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" Now then,” Bram began, looking down at her from his seat on Storm, “in the spirit of keeping with our theme of adventure, we’re going to create a story as we ride.” “A story?” “Yes, you know, use our imaginations and come up with some riveting tale to keep us entertained.” “Is that what you were doing when I first came upon you?” For a second, he simply looked at her, and then, oddly enough, he smiled his charming smile at her again. “It was indeed, and . . . since I have already begun a story, we’ll use what I’ve come up with thus far and continue on with it.” “I’m not very good with creating imaginary stories,” she admitted slowly. “Nonsense, you create imaginary scenes every time you take to the stage.” “That’s different. I have a script I’ve memorized, but I certainly wouldn’t be able to create those words written in that script.” She shook her head. “Why, if I tried to create my very own story the end result would be too awful to even contemplate.” Bram "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
62
" Ah, so do you believe Lucetta has accustomed herself to the idea of marrying me?” Tilda arched a brow. “Not at all. I believe your mother and grandmother are refusing to face the truth—that truth being that Miss Plum never agreed to marry you. And after she got over the shock of being found in the storage room with you, she began to feel very put out indeed that anyone would assume, and I think you may be included with that whole anyone business, that she’d”—Tilda tapped a finger against her chin—“‘blithely sit back and allow everyone else to plan out my life when I’m fully capable, as well as willing, to plan out that life on my own.’” Bram winced. “Am I to assume those were her exact words?” “Or close enough,” Tilda said. “I’m afraid you’ve really made a muddle of this, Mr. Haverstein, and I’m also afraid that you won’t be marrying Miss Plum anytime soon, if ever.” She leaned closer to him. “She talks quite often to herself when she’s alone. Because of that, I’ve been privy to some interesting conversations, all of which center around the idea she’s not a woman who wants to lose her independent identity through marriage.” As an afterthought, Tilda added, “And . . . she’s come to the firm belief that you’re demented.” “What?” Tilda shrugged. “Can you blame her? You proclaim the two of you are going to get married—without asking her if that’s what she’d like, mind you—while allowing your mother and grandmother to believe they should start planning the wedding festivities. That, Mr. Haverstein, is not how it’s done. The bride gets a say in this day and age, and then, add in that pesky business of you disappearing and it’s little wonder Miss Plum is questioning your sanity.” “Why "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
63
" You’re not still shackled to that piece of railroad track I set up, are you?” “While I would love to be able to say no, that hairpin I told you I was certain I would be able to free myself with . . . didn’t exactly work out as planned.” “But I must have shackled you to that railroad tie hours ago,” Bram said weakly. “Oh, you did, but it’s been fine down here on the floor. It’s not overly cold, just a bit chilly.” “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t get free?” “And interrupt what will probably be your best work to date?” Stanley let out a grunt. “Not likely. And that’s exactly how you’ll need to explain your less than chivalrous behavior of the past two days to Miss Plum. She’s an industrious soul, she’ll understand that, and it’ll go far in soothing her indignation over your leaving her to deal with the repercussions of what Miss Dunlap did after you, she, and Miss Cooper parted ways.” Bram "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
65
" May I assume the two of you have come to some type of an understanding?” “I think it’s safe to assume Lucetta and I aren’t going to wed.” Ruby reached out and patted his arm. “I wouldn’t give up all hope just yet, Bram. I, probably more than anyone—since I’ve attended so many of her performances with you—know how long you’ve held Lucetta in high esteem. Quite frankly, now that I’ve met the real Lucetta, I do believe she’s entirely more fascinating than everyone, myself included, assumed her to be.” Frowning, Bram tilted his head. “Why do you say that?” “Because I think she’s far more accomplished then she lets on, seems to be incredibly intelligent, and . . . I didn’t get the impression that she’s overly concerned with her appearance, which, coming from a lady as beautiful as Lucetta, is well and truly telling.” She smiled. “And, she’s definitely not fragile, nor does she seem to be the weepy type. I always expected her to be weepy for one reason or another.” Bram nodded. “I thought she would be weepy as well, but that certainly doesn’t seem to be the case. Truth be told, now that I consider the matter, she seems very similar to you, except for the whole shrew business. I don’t get the impression Lucetta is much of a shrew.” “You "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
67
" Thank goodness you’re not dead, my dear,” Abigail began, stopping a few feet away from Lucetta. “I was certain you were going to drown when you went into the moat the first time, given that you were wearing such a heavy coat. But wasn’t it just so fortunate that my grandson was there to jump in and rescue you?” The reason behind the lack of urgency in Abigail getting to Lucetta immediately became clear. Shooting a glance to the man she’d assumed was the gardener—although the quality of his shirt should have been an indication he was nothing of the sort—Lucetta turned back to Abigail. “This is your grandson?” Abigail sent her a less than subtle wink. “Too right he is.” To Lucetta’s absolute relief, the grandson in question stepped forward before Abigail had an opportunity to begin waxing on about what a dish her grandson had turned out to be, a subject that would have embarrassed Lucetta no small amount, and probably the grandson as well. “Grandmother, this is certainly an unexpected surprise,” the man who was apparently Bram Haverstein said. Abigail beamed a smile Bram’s way and held out her hands, her beaming increasing when Bram immediately strode to her side, picked up both of her hands, and kissed them. “I’m sure you are surprised to see me, dear, just as I’m sure you meant to say delightful surprise, not unexpected, but enough about that. Even though you and Lucetta are dripping wet, we mustn’t ignore the expected pleasantries, so do allow me to formally introduce the two of you. Bram, this is my darling friend, Miss Lucetta Plum, and Lucetta, dear, this is my grandson, the one I’ve been telling you so much about, Mr. Bram Haverstein.” Trepidation was immediate when Bram flashed a big smile her way. Rising to her feet, Lucetta inclined her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Haverstein.” “The pleasure is mine, Miss Plum,” Bram responded as he moved right up beside her and took her hand firmly in his, the heat from his skin sending a jolt of what she could only assume was alarm straight up her arm. “Do know that I’m a great, great admirer of your work.” Her sense of alarm promptly increased. Gentlemen who had no qualms admitting they were great, great admirers of her work were known to be rather . . . zealous. The very last circumstance Lucetta needed, or wanted for that matter, was to add another great admirer to her unwanted collection of them. Disappointment stole through her as Mr. Haverstein lifted her hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles, that disappointment increasing when he lowered her hand and began speaking. “I must admit that I do think your role in The Lady of the Tower is your best to date. Why, I’ve come to the conclusion that Mr. Grimstone, the playwright, obviously had you in mind to play the part of Serena Seamore from the moment he began penning the story.” Abigail, apparently realizing that her grandson was not making a favorable impression—which certainly wouldn’t aid her matchmaking attempt—squared her shoulders, looking quite determined. “How lovely to discover you’re already familiar with my dear Lucetta and her work,” Abigail said. “But as both of you are dripping wet and certain to catch a cold if we linger, I’m going to suggest we repair to the castle and leave further talk of, uh, theater behind us.” She "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
68
" What could you have been thinking?” Iris demanded a mere moment later, advancing on Bram with her hands on her hips. “You have, in case you’ve forgotten, a castle filled with local Tarrytown folk, your grandmother in residence, no less, as is a young lady whose identity we were supposed to be protecting.” She stopped right in front of him and actually poked him with her finger. “Why would you have chosen this particular time, and this”—she gestured to the storage room at large—“particular place to try to woo Miss Plum? A lady, if you’ll recall, who we’ve told all those gathered is your cousin, which makes all this”—she gestured around the room again—“seem rather tawdry.” “She’s supposed to be a distant cousin,” Bram reminded her. “And one with a wart and no teeth,” Ruby added, her lips curving ever so slightly. “I don’t believe you’re helping my situation,” Bram muttered. “Goodness, you’re right. "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
69
" Forgive me for tossing you into the moat so unceremoniously. I’m afraid the cannon took me by surprise, and getting you out of harm’s way had me reacting somewhat irrationally.” Shifting her attention away from the dog in her lap, Lucetta settled it on the man now rising from the moat. As he straightened and shoved a hand through dark hair that was obscuring his face, Lucetta completely forgot what she’d been about to say when she got her first good look at him. Standing before her was the very picture of a dashing pirate come to life, a pirate complete with a charming, yet somewhat roguish smile, and . . . he was wearing a patch over his left eye. Oddly enough, Lucetta found herself feeling a bit more charitable toward the man, perhaps because she’d always been drawn to flawed people, probably because she was fairly flawed as well. Realizing that the patch she was staring at was evidently covering some horrible disfigurement—a disfigurement the poor man undoubtedly didn’t care to have people fixating on—Lucetta dropped her gaze, settling it on a chest covered in a dripping wet shirt made of what appeared to be fine lawn material, and . . . “Goodness,” she whispered past a throat that had taken to constricting the moment her gaze settled on an incredibly well-defined form. Lifting her attention the tiniest bit, she found herself, curiously enough, intrigued with the small bit of skin exposed above the man’s collar. It was lightly tanned, a circumstance that could mean only one thing—the gentleman standing before her obviously spent a great deal of time outside, which would make him . . . the gardener. That notion had her feeling even more charitable to the man who’d tossed her into the moat, especially since there was nothing Lucetta appreciated more than a man who was not afraid to put in a hard day’s work. “I "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
70
" Miss Dunlap, you see, put on quite a dramatic display after she went back to the ballroom, far more dramatic than anything that dreary production she was trying to direct could have achieved. You won’t like hearing this, but the woman actually took to the stage and told everyone the rehearsal, as well as the final production, had been canceled. Then she told everyone in the ballroom about you and Miss Plum—and that Miss Plum had been the very unattractive Miss Fremont—and that Miss Plum had obviously gone to great lengths to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, embarrassing the good folk of Tarrytown in the process by mocking their theatrical efforts.” “Oh . . . no,” Bram said. “Indeed,” Tilda agreed. “And unfortunately, it gets worse.” “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me everything all in one sitting, Tilda,” Bram said a little weakly. “Don’t be a coward, Mr. Haverstein. It’s always best to hear all the bad instead of parceling it out bit by painful bit.” Retaking his seat, he buried his face in his hands. “Very well, carry on.” “Well, you see, Miss Dunlap was clearly distraught, as well as disappointed, that you’d been discovered kissing Miss Plum. Because of that, she said some very disparaging things about Miss Plum, and before long Mr. Skukman joined her on stage.” “Oh . . . no.” “Exactly. Well, Miss Dunlap didn’t take kindly to him arguing with her, and she . . . attacked him.” Bram lifted his head. “She . . . attacked him?” Tilda nodded. “She did, but to give Mr. Skukman credit, he didn’t bat an eye as she went about the unpleasant business of pummeling him. It wasn’t harming him at all, of course, but when she started throwing things—and not just at him but at members of your staff as well—Mr. Skukman saved quite a few people from suffering injuries by picking up Miss Dunlap, tossing her over his shoulder, and carting her offstage.” “Should I ask what happened next?” “He was run out of Tarrytown by a horde of angry townswomen, and . . . to add further chaos to the evening, someone let Geoffrey out of the barn again and he chased Miss Dunlap and Miss Cooper all the way down the drive, until they were rescued by Ernie. Although . . . he was apparently in the process of creating some new gravestones for the back graveyard in case you needed some disturbing inspiration some night, and . . . there is now a rumor swirling about town that we’re up to some concerning shenanigans here at Ravenwood.” “The "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
72
" He’d been so convinced that Lucetta was a victim in the play called Life that he’d completely neglected to take the time to see past his misconceptions. She was not searching for a knight in shining armor, she was searching for a partner, someone she could share her experiences with—not someone who’d want to take over her life and make everything easy for her. Miss Lucetta Plum was certainly not a lady who would enjoy easy, at least not all of the time. She was too complicated, too accomplished, and too intelligent to live a life of mundane pleasantness. She was also a lady who deserved an equal partner, not a gentleman who wanted to set her up on a shelf, away from the messiness of living, something he’d been determined to do. “That’s "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
73
" Breaking the surface, he gulped in a breath, released his hold on the hair, and taking a firm grip on the man’s arm, tried to tow him to shore. Unfortunately, the man didn’t seem to be receptive to that idea and immediately began fighting him, which had Bram tightening his grip. “Stop . . . trying . . . to drown me,” he heard the man rasp in an unexpectedly high voice between bobs of his head lifting and sinking through the water. “I’m trying to save you.” “Is that what you call this?” Intending to reassure the obviously distressed and certainly panicked man, Bram opened his mouth, but soon found himself incapable of speech, a direct result of suddenly finding himself underneath the water. Taken completely by surprise by the idea the man had dunked him, he dodged the man’s kicking legs, as well as a few dog paws, and sputtered his way back to the surface, discovering as he did so that the man he’d thought was drowning was swimming his way quite competently to shore. Striking out after him with his dogs paddling on either side of him, Bram soon reached the side of the moat. Clawing his way up the dirt bank, he flopped onto the grass and turned his head, his attention settling on the man he’d been trying to save. That man was already on his feet, but the longer Bram watched the man, the more it became clear he was no man at all. He, or rather she, had lost her greatcoat in the moat, and her wet clothing was currently plastered against a form that was . . . curvaceous. When she shoved a hunk of long hair away from her face, exposing whiskers, of all things, Bram suddenly found it very difficult to breath because . . . Standing only feet away from him was none other than Miss Lucetta Plum, one of the most intriguing ladies to ever grace the stage, and a lady who had captured his very great esteem. She was looking a little worse for wear, especially since she had mud on her face mixed in with the whiskers, and she also had clumps of algae in her hair, but even in such a sorry state, she was beautiful. She was also the lady he’d been slightly in love with ever since he’d first seen her take to the stage a few years back. Her delicate and refined nature had pulled at his very soul, and the very idea that such a fragile creature was forced to eke out a living on her own had been unfathomable. That was what had prompted Bram to set into motion ways to improve Miss Plum’s circumstance in life, those ways including . . . A "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
74
" Would it surprise you to learn that I’ve already settled my affections on a specific lady?” Stanley blinked. “I have yet to witness you paying any of the ladies who’ve visited Ravenwood any special attention.” “That’s because this lady has never been to Ravenwood. Truth be told, I’ve not actually been formally introduced to her.” Stanley abandoned his toast. “That seems a bit curious, sir.” “Indeed, but you see, the reason I have yet to be properly introduced to her is because she’s a delicate sort, possessed of fragile and tender sensibilities.” Stanley’s brows drew together. “You believe a lady with tender sensibilities is an appropriate choice for you to settle your affections on, sir?” “She’s perfect for me—lovely, charming, demure. Why, I can’t think of another lady I’d want to settle my affections on. But even given her delicate nature, she’s a lady in very high demand. Gentlemen flock around her, but because of her tender sensibilities, she seems reluctant to enter into a relationship with any of them, in fact, more often than not, she’s given them the cut direct.” Bram blotted his lips with a linen napkin. “That right there is why I’ve been biding my time, waiting for just the right moment to become introduced to her. I don’t want to scare her off and lose any chance I might have of securing her interest.” “I think you’re forgetting a very important fact, sir. You’re Mr. Bram Haverstein, a gentleman in possession of a very fine fortune, your own castle, a summer house on Long Island, more carriages than I care to count, a steamboat, and you’re apparently possessed of a face that all the ladies find swoon-worthy. On top of that, I’ve heard more than one young lady whispering about that fine dark hair you have on your head.” Stanley grinned. “Apparently, it’s a huge mark in your favor.” Bram rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve ever caused a lady to swoon before, and honestly, my hair is a very nondescript shade of brown. I hardly think it’s unusual enough to have the ladies whispering about it.” “You’re missing the point. You’re a catch, Mr. Haverstein, and that means this lady of yours, be she in high demand or not, will be more than receptive to accepting your attention.” “I’ve never gotten the impression this particular lady is impressed by things such as fortunes and handsome faces, let alone nondescript brown hair.” “Every lady is appreciative of a handsome face, sir, and throw in a fortune and a castle to go with that face, and you can’t lose.” Stanley’s brow furrowed. “Although, you might not want to tell her straight off that Ravenwood is haunted. That might not be a mark in your favor, unless she enjoys ghosts and creatures of the night, but if she’s truly a delicate sort . . . hmm . . . best keep that under wraps until she’s fully committed to you.” “Ravenwood is not haunted, Stanley.” Stanley "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
75
" Bringing the horse to a stop, Lucetta leaned forward and looked down a well-maintained lane that led directly to what seemed to be some type of a gatehouse, but a gatehouse built to look exactly like a mausoleum, complete with stained-glass windows, stone sculptures on either side of it—not of the expected angels, but of . . . ravens. Turning to Abigail, Lucetta arched a brow. “Should we drive closer?” “I don’t think this could possibly be the lane leading to Bram’s castle,” Abigail said. “I mean, why would anyone build a mausoleum to mark the entrance to their home?” “I have numerous answers to that, but none I’m going to voice until we discover whether or not your grandson resides here. Which, I’m sorry to say, could be a distinct possibility, since the castle’s name is Ravenwood and there are two ravens guarding that building, and . . . if you look over the door, Ravenwood is etched into the stone.” “Oh . . . dear.” Abigail pulled a pair of spectacles out of her pocket, shoved them on, and then looked closely at the building in front of them before immediately pulling the spectacles off again and repocketing them, shuddering ever so slightly as she did so. “Would it be safe to say that your grandson possesses a slightly morbid nature?” Lucetta asked. “Of course not. Bram’s charming, and . . . the ladies find him to be completely delightful, from what I’ve been told—as I do believe I’ve mentioned to you a few times.” Before Lucetta could reply to that, the door to the mausoleum opened with an ominous creak. Abigail grabbed hold of Lucetta’s hand and squeezed it, the squeezing becoming more pronounced as a man stepped through the door—a man who just happened to be carrying a rifle. "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
77
" Silas Ruff, even though he’d recently been accepted in all the finest homes in New York, was one of the most reprehensible gentlemen Lucetta had ever had the misfortune of knowing. He was egotistical, wealthy, and belligerent, and he did not understand the meaning of the word no. He was also turning out to be a formidable adversary, apparently determined to possess her no matter the means required to do just that, simply because she’d tried to dissuade him from pursuing her. He’d started stalking her at the theater months before, sending her roses numerous times per week, as well as invitations to dine with him. She’d refused every invitation, and had Mr. Skukman refuse delivery of his roses. Instead of discontinuing his campaign to win her over, though, Silas had increased his presence in the audience, leaving her unsettled and actually fearing for her safety. When Silas had been released from his position working for Oliver Addleshaw, Archibald’s grandson and husband to her very good friend, Harriet Peabody, Lucetta had finally been able to breathe a sigh of relief. His subsequent attempt to ruin Oliver had not worked in his favor, and feeling the displeasure of New York society, Silas had left the city for places unknown. Now, however, he was back, and this time Lucetta had the unpleasant feeling he was not going to go away until he got exactly what he’d returned to New York for—her. That "
― Jen Turano , Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3)
