Hey guys, just wanted to let you know I’m still working on the next Brayton update. I really wanted to post it tonight, but it’s taking longer than I expected – I took something like 300 pictures for this one, and I’m trying to whittle it down to about 25 as I write the story. Unless you guys want a REALLY long update this time… ;-)

I’m hoping to finish the update late tomorrow night, but in the meantime, I have a few Brayton outtakes to share with you. These are things you don’t see every day in May Green:

The Braytons find out what happens when you place a chair near the fireplace, start a fire, and have someone sit down in said chair

Poor Frederick went up in flames, and when Mayhew tried to extinguish him, he went up in flames. I had Carol try to extinguish both while Arianna called the fire department. All of this pandemonium for one little picture! Yipes. At least nobody died.

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“Home already, Cecily?”

Cecily shut the door and stood in the foyer a moment, pushing a few curls, which had shaken loose when she hurried home, back into place. Her father strolled in from the study, medical journal in hand, and smiled.

“I was just about to ready the carriage,” he said. “I hope you had a good time?”

Cecily nodded absently and leaned over to kiss her father on the cheek. “Wonderful time,” she said, a little breathless. “I’m exhausted, though. I didn’t know parties could be so rigorous.”

Harry Brayton laughed indulgently at his daughter. “Dance with one too many fellows, eh? Well, you’d better get off to bed then. I’d scold you for walking home alone if I weren’t a bit tired myself. Good night, Cecily.”

Cecily smiled brightly and said good night before making her way upstairs. She was met at the top stair by Carol, who had fidgeted her apron into wrinkles. The normally sedate maid could hardly contain her excitement as she followed Cecily to her room.

“Well, how was it?” she whispered, closing the door.

The cheerful expression that Cecily had worn for her father washed away in an instant.

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“Good evening, Miss Brayton.”

The light from the chandelier glinted off the partially bald head of the butler as he welcomed Cecily into the resplendence of Haddaway Hall. The young lady entered with an apprehensive smile and paused, momentarily overwhelmed, as her beaded satin dress swished to a halt. Instinctively she scanned the room for James, whom she had just seen through the drawing room window walking towards the foyer. Unfortunately she saw only a maid in a crisp black dress carrying a tray laden with hors d’oeuvres.

The butler brushed past Cecily and made for the back of the house, then turned when he realized Cecily wasn’t following him. He came back to her, arching a curious brow.

“Everyone is gathered in the ballroom,” he said politely, with the mildest tinge of impatience.

“Everyone?” Cecily asked, stalling for time. Through her immaculate white gloves, her fingers clutched at her skirt. She was suddenly more nervous than ever, imagining the whole Haddaway clan waiting in the ballroom, glancing up as she entered, leaning over to each other and whispering…except for James, who blithely pretended she didn’t exist…

“Miss Brayton? Are you quite well?” asked the butler.

Cecily’s breath wavered, but she recovered it.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” She presented him with her most placid smile.

The butler, one brow still arched in doubt, turned on his heel and led Cecily through the foyer.

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Cecily Brayton was nervous. In less than two hours she would be making her way to Haddaway Hall, a place she had not visited in quite some time, even though it was just down the street from Brayton Hill. She could remember with almost painful clarity when she had been a regular visitor there, playing piano for old Mrs. Haddaway and eating dinner with the family in their splendid dining room, but those golden times had come to an abrupt end some years ago, and all because Cecily had chosen one brother over another.

The course of that day ran vividly in Cecily’s mind, too — the song, the kiss, a rush of exhiliration, words of tender affection…and then her horrible mistake. Even now, thinking back to that dire moment, Cecily felt like crying; with one foolish utterance, she had marred her relationship with the entire Haddaway family, and — until now — the blemish seemed irreparable.

It could still be irreparable, Cecily mused as she dipped a paintbrush delicately into a smear of honey-colored paint. In order to calm her nerves, she was working on portrait of her stepmother Arianna, but inevitably her thoughts kept returning to the Haddaways, even more so than usual.

These heightened feelings of agitation were the fault of Dorothy Haddaway, who had invited Cecily to her 18th birthday celebration at Haddaway Hall. When the dainty gilt-edged envelope had arrived and Cecily had read the contents therein, she had nearly died of surprise. Dorothy was the only Haddaway who had been civil to her the past few years, but Cecily never expected such a kindess as this.

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“I’m leaving Brayton Hill,” Mayhew Love announced one night after dinner.

The Braytons, who were seated around the table in various states of contented fullness, all turned to Mayhew in surprise. Carol the maid, who didn’t seem surprised at all, continued clearing the table in her usual crisp manner, the clanging of the dinner plates echoing throughout the room.

It was a moment before anyone spoke. “So you took that commission?” Harry Brayton finally said, leaning back in his chair.

The look of surprise on his wife Arianna’s face deepened into confusion. “What commission?”

“Max De Groff wants me to build a new hotel for him,” said Mayhew, trying hard not to smile. He knew what most people in May Green thought of De Groff. His cousin Arianna happened to be one of those people.

“Max De Groff?” she repeated, her expression reaching new heights of astonishment. “Why would he want to build a new hotel? Isn’t the Granville good enough for him?”

Her cousin laughed. “Arianna, really — you’re starting to sound like that uppity old Mrs. Lloyd.”

Harry made a face. Though he wasn’t blood-related to the Lloyds, his first wife had been, and he had run up against Regina Lloyd’s special brand of snobbery far too often in the last 20 years. “Nonsense,” he said, “Arianna is nothing like Regina.”

“Thank you, Harry,” said Arianna with a grateful nod in his direction. “But that’s not the point,” she continued, turning back to Mayhew. “The point is that we’ll miss you, cousin. Must you really go?”

“I won’t be far away. I’ll be staying at the Granville, you know, until the new hotel is finished. And I’m always welcome for dinner, aren’t I?” Mayhew winked.

“Of course you are,” Arianna said with a quick glance at Carol, who had entered the room with a tray of fruit tarts. “And now I think I shall retire to my room while you have dessert. I feel exhausted.”

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