by Alyssa Drake
“It has been far too long, Samantha.”
“Indeed,” replied Sam, gasping against Alana’s strong grasp. “I would like to introduce you to Miss Daphne Clemens. She and Mrs. Stanton are guests of Lady Westwood as well.”
“Miss Clemens.” Alana curtsied politely and laughed again. “Unfortunately, that is the extent of my manners.”
“Miss Flannery.” Daphne curtsied shyly, overwhelmed by Alana’s boisterous personality.
“Now, we will have none of that formality,” said Alana, waving her hand. “Please address me as Alana. I have no desire to be remembered by any other name.”
“Certainly, Alana,” said Miss Clemens dutifully. “It is lovely to meet you.”
“I heard you completed the Parisian finishing school.” Sam escorted her into the house, Miss Clemens trailing behind them. “What happened to all the etiquette lessons foisted upon you?”
“I forgot those autocratic teachings as soon as I left the grounds.” Chuckling, Alana flung a wayward tendril over her shoulder. “I still hold the record for the most demerits in one school year.”
“Your father must have been thrilled.”
“That he was.” Alana laughed.
“Alana is the only person I know who is less proper than me,” Sam half-whispered to Miss Clemens as she joined them in the foyer.
“I recently heard about the dog incident.” Alana arched an eyebrow. “Getting into trouble without me, dear cousin?”
Sam laughed. “Hopefully, you will have the opportunity to meet Miss Randall. She is a delight.”
“It would be my pleasure to meet the other woman involved in your shameful brawl,” replied Alana.
“Do you intend to remain at your father’s house for an extended holiday?” Sam gestured toward the sitting room.
“I have no plans to leave,” replied Alana tersely. “Both Da and Aidan need me.”
“Poor Mr. Reid.” Miss Clemens murmured barely loud enough for Sam to hear.
“Well, I am pleased you have returned. I sorely missed your company,” replied Sam with a smile, hoping Alana had not heard Miss Clemens comment.
Oblivious, Alana walked into the sitting room where Wilhelmina, Aunt Abigail, and Lady Westwood already conversed. Shortly after they were situated with refreshment, a messenger arrived with a missive for Miss Clemens. Astonished, she rose from her chair and accepted the note, perusing it quietly, her face paling.
Alana glanced her in concern. “Miss Clemens, is everything alright? You look quite agitated.”
“The letter is from my sister.” Miss Clemens’ eyes flicked to Aunt Abigail.
Aunt Abigail set her cup down, her expression grave. “Alright, let us hear what she has to say.”
Miss Clemens swallowed and read aloud, her voice trembling. “Dearest Daphne, I am troubled regarding Mother’s well-being. She has been distraught since you abandoned her in favor of less desirable company. I do not understand why you have chosen to be so willful and can only attribute your appalling behavior to the influence of your new acquaintances.”
“I seem to remain extremely popular among your family,” Sam muttered quietly. Wilhelmina silenced Sam’s next comment with a warning glance. Sam pursed her lips and allowed Miss Clemens to continue reading.
“Mother has informed me she managed to arrange a fiancé for you, which is no small feat, considering your lack of acceptable attributes. If you return home, you will finally enjoy the same happiness as me, to be a wife. I will not tell you the name of the gentleman as I have sworn not to reveal his name. However, I will give you a hint. We would be sisters two times over. Love, Delilah.”
A collective gasp went up in the group with the exception of Sam whose head bobbed between Wilhelmina and Miss Clemens.
“I do not understand.” Sam whispered to Wilhelmina. “Why is everyone distressed? Who is the proposed fiancé?”
Wilhelmina leaned over, murmuring, “Miss Clemens’ sister is married to Mr. Alexander Shirely II.”
Sam’s eyes flew to Miss Clemens, and they exchanged a grimace. “What is his brother’s name?”
“Mr. Robert Shirely,” replied Wilhelmina with such contempt, Sam’s head whipped to stare at her.
“A vile young man,” Alana added with equal vehemence. “I had the misfortune to encounter him last year at a friend’s wedding.”
“How shall I respond?” Miss Clemens’ wide eyes pleaded with Aunt Abigail.
“We will discuss this matter properly,” Lady Westwood said with authority. She set her cup down on the table as well and angled her body until she faced Miss Clemens directly. “Miss Clemens, you have received an offer of marriage from Mr. Robert Shirely. Do you accept his proposal?”
“No, I do not.” She shook her head so hard, it nearly popped off her neck.
“You realize, rejecting this proposal, you may not receive another one,” said Lady Westwood, her tone severe.
“I do.”
“Good. We shall write to your sister with your response.” Lady Westwood smiled encouragingly at Miss Clemens.
Sam glanced around the group of ladies. “I will acknowledge I do not favor Miss Shirely’s company; however, I have heard nothing of her family.”
“You will not either,” Wilhelmina said curtly.
“At least not in polite society,” said Alana.
Aunt Abigail winked at Lady Westwood. “Which we are not.”
Lady Westwood struggled to keep a grin from her lips. “Mrs. Stanton,” she scolded, attempting to feign shock.
“There have been rumors surrounding Robert since his youth.” Aunt Abigail lifted her teacup from the saucer and sipped. Her eyes held great sadness. “The Shirely family used to have four children, three boys and one girl. The youngest boy, an adorable child by the name of Jeremiah, was about six at the time of the incident.” Aunt Abigail looked to Lady Westwood for confirmation. She nodded and picked up the story where her sister left off.
“Jeremiah and Robert were playing outside one summer day. Their governess left them alone for several minutes for some murky reason. It is even rumored young Robert bribed the governess for the few moments of privacy with his little brother.”
“True or not, the Shirely’s sacked the governess immediately after the investigation,” Aunt Abigail interrupted.
“By the time the governess returned from her walk, Jeremiah lay unconscious on the ground, bleeding severely from his head. He died before the doctor arrived. Robert claimed Jeremiah fell and hit his head on a rock while they were playing.”
Aunt Abigail shook her head. “The attending physician stated it looked as though Jeremiah’s skull had been bashed in with a rock, much more damage occurred than could be explained by Robert’s story. Whatever the truth may be, the Shirelys buried it along with their son.” She discreetly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Poor little Jeremiah, he had the kindest heart.”
“Did Mr. Davis not work for them during that time period?” asked Lady Westwood.
“He did,” said Aunt Abigail. “He left their employ shortly after the incident, working for several families over the next few years before he took the position with Benjamin. However, I have never heard him mention one word about the Shirely family.”
Alana took a sip of tea. “Patrick was at university with Mr. Shirely this year. He wrote me that Mr. Shirely was recently expelled for his excessive temper; he attempted to beat another student to death.”
“He tried to assault me,” Miss Clemens admitted quietly, twisting a napkin into knots.
All heads snapped in her direction. “When did this occur?” asked Aunt Abigail, her face dark.
“Five days ago, when you sent me to fetch Mr. Reid from the gentlemen’s club,” Miss Clemens replied, her voice barely audible.
Aunt Abigail rose from her chair, angrily knocking the table aside as she grasped her cane. “I will kill him myself.”
“Mr. Reid intervened on my behalf.” Miss Clemens attempted to calm Aunt Abig
ail. Lady Westwood placed a restrictive hand on her sister’s arm.
“Abigail,” she said firmly. “Thomas dealt with this incident already, and I am given to believe Mr. Shirely is sporting some fresh bruises due to my son’s interference.”
Aunt Abigail allowed herself to be cajoled back into her seat. “Daphne, I forbid you to marry Mr. Shirely.”
“I shall be sure to note your objections to the union in my response to Miss Clemens’ sister,” said Lady Westwood, her tone surprisingly austere.
“Thankfully, Mr. Reid will be escorting you to the Shirely masque tomorrow evening.” Wilhelmina offered Miss Clemens an encouraging smile.
“Will you be attending?” Alana asked politely to Aunt Abigail, ignoring the mention of Mr. Reid.
“Most certainly not!” Aunt Abigail replied with venom. “I never attend their functions.”
“Yet you continue to receive and decline their annual invitation,” said Lady Westwood.
“Societal decorum must be observed,” replied Aunt Abigail, banging her cane on the ground. “Even when one is dealing with a family as vile as the Shirelys.”
Chapter Sixteen
Day 6
“I believe I explicitly told you to sleep in your bedchamber.” Edward’s head peeked into the library, frowning when he caught sight of Sam, pacing in front of the fireplace.
“I am not tired,” Sam replied, tugging the shawl around her arms.
With a shake of his head, Edward entered the room, shutting the door with a light click. “Everyone has gone to sleep, Sammie.”
“What time is it?” She paused in front of the fireplace, warming her frozen body.
“Late or early, depending on your definition of the words,” replied Edward, gliding across the room, dropping into the nearest armchair.
“I think late is better.” Sam tilted her head, studying her brother. “Where did you go today?”
“I ran an errand,” Edward said, fiddling with a book on the table beside him.
“I already knew that,” grumbled Sam.
Glancing up, Edward smiled. “Then why did you ask me?”
Sam growled.
“That particular behavior is not ladylike.”
“Is there a specific reason you disrupted my evening, or was it simply to mock me?” Sam snarled, then shivered, rubbing her arms for warmth.
Edward rose, wrapping her in his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. He sighed, ruffling the strands of hair which escaped her braid. “Much of my life has been spent protecting you. Tomorrow, you will deliberately place yourself in harm’s way.”
“I am already in danger,” said Sam. She tried to push him away, but Edward refused to release his hold.
“It is against my nature to allow both you and my wife to shoulder such a heavy burden,” he replied, ignoring her outburst.
“You would look extremely silly in Mother’s jewelry.”
“Yes, I would.” Edward released her and turned away for a moment, watching the fire crackle in the grate. “Thomas and I will remain beside the both of you throughout the entire evening. He and I will be carrying pistols.”
“Pistols at a masque? How uncivilized,” Sam said. Her flippant tone belied her true sentiments. If Edward thought carrying a weapon was necessary, he suspected the worst.
“You would be surprised how many ‘fine’ gentlemen are concealing weapons.”
“You think Franklin will attend this evening!” The accusation flew from her lips.
“No, I do not. However, it is best we are prepared,” replied Edward, “especially since Benjamin will not be in attendance. In that vein, I wish you to carry this with you tomorrow evening.” Edward passed her an object which winked in the firelight—Franklin’s penny knife.
Sam accepted the weapon with uncertainty. Heavy in her hand, she wondered how much blood the blade had drawn over its lifetime. She unfolded it curiously, inspecting the metal. It flashed ominously.
“I do not anticipate you will need the knife; however, I prefer you take every precaution.”
“Have you received any news from Lord Westwood?” she asked with a hopeful tone, refolding the dangerous blade. Her eyes flicked up to Edward’s pinched face. Something was wrong.
Edward turned and paced several feet away, keeping his back to Sam. She chased him across the room, grabbing his face with both hands, twisting his head until she forced him to stare directly into her eyes, a mirror image of her own worries.
“Where is Lord Westwood?” she asked, a hysterical edge in her voice.
“We lost contact with him,” Edward said after a long pause. “The last missive we sent was returned.”
“Is he alive?” whispered Sam, paling considerably.
“Thomas assures me Benjamin is fine,” replied Edward.
“How does he know?” Sam’s stomach flopped, twisting like a serpent. What if Franklin got to Benjamin first?
Edward shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I am not sure of the mechanics of being a twin. Thomas simply stated he would know if something happened to Benjamin.”
Sam eyed Edward critically. “Do you believe Mr. Reid?”
“Implicitly,” replied Edward without hesitation.
Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Edward, I am terrified.”
Edward hugged her forcefully again. “I will ensure nothing happens to you,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.
A second knock at the library door startled them both. The door opened gradually to reveal Miss Clemens. Wrapped tightly in a shawl, she glided into the room and offered a tiny smile.
“Please accept my apologies for the intrusion.” Her quiet voice wavered. She curtsied to Edward. “Mr. Hastings, if you would care to spend the rest of the evening with Mrs. Hastings, I will keep your sister company.”
“That is exceptionally generous of you, Miss Clemens,” Edward said.
“It is no trouble, Mr. Hastings.” She offered him a small smile. “I am having my own difficulties sleeping and would prefer not to spend the remainder of the night in solitude.”
Edward glanced at Sam who nodded her consent, shooing him from the room with a small gesture. Edward bowed to both Sam and Miss Clemens. “Ladies, please do try to get some rest.”
“I am surprised to find you awake at this hour,” Sam said as Edward disappeared behind the ajar library door.
Miss Clemens flushed. She took a seat in the armchair nearest the fire, chewing on her lip. When she glanced up, her hands were twisted into knots. “How did you convince Lord Westwood to fall in love with you?” Her timid voice cracked on the last word.
“I did not do anything,” Sam replied caustically, dropping into the empty armchair. “The man is frustratingly stubborn, pigheaded, and uncontrollable.” As the comment slipped from her lips, Sam realized the motive behind Miss Clemens’ strange inquiry. Sam smiled at her kindly and softened her tone. “Would this question have anything to do with Lord Westwood’s brother?”
“Yes,” said Miss Clemens faintly, her eyes focused on the dancing flames in the fireplace. When she spoke again, her distant voice addressed the burning logs. “I hoped my affection was mutual, especially after the lovely morning we spent fishing together. However, I fear Mr. Reid does not harbor any special attachment for me.”
Sam sat silently for several minutes, her mind feverously devouring Miss Clemens’ admission. “I suppose it would be best to involve Wilhelmina.”
“Oh, no, please do not tell Mrs. Hastings,” said Miss Clemens, her hand flying across the space between the chairs, grabbing Sam’s arm. “I cannot bear the embarrassment if everyone knew of my fondness.”
“Wilhelmina would never reveal anything delicate to anyone,” Sam replied. “Plus, of the three of us, she has the most experience with courting; I hardly have one season.”
“Do you think it feasible Mr. Reid might regard me as a potential match?” asked Miss Clemens hopefully.
“I believe a
nything is possible,” said Sam, thinking over the shared glance between Lady Westwood and Mrs. Stanton from the previous day. It seemed highly probably the two matrons were already scheming on this very subject.
“As do I.” Miss Clemens relaxed into the armchair, snuggling her shoulder blades into the plush cushion, her eyelids fluttering close. “He called me exquisite,” she murmured dreamily, light breathing following her comment. Miss Clemens slept peacefully, free of her secret.
Sam contemplated Miss Clemens’ predicament. Surely, Aunt Abigail and Lady Westwood were plotting to bring her and Mr. Reid together. However, Mr. Reid’s temperament changed abruptly at the mention of Alana’s name, thus proving he may not be a willing participant in their machinations. And the reason Lord Westwood chose to visit the estate two evenings prior—the anniversary of Mr. Reid’s broken heart.
Sam rose and padded over to the window. She slid between the heavy curtains, allowing the material to flow around her until she was completely hidden from view. Pressing her forehead against the cold glass, she stared out into the night, brightly lit up by the moon.
“Come back to me,” she whispered, her warm breath feathering across the window.
Sam held her post until the sun broke the horizon. Disentangling herself from the curtains, Sam’s eyes flicked over the unchanged library. Miss Clemens, still curled in the armchair, snored lightly. Sam covered her with a shawl. Miss Clemens mumbled incomprehensibly and sighed again, curling into the cushion.
Slipping from the room, Sam shuffled to the dining room, following the smell of breakfast. She hoped to speak with Mr. Reid regarding his curious brotherly connection to Lord Westwood. However, only an empty dining room greeted her; Mr. Reid did not appear. She mechanically chewed her food, barely able to swallow a piece of toast and abandoned her breakfast in favor of the garden.
Wilhelmina’s arm snaked out of the sitting room as Sam passed by the opening and grasped Sam’s sleeve. “We have much to do before tonight’s plan can transpire, Samantha.”
