An Imperfect Engagement

by Alyssa Drake

  “It would.”

  The coach jerked again. Benjamin ground his jaw and slammed his fist against the carriage wall. The entire vehicle shuddered. One of the horses whinnied in protest and shied away, pulling the coach to the left before the driver intervened with a quick snap of the reins.

  “I should have realized Morris’ true nature,” said Benjamin, voicing the guilt torturing his mind.

  “How?” asked Thomas. The quiet question echoed unanswered in the tiny compartment, bouncing from bench to bench until it became a constant buzz in Benjamin’s mind, overpowering every other thought.

  How could he have known?

  As they rounded a bend in the road, the coachman halted the carriage suddenly and leapt from the bench without explanation. Thomas leaned his head out of the window and issued a loud curse, jumping from the carriage.

  He could not handle with another delay. He would walk—hobble—the rest of the way if necessary. Flying after Thomas, Benjamin slid from the carriage and landed awkwardly in a mud puddle, wrenching his leg. With a curse, his gaze rose to Thomas. All feeling drained from Benjamin’s body.

  Several meters away, Thomas and the driver knelt beside the immobile form of a woman. Benjamin felt his heart splinter into tiny pieces as he hastened to the woman’s side. Thomas shifted, partially revealing the striking visage of Miss Randall, her pale skin glowing white against the deep brown of the muck in which she laid unconscious.

  Benjamin collapsed on the ground next to Thomas, pain radiating through his injured left leg, causing him to gasp aloud. Thomas ignored Benjamin’s complaint, continuing his efforts to revive Miss Randall. Her breath came weakly, but she remained immobile.

  Glancing up at Benjamin, Thomas indicated the direction of the country estate with a wrench of his head. “Take the shortcut through Flannery’s property,” he said, not allowing Benjamin an opportunity to argue. “I will stay with Miss Randall and make sure she is given any medical treatment she requires.”

  “Thank you, Thomas,” Benjamin replied. He struggled to his feet, swallowing a groan.

  Miss Randall moaned softly. Thomas’ head whipped around. Lifting her wrist, Thomas’ thumb caressed the back of her hand. Her eyelashes fluttered open.

  “Mr. Reid.” She sighed, her mouth curving into a small smile as her violet eyes focused on his face. “I am pleased to see you.” Her eyes rolled backward, and her body went limp, her slight hand sliding from Thomas’ fingers, splashing into the mud. Benjamin hovered nearby, conflicted.

  “I told you to leave,” said Thomas without taking his eyes from Miss Randall. “We need to be in two places at the same time. Get moving.”

  “Just like old times,” muttered Benjamin as he limped toward the low wooden fence which ran the length of the road. Swinging one leg over the beam marking the perimeter of Mr. Flannery’s estate, Benjamin set off at a half-run, half-stumble toward the estate. His feet found a familiar trail—one his father and he walked many times in his youth.

  “Father, I thought this land belonged to Mr. Flannery?” Benjamin asked on one such hike as they climbed over the fence.

  “It does,” his father replied, patting Benjamin on the head. “Mr. Flannery and I have a mutual accord. We watch each other’s land; it is a neighborly agreement. You must always know your allies, in business and in life.”

  “Stop where you are!” The issued command—in thick Irish brogue—accompanied the unmistakable sound of a cocked rifle.

  “Mr. Flannery.” Benjamin greeted the old man wearily as the image of his father faded from his mind. This was not the first time Mr. Flannery had threatened him with a rifle although Benjamin was much younger the last time.

  “Raise your hands.” Mr. Flattery gestured with the rifle. “Turn around slowly.”

  Benjamin complied with a heavy sigh, lifting his arms. “I was just passing through,” he said as he rotated in a half-circle. Putting his back to a man with a gun, even if that man was Mr. Flannery, was never a good decision. Benjamin peeked over his shoulder, the barrel of the gun poked him in the back.

  “My coach was waylaid.”

  “Where are you headed?” Mr. Flannery raised a skeptical eyebrow. His wispy white beard held only a few stray red hairs, survivors from his youth.

  “Home,” replied Benjamin, indicating the direction with a flick of his wrists, his hands still raised.

  “Humph. I know the boys who live there.” Mr. Flannery growled, scratching his chin. “You, I do not recognize.”

  “I am Lord Westwood, Mr. Flannery; I grew up.”

  “Prove it.” The muzzle ground into Benjamin’s spine.

  “When I was ten, your son, Aidan and I stole two of your horses. The mare threw both her shoe and Aidan before we cleared this precise rise. You were not two minutes behind us, charging up the hill, waving your rifle, the very gun you are currently aiming at my back.”

  “Benjamin.” Mr. Flannery lowered the rifle and spun Benjamin around, grasping him to his chest. “You are a bit larger than I last recall.”

  Stifling a moan, Benjamin hastily returned the embrace and detangled himself from Mr. Flannery. “It has been many years. How is your lovely wife?”

  Mr. Flannery’s head dropped. He turned away staring down the hill. His morose answer pained Benjamin. “We lost Noreen last fall.”

  “I am sorry, I had not heard.” Benjamin placed his hand on Mr. Flannery’s shoulder.

  The elder man raised an arm and shook off the condolences, keeping his back to Benjamin. “I still can hear her melodic voice echoing through the fields whenever a breeze blows softly over this ridge. She calls to me, whispering, Aengus.”

  Mr. Flannery collapsed on the grass, his body shaking from his sobs. Benjamin dropped to the ground next to him, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg. Wrapping a comforting arm around the old man’s shoulders, Benjamin’s eyes roved over Mr. Flannery, his second father. Thinner than he recalled. Retrieving the fallen rifle, Benjamin laid the gun over his legs.

  “Da, what are you doing all the way out here?”

  Benjamin recognized the drawl immediately and called out to the approaching man. “It’s been a long time, Aidan.”

  “Lord Westwood,” Aidan replied, adding a belated bow. He snorted upon spying the rifle resting across Benjamin’s lap. “Bring back any memories?”

  “A few.” Benjamin grimaced as he rose, passing the weapon over to Aidan.

  Aidan sighed and looked down at the man resting on the hilltop. “Da, you cannot keep trying to shoot visitors.”

  “Trespassers!” shouted Mr. Flannery. He leapt to his feet and lunged for the gun, ripping it from Aidan’s grasp. “Your mother told me to protect our land.”

  “Not against our neighbors,” Aidan replied.

  His father smirked and danced away, dashing down the hill, swinging the gun. Aidan shook his head and turned toward Benjamin, fishing several shells from his waist pocket.

  “Do not concern yourself, the rifle is not loaded.”

  Benjamin stared down the hill after Mr. Flannery’s retreating form. “How is he faring?”

  “Not well.” Aidan sighed heavily. “After Ma passed... he thinks she still talks to him, claims she plays the piano forte in the middle of the night. He sits for hours in the same chair, staring at the piano bench, listening to soundless music. I stayed on since the funeral, hoping his temperament would improve. Instead, I spend most of my time chasing the old man around.” He paused, glancing at Benjamin, his eyes filled with misery. “I’ve asked Alana to return. I cannot handle this situation alone.”

  “It has been awhile since she’s been home. I hope she is well,” said Benjamin, sidestepping Aidan’s unasked question.

  “Does he ever talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Neither does she,” replied Aidan. “It was a shame what happened between the two of them.”

  “Many years have passed,” Benjamin said. There was no need to add to Aidan’s burden by reveali
ng the truth of Thomas’ continued torment.

  “It would be helpful to have a second pair of eyes on Da.” Aidan’s gaze flicked to the fading outline of his father. “I am exhausted, chasing him across the meadows. He continues to disappear with that bloody rifle. Claims marauders are invading our lands.”

  “Perhaps you should allow your father to patrol the estate with a gun,” said Benjamin.

  “Why?” Aidan turned to Benjamin, suspicion in his eyes.

  “Do you mind if we continue moving toward the house while we discuss this delicate matter? Unless you have something pressing?” Benjamin jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Flannery.

  “He will be fine for a few minutes.”

  “I have recently become engaged,” said Benjamin with a grunt as they hiked along the ridge, his leg pulsated with each step.

  “Pregnant?” Aidan snorted

  “No,” Benjamin growled. His tone surprised Aidan who took a step away from Benjamin’s abrupt ire and held up his hands.

  “Who is the lady?”

  “Miss Samantha Hastings.”

  “Cousin Samantha?” Aidan laughed. “I was under the impression she detested the societal constraints of marriage. At least, that was her belief the last time we saw her.”

  Benjamin glanced heavenward and sighed. “Of course, Miss Hastings and Alana know each other.”

  “Concerned?” A ghostly smirk crossed Aidan’s lips.

  “Mildly worried.” His last encounter with Alana involved a firearm as well.

  “Alana taught Samantha how to shoot one summer, the year her uncle passed. Edward wanted to distract Samantha, and I volunteered to keep her occupied,” said Aidan, his face threatened to split into a large smile. “If I remember correctly, she had quite exceptional aim.”

  Stopping on the ridge, Benjamin massaged his burning leg. He turned to Aidan. “Edward needs your help again,” he paused, “as do I.”

  “Certainly. How can I assist you?”

  “Do you know Mr. Franklin Morris?”

  “He is a distant relative who I met on a handful of occasions, heard his name around the club, nothing interesting. Why do you ask?”

  “Morris is responsible for the death of Edward’s father.”

  Aidan gasped.

  “He also abducted Miss Hastings this morning.”

  “Is she alive?” whispered Aidan.

  “I pray she is.”

  “Edward must be frantic.” Aidan stared hard at Benjamin. “Go, find Samantha. Da and I will stand guard for as long as you require.”

  “Your dad will be so pleased.” Benjamin’s humor earned a dry smile from Aidan.

  “The gun will be loaded this time, so try not to startle the old man. He gets a little jumpy.”

  “Thank you, old friend.”

  “Brother,” replied Aidan, placing a heavy palm on Benjamin’s back, flashing a quick grin—a fleeting image of the cheery companion Benjamin recalled from his boyhood—and shoved hard, propelling Benjamin down the decline.

  A multitude of carriages were parked in the drive, neatly arranged in a graceful arc, indicating a house overrun by meddling engagement well-wishers. He hoped Mrs. Hastings had the good sense to sequester them all to one room or better yet, keep them outside.

  What excuse had she invented to explain Miss Hastings’ sudden absence from the luncheon?

  He hobbled up the stairs and wrenched open the front door, falling into the deserted foyer. A curse flew from his lips as he corrected his gait to prevent crashing into a nearby table, the sudden jerk sending pain radiating through his already aching limbs. He swore again.

  “Lord Westwood?” A tentative voice called from the staircase. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Benjamin’s head whipped around. Seated mid-staircase was Miss Daphne Clemens. Behind her stood young Lucy Hastings, quietly plaiting braids of various sizes into Miss Clemens’ unbound hair.

  “Miss Clemens, Miss Hastings.” He acknowledged them with a sheepish bow.

  “Lady Westwood thought it best to continue the luncheon as planned, so as not to stir up any unnecessary gossip,” Miss Clemens said, either ignoring or dismissing Benjamin’s disheveled appearance and foul language. “All the guests are currently in the garden.”

  “Thank you.” Benjamin nodded and limped toward the study, leaning heavily on his right leg.

  “I have a message for you.” Miss Clemens’ soft voice rolled over his shoulder.

  Stopping halfway to the study, Benjamin turned back, craning around the bannister to see Miss Clemens. “Which is?”

  “Stay where you are,” she repeated in a dutiful tone.

  “From whom is this direction?” growled Benjamin. He took a step closer to Miss Clemens.

  She glanced down at her hands, twisting anxiously in her lap. Apparently, she was uncomfortable issuing commands, especially to someone she considered above her social standing.

  “Lucy,” Miss Clemens quietly addressed the little girl plaiting braids, “will you pretend you are a pirate and pilfer some more of those delicious sandwiches from the luncheon?”

  With a wink, Lucy rose and descended the staircase with an impish grin. “Would you like the same kind as last time?”

  “Surprise me.” Miss Clemens smiled. The tiny child nodded and scooted around Miss Clemens, disappearing down the hallway. When Lucy’s footsteps faded, Miss Clemens returned her eyes to Benjamin.

  “Mr. Hastings made the request. He and Mr. Walton traveled to Mr. Morris’ country residence to question the housekeeper. They do not think Miss Hastings is captive at the estate, but Mr. Hastings hoped to find a clue to her true whereabouts.”

  “Why would Edward request I remain here?” Benjamin mused, speaking more to himself than to Miss Clemens.

  Miss Clemens glanced around. Lowering her voice, she leaned forward, cupping her hand around her mouth. “Mr. Hastings suspects there may be a second kidnapping.”

  Benjamin’s jaw dropped. Why would Edward involve an innocent person like Miss Clemens in this horrid ordeal? It seemed completely opposite of Edward’s overprotective tendencies.

  “Mr. Hastings confessed that particular concern to you?” Benjamin asked, crossing the foyer. He stopped at the foot of the staircase.

  “Not aloud,” replied Miss Clemens. She resumed weaving her fingers together.

  Groaning, Benjamin lowered himself gingerly onto the stairs, sitting next to Miss Clemens. Stretching out his throbbing leg, he rubbed his thigh. His intense gaze locked on Miss Clemens’ brown eyes.

  “Please explain.”

  Miss Clemens gulped and quickly looked away, a faint red color decorating her face. The blush reminded Benjamin of Miss Hastings, her beautiful skin tinted with that delectable glow. His heart thudded in agony.

  How would he find her?

  “Mrs. Hastings received a threatening missive this morning before the warning from Aunt Abigail was delivered. By the time we arrived, Mrs. Hastings was recovering upstairs, having fainted. Mr. Hastings met us in the courtyard, briefly explaining Mrs. Hastings was feeling ill. He said he had an errand to attend, and when I saw you and Mr. Reid, I was to ask you both to remain here.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Benjamin as Miss Clemens had lapsed silent after her statement.

  “When Mr. Hastings rushed out, he left the letter on the hallway table… and I read it. It was horrific,” Miss Clemens said in a timid whisper. She paused, a visible shudder traveling the length of her spine. Raising her eyes, Miss Clemens stared at Benjamin, tears sliding down the ends of her lashes. “Is Miss Hastings still alive?”

  “I hope so,” he answered fervently as he had no other answer to give, except his own hope. He ran his hand through his hair and thought of Mr. Flannery. The poor man helplessly watched his wife die and now wandered his land in a permanent state of fantasy.

  Would he plunge into the same madness? Could he endure a life without Miss Hastings? Benjamin snarled under his breath. How co
uld Edward expect him to sit here patiently?

  “What has everyone been told regarding Miss Hastings’ unexpected absence?” He inclined his head in the direction of the gardens.

  “Miss Hastings and Mrs. Hastings have both suddenly taken ill. They are extremely grateful to everyone who attended to celebrate the upcoming nuptials. A proper engagement ball will be held once they are fully recovered,” recited Miss Clemens.

  “I’m certain Miss Hastings will be pleased to hear she did not miss her own engagement celebration,” muttered Benjamin, thinking she would be anything but pleased.

  He glanced up as the front door burst open. Thomas and an extremely muddy Miss Randall entered together. She leaned heavily against him, her arm wrapped over his shoulders and his arm wound about her waist. Miss Clemens’ face crumpled at their intimacy. She turned her head, plucking at her unfinished braids. Thomas and Miss Randall approached the foot of the stairs, sluggishly gliding across the floor.

  “Miss Randall, I trust you are feeling better,” Benjamin said, attempting to rise. He bit his tongue as a sharp pain rewarded his sudden movement and collapsed back onto the step, his legs refusing to cooperate. He grunted in frustration.

  “I am. Thank you, Lord Westwood,” Miss Randall replied with a graceful wave of her arm, indicating Benjamin remain seated on the staircase. She turned her full attention to Thomas and beamed. He radiated under her smile. “Mr. Reid rescued me.”

  “Your gratitude is unnecessary,” Thomas said, patting her arm. He lowered her onto the step directly below Miss Clemens.

  “What happened to your dress?” asked Miss Clemens, staring at Miss Randall’s ruined clothes.

  “Since Westwood Estate is within walking distance of my aunt’s house, I decided to travel by foot, so I could enjoy the fresh air,” said Miss Randall, her melodious voice filling the foyer. “I left in the late morning to allow plenty of time to arrive at Miss Hastings’ engagement party.”

  “A marvelous idea,” said Thomas with a quick smile.

  “Indeed,” replied Miss Clemens.

  Benjamin picked up a tone of jealousy in Miss Clemens’ response. Perhaps Thomas ought to stop rescuing young ladies as both Miss Randall and Miss Clemens seemed equally smitten with him. If this practice continued, Thomas would be heading down the aisle before him.