more minutes because you see . . . I am . . . Mr. Grimstone.” The whispers ceased immediately. Bram smiled. “I’m Mr. Grimstone, alias Mr. Bram Haverstein, and I’ve come here tonight, with all of you as my witnesses, to proclaim my love for Miss Lucetta Plum, and . . .” He dropped to one knee. “Ask her to do me the very great honor of becoming my wife.” He reached out and took hold of Lucetta’s hand. “Miss Lucetta Plum, I am completely and irrevocably in love with you, and just so we’re clear, I’m in love with the real you, not the person you turn into when you take to the stage. I love the idea that you’re completely oblivious to your unusual beauty, can outrun a goat, and . . . you fascinate me as no one ever has. I’m asking you, in front of all of these people who will probably never buy another one of my books again if you turn me down . . .” He stopped talking and turned his head to the audience. “And just to remind everyone, I will have another novel releasing soon, although I haven’t decided on a title just yet, something about a strong-willed lady, no doubt, or . . .” “You’re getting distracted,” Lucetta interrupted. Bram immediately returned his gaze to hers. “Quite right, but . . . I’ve lost my train of thought.” “You were just about to the part where you were going to ask her to marry you,” a voice called out, a voice that sounded remarkably like Abigail’s. “Thank you, Grandmother,” he called back. “You’re welcome, darling. And just to remind you, I’m not getting any younger, so you might want to hurry this proposal business along.” Grinning, Bram shook his head, brought Lucetta’s fingers to his lips, and then sobered as he held her gaze. “I love you, Lucetta, more than I ever imagined I could, and I would be so incredibly honored if you’d agree to be my wife.” For a second, Lucetta was unable to answer him because her heart had taken to rising in her throat, but after drawing in a deep breath, she managed to nod, ignoring the tears that had filled her eyes and were blurring her vision. “I would be honored to become your wife, especially since—I’m not sure when this happened, but—I’m in love with you as well.” Bram’s hold on her hand tightened for just a second, and then he was sliding a ring on her finger she hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Before she could take even a second to admire what felt like an enormous rock on her hand, he was standing instead of kneeling, looking intently into her eyes, before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. The "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
4
" Leave . . . town? Really, Mr. Skukman, that might be taking matters a bit far. Why, the social season has just begun, and ticket sales have been quite brisk. Besides that, everyone knows that Mr. Grimstone, that oh-so-mysterious playwright of The Lady in the Tower, specifically requested that I play the part of the lead heroine. He’s certainly not going to be pleased if I abandon the role before the season gets into full swing. Why, he, as well as the theater, could suffer extensive losses.” “Losses or not, Mr. Grimstone will have no say in this, Miss Plum. Quite honestly, given his obvious esteem for you and your acting abilities, I have to imagine he’d prefer to find out you’ve gone missing over finding out you’ve stopped breathing.” “Silas doesn’t want to kill me, Mr. Skukman. He wants to acquire me.” “You and I both know you’d never allow him to acquire you, and from what I just saw down in the lobby, the man seems to be on the verge of losing his sanity. There’s a look in his eyes I don’t care for at all, which is why we’re going to get you into a hansom cab and on your way to Mrs. Hart’s brownstone. Once you’re there, I need you to pack as quickly as possible. I’ll be around to fetch you just as soon as I’m able.” “You want me to hire a cab instead of traveling to Abigail’s in my own carriage?” “Indeed. It’s not a complete secret that you now live with Mrs. Hart, which means it won’t be too difficult for Silas to discover your direction after he learns you no longer reside in the Lower East Side. I’m going to try and feed him a false trail that will hopefully allow us precious time to get away.” Before Lucetta had an opportunity to voice another protest, she found herself sitting in a musty smelling hansom cab, barreling down Broadway at a high rate of speed, the speed brought about from the extra money she’d seen Mr. Skukman hand the driver. Feeling "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
5
" While he’d previously had the look of a pirate about him that she’d found rather appealing, she now found him to be devastatingly handsome—not simply because he’d been born far too attractive, but because she believed she saw genuine niceness residing in his very soul. When he suddenly lifted a finger to push a damp strand of hair off her cheek, his touch caused any reasonable thoughts she still retained to flee from her mind, and everything surrounding her disappeared except Bram. “You’re very beautiful.” Just like that, the world returned in a flash. “Thank you,” she said before she stepped back from him and felt a sliver of temper—not at him, but at herself—begin flowing through her veins. She’d known he was infatuated with her, as most of her admirers were. And yet, instead of nipping that immediately in the bud, she’d allowed herself to believe he was different, different because his touch sent her pulse racing and his smile turned her knees a little weak, which, in actuality, did make him a touch different, although . . . “Forgive me, Lucetta, but have I done something to upset you?” Lucetta caught Bram’s eye. “To be perfectly honest, I’m more upset with myself.” Bram’s brow furrowed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” “I should have addressed the misconceptions I’m certain you’re holding about me straightaway, and yet . . . I’ve let matters fester too long.” “You do recall that we only met a few hours ago, don’t you?” “Indeed, but I’m quite certain you’ve been harboring misconceptions about me from the moment you saw me step foot on stage, which I’m going to assume was a year or two ago.” The furrow deepened. “I’m still not sure what you’re trying to say.” “I’m not a lady who enjoys being told I’m beautiful, nor am I a lady who enjoys being pampered, catered to, or treated as if I’m fragile. I’m also nothing like any of the characters I’ve ever played on stage.” “You’re exactly like the character in The Lady in the Tower,” he argued. “Charming, demure, and delightful.” Resisting a sigh, she moved to a fallen tree lying off the path and took a seat. “I would never be content to remain a prisoner in a tower, waiting for my very own prince charming to rescue me, which is exactly what Serena Seamore, my character, does. I’ve been on my own, Bram, for a very long time, and I’m quite capable, thank you very much, of taking care of myself.” She held up her hand when it looked as if he wanted to argue. “What you need to remember is that I’m an actress. Playing a part is what I do, and I’m successful because I can play parts very, very well. I’ve also been given an unusual face, expressive if you will, and that expressiveness allows me to convince people I’m someone I’m not.” “Your face is lovely, not unusual.” Lucetta waved away his compliment. “I’m not getting through to you, am I.” “Of course you are.” Lucetta drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. “I’m afraid I’m not the lady you think you hold in high esteem.” “I don’t think I hold you in high esteem, I know I do.” “Oh . . . dear,” she muttered before she squared her shoulders. “I’m peculiar.” “I highly doubt that.” “Oh, "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
6
" 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.” “I said that out loud?” “Indeed.” “I do beg your pardon.” Miss "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
7
" 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.” “Is it now?” “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 "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
8
" This is going to break your grandmother’s heart,” she finally said, lifting up a heavy chain that had spikes attached to the end of it. “I have no idea how I’m going to divulge to her that you, her treasured grandson, are nothing more than some . . . crazed lunatic.” “That’s a bit harsh, and all of this”—he gestured around the room—“is not exactly what it seems.” “It’s not a dungeon filled with every type of torture device devised in the last five hundred years?” “I think the oldest I’ve managed to find is three hundred years old, and . . .” “You’re not helping your case, Mr. Haverstein,” Tilda called out to him. “Uh yes, probably not.” “I’m confused about the railroad tie Stanley’s attached to,” Lucetta tossed at him, causing him to blink at the rapid change of topics. “Uh . . .” he began. “It’s not that confusing, Miss Plum,” Stanley said, speaking up when Bram continued floundering. “I’m trying to see how long it takes to get freed from being shackled to a railroad track with only a hairpin to get undone.” “Why would anyone need to know that?” “Well, it might come in handy if, well . . . hmm . . . That is a difficult question to answer,” Stanley said as he sent Lucetta a rather strained smile. “May I assume you have a reason for practicing such a thing?” Lucetta pressed. “Uh . . .” was all Stanley seemed capable of replying, which had Lucetta marching right up to him. “What "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
10
" Ernie strolled into the dungeon, carrying a shovel over his shoulder and whistling a bit of a happy tune under his breath. “Finished burying that sword, Mr. Haverstein, just like you asked me to, and there’ll be no finding it now, not with it being buried in the graveyard . . . Oh . . . hello, Miss Plum. I wasn’t expecting to find you down here in the, um, dungeon.” Ernie shot a glance to Bram, who only had a grimace to send him in return. Shifting the shovel to his other shoulder, Ernie blinked far too innocent eyes Lucetta’s way. “How goes the wedding plans?” “I’d rather discuss why you were burying the sword, and where this graveyard is, and exactly what, or who, is buried in it,” Lucetta returned. “I’ve always thought a wedding right around Christmas would be lovely,” Ernie continued as if Lucetta hadn’t spoken. “I’m sure Abigail and Iris would agree with you, Ernie, which is why I’m also sure they’re going to be incredibly disappointed to learn that there will be no wedding, at least not one that will ever see me married to your boss—Mr. Madman Haverstein.” Bram "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
11
" Are you certain you’re unharmed?” he asked as the carriage surged into motion. “My nerves are a little rattled, as can be expected, but other than that, I’m fine.” She caught his eye. “I’m incredibly grateful that you and everyone else worked so hard to find me, and were able to rid me of Silas once and for all.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I’m sure after a few weeks have passed, or . . . maybe a few years, when it’s not so very fresh to me, I’ll be able to laugh about it and tell people I was able to participate in my very own gothic-style story, quite like one our favorite author, Mr. Grimstone, might pen.” The mention of Mr. Grimstone had him leaning forward. “We have much to discuss.” Lucetta immediately took to looking wary. “Why do I have the feeling we’re no longer talking about me and . . . my abduction?” “Because we need to talk about us, and talk about where we go from here before we get back to Abigail’s house and everyone distracts us.” Lucetta’s wariness immediately increased. “I’m not certain there’s any need for that, Bram. The danger to me has passed, which means I’m free to return to the theater, and . . . you and I are free to go on our merry ways—and our separate merry ways, at that.” Bram settled back against the carriage seat. “I never took you for a coward, Lucetta.” Temper flashed in her eyes. “I’m not a coward.” “Then why aren’t you willing to at least see where whatever this is between us leads?” “There’s nothing between us.” “Your lips said differently a few days ago, and . . . you enjoy my company—you can’t deny that.” “Perhaps I do enjoy your company, but we’ll leave my lips out of further discussion, if you please. The truth of the matter is that I don’t trust you, I don’t like secrets, which you’re obviously keeping, and . . . I have no desire to become attached to a gentleman who spends time in a dungeon, of all places, and has a mausoleum marking the entrance to his drive.” “Ah, well, yes, but you see, those are some of the things I’d like to discuss with you.” He sent her what he hoped was a most charming smile, but one that only had her arching a brow his way again. Clearing his throat, he sat forward. “To continue, I have to admit that I’ve thought out my explanation regarding all of the things I need to explain in a certain order. So . . . if you’ll humor me, I wrote down a list, and . . .” Digging a hand into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the list and read it through, nodding before he lifted his head. “First, I need to say that—” he blew out a breath—“I’ve bungled practically everything with you so far, starting when I almost drowned you in the moat, er . . . twice.” “You won’t get an argument from me on that.” “I neglected to warn you about my goat.” Her lips twitched right at the corners. “That might be being a little hard on yourself, Bram. You couldn’t have known someone would turn Geoffrey loose on me up in the tower room.” “True, but I should have mentioned that I owned a goat with a curious dislike for ladies in skirts.” “I don’t believe Geoffrey is really at the root of the issues I have with you and Ravenwood, Bram.” He caught her eye and nodded. “I’m at the root of your issues, Lucetta—me and all of my secrets—which is why . . .” He consulted his notes again before he lifted his head. “I’m going to tell you everything, and then . . . ” He glanced one last time at his notes before he looked her way. “After you hear me out, I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d consider allowing me to . . . court you.” “Court me?” She began inching toward the carriage door, which was rather disturbing considering the carriage was traveling at a fast clip down the road. Stiffening his resolve, and ignoring the disbelief in her eyes, he nodded. “It would be my greatest honor to court you, especially since I should have asked to court you before I kissed you, and certainly before I offered to marry you . . . twice.” “You "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
13
" If you think I’ll believe anything you have to say from this point forward, Mr. Haverstein, you’re more delusional than I’m giving you credit for. Although, do know that I’m not blaming you for everything. I will take some responsibility for being caught in a compromising situation.” “I’m the one who stole you away from the rehearsal.” “True, you did, but . . .” Lucetta drew herself up. “In hindsight, it was a mistake on my part to accompany you there so readily. You’re obviously not a gentleman I can trust, and that means . . . I expect you to keep your distance from me until I can make arrangements to depart Ravenwood for a safer environment.” With that, she spun on her heel and was out of the dungeon before he could even consider stopping her. “Don’t just stand there, go after her,” Tilda said. “She’s not going to listen to me.” “You’ll have to tell her the truth. Tell her you’re Mr. Grimstone.” “I was about to do just that, but . . . well, matters seemed to get quickly out of hand.” “That’s because Miss Plum thinks you’ve lied to her, sir,” Ernie said. “I have lied to her—I’ve lied to everyone, for that matter, by keeping Mr. Grimstone a secret.” Ernie shifted the shovel to his other shoulder. “Perhaps it’s time for you to make amends for that. I believe your family will be more accepting of having an author in the family than you’ve given them credit for, sir.” “Except for maybe Ruby,” Tilda said, speaking up. “Especially since she was considering tracking Mr. Grimstone down and convincing him he should court her.” “Good thing she’s been showing a bit of interest in Mr. Skukman,” Stanley pointed out from his position on the ground. “That way you won’t be dealing with a sister nursing a broken heart over a love that can never be hers.” Bram’s lips quirked ever so slightly “Yes, thank you for that, Stanley.” Heading for the door, he looked over his shoulder and caught Ernie’s eye. “Will you see Stanley released? I wasn’t able to retrieve the spare key from the kitchen.” “Don’t you give it another thought, sir,” Ernie said with a nod. “And don’t fret over what you need to tell Miss Plum. Just remember what Reverend Gilmore was preaching the last time we were back in the city—the truth shall set you free.” Bram smiled. “A good reminder. Thank you, Ernie. "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
14
" 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 "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
15
" 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 "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
16
" I’ve decided to bridge out a little, explore different genres, if you will. And because you, my very good friend, are starring in a play penned by none other than the renowned—which I’m sure you know means celebrated—Mr. Grimstone, I decided to try a few of his gothic novels.” “What did you think of the Grimstone stories?” Bram asked from behind them. Turning, Lucetta found that Bram had stepped out of the carriage and was looking dashingly rumpled, with his hair standing on end and his face streaked with soot here and there. Glancing at Millie, Lucetta found her friend considering Bram closely, right before she nodded at Lucetta and arched a brow. “The mysterious grandson, I assume?” “One and the same.” Lucetta pulled Millie forward, stopping right in front of Bram. “Millie, I’d like to introduce you to Abigail’s grandson, Mr. Bram Haverstein. Bram, this is one of my very dearest friends, Millie Mulberry, formerly Millie Longfellow.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mulberry,” Bram said, bringing Millie’s hand to his lips and placing the expected kiss on it. “Lucetta and my grandmother speak most highly of you.” Millie smiled, the action causing a dimple to pop out on her cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Haverstein. I won’t embarrass you by relaying all the things your grandmother told me and Lucetta about you over the past few months. Although I will admit I thought she was exaggerating your attributes—and that means features—but . . . never mind about that.” Her smile widened. “I’m very relieved to discover that you appear to be relatively normal, and that you’re not sporting a humped back or any other peculiar deformity, something Lucetta and I were afraid your grandmother was trying to hide.” Bram quirked a brow Lucetta’s way. “You’d thought I’d be deformed?” Smiling, Lucetta shrugged. “Abigail made you out to be so mysterious, who could blame us for concluding the worst?” “She kept calling you a dish,” Millie added with a grin. "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
17
" Very well. Since you won’t divulge her location, answer me this. Why would Miss Plum turn down a respectable offer of marriage from a gentleman such as my Bram?” “Why is it that ladies seem to believe I enjoy discussing these types of personal matters?” Mr. Skukman countered. Iris continued as if Mr. Skukman had not spoken. “Bram is a wealthy, eligible, and influential gentleman who owns his own castle—not to mention his stellar good looks.” “You’re his mother. Of course you’re going to believe he has stellar good looks.” “You don’t believe my Bram is handsome?” “Yet another topic I’m not comfortable discussing, but . . . I suppose if I really consider the matter, yes . . . Mr. Haverstein’s features are adequately arranged, but Miss Plum is not a lady who is impressed by a handsome face.” “She’s an actress.” Mr. Skukman let out a bit of a growl, which had Lucetta immediately stepping from behind the curtain. “Thank you, Mr. Skukman, but I think it might be for the best if I take it from here.” “Were you hiding behind the curtains?” Iris demanded. “Obviously,” Lucetta said as she headed across the room, stepping in between Iris, who was looking indignant, and Mr. Skukman, who’d adopted his most intimidating pose—a pose that didn’t appear to intimidate Iris in the least. “Now then,” Lucetta began, sending Mr. Skukman a frown when he cracked his knuckles, “from what I overheard, you’re here, Mrs. Haverstein, to learn why I rejected Bram’s offer.” Iris lifted her chin. “That’s one of the reasons I’ve sought you out.” “Lovely, and before we address those other reasons, allow me to say that the reason I refused Bram’s proposal was because your son was offering to marry a woman who doesn’t exist. He simply has yet to realize that.” Iris narrowed her eyes. “Bram could provide you with everything.” “I’m fairly good at providing for myself, Mrs. Haverstein.” Iris’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “What are you really playing at? Are you, by chance, hoping that because you turned him down, he’ll make you a better offer?” Lucetta’s brows drew together. “What else could he possibly offer me that would be more appealing than his name?” For a second, Iris looked a little taken aback, but she rallied quickly. “You may be the type of woman who prefers the freedom spinsterhood provides, so I would imagine you’re holding out for a nice place in the city, replete with all the fashionable amenities.” Even though Lucetta was well aware of the reputation most actresses were assumed to enjoy, and even though such insinuations normally never bothered her, a sliver of hurt wormed its way into her heart. Before she could summon up a suitable response, though, Abigail suddenly breezed into the room. “Lucetta is like a granddaughter to me, Iris, and as such, you will treat her accordingly, as well as apologize for your serious lack of manners,” Abigail said as she plunked her hands on her hips and scowled at her daughter. At first, it seemed that Iris wanted to argue the point, but then she blew out a breath and nodded Lucetta’s way. “My mother is quite right. That was unkind of me, and unfair. Forgive me.” Lucetta "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
18
" I’ve heard the most interesting rumors regarding you and the oh-so-dishy Mr. Haverstein,” Millie said. “I don’t believe dishy is a real word” was all Lucetta could think to respond. Millie waved that away with a flick of her dainty wrist. “I can’t be expected to know all the right words, Lucetta, and you’re stalling.” Lucetta blew out a breath, stirring the bubbles. “What have you heard?” “That you and Mr. Haverstein were caught in a most interesting situation in a storage room of all places, that he tried to save you from drowning twice in his, uh, moat from what I’ve been told, and . . . that he did save you once from a mad goat by the name of Geoffrey. I’ve also heard that you seem to enjoy his company, so much so that there’s been talk of marriage—but you rejected the marriage idea because of mysterious happenings occurring at Ravenwood.” “Bram didn’t save me from drowning twice. He almost caused me to drown both of those times.” “Again . . . stalling.” Tracing a finger through the bubbles, Lucetta took a second to gather her thoughts. “He’s explained away practically all the mysteries surrounding him, which has allowed me to come to the conclusion he’s not insane.” Millie’s eyes turned the size of saucers. “You had reason to doubt his sanity?” “He maintains a dungeon and has a castle where suits of armor go strolling about in the middle of the night—what else was I to conclude?” “A . . . dungeon?” “Yes, but I can’t explain that in any further detail, since the dungeon is part of a rather large secret that Bram has yet to divulge to anyone except his staff—and now me, of course.” Millie settled back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fair enough, but . . . tell me this, how do you feel about the man, especially since his sanity is no longer in question?” “That’s a little tricky to answer.” Millie sent her a look that had exasperation stamped all over it. “It is not. And since you’re the one who insisted Harriet and I dwell on exactly what our feelings were for Oliver and Everett just a few months back, I’m going to extend you the same courtesy. So . . . feelings—yours for Mr. Haverstein—what are they?” “He, uh . . . did mention that he’d like to court me.” “Court you?” “Yes, you know, call on me, take me for drives, bring me flowers, and . . . well . . . court me.” “That’s incredibly romantic.” “Well, yes, it is, but . . .” “You don’t want to be courted because you see that as a weakness of being female.” “What?” Millie rolled her eyes. “Lucetta, you and I have been friends for a very long time, and while you never talk about yourself much—as in ever—it’s always been clear to me and Harriet that you’ve got this attitude, if you will, about being a female. It’s one of the reasons I believe you’ve held yourself so distant from any gentleman who has ever shown an interest in you. And, it’s why you’re incredibly wary of men like Bram Haverstein, who clearly—and this is without me even knowing that much about him—is an old-fashioned man, one who enjoys swooping in and saving the damsel in distress.” “There’s that romance novel lover I’ve been missing.” Millie sat forward. “You know I’m right.” “So "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
19
" I think you might be cracking my ribs,” Lucetta mumbled into his chest, her words having him release his death grip on her before he took a step—but only a step—away from her. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you” was all he could think to say. Lucetta smiled. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you as well, and”—she nodded to Stanley, Ernie, and Mr. Skukman, who were currently sitting on top of Silas Ruff, while Tilda stood guard at the door they’d blown open, looking rather menacing as she kept a pistol at the ready—“I’m delighted to see you brought some assistance as well.” She nodded toward the blown-apart door. “Assistance proficient in the use of dynamite, if I’m not mistaken.” “That was me,” Ernie said, sending Lucetta a grin. “Not that I use dynamite all that often anymore,” he hurried to assure her. “But my expertise with the substance does come in remarkably handy at the oddest of times.” “Should I ask why Ernie’s an expert with dynamite?” Lucetta asked, turning back to Bram. “I would suggest not,” Bram said. Wrinkling her nose, Lucetta nodded. “You’re probably right, but tell me, how did you find me?” “Using a wide variety of interesting contacts spread throughout the city.” Bram blew out a breath. “Everyone’s been so worried about you.” “I’ve been fine,” Lucetta began, nodding when he quirked a brow her way. “Honestly, I have been. I mean, yes, the men Silas hired to abduct me scared me half to death—especially the man I heard was some sort of tracker—but as soon as they delivered me here, they left and I never saw them again. Truth be told, until today, it’s just been me along with a pack of intimidating women Silas hired to make certain I didn’t escape from this cozy little nest he’s been holding me in.” “Silas left you alone until today?” “Curious as that may seem, yes. He only showed up about an hour ago.” She smiled. “I do believe he had a most romantic dinner planned for the two of us, but matters got off to a rough start when he demanded I play him a piece by Bach, and discovered I . . . Well, let’s just say that, if you’d compared my playing with Ruby’s, your sister would sound downright competent at the keys.” Brushing "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
20
" The entire theater faded away, as did the whispers, titters, and if she wasn’t much mistaken, applause, as Bram continued kissing her before he drew back, cupped her face with his hands, and smiled. It was a wonderful smile, filled with love, hope, and maybe even, a dash of naughtiness and danger. “That’ll keep everyone talking for a while,” he said with a wink. “I’m sure it will, and . . . now that we’ve gotten ourselves engaged, I, my soon-to-be husband, have a scene to finish.” Bram turned his head and whistled, the whistle resulting in Sweet Pea being led onto the stage, pulling her pony cart. “That’s why I brought a horse.” “Sweet Pea is a mule, but even if she was a horse, there’s not a horse in The Lady of the Tower—which you know since you penned the play.” “True, but I brought Sweet Pea along because of the scene in my new novel, the scene where you cut me down, then hoist me over your horse’s back, and then we go galloping off into the night.” “I’m not sure if a heroine will actually have the strength needed to hoist the hero onto a horse, and . . . again, you brought Sweet Pea and a pony cart, so . . . I’m not exactly certain how I should proceed.” “I tried to bring Storm, but Ernie pointed out that if Storm doesn’t like graveyards he probably wouldn’t like the theater, and that’s when Ernie offered to loan me Sweet Pea, and . . . maybe I should just climb in the cart and you can join me.” With that, Bram took hold of her hand, stepped into the pony cart, pulled her in after him, and pulled her onto his lap as he settled against the seat. Picking up the reins, he gave them a flick, and Sweet Pea was off, prancing as she was wont to do across the stage, down the ramp, and straight out the back door that Mr. Skukman was already holding open for them. As they rode away into the night, with Bram’s arms wrapped tightly around her, Lucetta realized that Abigail had been right all along. Bram "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
