by Alyssa Drake
Sam growled at her nieces. Frightened, the two girls shrieked, crawling over each other to escape Sam’s infuriated glare as they abandoned the armchair. The small room provided no sanctuary from her ire, which spread over the girls like a thick blanket.
“Let your sister out.” Sam slammed her hands on her hips. Her ears met with silence. She repeated her demand, stepping forward with an intimidating scowl.
“We cannot.” Marie peered out from between the slats of a rocking chair, her face painted with an angelic smile.
“And why not?” Sam asked, forcing her voice to remain calm.
“It is too heavy.” Rose popped up from behind the opposite side of the bed and pointed at the armchair. Her eyes widened to emphasize the point.
Sam ground her teeth, glancing upward. She inhaled slowly and dropped her gaze to Rose. “Then how did it manage to get all the way over to the armoire?”
“Magic?” Marie shrugged, a peek at Sam’s face caused her to reconsider her answer. She pointed an accusing her finger at her sister. “It was Rose’s idea.”
“She is lying, Aunt Samantha.” Rose threw a wooden block at her sister. “Marie did it.”
Crossing her arms, Sam stared at her two nieces, frustration pounding in her head. “Marie dragged over that chair across the room and leaned it against the door after she pushed Lucy inside.”
“Yes.” Rose nodded emphatically, her little head nearly popping from her shoulders.
“All by herself?” Sam crossed her arms, waiting for Rose to admit the truth.
Rose paused, mulling over the possible outcomes of the conversation, and pushed out her lower lip. “Marie said she would cut the head off my doll if I did not help her.”
“I did not!” Marie leapt out from behind the chair and flew at Rose, shoving her sister hard in the shoulder.
“You did too.” Rose punched Marie in retaliation.
An anguished wail interrupted the argument. Both little heads whipped around toward the closet, anticipating another scream. Their faces broke into quick smiles when Lucy fulfilled and exceeded their expectations. The cry echoed through the house, a large sound considering Lucy’s lack of stature.
Crossing the room in two steps, Sam laid her hands on the edge of the gilded chair back and firmly pushed—the chair barely moved. She opened her mouth to ask the girls to help her but stopped when she caught sight of her nieces’ gleeful faces. Marie and Rose snickered behind their hands. Turning around, Sam shot both her nieces a stern glare.
“What is so funny?”
“I told her a monster lived in the armoire.” Marie clapped her hands together and rocked forward onto her toes as she bragged. “I said the monster ate...” her voice trailed off when she noticed Sam’s expression. Then, with horror breaking on her face, she realized her confession too late. Her eyes dropped to the floor.
Another cry broke through Sam’s fury. Her fingers wrapped around the arms on the ornate chair. Grunting, she hefted it away from the door. Sam grabbed the armoire handle and yanked, flinging the door open.
Light pooled around a tiny figure huddled on the floor. Old toys—several beheaded dolls, a white baby carriage with a missing wheel, a faded dollhouse, which had been locked shut for years, its peeling paint flaking onto Lucy’s dress, and a sad jack-in-the-box without its spring—surrounded her like a fortress. The haunted face turned toward the light, plump cheeks streaked with tears.
Lucy leaped from the floor into Sam’s arms. She pointed a shaking finger at her two sisters. “They put me inside, with monsters.” Lucy’s lower lip quivered, tears streaming down her chubby face. She buried her head in Sam’s neck, sobbing.
Sam glared at the older girls. “I ought to lock you two in the armoire.”
“No.” Tears filled Marie’s large brown eyes. “The dark frightens me.”
Wrapping her arms around Lucy, Sam groaned. Lucy had not quite outgrown her baby fat yet. Arms burning, Sam silently cursed her decision to give the governess the morning off.
She shifted Lucy and pointed at Marie and Rose in turn. “You two will stay in your room until your mother returns home.”
“Do we have to?” Marie glanced at the wide mouth of the armoire, sharing a fearful look with Rose.
“In. Your. Room.” Sam repeated each word with exaggerated emphasis.
Turning to leave, Sam felt Lucy lean sideways around her shoulder. Sam glanced up just in time to see Lucy stick her little pink tongue out at her sisters.
“Lucy, do not stick out your tongue.” Sam chastised the little girl automatically and paused, snorting. Apparently, her sister-in-law’s constant nagging had seeped into Sam’s subconscious. Sam bumped her forehead against Lucy’s. “Do not tell your mother I just corrected your behavior.”
“Alright, Aunt Samantha.” Lucy giggled. “May I stick out my tongue again?”
“You may.” Sam laughed and paused at the landing, debating how she could traverse the staircase while holding Lucy. Marie and Rose’s bickering voices carried out of the room.
“Tattle-tale.” Marie’s shrill voice trilled the insult.
“Cry baby,” retorted Rose. A wooden block bounced out the door, tumbling past Sam’s feet.
Sam sighed. Her poor, neglected book, haphazardly tossed on the armchair’s cushion, would remain unread until this chaos was resolved, or until the governess returned. It must be nearly past two.
Sam shifted Lucy’s bulk, right to left, hips moving in rhythm. The pudgy hands wrapped around Sam’s arm, leaving sweaty fingerprints on her delicate sleeve—hands which threatened to stain new wallpaper, clean drapes, and glass windows. Sam considered the damage Lucy could accomplish to the spotless house in the ten minutes Sam needed to search for the governess whose tardiness caused her to mutter an unladylike word under her breath.
“Nap time.” Sam bumped her nose against Lucy’s.
Squealing, Lucy wriggled from Sam’s grasp and fell, crashing to the floor. She chewed her lip, pondering another fit, her eyes watering. Suddenly she giggled. Leaping up and running toward her mother’s bedroom, her bare feet pattered loudly.
Lucy’s uncontainable energy caused her to misjudge the corner, and she careened sideways, her feet skidded on the slippery floor. She tumbled forward and found herself sitting again. Remaining on the ground, Lucy stared at her feet, her little face scrunched into a frown as she considered how best to maneuver into her mother’s nearby bedroom. Hoisting herself onto her knees, Lucy crawled to the room, her little bottom swinging side to side.
The little girl climbed onto the bed, burrowed under the blankets, and closed her eyes, her thumb finding her mouth. Sam neatly tucked Lucy’s curls under her head to prevent them from tangling on the pillow, then crossed the room to pull the drapes closed. The room dimmed.
The abandoned book called softly, promising worlds of gentility and seduction, but a nagging voice—which sounded peculiarly like Wilhelmina’s—suggested she research her older nieces’ activities over the past few minutes. No sounds emanated from their bedroom. Envisioning broken bones and bloody noses, Sam crept back down the hallway.
Both girls lay huddled under a blanket, curled up on the mattress the three girls shared, their breathing slow and simultaneous. Sam drew the drapes to block the afternoon’s light, pausing to make sure neither girl awoke and tiptoed back to the informal sitting room. Snuggling into the paisley cushion on the windowsill, Sam flipped the pages in her book impatiently, searching for the exact spot she stopped reading. Returning to the opening of the paragraph, Sam’s lips curved into a smile.
“Excuse me, Miss Hastings, I brought you some tea.” Mr. Walton made his entrance quietly, startling Sam out of her quiet reverie.
“Thank you, Mr. Walton,” Sam nodded as he placed the tray on a table near her elbow. She had arrived a fortnight ago, and already, the butler knew to bring her tea at exactly two in the afternoon.
He bowed, a little formality, before speaking again. “The mail is also on the
tray. Will there be anything else, Miss Hastings?”
“No, thank you.” Sam added milk to her tea before sipping. Leafing through the missives, she paused on a gilded invitation addressed to her in Mrs. Allendale’s immaculate flowery script. Sam shook her head. She was hoping Mrs. Allendale would accidentally overlook the invitation, considering Sam had only been in town a few weeks. She grimaced. Wilhelmina, her sister-in-law, insisted Sam accompany her to every tedious party to which they received an invitation.
“It is the only way you will find a suitable husband,” Wilhelmina repeated her favorite sentiment at tea yesterday. Her brown eyes glowed with delight at the prospect of planning Sam’s wedding.
“I am not interested in finding a husband,” Sam argued as she always did whenever Wilhelmina brought up the subject of marriage. The cookie Sam held in her hand snapped in half.
“Then I shall find a suitable one for you,” Wilhelmina replied. She lifted her cup and sipped, ignoring the horror on Sam’s face.
Of course, Wilhelmina supported the marriage mart. Not seven years ago, she had managed to snag Sam’s brother. Tragically, two years prior, he decided to travel to France for business. They received no word from him confirming his arrival. Then in the first few freezing days of January, they heard his ship sank somewhere off the coast of France. His body was never recovered.
Wilhelmina, heart-broken and left to care for their three young children, communicated with Sam daily, often writing several pages to fill her lonely days. Although they only met each other a few times before the wedding, the two women became easy confidants. The loss of Edward brought them even closer together.
Without Edward, Wilhelmina discovered she had no patience for business. As Edward’s finances needed constant care, Wilhelmina sent for Samantha to come live with her at the family townhouse. Sam agreed under the condition the entire family spend their summers at the country estate. Wilhelmina happily accepted, giving Sam access to her brother’s study to attend to her own business as well as manage her brother’s accounts.
As the only male heir, Edward owned both the country estate and the townhouse, however, he allowed Sam to manage the country lands as she saw fit. Since they thrived under her careful hand, her brother felt no need to meddle in the business dealings. When he passed, his will stipulated she would be solely in charge of all the property and land until either she or his widowed wife found a husband… and as of yesterday afternoon, Wilhelmina was hunting.
“Wilhelmina, I agreed to attend these functions as your chaperone when your bereavement period ended.” Sam discreetly brushed the crumbs of the crumbled cookie onto her plate.
“Yes, however, there is no harm in looking for yourself as well,” Wilhelmina answered, lightly resetting her teacup. It clinked gently, a musical indication of her wish to end the conversation.
“I have no desire to allow any man to order me around.” Sam slumped in her chair, her muttered comment causing Wilhelmina to glance up.
“Edward never ordered me around,” she sniffed, dabbing her napkin at the corner of her eyes.
Sam flushed, embarrassed she upset Wilhelmina. “I know. Edward was unique.”
“Yes, he was.” Wilhelmina turned away to hide the tear streaking down her cheek.
Sliding her hand across the table, Sam gently squeezed Wilhelmina’s wrist. “It would be my honor to accompany you for the remainder of the season.”
Wilhelmina smiled.
Now, Samantha regretted her rash promise. She stared at the invitation from Mrs. Allendale. Tonight’s party sounded dull—the same people discussing the same things, and the whispers which followed her everywhere she walked. Sam groaned, her eyes falling on the book resting on her knees. Maybe she could stay home tonight and finish a few chapters? After all, the scandals in her book were much more interesting than which gown Mrs. Whoever purchased from her dressmaker this week.
“Samantha? Samantha? Where are you?” Wilhelmina rushed in, her voice breathy and excited, cheeks faintly pink from the cold.
“I am right here, Wilhelmina.” Sam slid the invitation under her book, tucking the parchment carefully under the cover as she laid the book flat upon her lap. She folded her hands, forcing a pleasant smile to her lips.
Wilhelmina bustled in, a rather large box under her arm and flashed a radiant smile. She possessed a dainty, petite frame—a grown-up version of her three children, complete with the same chocolate brown eyes. None of the girls inherited their father’s brilliant blue color; however, both Rose and Lucy received their father’s chestnut hair, complete with curls.
“Just look at this dress.” Wilhelmina removed the lid and thrust the package onto Sam’s lap, knocking the book askew with her enthusiasm.
“Lovely.” Sam scrambled to keep the invitation hidden. “It is a beautiful hue.”
“Excellent,” Wilhelmina nodded, retrieving the box with a smile. “I shall wear it tonight.”
A quizzical look crossed Sam’s face. “Tonight?”
Wilhelmina glanced at Sam, eyeing her closely. “Yes, tonight. I already know Mrs. Allendale sent you an invitation. She confirmed it with me this morning. Do not try to beg out of this evening, Samantha Hastings. This is technically your first season, and although you are already twenty years old, I will not allow you to sink into spinsterhood.”
“At least not quietly,” muttered Sam, her eyes flicking down to the open book resting on her leg.
“And there will be no more of this.” Wilhelmina seized the book and snapped it shut unceremoniously. Sam winced as Wilhelmina spied the invitation hidden underneath.
“Ah ha!” She plucked the invitation from Sam’s lap and waved it under Sam’s nose. “You did receive it.”
“Yes.” Sam sighed. “I did, but…”
Wilhelmina interrupted. “There will be no excuses tonight. This is the first important ball of the season.”
Sam crossed her arms. “What were all the other balls we attended?”
“Practice.” Wilhelmina waved her hand airily. “I have been off the market for several years, and it is important to stay current with the modern fashions. Now, I think you should wear the green dress, it brings out the red highlights in your hair.”
“Why do you get to order me around?”
“Because,” Wilhelmina paused, contemplating her words, “because I swore to your brother, I would see you married before the season is through.”
Sam rose from her perch, hoping her tall frame would intimidate her sister-in-law. “When did you promise this?”
“Yesterday, when I was visiting his grave.” Wilhelmina stretched as well, the top of her head even with Sam’s eyes. “I am not easily intimidated, Samantha Hastings. Kindly remember your brother was almost six foot tall.”
Sam stuck out her tongue.
Chapter Two
Benjamin, Lord of Westwood, swore under his breath. Not words for polite society–swearing was never acceptable in polite society–but words that would make any uncouth rascal blush. He returned to England after several blissful months in Greece, and within moments of his arrival, society deemed him the “most eligible bachelor in town.” At least, according to the bold headline of the society page which his brother, Thomas, gleefully tossed onto the table at breakfast.
If one more feather-brained, marriage-seeking ninny jumped into his path, he was going to toss her back at her mother without so much as an apology. Well, after such rough handling, the lady would surely deserve an apology, but it would not be sincere.
This last girl chattered on so inanely, he could barely hear the waltz over her incessant twittering. He deposited her back on the fringe of the dance floor by her mother’s side, nodded at the two, and escaped to the salon where, he noted with satisfaction, most of the unmarried bachelors now resided. They drank whiskey, smoked cigars, and pretended their conversations were far too important to return to the ballroom and the clutches of this season’s crop of newly eligible young ladies.
“W
estwood.”
Benjamin turned toward the jovial voice, his eyes sweeping over the room. He recognized the owner, nodding with a broad smile. “Allendale, as always your party is an entertaining diversion.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Allendale raised his glass in salute and grinned. “Especially after you make your escape from that stuffy ballroom.”
“It is not the ballroom I fear, but suffocation from the plotting females.” Benjamin poured himself a drink before he sank into one of the large armchairs scattered throughout the room.
“Benjamin, I did not expect you to attend this party.” A mirror image popped its head around the back of a chair. Thomas’ eyes flicked mischievously over Benjamin. “I assume you received a note from Mother.”
“This very afternoon.” Benjamin sipped the amber liquid. It burned the back of his throat, dulling the headache pulsing just behind his eyes. “I see you are in attendance as well.”
“I would never go against Mother’s wishes.” Thomas lifted his chair, turning it a halfway around until he faced Benjamin. “The note stated my attendance was requested at this party.” He extended his arms. “Here I am.”
“Do you not think Mother will notice you have not stepped one foot in the ballroom this evening?” Benjamin tilted his head, tapping his temple.
“No.” Thomas’ face paled after a moment. His eyes closed with a groan. “I thought she was not attending.”
“Mother asked me to escort her this evening.” He shot a pointed glare at Thomas. “I have already made my rounds.”
Mr. Allendale chuckled. “My friends, it would be much easier to marry and save yourself the trouble of being chased by every doe-eyed beauty.”
“I am in complete agreement with Allendale.” Mr. Mason, seated opposite of Thomas, inclined his head toward his host. “My wife protects me from all those mothers and their daughters,” he laughed, lifting his glass in emphasis.
