A Sense of Belonging

by Wendy Soliman

  She delivered the countess to Sandwell’s care, wished her goodnight and then took a moment to gather her thoughts. She had hoped to slip into the earl’s room and hide herself behind the panel in the wainscoting without the uncertainty of approaching it from the servants’ staircase. There were probably a dozen different tunnels and she wouldn’t have the first idea which one to take.

  The best laid plans, she thought with a wry smile. Flora had no way of knowing if Miss Carlton, who’d been absent from the ballroom for some time, was already in his lordship’s rooms, seeking out her own hiding place. She paused outside of his door, closed her eyes and concentrated hard, but sensed nothing untoward. It seemed that her gift couldn’t penetrate solid wood. Or perhaps it didn’t work if she tried to force it to. She had no way of knowing since, rebellious though she had been as a child, even she hadn’t dared to experiment for fear of angering her father beyond the bounds of his stringent limits. She winced as she thought of some of the punishments she’d been obliged to endure for much lesser transgressions, then sighed, resigned to the fact that fear of spiders notwithstanding, she would have to get to her hiding place the hard way, through the tunnels.

  ‘The servants’ staircase it will have to be,’ she muttered, comforted by the sound of her own voice in the wide, empty hallway that lead to the principal bedchambers. The sound of music and muted laugher reached her from the ballroom beneath her feet—so near yet a thousand miles distant.

  She wished now that she’d had time to check out the lie of the tunnel beforehand so that she would have a better idea of what to expect. But then again if she’d known in advance, she might have lost her nerve. She stopped at her room to collect a lantern and a cloak to cover her gown. With no further excuse for delay she took a deep, fortifying breath and headed for the concealed door to the staircase, secure in the knowledge that all the servants would be busy downstairs and that none were likely to be scurrying up and down that particular staircase. Their preoccupation would give her time to feel along the panelling until she found the section that was not solid—if there was such a section, she reminded herself. The countess’s mind was far sharper than Flora had been led to suppose, but she was also old and sometimes forgetful. She could have got it wrong.

  It took a considerable amount of time and much frustration and Flora was almost at the point of giving up before she found the section in question. It was not the one that the countess had implied. She hoped that wasn’t an omen and that she wouldn’t find herself stuck in the passageway, unable to find her way out at the other end. At either end. Shuddering at the prospect, she winced as the panel slid inwards on hinges that made the devil of a racket. Fortunately, the noise from the ball covered it.

  She stepped into the unknown and felt about for the knob that would hopefully close the panelling again. It seemed reluctant to comply but eventually moved with shuddering slowness, setting Flora’s nerves jangling. Grateful for the lantern, since she would otherwise be shrouded in complete inky blackness, she lifted it high and examined her surroundings. The roof of the tunnel barely cleared her head. She suppressed a shriek when she saw several very thick spiders’ webs decorating the ceiling, pulled her hood all the way over her hair, and idly wondered how the creatures came and went from such an enclosed space. However they managed it, they appeared to be thriving. Something scurried over her slippered foot, and this time she did shriek. But the rat, mouse or whatever it had been seemed more afraid of her than she was of it. Besides, rodents she could just about tolerate. Spiders were another matter entirely.

  Thankfully, there was only one direction she could take, and so she gathered up her fragmented courage and plunged into the tunnel, wondering what distance she would have to negotiate before reaching the earl’s room. What if there were offshoots along the way? How would she know which direction led to his chamber? She could easily intrude into someone else’s room and disturb their sleep, or worse. How would she explain herself? This was the worst idea she’d ever had and several times she almost turned around and went back to safety, but stubbornness and the injustice of the situation that the earl unknowingly faced drove her on.

  She cried out when the roof suddenly lowered and she hit her head hard on a rocky outcrop. She paused until the dizziness passed, then bent low, attempting to lift her skirts free of potential rodents and still hold the lantern aloft as she shuffled along, cautiously testing each step before she put any weight on the uneven ground. Webs had ceased to be a concern, or more to the point, she’d stopped allowing herself to think about them and had become adept at pushing them away from her face without considering the locations of their occupants.

  ‘The wretched earl had better appreciate my efforts,’ she muttered belligerently, as yet another web plastered itself to her face and she scraped it off with her gloved hands.

  After what seemed like an eternity she turned another bend in the undulating tunnel and abruptly came to a dead end. She breathed a relieved sigh and held up her lantern, examining the barricade that barred her way.

  ‘This must be it,’ she whispered to herself.

  She recognised a doorway, its outline visible in the bed of rock only because she was looking for it. It had to lead to the earl’s bedroom—she simply refused to contemplate any alternative destination. All she could hope for now was that the stone on the high righthand side would work if she pressed it. Dare she try it?

  She put her ear to the door. The world went dark and she felt her eyes roll back in her head. That had not happened to her before, but the feel of her entire body vibrating was almost a relief. That was something that frequently did happen when she had an especially strong premonition. She trusted her gift, which now appeared to be in good working order again and didn’t need to hear the distant rustle of silk to be aware that Lily Carlton was already in the room, looking for a place to conceal herself.

  Flora leaned against the damp wall and settled in to wait in a situation that classed as an arachnophobe’s worst nightmare, trusting to luck that the door would open when she needed it to.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Luke, his three brothers and Paul gathered round Emma and Alvin in a small ante-room and raised glasses of champagne to toast the happy couple. Mary was fully occupied with dancing and Luke had decided against including Grandmamma in the ad hoc celebration. That would have required involving Miss Latimer and, for reasons that he would be hard pressed to explain, he would prefer to keep her at arm’s length.

  ‘Our very best wishes for your happiness,’ Luke said, kissing Emma’s cheek and shaking Alvin’s hand, delighted that he would now become a member of Luke’s family, having been unofficially connected to it for over twenty years. ‘I know you will take the very best care of my sister.’

  ‘He’d better,’ Sam growled, making them all smile.

  ‘We will make a formal announcement tomorrow and then arrange a party that you will not have to organise and celebrate in style,’ Luke promised his sister.

  ‘I don’t need parties,’ Emma said, smiling up at Alvin with shining eyes. ‘I have everything I need to complete my happiness.’

  Alvin offered her a responding smile of such tenderness that Luke felt momentarily envious of the easy manner in which they had found one another. Sometimes, he reflected, what one wanted lurked in plain sight. It was simply a matter of opening one’s eyes.

  That little episode had taken place just after midnight. It was now three in the morning and the last of the guests were finally taking their leave. Emma yawned behind her hand as she stood with Luke, sending them on their way.

  ‘Are you sure you’re happy?’ Luke asked her for the tenth time.

  ‘Blissfully. I never realistically supposed that Alvin would look at me that way but…well, he does, and I don’t have a single doubt.’

  Luke gave a self-effacing smile. ‘And I didn’t suspect a thing.’

  ‘Men never notice, probably because they fear the condition might be contagious, or beca
use it doesn’t interest them in the way that it does us females. Flora saw something in the way that Alvin looked at me though and encouraged me to chase my dream.’

  ‘Miss Latimer is a saint,’ Luke said in such a dour tone that Emma shot him a curious look. Fortunately, other guests came up to take their leave at that moment and by the time the last of them had gone, Emma appeared to have forgotten about his momentary sarcasm.

  Luke waved his sisters off to bed and soon followed them up the stairs, now yawning himself and thanking a deity he was unsure he believed in that the interminable week’s entertainments were finally over. The houseguests would leave tomorrow, Beranger Court would return to normal and with one sister now engaged to be married, the pressure upon him to likewise commit had eased considerably.

  He waved a final greeting to Paul as he disappeared in the direction of his own room and turned his door handle. Throwing off his coat, he froze, sensing something out of place. Someone who had no business in his rooms had recently been in occupation of them, and that person was a female. A cloying perfume gave her presence away. A seething anger gripped him as he put two and two together and realised who it must be. But before he could decide what action to take, Lily Carlton appeared from his sitting room and stood in the open aperture to his bedchamber, looking dishevelled. Her hair had come loose, and long strands coiled over her shoulders. Her gown was in total disarray, her expression recklessly determined.

  ‘Hello, Luke,’ she said in a sultry tone that implied the type of experience a girl of her tender years and in her situation should know nothing about, making him highly suspicious. More suspicious then he had been to find her loitering in his rooms in the first place. ‘I thought you would never join me.’

  Before he could gather his wits, she ripped at her bodice and threw herself at him, clinging like a monkey. Horrified, it took Luke a moment to react. He could see that she had opened her mouth, no doubt ready to scream the place down. Luke placed his hand over it, desperate to quieten her. She bit into it and struggled against the pressure like a wild cat, but Luke was considerably stronger and wasn’t about to let go.

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ he hissed, fury and self-preservation lending him superhuman strength.

  Muffled protests emerged from behind his hand but a screeching noise, sounding as though it was coming from a long way off, distracted Miss Carlton. She stopped struggling but Luke kept his hand in place as he looked in the direction it had come from, wondering if the evening could get any stranger. He discovered that it could, and his mouth fell open in abject shock when Flora Latimer appeared through the secret door that Luke hadn’t opened since he and his friends had played in the tunnels behind it as children.

  ‘Luke,’ she said, smiling as she pushed a hood from her hair, taking several layers of dirt and cobwebs with it. ‘Had you forgotten our engagement. I’ve been waiting an age. What kept you?’

  The Carlton girl looked from Flora to Luke and back again, her expression incredulous. Slow on the uptake, it took her a moment to realise that screaming would do her no good now. Instead, she threw up her hands, uttering a string of very unladylike oaths as she ran to the door and let herself out.

  Luke watched her go, locked the door behind her and then turned to Flora.

  ‘Have the goodness to tell me what the devil just happened,’ he snapped.

  *

  Flora’s knees gave out as suppressed nerves found an outlet in relief and she sank onto the edge of his bed.

  ‘You are entirely welcome,’ she said, irritated by his sharp tone. She hadn’t expected heartfelt thanks, but even so…

  Still standing, he impatiently wrapped a handkerchief around his bleeding hand. ‘Come through here and we can talk more comfortably.’

  He led the way into his sitting room and arrogantly assumed that she would follow in his wake. She did so because she had no desire to discuss his dilemma in his bedchamber, but slowly and with a reluctance she didn’t attempt to conceal.

  ‘Have a seat.’

  Flora gave an indignant toss of her head and complied, but only because she was weary to the bone and her legs struggled to support her weight. Why she took exception to the earl’s terse stance and felt a compelling need to pick a quarrel with him, she could not have said. There was just something about his autocratic manner and lack of appreciation for the trouble she had gone to on his behalf that riled her. She disliked injustice and felt compelled to fight against it, just as she’d so often fought with her father when he laid down unreasonable laws.

  But there the similarity between the two situations ended, Flora reminded herself. She had left her joyless childhood home with feelings of unmitigated relief. Despite the earl’s tendency to jump to arbitrary conclusions and act simultaneously as judge and jury, she desperately wanted to keep her position as the countess’s companion, and the man she seemed determined to be at odds with held that fate in his hands. She adjured herself to bear that fact in mind and not rile him needlessly.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ he said, his tone less commanding as he sank into the chair opposite hers.

  She shook her head, sending a residue of cobwebs fluttering to his rugs. ‘I tried to do so this afternoon, but you didn’t have time to talk to me,’ she replied accusingly. So much for placating him.

  ‘Damn it, you’re bleeding!’

  He disappeared again and returned with a damp cloth, which he held against her forehead where she had hit it on the tunnel’s ceiling. She took it from him and pushed his hand aside. She already felt dizzy and knew his touch would not improve matters. She took a moment to stem the trickle of blood and then succinctly explained what she had overheard that day. Unsurprisingly, the earl’s frown grew more forbidding with each word that she spoke.

  ‘Let me see if I understand you correctly.’ He contemplated her with such a fierce expression that she involuntarily shuddered. ‘Mrs Simpson and Carlton are romantically involved?’

  ‘Definitely. I observed them together and he seems totally besotted with her. What’s more, Miss Carlton is aware of the situation and appears to approve. It is Mrs Sinclair who insists that you and Miss Carlton should marry. I think she knows something to her detriment which she will use to spoil her reputation if she fails.’

  ‘That would not surprise me. Magna Simpson has a happy knack for inspiring devotion from people while gathering information against them to get what she wants,’ he replied in a remotely acerbic tone. ‘I would imagine that Carlton is prevented from marrying her, if that is his intention, by financial considerations. That, in turn, explains why he is here in my house, on the prowl for a rich wife.’

  ‘Whom he probably then intends to desert,’ Flora added, twitching her nose. ‘Or something more sinister.’

  The earl looked as though he was about to argue, then thought better of it. ‘Paul discovered that she was left near destitute by her late husband,’ he said, almost to himself, ‘and his son from a previous marriage inherited his vast fortune. She would have had expectations in that regard and undoubtedly blames my friends and me for those expectations not being realised.’

  ‘Why?’ She fixed him with a direct look as she pulled her now dirty cloak more closely about her. Delayed shock after her daring exploit was, she suspected, responsible for the sudden chill that caused her to tremble. ‘Since I just saved you from a compromising situation that could only have ended in one way, I think I have earned at least the right to know, even though I have obviously not earned your gratitude.’

  ‘Forgive me.’ He lowered his head. ‘What you did was incredibly brave. I had no idea the Carltons could be quite that conniving, and I am in your debt.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for your sake,’ she replied somewhat ungraciously. ‘Well, not entirely. I dislike subterfuge, and you did not deserve to be tricked into marriage. Apart from that, my actions were guided by self-preservation. I value my position here and enjoy your grandmother’s society. And even if I did not,’ she added, almost to
herself, ‘anything is better than Mr Bolton.’

  ‘Who the devil is Bolton?’

  ‘It’s not important. But what does matter is that I have taken against Miss Carlton and if she did become your countess by subversive means then I would soon find myself without a position. She doesn’t like me.’

  A brief chuckle slipped past the earl’s lips. ‘I wonder why not.’

  Flora gave in impatient huff, unable to keep pace with his mercurial moods. One minute he was frowning so ferociously that she felt a little afraid of him. The next he was chuckling for reasons she failed to comprehend. ‘You are speaking in riddles, my lord,’ she said impatiently.

  ‘Luke,’ he said softly. ‘Since we are holding a private conversation in the middle of the night on the threshold of my bedchamber, I think the time for formality is past.’

  She inclined her head. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘My grandmother told you about the tunnels, I would imagine.’

  She shuddered. ‘But not about the spiders.’

  He fell silent again, clearly considering how much to tell her about his history with Mrs Simpson. She left him to his cogitations, aware that silence was more likely to loosen his tongue that reasoned argument.

  ‘Paul Dalton, Alvin Watson and I have been the closest of friends since the first day we met at Eton,’ he said eventually. ‘That friendship endured through university, up to this day. But what you may not know is that there were originally four of us.’

  ‘I did not know that,’ she said softly, when he paused.

  ‘Archie Hardwick was the Marquess of Felsham’s eldest son and heir. The four of us were inseparable, but Archie was unquestionably our leader. I’m afraid that by the time we reached Oxford we’d become something of a legend. I don’t wish to shock your sensibilities—suffice it to say that we ran wild, as young men from all walks of life are wont to do. But young men from aristocratic families with no shortage of funds at their disposal can be a law unto themselves, and Archie was the wildest of us all. Dares, wagers and…well, other exploits more interesting than our studies constantly distracted us.’