by Alyssa Drake
“I cannot see anything.” Miss Clemens’ voice came from his left. “Mr. Reid?”
“Take my arm,” he said, lifting his hand. It brushed over something soft and damp, her hair perhaps. A delightful shiver raced down his spine. This was rapidly turning into an intriguing encounter. Miss Clemens wrapped her hand around his elbow, leaning into him.
He dragged her down the tunnel, following the familiar path. “Benjamin and I built this one summer.” He grinned in the darkness. Two boys with nothing to do and a mountain of imagination, not to mention a library stocked with books of all kinds... As they neared the library, a small light appeared, shining through the small space between the bookshelf and the floor. Blindly trailing his hand over the wall, he searched for the lever. His fingers closed around the cool metal, and he yanked down. The bookshelf groaned, sliding to the side to reveal the library.
“That is incredible!” Miss Clemens glided into the room, spinning around to face him. “How long did it take you build it?”
“Several months.” Thomas joined her in the library, sliding his hand along the books on one of the shelves until he reached the false one. With one finger, he tipped it forward and pushed it back in one fluid movement. The bookshelf slid back into place. “However, it is a secret.”
“I shall not say anything,” murmured Miss Clemens. Studying the wall, she frowned. “How can no one see it from outside?”
“The wall is a façade,” replied Thomas, knocking on the bookshelf. “There is a space between this wall and the outer portion of the manor. Father told us the room was used to hide weapons and supplies at some point during the war.”
“Extraordinary,” Miss Clemens said, her eyes glowed with curiosity. “That is how she got out.”
“Who?”
“Miss Hastings.” Gasping, Miss Clemens clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening. “Oh! I didn’t mean to say that.”
Thomas tilted his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “How did you know Miss Hastings left?”
Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Miss Clemens glanced at the floor. “I was awake late last night.” Her eyes flicked to the library window.
“Miss Clemens, you are quite a surprising delight,”—he leaned in—“and I suspect you are correct in your hypothesis.” Bowing low, Thomas winked. “Now, I have fulfilled my portion of our agreement, I expect you to do the same.”
“What agreement?” asked Mrs. Hastings, gliding into the room. Her mouth dropped. “Miss Clemens! What happened to your dress? I have never seen you in such a state.” Her disapproving eyes flicked to Thomas. “Is this your doing?”
“In this particular instance, I am innocent.” Thomas shook his head, raising his hands in defense from Mrs. Hastings’ ire.
Mrs. Hastings’ gaze returned to Miss Clemens. “I had hoped, with the addition of Miss Randall, you would find more acceptable activities to fill your time. Instead, you followed Samantha’s inappropriate example,”—she glanced heavenward—“who is missing… again.”
Thomas and Miss Clemens exchanged a glance. Would Miss Clemens admit Miss Hastings’ true location?
Mrs. Hastings sighed, returning her gaze to Miss Clemens. “Given your state of dress, I am curious to know if Samantha’s clothing resembles your inappropriate attire.”
“I’m sorry, I have not seen Miss Hastings since last evening.” Miss Clemens gathered her skirt in her hand and curtsied, scattering droplets of water across the floor.
“Mr. Reid?”
“Nor I.”
“Perhaps your brother knows her location.” Mrs. Hastings frowned, clearly upset with the idea of Benjamin and Miss Hastings alone together. “Would you ask him?”
“I cannot. He is also missing.”
A knock sounded on the front door. The door opened, and footsteps echoed through the foyer. Appearing in the doorway, Mr. Davis bowed low, extending a missive. “I have a message for Mr. Hastings from Lord and Lady Westwood.”
“Edward is going to kill him,” Mrs. Hastings groaned.
Chapter Four
“Miss Clemens, please don appropriate attire prior to joining us for breakfast, and Mr. Reid,”—Mrs. Hastings eyes flicked to him—“Edward will hear of this.” She gestured at Daphne’s sheer dress.
“I have no doubt my mother and aunt will as well.” Grinning, he bowed to both ladies and strolled to the library door. “Miss Clemens,” he said, turning around. “As I have not fulfilled my promise, I will forgive yours. However, if you are ever in need of my services again, I would happily assist you with any less than desirable pursuit.” Touching his hand to his forehead, he disappeared into the hallway.
“Miss Clemens, during your stay here, I encourage you to form an attachment with Miss Randall. Mr. Reid,”—Mrs. Hastings paused, her eyes sliding to the open library door—“is not equipped to properly guide you in your efforts to remain a lady.”
Spinning around, she exited the library, her footfall disappearing up the staircase. Daphne glided over to the bookshelf, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books, a faded black leather one catching her attention. Rubbing her thumb over the smooth binding, she hooked her finger, tugging the book toward her. Silently, the bookcase slid open, revealing the inky darkness of the tunnel.
Daphne jumped backward, knocking into an armchair, and screamed. Glancing around, she giggled nervously and smoothed her sopping dress, approaching the shelf. Reaching out, she pushed the book into place, and the bookshelf slid closed. With a grin, she skipped from the library, pleased she had discovered the secret lever on her own, skidding to a halt the moment she entered the foyer.
“Mr. Reid! Are you joining me?” Miss Randall’s melodious voice drifted down the hallway from the dining room.
Daphne sighed, her shoulders slumping as she slowed her pace to a shuffle. Miss Randall was beautiful, captivating, hypnotizing, and sweet, which really was the most irritating part of the whole cruel satire. If Miss Randall was malicious like Miss Shirely—Daphne shuddered as the image of Alice’s sneering face popped into her mind—she would have cause to hate Miss Randall for her obvious interest in Mr. Reid.
“Miss Randall!” said Mr. Reid, his delight evident.
That truly was the problem. Mr. Reid seemed quite smitten. How could she compete with someone as lovely as Miss Randall?
Daphne glanced down at her soiled dress, fingering the sheer material. Even at her most scandalous, she still failed to capture Mr. Reid’s attention. Dread settled in her stomach. Were there worse things than becoming a spinster? Perhaps she should reconsider Mr. Lockhearst’s offer of marriage. Rumors of his gruff behavior had circulated in her mother’s social circle for months. However, a businessman, such as Mr. Lockhearst, would understand the importance of civility. Her mother had been known to spread false gossip, and there was a significant possibility the rumors regarding Mr. Lockhearst were fabricated as well. She could certainly do worse than him. Daphne shuddered, her skin crawling as a ghostly feeling of Mr. Shirely’s finger brushed down her cheek.
“Daphne, why are you standing on the staircase?”
Startled, Daphne emitted a small squeak, her head whipping left. “Aunt Abigail, you frightened me.”
A smile pulled at the older woman’s lips. “I have been standing here for five minutes, and during that entire time, you have not moved one step. Tell me, where is your head?”
In the dining room, watching Mr. Reid fall in love with Miss Randall.
“I’m sorry.” Daphne offered her a belated curtsey. “I was thinking of horseback riding.”
“Do you know how to ride a horse?” Tilting her head, Aunt Abigail limped into the foyer, leaning heavily on her cane
“No, however, Mr. Reid offered to give me lessons if you approved of the activity.”
“I approve.” Aunt Abigail’s eyes sparkled. Her gaze traveled over Daphne’s dress. “Do you intend to wear that garment?”
Daphne glanced down at the puddle forming around her feet
as rivets of water dripped down her back. Shivering, Daphne blushed. “Mrs. Hastings requested I change prior to breakfast.”
“Why?” Aunt Abigail shrugged. “No one has ever died from eating breakfast while wet.” She slipped her hand through Daphne’s arm, tugging her toward the dining room.
“No!” Daphne pulled against Aunt Abigail, ripping her arm away.
Turning, Aunt Abigail arched an eyebrow. “No?”
“I…” Daphne’s eyes flew between the dining room and Aunt Abigail. Miss Randall’s laugh floated into the hallway again.
“I see.” Aunt Abigail recaptured Daphne’s arm. “If he cares about the state of your clothing, he is not worthy of your time.”
“Please do not interfere, I beg you, Aunt Abigail.” Daphne’s stomach flipped over, bile rising to her throat.
“I swear.” Aunt Abigail placed her hand over her heart. “However, we still need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Of course, you are.” Aunt Abigail steered her into the dining room.
“Mrs. Stanton, Miss Clemens, good morning,” Miss Randall greeted them joyfully, her face glowing. “Are you joining us as well?”
“Unfortunately, we cannot, Daphne and I have some matters to attend.” Aunt Abigail shifted her cane to her left hand and lifted her plate from the table. She turned toward Mr. Reid, “However, Daphne has my permission to learn horseback riding.”
“Excellent.” Mr. Reid tore his eyes from Miss Randall. “When would you like to begin, Miss Clemens?”
“This morning,” replied Aunt Abigail. She ladled eggs on her plate, added two pieces of toast, and passed the plate to Daphne. “As soon as you are finished with your breakfast. Come, Daphne, you will dry faster if you stand in front of the fire.”
“Why is your clothing wet?” asked Miss Randall.
“She fell in the river,” replied Mr. Reid. The blush crawling up Daphne’s neck exploded onto her face. She curtsied to Mr. Reid and Miss Randall, dashing from the room after Aunt Abigail, clutching the plate.
“You swore you would not interfere.” Daphne hissed.
“I have not.” Aunt Abigail limped into the sitting room and perched on the sofa, holding out her hand for the plate of eggs.
“I have a riding lesson this morning.” Sinking down beside Aunt Abigail, Daphne twisted her fingers together. “I have never even sat on a horse.”
Aunt Abigail glanced up, the fork halfway to her mouth. “Do you want to spend time with my nephew?”
“Yes…”
“Daphne,”—Aunt Abigail set down the plate and fork—“how is he ever going to know of your attachment if you do not show him?”
Daphne licked her lips, her heart constricted. She was not going to cry. “Miss Randall is beautiful.”
“That she is.” Aunt Abigail took Daphne’s hands in hers. “However, she is not you, and you are lovely.”
“I am unremarkable.” Dropping her head, Daphne blinked rapidly, combating the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
Aunt Abigail brushed her finger over Daphne’s cheek, collecting the moisture. “Your mother is wrong about you, Daphne. Do not let her poisonous nonsense direct your life.”
Digging the toe of her shoe into the rug, Daphne spoke to the floor. “I have been considering Mr. Lockhearst as a potential suitor.”
“Have you?” Aunt Abigail lifted the plate again, taking a bite. “I was unaware of his interest.”
“His attachment hinged upon my dowry.”
Aunt Abigail choked, spraying bits of egg across the floor. “Was the sum not large enough for him? I discussed it at length with Benjamin and Thomas.”
Daphne sighed, her gaze rising to Aunt Abigail. “I may have misled him regarding the amount.”
“Why?”
“I was not certain his temperament was suited to mine.”
“And now?”
“I believe I would be content in the match.”
Aunt Abigail set the plate down again, her stern gaze locked on Daphne. “Are you entertaining this idea because you want to marry Mr. Lockhearst or because you have no other offers?”
“I have other offers,” mumbled Daphne.
“Mr. Shirely does not count as a potential suitor. I forbid you from marrying him.” She thumped her cane on the ground.
“I have no intention of marrying him.”
“You have no intention of marrying who?” asked Mr. Reid as he strolled into the room. Leaning over, he snagged a piece of toast from his aunt’s plate.
“Mr. Shirely.”
“I should hope not.” Mr. Reid took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Especially since I punched him in the face.”
“You did more than that, Mr. Reid,” replied Daphne softly.
Aunt Abigail’s mouth pulled into a pensive line, her eyes drifting between Daphne and Mr. Reid. “Is Miss Randall joining you at the stables?”
“No.” Mr. Reid shrugged, grabbing the second piece of toast. “She would like to settle into her chamber this morning; her maid is helping her unpack.”
“It is her loss.” Aunt Abigail smiled, patting Daphne’s arm. “Thomas is an excellent tutor.”
Grinning, Mr. Reid bowed low. “Miss Clemens, are you ready for your first lesson?”
Daphne paled, thinking of Miss Hastings. “Yes,” she replied, her voice holding none of the conviction with which she spoke.
“Thomas, I expect you to return Daphne in the same state as she is at this exact moment.”
“Including the damp clothing?” Mr. Reid chuckled, his eyes traveling over Daphne. Her stomach flipped over.
Aunt Abigail arched an eyebrow. “Thomas, while my sense of humor is quite forgiving, neither your mother’s nor Mrs. Hastings’ will be. Therefore, unless you wish to be forced into a wedding, I suggest you take caution with Daphne.”
“Yes, Aunt Abigail,” replied Mr. Reid, bowing to Aunt Abigail. His dutiful comment held no trace of humor. “I shall have Miss Clemens report her progress to you.” Mr. Reid offered his arm, helping her rise from the couch “I think you should begin on Phantom,” he murmured in her ear as they passed into the foyer.
“The horse’s stall where the trapdoor was hidden?” asked Daphne, lowering her voice.
“You have a good memory.”
“Is he a gentle horse?”
“He’s invisible.” Chuckling, Thomas pulled open the door and escorted Daphne into the bright mid-morning sunlight.
“Then, I shall have no fear of falling.”
Pausing on the veranda, Mr. Reid turned, his brown eyes studying Daphne. Blushing, she glanced down. He reached out, hooking his fingers under her chin and lifting her eyes to his. “I will never let you fall. I swear it.”
“Swearing, Mr. Reid?” Daphne teased, attempting to distract herself from the fluttering in her stomach. “I am shocked.”
Mr. Reid grinned. “Only the worst words,” he winked.
“Mr. Reid, do not trick me into friendship until you have fulfilled your obligation.” Daphne smiled and curtsied, strolling across the veranda toward the stables.
“And what is my obligation to you?”
“To teach me how to ride a horse.”
“I accept your terms.” Mr. Reid followed her down the steps and across the courtyard. “However, I would like to add a condition to our agreement.”
“Which is?” Daphne stopped walking and turned around.
“Since it will take several lessons, I propose increasing our intimacy of friendship proportionally as well.”
Daphne tilted her head, digesting Mr. Reid’s suggestion. “How would you determine the appropriate level of friendship?”
“After each lesson, you must tell me one of your secrets, and I will tell you one of mine.”
“I am hardly a person with secrets.”
“On the contrary, I believe you are filled with them.” Mr. Reid extended his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”
“We do.” Daphne accepted M
r. Reid’s hand. He pulled her forward, leading her down the final slope into the barn, stopping in front of the first stall.
“Since you’ve already been introduced to Shadow, it will be easier for you to trust each other.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a sugar lump, pressing it the horse’s mouth. Gobbling up the treat, Shadow pushed his head against Mr. Reid, searching for another lump of sugar.
Taking Daphne’s hand, Mr. Reid pressed it to Shadow’s muzzle. The horse bumped its nose against her palm. Giggling, Daphne lifted her other arm, stroking her fingers over Shadow’s soft skin. “He’s beautiful.”
“Don’t tell him that,” whispered Mr. Reid. “He already thinks he runs the stables.”
Daphne laughed. “Do they all have personalities?”
“Of course.” Mr. Reid tilted his head. “All animals do.”
Lifting the gate latch, Mr. Reid entered the stall, removed a bridle and bit from the wall, slipped it over Shadow’s head, and secured the straps. Leading the horse out of the barn, Mr. Reid stopped beside a stack of hay bales. “If you step onto that bale, you will be able to climb onto Shadow’s back.”
Daphne swallowed.
“I can do this,” she muttered to herself. Gathering her skirt, she lifted it to her knees and stepped up onto the bale. Reaching out, she placed her hands on the horse’s back. With a grunt, she jumped, hoisting herself onto the horse. Mr. Reid appeared instantly at her side, steadying her.
“As you are a beginner, I would not recommend riding side-saddle. It will be easier if you straddle the horse.”
Nodding, Daphne swung her leg over the horse’s neck. Wobbling, she shrieked and flung herself forward, grabbing onto the horse’s mane. Her skirt rode up, exposing her thigh. Mr. Reid quickly yanked the material down, but his hand lingered over her leg, pressing it against Shadow’s body. Heat pulsed from his fingers, pouring into her skin. She shivered. Mr. Reid was trouble, and she was dangerously close to losing her heart to him.
