An Imperfect Engagement

by Alyssa Drake

  “You will regret your interference, Mr. Reid,” Mr. Shirely growled and disappeared around a hedge.

  “Miss Clemens, I hope you will forgive our intrusion in this matter.” Thomas bowed low to her.

  She smiled at him gratefully, returning his bow. “You are forgiven, Mr. Reid.”

  Edward glanced around at the group, silently accounting for each person. “Where is Samantha?” he asked with a note of panic.

  A scream answered his question.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sam placed the side of her face against the cool leaves of the hedge, brambles poking against her skin as she strained to overhear the conversation. Focused intently on the argument stemming from the other side of the thicket, she failed to notice the pebbles softly crunching behind her. A cold hand grasped her upper arm between the seam of her long glove and the edge of her sleeve. Icy chills speeding through Sam’s skin, she screamed in terror.

  “Miss Hastings, please accept my apologies. I did not intend to alarm you.” Miss Randall, swathed elegantly in a black shimmering gown, lifted her whiskered mask and smiled pleasantly.

  “Miss Randall,” Sam stammered, her pounding heart overpowering her senses, leaving a rushing sound in her ears. This evening had her jumping at shadows.

  “Samantha!” Edward yelled from the other pathway.

  “I am fine,” Sam called back sheepishly. “Miss Randall startled me.”

  “Good evening.” Miss Randall cupped her hand around her mouth and yelled her greeting with a bemused expression. She neared the hedge, stopping when she reached Sam. Leaning over, Miss Randall whispered. “Who is on the other side of the wall?”

  “Lord Westwood, Mr. Reid, my brother, his wife, and Miss Clemens,” replied Sam, ticking their names off on her fingers.

  Miss Randall smiled curiously and gestured to the solid bush wall in front of them. “Why are they all over there?”

  “They have all chosen the incorrect path.” Sam spoke the statement loud enough for her voice to carry.

  “Miss Hastings, are you admitting you are no longer confident in my ability to select the correct direction?” Mr. Reid's playful question floated through the leaves.

  “I believe that was my original argument earlier this evening, Mr. Reid. As both you and Edward have converged, I can only conclude I was correct. Neither one of you are capable of finding the path to the center.” Sam grinned at Miss Randall.

  “Since you do not trust my judgment, would you care to switch partners?” Mr. Reid asked. “Miss Randall may know how to solve this labyrinth.”

  “Do you?” Sam mouthed.

  “Not in the slightest idea,” Miss Randall whispered and winked. “However, I am certain two clever women, such as us, can determine the correct pathway.”

  “Mr. Reid, Miss Randall and I shall meet you at the center of this maze.” Sam spoke with false conviction.

  “Sammie, would you not prefer Wilhelmina and I accompany you on your quest to best Mr. Reid?” Edward’s worried voice echoed.

  “It will take you too long to backtrack,” replied Sam. “Mr. Reid would have beaten us by then.”

  “I can scale the wall again,” Lord Westwood said. Sticks broke with his statement.

  “Look at your hands.” Wilhelmina’s concerned voice halted the cracking of branches.

  “It is nothing,” Lord Westwood answered, removing his hands from the hedge. “Only a few scratches from the brambles.”

  Mr. Reid scoffed. “A few? It looks like you attacked him with your epee again, Miss Hastings.”

  “Mr. Reid,” Sam choked in embarrassment. “I have already made amends for that particular slight.”

  “Do you not mean slice?” He snickered.

  “You learned how to use an epee?” Miss Randall asked, her eyes wide.

  “Yes.” Sam nodded, encouraged by Miss Randall’s awe. “I can shoot a pistol as well. Edward wanted me to learn how to defend myself.”

  “That is incredible.” Miss Randall gestured toward the hedge. “I wish I had the opportunity to learn such exciting subjects.”

  Sam leaned closer, lowering her voice. “There are other parts of my education which suffered.”

  “Such as?”

  “I have no skill with a needle and thread.”

  Miss Randall laughed, her musical voice reverberated in the alcove. “I believe that particular ability is overvalued.”

  “What are the two of you ladies discussing so earnestly?” asked Mr. Reid.

  “The direction we intend to head,” replied Miss Randall demurely, flashing a smile at Sam.

  “Sammie, will you at least promise to be cautious?” Edward asked anxiously.

  “I will try,” Sam replied with a roll of her eyes.

  “That was not a promise,” Lord Westwood said.

  “You are learning,” muttered Edward in approval.

  “I can hear you.” Sam grumbled, crossing her arms in annoyance.

  Miss Randall tugged Sam’s left arm, touching her finger to her lips and gesturing to the maze with a tilt of her head. The two ladies dashed down the path, giggling. Edward’s nagging voice followed them around the first bend. It was lost among the other parties attempting to find the center of the maze. After several meters at their fast pace, they slowed considerably, stopping altogether when Miss Randall halted to catch her breath. She plucked her shoe from her foot with a grimace. Upending the shoe, a tiny pebble, lodged in the toe, tumbled to the ground.

  “I find it extremely difficult to run in these shoes.” Miss Randall's melodious voice drifted from her bowed position as she rubbed a sore spot on the pad of her foot. “Would you mind if we walked for a bit?”

  “Not at all,” Sam replied, taking a moment to study the labyrinth to determine their current position. From her right, orchestra music and gossiping voices drifted leisurely from the lawn. She glanced ahead at the lantern-lit path.

  Miss Randall watched her silently, still attending to her foot. “What are you thinking?” she finally asked.

  “We will need to take a left in order to realign our direction. I believe we have drifted too far to the right.”

  Miss Randall's gaze flashed to the path behind them. “I do not recall seeing a turn behind us.”

  “Nor do I. Perhaps, we should press forward until we reach another opening.”

  “I agree.” Miss Randall smiled amiably as she slipped her shoe back on. “Grass made a much more delightful pathway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Miss Randall strolled to Sam’s side, looping an arm through Sam’s, ambling down the path. “Several years ago, Mrs. Shirely demanded all the labyrinth paths were changed from soft grass to this harsh dirt walkway.”

  “Why?”

  “There was quite a scandal following the masque which occurred three years ago.” Miss Randall offered a wry smile. “I am surprised you have not heard of it even though this is your first season.”

  “I have been hiding out in the country.” Sam grinned. “Rumors rarely reach me.”

  “A fine place to avoid all types of society,” said Miss Randall, squeezing Sam’s arm.

  “Who did the scandal involve?”

  Miss Randall leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Mr. Alexander Shirely II and Mrs. Delilah Reece. Apparently, they were carrying on and did not hear her husband approaching down the path. He caught them in a most embarrassing position.”

  Sam gasped. “The grass muffled his footsteps.”

  “Exactly.”

  They walked in silence a few moments, listening to the telltale crunch of their shoes on the gravel path.

  “What happened when Mr. Reece discovered his wife’s infidelity?”

  Miss Randall paused. “Mr. Reece demanded satisfaction.”

  “Was there a duel?”

  “There was indeed. Mr. Reece lost his life,” Miss Randall replied grimly.

  “That is dreadful.” Sam’s eyes dropped to the pathway, kicking a pebble.
“How did Mrs. Reece accept such a terrible loss?”

  “She married Mr. Shirely.” Miss Randall snorted.

  “Mrs. Reece is Miss Clemens’ sister?” Sam exclaimed.

  “The very same,” said Miss Randall, her face unreadable.

  “How was this quieted?” Sam felt indignant for Mr. Reece; his life stolen. “Surely a duel and subsequent death would be news.”

  “The Shirely family is involved in various industries. They exert tremendous control over those businesses, including the printing of societal pages. The entire affair was hidden, people were paid, and witness accounts changed— it disappeared.” A ghostly smile curved across Miss Randall's lips.

  “How did you come to learn of this disgrace?” Chewing her lip, Sam's mind spun around the Shirely’s scandalous history.

  “Aunt Hattie likes to gossip,” replied Miss Randall, “even when it is about her own family, she has no qualms. Although Aunt Lillian guaranteed nothing was repeated outside of the family.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “How did she do that?”

  “She threatened to expose the truth behind Aunt Hattie’s inability to bare children.”

  “Which you cannot repeat.”

  “I appreciate your understanding.” Miss Randall turned to Sam with pleading eyes, halting their progress. “Please, do not hold my family’s lack of morals as a reflection of my character. I realize it is difficult to imagine where I fit into the family dynamics,” Miss Randall added with a grimace. “I pray you judge me by your past experience with me and not by my name alone.”

  Sam thought immediately of her cousin, Franklin Morris, a man more horrendous than any member of the Shirely lineage. She nodded and offered Miss Randall a smile. “You were so kind to assist me with the Bernard incident earlier this year; the luncheon was mortifying. I never would have recovered my shoes without your help.”

  “Aunt Hattie was livid when she discovered us wrestling Bernard to the rug in the middle of the dining room.” Miss Randall giggled.

  “As soon as she opened the door, Bernard bolted from the room, my shoe dangling from his mouth,” Sam laughed. “He knocked aside several ladies in his joy, including Wilhelmina who nearly lost her balance. There we were, still tangled on the ground, sweaty, hair disheveled, my right shoe missing, and the sleeve of your gown torn.”

  “Mrs. Hastings thought we were involved in a brawl.” Miss Clemens doubled over with laughter.

  “Wilhelmina assumed I started the whole fight,” choked out Sam, wiping the tears streaming down her face.

  “It certainly made the luncheon much more entertaining.”

  “Thankfully, Bernard did bring my slobber-covered boot back. He was so proud of himself, dropping the shoe at my foot and wagging his cute little tail back and forth with abandon.”

  “I am sorry he ruined your shoe.” Miss Randall tugged Sam forward, resuming their slow walk.

  “I hated the pair. Bernard did me an enormous favor.” Sam shrugged.

  “Miss Hastings, I believe we shall be great friends,” stated Miss Randall emphatically, wrapping her arm through Sam’s again.

  A break in the wall appeared in front of them. Miss Randall clapped gleefully as they approached the hole. Passing underneath a large wooden archway, Sam and Miss Randall gazed at the ivy intertwined haphazardly with the slats.

  “We are venturing in the correct direction,” Miss Randall said, trailing her fingers softly over the ivy which caressed the side of the arched trellis. “This is the entrance to the main garden. We should be close to the center.”

  “Is there only one entry?” asked Sam as they meandered down the path.

  Miss Randall shook her head. “Typically, there are two. Mr. Reid may still arrive before us.”

  Sam flashed a grin. “He may also need to turn around.”

  Miss Randall laughed. “He very well may.”

  A pleasant splashing sound, muffled by the hedge, greeted them as they rounded the corner. A second arch indicated the opening to the interior garden and the center of the maze. Decorating the heart of the labyrinth, a stone fountain gurgled merrily, lanterns flickering around the edges of the square, casting a mellow glow.

  Sam rushed forward, bursting into the garden joyfully. Empty marble benches greeted her. On the opposite side of the garden was a mirror image of the white trellis which Sam only just passed under a moment earlier, bereft of guests as well.

  “We have arrived first.” Sam danced happily toward the fountain, her skirt whipping in wild circles.

  A clap echoed in the night—once… twice… thrice. From the reverse side of the fountain, hidden behind a large statue, a masked man appeared, shuffling slowly toward Sam. He bared his teeth, gnashing them slightly and flashed a pistol which glinted threateningly in the moonlight.

  “Miss Hastings,” he purred, “I am delighted to see you again and so quickly after our last meeting. I feared it would be some time before we would be able to rekindle our acquaintance.”

  “Franklin,” gasped Sam, stumbling backward. Edward underestimated Franklin’s desperation.

  He approached slowly, favoring his right side, holding the weapon in his left hand. Sam wondered about the marksmanship of his less-dominant appendage. She kept her eyes focused on the barrel of the gun, suspecting the pistol was the same one employed in the demise of Mr. Walton.

  Inclining his head in a tiny bow, Franklin removed the black mask, an audible groan accompanying the movement of his right arm. His greedy eyes swept over Sam’s delicate throat and the necklace which decorated it. “I see you have found my inheritance.”

  Sam’s hand flew to her neck as she took a large step in reverse. A few more meters and she would be able to disappear into the maze with Miss Randall. With any luck, they could outrun Franklin, owing to his current physical condition. How would she communicate her intentions to Miss Randall without Franklin catching onto her plan?

  Franklin shook his head subtly, clucking his tongue. Brandishing the gun, he pointed it directly at Sam’s heart. Sam froze as Franklin’s eyes flicked to Miss Randall, still partially hidden under the archway.

  “Where are your manners, Miss Hastings?” Franklin admonished her with a sneer. “You have neglected to introduce me to your lovely friend.”

  Miss Randall took a brave step forward, aligning herself with Sam, grabbing her hand for encouragement. Squaring her shoulders, she glared at Franklin. “My name is Miss Randall. I am the niece of Mr. Shirely, your host this evening.” Her regal tone wavered slightly.

  “Miss Randall,” replied Franklin with a small nod, “it is a pleasure to meet you.” He paused a moment, a light bursting in his eyes. “You must be the bastard daughter of Miss Della Randall.” He smirked. “I can tell by your unusual violet eyes… most extraordinary.”

  “That particular detail of my past is not discussed in polite society.” Miss Randall bristled.

  “I am not currently considered a member in good standing,” replied Franklin. He languidly strolled around them, his lips stretched into a taut sneer. “You would be residing with the Pierces at this moment, yes?”

  “I am,” said Miss Randall, her eyes tracking Franklin’s leisurely progress as he circled around them. “However, my residence is no concern of yours.”

  “I am simply making conversation.” Franklin shrugged, aiming the pistol at her heart. “Under the current circumstances, I am afraid we will not be able to cultivate our relationship any further this evening. It seems a shame to dispose of someone as striking as you; however, I cannot allow any witnesses. I shall endeavor to make your demise as quick as possible.” Franklin paused and grinned, his eyes traveling the length of Sam.

  “Conversely, Miss Hastings, I have no intention of giving you one bit of reprieve. I am disappointed you managed to cover my handiwork under your costume. Nevertheless, once I am finished with you this evening, no one will recognize you, not even your own brother.”

  Sam shivered under his sinister gaze, icicle
s sliding down her spine. The penny knife-currently hidden in her bodice pressed its cold metal frame against her skin. A knife would hardly defend Miss Randall and herself against a gun, but any weapon was better than none. Would she be able to retrieve it before Franklin could react?

  An odd crunching sound reached her ears, distant but advancing quickly. Miss Randall squeezed her hand once, a signal she heard the sound as well. Someone approached from behind them. Sam prayed Franklin would not realize the significance of the noise.

  She listened intently. The crunching sound grew louder, more than one set of feet. Was it Edward and Lord Westwood? Could they have found her this quickly? Her breath caught in her throat as a quartet burst through the archway, boisterous and intoxicated.

  “Robert!” said Miss Randall, relief in her voice.

  Franklin cursed, disappearing behind the fountain with a hiss. Neither Mr. Shirely nor his friends noticed Franklin’s departure.

  “Charlotte,” slurred Mr. Shirely. He sidled up to her and looped an arm around her waist, hauling her against him. “How delightful to discover you this evening. I was under the impression you were not attending our little party.”

  “Robert, I would never miss an opportunity to attend the annual masque. I must say, your timing is superb.” Miss Randall smiled winningly at him. “I hope you and these lovely gentlemen can escort Miss Hastings and me out of this maze as we are completely lost.”

  Mr. Shirely leaned toward Miss Randall, a sneer stretched across his lips. He tapped the side of his head. “Women are not capable of logical thought, it is no wonder you cannot determine the correct path. We would be pleased to lead you to safety.”

  “Robert, you are a dear,” replied Miss Randall. She patted his arm and offered him a dazzling smile.

  He grinned stupidly in her radiance. Glancing over, he noticed Sam, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Miss Hastings.” He acknowledged her darkly. “I have a grievance to settle with your fiancé’s brother.”

  “Then, I suggest you take the matter up with Mr. Reid as I have no contribution to your concern nor any control over his actions,” replied Sam. This current situation could quickly escalate into something far worse than Franklin’s pistol. Sam shivered under Mr. Shirely’s leering smile. He flung a heavy arm over her shoulders, pulling Sam closer until her head knocked against his greasy hair.