by Alyssa Drake
“What is the reason for your unexpected early morning visit, Mr. Lockhearst?” Benjamin asked gruffly, aware the lack of sleep had affected his manners.
Mr. Lockhearst took a deep breath, replacing the glass again. “Lord Westwood, it has come to my attention you have been appointed as the acting guardian of Miss Samantha Hastings.”
“I have,” drawled Benjamin, taking a sip and deliberating whether to hold the glass against his pulsing eye.
“I would like permission to court her.”
Benjamin glared at the other man for a moment. He imagined the satisfaction he would receive from throwing his glass at Mr. Lockhearst’s head.
“I am very sorry to inform you that Miss Hastings has recently received an offer of marriage,” Benjamin replied, setting the tumbler down with a resounding clink. He knew his tone held not one note of sympathy.
Mr. Lockhearst’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Has she accepted?”
“Yes, she has.”
“What is the name of the gentleman who proposed?”
“You must understand, I cannot tell you the gentleman’s name as the engagement has not been officially announced,” Benjamin replied.
“I am the better choice,” huffed Mr. Lockhearst, his pitch sharpening.
“Are you?” Benjamin’s voice remained dangerously soft.
“Unquestionably,” Mr. Lockhearst replied.
“I will take that into consideration.”
Mr. Lockhearst smiled arrogantly, draining the liquid in his glass. “Thank you.”
“However,” Benjamin continued, “The choice belongs to Miss Hastings, and I am given to believe she is content with the match.”
A black cloud crossed Mr. Lockhearst’s face. “Perhaps you would intervene on my behalf. I am sure you could convince her to change her mind.”
Benjamin raised his eyebrows. “Are you suggesting I force her to marry you?”
Mr. Lockhearst shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “Force is a strong word. Perhaps, compel might fit the situation better.”
Benjamin grasped the edge of his desk to physically prevent himself from climbing over the top and punching Mr. Lockhearst directly in his smug face. Taking several deep breaths to calm his anger, Benjamin silently counted to ten in his head. Once he felt in control of his emotions, he slowly released his grip on the desk, one finger at a time.
Mr. Lockhearst, unaware of his host’s current struggle, continued blithely. “I am sure we could come to some sort of monetary arrangement.”
Pressing the tips of his fingers together, Benjamin stared at Mr. Lockhearst wordlessly, allowing an uncomfortable silence to stretch between them. When Benjamin spoke, his cold voice held very little of the fury glittering in his dark eyes.
“Miss Hastings is not for sale, nor will she ever be. As you can have nothing further to discuss, I want you to leave my house immediately.”
Furious, Mr. Lockhearst threw his empty glass into the fireplace. It shattered, sending shards skittering across the floor. He turned his glittering, black eyes back to Benjamin.
“Beware, Westwood. I am a man who always gets what he wants.”
“Even if that is true, in this case, Mr. Lockhearst, you will not.”
“Our business is not finished,” Mr. Lockhearst foamed. Without another word, he slammed out the front door, muttering curses under his breath.
Benjamin watched through his study window as Mr. Lockhearst stomped down the sidewalk and out of sight. Disgusted, Benjamin shook his head–such behavior from a gentleman. He wondered if the stories of staff abuse were true. Mr. Lockhearst seemed every bit as tyrannical as the rumors implied. After witnessing this morning’s episode, Benjamin speculated Mr. Lockhearst might be capable of more sinister acts. Definitely not a good match for any woman. Mr. Lockhearst’s continued bachelorhood was strong evidence of that fact.
Pieces of broken glass shimmered in the fireplace, an ominous warning of the personality hidden beneath a gentile façade. Benjamin reminded himself to inform Mr. Davis of the sharp glass intermixed with ash before the maid cleaned the grate. Sighing again, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, a dull headache pulsing behind his eyes.
His pupils rested on the large stack of paperwork loosely organized on his desk. Still vibrating with anger, Benjamin found it impossible to work. He glanced up as Mr. Davis silently entered the study, carrying a cold compress which he placed next to the silver tray. Benjamin offered his gratitude and placed the compress against his pounding eye with a grateful moan.
Turning away, Mr. Davis’ observant eyes swept over the room and came to rest on an errant piece of glass. He spoke in a soft tone, his tranquil cadence hiding his repulsion of Mr. Lockhearst’s brutish behavior. “I presume that particular gentleman will not be visiting us again.”
Benjamin grinned. “You have my permission to expel him from the house with as much force as you deem necessary.”
A grunt answered Benjamin’s statement. Mr. Davis leaned over and collected the broken shard from the floor. He turned it over in his hand thoughtfully. “I trust your eye is feeling better.”
“Much better, thank you, Mr. Davis,” Benjamin replied, adjusting the compress. “I had an unfortunate accident this morning.”
“What happened, my Lord?”
Benjamin snorted. “I proposed.”
Mr. Davis laughed, falling forward and placing his hands on his knees for balance as he shook. The robust sound echoed around the study. Once Mr. Davis regained his breath, he wiped his eyes and replaced his professional mask.
“May I learn the name of the lovely young lady?”
“Miss Samantha Hastings,” Benjamin replied, acutely aware of the pleasure that coursed through his veins at the mention of her name.
“I know the family,” nodded Mr. Davis. He paused a minute and cocked his head. “Please excuse my curiosity, my Lord; as you are her acting guardian, who, exactly, struck you?”
“Her brother,” Benjamin answered after a moment of consideration. Mr. Davis never showed anything but discretion in his duties. Benjamin trusted him implicitly with most of his private business.
“Ah. I was under the misconception that Mr. Hastings had passed away.”
“It is extremely important that everyone continues to keep the same impression.”
“Then I will maintain the charade until I am proved otherwise,” Mr. Davis stated. His observant eyes swept over the room again. “I will notify the household staff to clean the fireplace carefully.” Without another word, he disappeared out the study door, still clutching the wayward piece of glass.
Benjamin glared at the unopened stack of letters. His head replayed the recent conversation with Mr. Lockhearst. The man set his teeth on edge. Swimming with annoyance, Benjamin’s mind refused to allow him to focus. He decided his correspondence could wait.
Miss Hastings’ voice, more specifically her laugh, wandered into his thoughts. He wondered what plans she had for the day. Wedding plans. Mrs. Hastings would have dragged her to Westwood Estate.
He could picture Miss Hastings strolling leisurely through the gardens, beams of sunlight glinting off her curls. An absent-minded smile graced his lips. A little diversion would clear his head; he could think of no other reason to remain in town.
Mr. Davis met Benjamin at the study door with a smile. “My Lord, I have laid out fresh clothes in your bedchamber. Perhaps you should dress prior to returning to your fiancée.”
Benjamin glanced down at his trousers, covered in mud from the riverbank and grimaced. He nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Mr. Davis.”
Within forty minutes, Benjamin was on his way to the country estate. He arrived in the early afternoon, finding his mother in the sitting room as she finished her tea. Politely declining her offer of refreshment, Benjamin paced the length of the room twice while his mother watched him carefully over the rim of her cup. Mercifully she said nothing about his eye.
“Benjamin, pleas
e do sit down,” she offered, indicating a nearby chair.
He complied with a tight smile, sitting on the edge of a settee. “I have found a wife.”
She laughed, the sound resembling a merry tinkling of little bells. “Is that all? I thought you were going to tell me something frightful.”
“I have not told you the lady’s name yet,” Benjamin spoke softly.
“It is not that dreadful Miss Shirely is it?” His mother’s voice held a note of disgust.
Benjamin smiled. “You must have been speaking with Aunt Abigail.”
Lady Westwood returned her son’s grin. “I do not need her advice to form my own opinion. However, in this case, she was correct in her assessment of Miss Shirely. I certainly hope you are of the same mind.”
“I am. It is not Miss Shirely.”
“Thank heavens,” exhaled Lady Westwood, replacing the teacup with a light clink. “I do not think I would have been able to stand more than ten minutes of her odious company. I would miss you terribly if you chose to marry such a detestable woman.”
“That kind of statement is not proper for polite society,” chided Benjamin.
“I am too old to be proper,” laughed Lady Westwood. “Tell me, who is the lady?”
Benjamin took a deep breath. “Miss Samantha Hastings.”
Lady Westwood tilted her head slightly and nodded. “I thought as much.”
“Pardon,” Benjamin stared at her in shock.
His mother chuckled. “Benjamin, I may be old, but I am not blind. It was evident the night the two of you met at the Allendale’s ball.”
“What was evident?” interrupted Thomas, entering the room and taking a sandwich from the tray on the table. He popped it into his mouth before grabbing a second and sitting on the sofa across from his brother.
“Benjamin has proposed to Miss Hastings.”
“I am not sure Miss Hastings should have accepted the proposal. It took Benjamin a long time to figure out his perfect match,” Thomas winked at his mother, reaching for another sandwich. “Perhaps, she should look for a more intelligent fiancé.”
Benjamin growled at his brother. “When the two of you are finished dissecting my life, will you please let me know?”
Lady Westwood smiled. “Benjamin, we were not dissecting, we were merely waiting for you to catch up to the rest of us.”
“He has always been a little thick,” goaded Thomas.
The housekeeper interrupted the conversation with a light tap on the door frame. “Lady Westwood, Mrs. Hastings has arrived with some important news. She asked to be seen.”
“Please show her in,” gestured Lady Westwood.
Mrs. Hastings entered the room; Benjamin held his breath inadvertently. He hoped to see Miss Hastings as well, but Mrs. Hastings arrived alone. His face reflected the disappointment, darkening slightly before both he and Thomas rose to greet Mrs. Hastings.
“Lady Westwood,” Mrs. Hastings trilled with joy. She spied Benjamin and nodded, her face breaking into a large grin. “I see you have already been informed of the good news.”
“Yes, I have,” beamed Lady Westwood.
“I hoped you would be willing to assist with the planning. Samantha has disappeared and is not at all interested in the wedding details.”
Benjamin sniggered, earning a glare from Mrs. Hastings. “Are you really that surprised?”
She sighed. “No.”
“Mrs. Hastings, I would be delighted to help,” Lady Westwood smiled. “Please, do have a seat. I shall call for more refreshments as my son has consumed most of them.”
Thomas laughed, holding a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “Benjamin, let us leave these ladies to their plotting.”
Benjamin nodded to both ladies and followed his brother from the room. They walked slowly toward the library, Thomas still chewing on his pilfered sandwich. He entered the room first, crossing over to one of the plush chairs, indicating the one to his left.
“What is bothering you?” he demanded, once he swallowed the final bite.
Benjamin’s eyes studied his brother’s features—exactly the same, except for their eye color and taste in women. He knew by proposing to Miss Hastings, he had placed himself in harm’s way. However, his brother was unaware of the impending danger. Thomas deserved an explanation or at least a warning, considering they were walking around with the same face.
“Edward is alive.”
Thomas choked on the sandwich. Benjamin leaned over and deftly thumped his brother on the back until the sandwich dislodged from his throat. Thomas gasped for air, his face straining from the effort. Benjamin waited patiently while Thomas regained his power of speech.
Thomas’ eyes roved over his brother’s face. “Is Edward aware you proposed to his sister?”
Benjamin nodded mutely.
“And is that bruise evidence of Edward’s handiwork?” Thomas asked with a smirk.
Benjamin grimaced and nodded again.
“What happened to Edward?”
“He was attacked by some unknown man.”
“Are you sure it was a man?”
Benjamin nodded. “No woman would have been able to stuff Edward’s unconscious body into a hay cart.”
“When was he attacked?”
“The day he left for France.”
“Why?”
“We think it was to cover up the murder of Mr. Hastings.”
“Edward’s father? Why was he killed?”
“We do not know the answer to that.”
“Did Edward see his attacker?”
“No. He struck Edward from behind.”
Thomas, quiet for a moment, stroked his chin thoughtfully. “A hay cart is not a very inconspicuous place to hide a body. If I murdered someone, I would expect the body to be found, eventually.”
“That was my sentiment.”
“And this mysterious person has been waiting two years for Edward’s body to be found?”
“Yes,” Benjamin nodded, folding his hands.
“Has anything turned up missing at either Hastings Manor or the townhouse?”
“Not that anyone is aware of.”
“Are there any suspects?”
“None,” replied Benjamin with a shake of his head.
“How long has Edward been in town?”
“He arrived here this morning.”
“Here?” Thomas looked surprised.
“Yes. Miss Hastings took ill. Mother refused to allow her to leave until she recovered.”
“Ever the gracious host,” Thomas said with a smile.
“Mrs. Hastings and her children also blessed us with their company.”
“That must have been a full house,” mused Thomas.
Benjamin grinned. “It was.”
“That is why I choose to spend my time in town,” Thomas smirked. “How did Edward know to look for them here?”
“He arrived home early in the morning, shocking his butler nearly out of his skin. Mr. Walton told him what occurred with Miss Hastings’ illness, and Edward departed immediately for Westwood Estate.”
Thomas, silent a moment, stared at the books lining the shelves. “Will Edward be reintroducing himself to society?”
“He plans to attend the Leveret’s ball,” stated Benjamin quietly.
“That is going to make someone very angry,” murmured Thomas.
“Probably.”
Thomas exhaled slowly. “Then Edward is still in jeopardy.”
“Yes,” answered Benjamin, watching Thomas’ reaction as he fit the pieces together.
“Am I to understand the entire Hastings family is also in danger?”
Benjamin nodded, holding his tongue, waiting for Thomas to complete his thought.
“And you, as the fiancé, are now also at risk?”
Benjamin nodded again, still silent.
“Did you know this when you proposed?”
“I did.”
Thomas’ eyes gleamed. “What is the plan?”
&n
bsp; Benjamin smiled with relief. Not only had Thomas not chastised his rash behavior, he was willing to help trap a murderer. No brother could be finer.
“You realize this will place you in jeopardy as well.”
“Of course,” Thomas grinned. “What is life without a little risk?”
Chapter Eighteen
“I cannot wait until I am old enough to attend balls,” stated Marie, flopping dramatically onto Sam’s bed. She watched Sam root through the hair adornments spread over the quilt and fiddled with the colorful ribbons, holding them up to her dark tresses and sighing.
Sam grinned. “There will be plenty of time for you to dress up when you are older.”
“It just seems so far away,” Marie whined, a hint of longing in her young voice.
“Come here,” gestured Sam. She grabbed a pink ribbon and began braiding it into Marie’s hair.
Marie stared at the mirror, silent for a moment, watching Sam weave the ribbon into her hair. “Did your mother ever plait ribbons into your hair when you were little?”
Sam smiled at her niece’s reflection. “My mother braided ribbons into my hair every time she dressed for a party. I always felt like a princess.”
“I wish I was older now,” said Marie. “Then I could dress up in beautiful gowns, dance all night long, and stay up late.”
Sam laughed. She snagged another ribbon off the bed and began braiding the other side of Marie’s hair. “Where are your sisters?”
Marie shrugged. “I think they are helping Mother get ready.”
“Well thank you for helping me,” smiled Sam. “I might have had to dress all by myself.”
“Do you remember your first ball?” Marie asked as Sam began working a third pink ribbon into her hair.
“Yes,” Sam grinned. “I was about nine years old.”
“Nine,” sputtered Marie, rolling her eyes. “Mother says I have to wait until I am sixteen.”
Sam winked at Marie. “I was supposed to wait until I was sixteen as well. However, I slipped into the ball.”
“How?” Marie’s eyes widened, her mind furious processing possible plans.
