by Amanda Davis
“Yes, Sir.”
“Samuel, I must know how my sister fares.”
Samuel’s face remained stoic, unreadable.
“Sir? I am afraid I do not understand.”
“You must know she is…unwell.”
“No, Sir, I know nothing of this.”
James stifled a grunt.
“I will not tell a soul that you told me, Samuel but this is a matter of much urgency.”
“Forgive me, Sir but I know nothing on the matter.”
James had no doubt that the man was lying, his stormy eyes glittering as though he harbored a secret.
Yet there was no way to force the information from him. He likely feared for his job. After all, James was asking about the proprietor’s daughter-in-law.
“Will you find my wife?” James asked and an unmistakable brightness lit Samuel’s eyes.
“Indeed, Sir. Is there anything else?”
The same uncomfortable feeling which had crept over James that morning resurfaced in a flash. There was something that had troubled him about his wife speaking with Samuel although he could not possibly understand what.
She would never betray me with another and certainly not a waiter.
“Sir?”
There was a rap on the door and before he could respond, Lydia appeared, her face drawn.
“Lydia!” James sighed, hurrying toward her. “Is there any word?”
But Lydia’s eyes widened and she gasped when she noticed Samuel.
“Samuel!” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”
James froze and watched as the waiter and his wife exchanged a warm look, one which caused his stomach to clench.
“Your Grace,” Samuel bowed in greeting. “I was called upon to search for you but I can see now that I am no longer needed.”
“No,” James snapped. “You are not!”
Samuel bowed again and saw himself out, leaving the couple alone in James’ chambers.
“What was the meaning of that?” James demanded when they were alone.
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “I have not a clue what you mean,” she replied but before he could explain his concern, she rushed on. “Would you or would you not like to know about Lise?”
“Of course,” he cried, instantly ashamed that was not his first question. “Is she well?”
“She is still unconscious,” Lydia explained. “But the midwife and Dr. Forrester did manage to deliver the child. They expect that Lise will recover but she is very weak.”
“I must see her,” James cried but Lydia shook her head.
“You cannot until she wakes and can attest that you did not put her into that state. Mr. Xavier is still beside himself with worry and the child is quite small. It is not the time to cause more chaos among the Balfours.”
“You cannot honestly expect me to remain here like a common criminal when I have done nothing wrong!”
“James, you must be patient. Dr. Forrester believes she will be awake soon but there is far too much tension in the household as it is. Please, do not make this more trying of a time.”
Her lovely face was rife with beseeching and James knew he had no choice but to relent to her instructions.
“You will send for me the moment she wakes?” he sighed.
“Of course.”
She turned to leave and James longed to call out, to ask her to stay but something held him back.
It was not until she was gone that he realized what it was that had stopped him from asking her to remain. He had been terrified that Lydia would refuse.
9
The gardens outside were a splendid array of roses, snake heads and lilies of the valley. The aroma alone was enough to make a casual passerby believe they had crossed into paradise, but Lydia was unable to appreciate their beauty.
Her mind was a whirl and her mother’s endless chatter did nothing to alleviate the desolation growing within her.
“It does make more sense when you consider it,” Elenora purred wickedly. “Who stood to gain from the late Duke’s death?”
“Mother, James did not murder his father,” Lydia snapped, her wits at end. “Would you kindly stop with such vicious speculation!”
“Do you not find it odd that half his family has befallen tragedy in such a short time? I would wager that the dowager duchess will too fall victim to foul play in the future if he continues to run amok.”
“The late duke’s death was an accident and Lady Elizabeth was with child. The two incidences are completely unrelated to one another.”
“So you say, child but you are blinded by your affections for the monster.”
“Mother, that is quite enough. You forget that you speak of my husband, the Duke, no less.”
“Which is why I have such valid concerns,” Elenora insisted. “You cannot fault me for wanting to protect my child.”
Does she ever truly think about my well-being or is that merely a fable she touts to enable her gossiping ways?
“I have been married to the Duke for over three years. I daresay, if he was a monster, I would be privy to such information.”
“Men can be very skilled liars when confronted, Lydia.”
Lydia paused to stared at her mother with contempt.
“James is not a liar! He is not a killer and he did not harm his sister, regardless of what Xavier Balfour might say in his grief. When Lady Elizabeth wakes, you will see how wrong you are and I will smugly watch you choke on every one of the vile words you take so much relish in spewing forth.”
She did not wait for her mother to recover from the cutting remarks. She scurried up the path toward the hotel through the servants’ entrance even though she knew as a guest she was prohibited from using the door.
She did not care, her nerves far too raw for her to speak with another one of her peers until she regained her composure. The day had been long, not only with Lise’s early labor but the looks of thinly veiled contempt thrown her way by Xavier Balfour and his father. Elias had been the only man to offer her any semblance of comfort while the women were far too concerned about Lise’s well-being to make comments on the situation.
All except her mother, of course. Elenora had commentary for every occasion.
Throughout the day, she had fought the urge to run back to James who had seemed unusually compassionate toward her. When he had told her that he was ready to start their family, she was stunned at how apathetic the words had made her feel.
He is only saying this at the moment because he needs me. When we return to Holden, he will entrench himself in a dozen other tasks and forsake the idea.
She desperately wanted to believe him this time but she had been disappointed far too many times in the past.
Even though he seemed so earnest, almost penitent.
“Your Grace, you should not be here.”
She did not need to look up to know who it was that stood before her. Perhaps she had subconsciously gone there, hoping to see Samuel, shameful as it was.
“I understand,” she murmured, turning to leave.
“Are you well, Madam? May I get something for you?”
Tears of frustration filled her eyes and she shook her head.
“No, Samuel, thank you. I only wished for a moment to gather my thoughts.”
“Forgive me, Madam. Of course, you are overwhelmed in the wake of Lady Elizabeth’s condition. Do take all the time you require.”
He turned to move away but Lydia called out to him.
“Will you wait with me?” she breathed anxiously. “I-I do not feel much like being alone.”
He stared at her pensively, sinking casually back against the wall.
“If you will forgive my boldness, Madam, His Grace might appreciate your company also.”
Lydia was mortified at the reminder.
“You need not stay, Samuel,” she choked in humiliation. “Of course I will see to my husband when I have word on his sister.”
“I am happy to stay with you, Ma
dam,” he replied quietly but it did nothing to alleviate her embarrassment. She had misread his intentions and she had never felt so foolish—or relieved.
She truly had no interest in this maître d’, handsome as he might be. He had merely shown her some kindness and she had immediately misinterpreted it.
“Forgive me, Samuel,” she muttered, turning away as fat tears began to spill down her cheeks. “I fear I am terrible company at the moment.”
“I fear you think that of yourself quite often, Madam,” Samuel told her and she whipped her head back around.
“How would you know that?” she demanded, half-awed, half-alarmed at his astuteness.
“I have been many places, Your Grace, met many people, men, women, ladies, gentlemen…”
Once again, she wondered from where he hailed to have had such a colorful history but she did not ask as she waited for him to finish his tale.
“You must understand, Madam, that people are merely people, regardless of status, difficult as it must be for someone of your noble class to see.”
“Of course, I realize that status has no bearing on our souls, Samuel,” she replied, unsure if he was attempting to insult her. The intense warmth in his deep eyes told her that he was not.
“I have found that the worst pain that any living person can endure, the death of a loved one notwithstanding, is…”
He paused to ensure she was still listening.
“What is it?” she heard herself ask, leaning forward.
“Loneliness, Madam.”
Lydia wished she could feel defensive, argue with the idea, but even before she attempted, Samuel continued.
“There is quite a difference between being alone, Your Grace, and loneliness. One can be surrounded by many friends and kin but still feel a deep, longing, a need to connect with another.”
“W-why are you telling me this, Samuel?” she asked.
“Again, Madam, if you will forgive my forwardness, I can sense the loneliness in others which is why I am so drawn to you.”
A wave of despair washed over her and Lydia felt her lower lip quiver in denial but she could not dispute what he was saying.
It was not attraction which pushed him toward me—it was pity.
She lowered her head, swallowing the lump in her throat as she shook her head.
“I do not need your attention, Samuel,” she mumbled, turning toward the stairs. “Thank you.”
She hurried away, sniffling back the upset that his words had caused but simultaneously, she realized that she was oddly comforted by what had happened.
Something strange and wonderful had happened in the short time since she had come to the Balfour Hotel, something that gave her hope despite the turmoil occurring openly around her.
I am becoming more confident in myself. I would never have spoken to Mother like I did in the gardens nor would I have entertained the notion that another man found me comely before I came here.
“Your Grace! You should not be using these dark service stairs!” A young male waiter called.
Joshua, she remembered.
“I got quite turned around,” she fibbed as Joshua hurried to escort her the rest of the way up the stairs toward the lobby.
“I suppose it is somewhat of labyrinth to those who have not been born within these walls,” Joshua jested and Lydia found herself forming a bemused respect for the young man.
He is a boy, a servant, born into this life and he smiles with a broad grin.
Yet, she knew what it was—the hotel had a profound effect on all those who wandered through, regardless of how long they stayed. She truly believed it, as though God Himself had reached down to bless the hotel and the Balfours with a touch of his loving finger.
“Thank you, Joshua,” Lydia said when he redirected her toward the main stairs off the lobby.
“It is a pleasure to have you here, Your Grace,” Joshua offered happily before scampering off to complete his work. Lydia stared after him for a long while before mounting the stairs to the fifth floor.
To her surprise, no one lingered in the halls but the door to Lise’s quarters were ajar and she heard the coo of a baby from within.
She raised her hand to knock and announce herself but the sound of Xavier’s voice stopped her from speaking.
“…are you certain?”
“Good Lord, Xavier,” Lise snapped, her voice surprisingly strong. “How can you possibly think something so terrible. James is not my father.”
Lydia’s breath caught as she listened as the exchange continued.
“How would I know?” Xavier growled back. “I have only had one other occasion to have met him and he was eager to defend your father at that time.”
“James is in a difficult position,” Lise sighed. “He is Duke now. He could not jeopardize his relationship with my father at that time but I assure you, he did not like what was happening when he was alive. James would never touch hide nor hair on me or Mother.”
“Even if he suspected you murdered your father?”
Lydia’s blood ran cold and she willed herself to run away, to stop listening but she could not, her curiosity overwhelming her wits.
Lise exhaled in a rush of wind.
“He would never believe that,” she murmured. “We spoke about it. He was preparing to leave when this occurred…”
“What is it, my love?” Xavier asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. “What troubles you?”
“You know what,” she replied quietly. “You know…”
“Lise, how many times must I assure you that I had nothing to do with his death.”
“Shh!” she hissed. “He is falling asleep now.”
“Forgive me,” Xavier muttered. “But you infuriate me with this question. What makes you think that I would do anything so terrible?”
“Love,” Lise answered gently. “I believe you would kill my father for love.”
A combination of bitter-sweetness showered down over Lydia as she backed out of their chambers, ashamed of herself for having eavesdropped.
Would I ever believe that James loved me enough to commit murder?
It was an atrocious thought but not one she could easily shake. The late Duke had been a beast, a cruel man who deserved nothing better than a painful death but that did not make murder acceptable.
Still, there was a twisted romance to the devotion Xavier had toward his wife, one which Lydia wished for herself. She made her way toward her husband’s rooms and entered without knocking, her mind twisted in confusion.
“Well?” James demanded, hurrying toward her. “Is she awake?”
He mistook her expression for one of disaster and paled instinctively.
“Oh God…”
“She is awake, do not fret, but I have yet to see her. I do know that you are cleared of Mr. Xavier’s accusations.”
“Of course I am,” James laughed mirthlessly. “There was never any doubt in the matter.”
She bit her lower lip and reached up to toy with the diamond brooch pinned to the neckline of her bodice.
“What is it, Lydia? What are you not telling me?” he demanded, his wry smile fading.
“Nothing!” she insisted. “You may go.”
She waved him toward the door but he did not move as he studied her face closely.
“Lydia,” he insisted. “You are a terrible fibber. You always fiddle with your jewels when you have too many thoughts in your head.”
“I do not…do I?”
She found herself oddly pleased that he noticed such a thing about her.
“You do and you are contemplating something as we stand here. Please, Lydia, tell me.”
If I tell him what I suspect, this will only fuel the quest he has sworn to leave behind. You need not tell him a thing and we will return to Holden and forget this ever occurred.
The temptation was strong to walk away but Lydia knew she could not do it in good conscience.
“James…” she began and he stared at her expe
ctantly, the concern in his eyes apparent. “I believe your father was, indeed, murdered.”
His mouth gaped.
“W-what? You have never spoken a word about this before. In fact, you have been deterred by all the gossip on the matter. Do not tell me your mother finally converted you into a believer!”
“No,” Lydia drawled, biding her time. “Not my mother…”
“Lydia…” there was impatience in his tone. “This has been a trying day for me also. Please, do come out with it.”
“Your sister,” she concluded. “Lise believes your father was murdered also…and that Xavier did it.”
10
James found it impossible to look Xavier Balfour in the eye without his temper rising.
He realized that it had less to do with the idea that his brother-in-law had murdered his father and more to do with the fact that Xavier had attempted to lay blame upon James.
It was a clever ruse. Blame me, the son of an abusive brute, the one who stands to gain from my father’s death and the last one to be alone with Lise before the harrowing birth of her son.
“Your Grace, my wife does need her rest,” Xavier told him gruffly. He had yet to apologize for his unjust accusations but James was learning that his brother-in-law was not the most magnanimous fellow.
“I would just like to spend an extra moment with my nephew and sister,” James countered, unmoving from Lise’s bedside. “You do not mind if I remain another moment or two, do you, Lise?”
Lise looked at Xavier who openly glared at James.
“Just another moment or two,” she conceded and Xavier grunted.
“I will see to your dinner,” he grumbled, storming from the room.
“You must forgive him, Jamie,” his sister told him. “He loves me very much and he worries terribly about my welfare in light of all that has happened.”
“Did he kill Father, Lise?”
The directness of the question caused her visible shock and she gasped, clutching her son closer to her chest in surprise.
“Of course not!” she sputtered. “Is this your scheme? To reverse the accusation he made in a moment of distress?”
“It is not a scheme for I know you, too, believe he may have done it.”
