by C. J. Archer
Since neither Samuel nor I wished to argue the point with Sylvia, we let her word be the last on the matter.
She excused herself and left me with Samuel before I had a chance to think of a reason to go with her. I was alone with him for the first time in days. Last time, I'd told him I feared him, and that he needed to be with a woman who didn't. The echo of his voice calling my name as I walked away still rang in my ears, even now.
I tried to think of something to say, something inane and sensible that wouldn't lead to a dangerous topic. But nothing came to mind. And Samuel, damn him, wasn't helping with his brooding presence. It was so raw and masculine and utterly beguiling.
So we stood there in the entrance hall together and the silence grew heavier around us, settling on our shoulders, over our heads, like a shroud.
After what felt like several minutes, but was probably only a few seconds, I could no longer stand it. "Are your injuries healing?" I asked, clutching at the first topic that entered my head.
"Yes." He flexed his fingers, poking out of the bandaged left hand. "The doctor says I can leave my bed but to not do anything strenuous, to avoid re-opening the wounds."
"Then let's hope there are no more visits from demons, evil spirits or plain old murderers."
One side of his mouth kicked up. "Only at Freak House could a murderer be considered plain."
I smiled then blushed at the ease with which we fell back into our roles of charmer and charmed. "If you'll excuse me, I must go and…do…something." I didn't know why I bothered trying to make up an excuse when he wouldn't be fooled by it, no matter how plausible.
I went to walk off, but he caught my arm. Not too firmly, but I didn't like to be held. As if he knew it, he let go. I remained, wanting to run away, yet forcing myself to stay and face him. If we were to reside in the same house then I had to conquer my fear of him, at least to the point where I could be alone with him in a room. It was time.
"Charity…I don't know where to begin." He let out a long, slow breath. "I no longer know what to say to you."
"There is nothing to say that hasn't already been said. Let's leave it at that. None of what has happened can be undone, although I wish it could be."
"I know you're referring to me briefly blocking your memories, but I want you to know I don't regret doing it. I regret nothing. I just wish…" He shook his head.
"Wish what?"
He swallowed heavily. "That the woman I saw in those few days that you were free of nightmares wasn't completely gone. Not for me, you understand, but for you."
The hole in my heart that never quite closed, opened a little wider. "She's gone forever. That woman isn't coming back."
"Then perhaps, given time, a new woman may emerge." His voice softened to a warm hum that reminded me of the voice he used to hypnotize, although it wasn't quite as melodic. "Someone in between."
I bristled. "You mean someone more accepting of you?"
He rocked back on his heels. His eyes widened. "No."
"There is no in between, Samuel. There is only before and after." I walked away, not really knowing in which direction I headed. Tears obscured my vision, but did not spill. I wouldn't cry over Samuel, or the woman he wanted me to be. I'd done far too much of that already.
It was time to move forward, not back. Yet I knew it was going to be nearly impossible to head in any direction while Samuel was nearby. He scrambled my brain so thoroughly.
***
Cromwell Malborough, the seventh earl of Frakingham, and his son Douglas, titled Lord Malborough as a courtesy, arrived the following day on the afternoon train from London. Tommy and Fray, the coachman, picked them up from the station and deposited them at the front door. Mr. Langley, Sylvia, Samuel and I greeted them before Mrs. Moore, the housekeeper, led them to their rooms to freshen up before dinner.
We four were about to disperse again after the initial meeting when Mr. Langley stopped Sylvia. "You will wear something pretty tonight, my girl." It wasn't a request.
"My pink satin with the rosettes?" she suggested.
"I don't care what color or material it is, as long as it's appropriate." He waved Bollard over and the big mute servant wheeled his master to the foot of the staircase then lifted him out of the wheelchair and carried him upstairs.
Once they were out of sight, Sylvia turned to me. "Do you think the pink rosette gown will do, Charity?"
"Of course. It's very pretty and suits your complexion." Yet it was cut low at the front and Sylvia's ample cleavage would have nowhere to hide.
"But does it convey the right message?"
"What message are you trying to convey?"
She glanced up the stairs. "I think Uncle wishes me to attract Lord Malborough's attention."
We were heading into territory I didn't want to venture down. For several years, I'd been an ornament on the arm of rich and powerful men. It had been a great thrill for a while. I, an orphan who'd lived most of her childhood on the streets, had been showered with expensive gifts, kept in beautiful homes, and treated like I mattered. Then the master came along. He jealously kept me to himself, away from prying eyes. He locked me in my room, ensuring I couldn't escape his sadistic whims. All because he thought me a rare beauty and a prize worth possessing.
Although I knew Sylvia's situation was not the same as mine, her words gnawed at me. If she was right, and Langley wanted her to attract the notice of Douglas Malborough, then her uncle considered her to be little more than a bauble to be admired and possibly possessed. Yet that wasn't what worried me. It was that she considered herself that way.
I could feel Samuel's intense gaze upon me without having to look at him. He alone knew my thoughts on the matter. He knew how I struggled daily with memories of what the master had done to me. To my surprise, I took courage in his awareness. It made me feel like I wasn't alone.
"You don't need that dress to attract attention, Sylvia," I said. "You just need to be you."
She blinked rapidly. "Oh." She wrestled with a smile, but it broke out nevertheless. "Thank you. I think I'll wear something less…" She blushed and glanced at Samuel beneath her lashes.
"Less pink?" I suggested with a wink.
She nodded quickly. "Only until I've decided whether I want to wear the pink gown in Lord Malborough's presence."
"I think that's a very good idea." I was indeed pleased that she'd made that decision. When I'd first met her, she'd been flirty and flighty, her silliness the butt of Jack's jokes. To his credit, Tommy had always defended her. It would seem even then he saw something in her that was only making appearances now.
CHAPTER 2
As Lord Frakingham was the most important guest, Sylvia walked into the dining room on his arm, which left his son for me. Lord Malborough was a little shorter than me and stockily built, with a neck that could barely be contained within the confines of his collar. Nevertheless, he cut quite a figure in stylish white waistcoat and bow tie, and he was reasonably handsome in appearance. He bore no whiskers and so I was able to appreciate the smiles he bestowed upon me as I took his arm.
"Aren't you a tall one," he said, laughing. "I'll strain my neck to look at you."
Behind me, Samuel coughed. I didn't dare look around, but returned my companion's smile. "Everyone is the same height at the dinner table."
We sat beside each other, with Samuel taking his place on my other side. Opposite us, Sylvia sat with Lord Frakingham, and August Langley occupied the head of the table in his usual position. Two-thirds of the table was empty, but the silver candelabras decorated the entire length down the center. I was pleased to see that Samuel had dressed suitably for a formal dinner. It had been some time since I'd seen him in an evening suit, with his hair sleekly combed back and his chin smoothly shaved. He quite took my breath away. Having him seated so close would be somewhat distracting, but I was determined to have only public discussions with him tonight. I would ignore any whispers meant for my ears only, or knocking of elbows, accidental o
r otherwise. Indeed, I wanted to draw either Lord Frakingham or Lord Malborough into conversation to learn more about them.
Unfortunately, the former immediately set up a quiet discussion with Langley, and the latter seemed intent on Sylvia. He was listening to her account of the recent troubles with "wild dogs"—demons—on the estate. He hardly even noticed Tommy serving him.
"We never had problems with any wild dogs while we lived here," Lord Malborough said when she finished. "Did we, Father?"
Lord Frakingham watched Tommy spoon turtle soup into Langley's bowl. He was nothing like his son. He was tall and slender, with wispy, light gray hair, and blue eyes that almost disappeared as he squinted. He squinted a lot, and mostly at Tommy. "I don't recall," he said, his voice warbling. "It was so long ago since we lived here."
Lord Malborough flinched. "Only eight years."
His father humphed and picked up his spoon. He pointed it at Tommy. "Is he the footman or the butler? He picked us up from the station, took our coats when we walked in, and now here he is, serving." He arched a brow at Bollard, standing sentinel behind Langley. "On his own."
"Dawson acts as both footman and butler at the moment," Mr. Langley tossed out as he inspected his bowl of soup. He too had dressed appropriately for dining with a peer, dispensing with his smoking jacket and donning a black dinner suit.
"We're currently advertising for a butler," Sylvia added quickly. Her face colored and she pretended to show great interest in her glass of wine, peering into it for some time before sipping.
"You may wish to advertise for more footmen, while you're at it," Lord Frakingham said. "A house this size with only one footman is unheard of."
"We have two, just for our townhouse," Lord Malborough said with enthusiasm. "We had several when we lived here. Indeed, there were over seventy servants in total."
"You'll find that Dawson performs the work of two," Samuel cut in with a flinty glare past me to Lord Malborough. "More than adequately, I might add. I'm sure Mr. Langley would agree with me."
Langley nodded and Tommy seemed to stand a little straighter. It was the only sign that he was listening to the conversation. He and Bollard stood back from the table, blending into the walls like good servants.
"Poor fellow must be worked off his feet," Lord Frakingham declared. "Can't imagine what it's like when you have more guests."
"We rarely throw parties or have guests," Sylvia said with a note of regret.
"No?" Lord Malborough shook his head. "Shame. We had dozens of guests when we lived here, especially at this time of year. Hunting parties, dinner parties, Christmas parties, garden parties. Then there were the gatherings of particular interest groups."
"Interest groups?" I asked. "What are they?"
"Mother liked music and literature, so she would invite musicians and writers from London to spend up to a week here. They would compose or write in peace during the day and entertain her friends in the evening by playing or reading from their works in progress."
"That does sound interesting," Sylvia said, breathless. She leaned forward, her soup untouched.
"Father's interests were quite different, however. He would have archaeologists come to stay, to investigate the abbey ruins."
Lord Frakingham shook his head. "All so long ago. No point bringing it up now, Douglas."
Lord Malborough remained dutifully silent.
"What about philosophy?" Samuel asked.
Lord Frakingham gave him a blank look.
"Didn't a philosophical club meet here from time to time?" At Lord Frakingham's further blank look, Samuel added: "With my parents and Mr. Myer…"
Lord Frakingham's eyes widened. "So you are one of those Gladstones. I did wonder. Sorry to hear about your father."
"Thank you."
"Tell me, what is it you're doing here, Mr. Gladstone?"
"I'm assisting Mr. Langley with his research. I have an interest in neurology and cognitive science, and the project he's working on involves the study of both."
"Oh?" Lord Malborough frowned. "I thought you were a chemist, not a neuroscientist, Mr. Langley."
"Microbiologist," Langley said tightly. "But my interests are widespread."
"What project are you working on with Mr. Gladstone?"
"I cannot divulge my work until it's finished."
"A secret, eh? How very Dr. Frankenstein. Come now, Mr. Langley, surely you can give us a little hint."
"I regret that I cannot. My lord."
Malborough winced at the tacked-on title. "Mr. Gladstone? Do you care to elaborate on the secretive experiment?"
"No," Samuel said. "Mr. Langley will write about it, in good time. You can read about it then, if you subscribe to the science journals."
Malborough snorted. "Science journals? Good lord, how dull."
Sylvia laughed a little too gaily. "Science is all Greek to me."
Lord Malborough humphed and tucked into his soup.
His father, however, had not taken his gaze off Samuel. "How old are you, Mr. Gladstone?" he asked.
"Two and twenty."
"The same as me," Lord Malborough declared. "I used to see you at balls and whatnot, Gladstone, but we've never spoken. That was some time ago." He frowned. "A year or more. You slipped off the scene since then. What happened?"
"I became too busy."
"Too busy to attend balls! What is the world coming to when a gentleman has to work so hard that he misses a London season?" He laughed, but nobody laughed with him. Not even Sylvia.
Lord Frakingham cleared his throat. "And where do you fit in, Miss Charity?" Lord Frakingham asked me.
"She's my friend," Sylvia said before I could answer. "She's visiting indefinitely."
"Where is it you usually live?"
"London," I said, before Sylvia could answer for me. "I'm a teacher at a school for orphans."
"Teacher!" Lord Malborough plastered on one of those polite smiles, the sort that implied he couldn't believe he was dining with a lowly teacher. "Of orphans, no less. How…quaint."
"Mr. and Mrs. Beaufort are patrons of the school."
"I know Beaufort," Lord Frakingham said, showing none of the signs of disgust that his son did. Either he thought nothing less of me or he was better at schooling his distaste. "Know his father, Lord Preston, better. Belongs to my club."
"Shouldn't you be at school now?" Malborough asked, holding his wineglass out to refill. Tommy unobtrusively filled it again then sank back to the wall.
"I had to leave temporarily," I said. "Health reasons."
He eyed me up and down, as if he could spy those reasons just by looking at me. When he met my gaze again, I saw that his eyes had become smoky. His tongue flicked out and skimmed across his top lip. "You look healthy enough to me."
I felt Samuel tense. Malborough's gaze skipped past me to him. The heat in his eyes suddenly dimmed. His cheeks paled. He set his glass down and smoothed a hand over his shirt front. "The food is very good," he murmured. "Reminds me of the cozy family dinners we used to have when we lived here."
I swiveled in my chair to look at Samuel. The knuckles on the hand holding his spoon were white, his pupils pinpoint sharp as he glared at Malborough. His gaze shifted to mine and softened. I cocked an eyebrow at him and he too concentrated on the soup, as if it were of great fascination.
Sylvia broke the tension with a tinkling laugh. "Your cook was probably better than ours. We do have trouble finding good staff from the village."
"Forget the village," Malborough said. "Bring them down from London. Don't you agree, Father? That's where the best servants can be found."
"Not necessarily," Lord Frakingham said. "Cooks, for example, ought to come from France."
"Oh yes!" Sylvia said. "The French are so exotic."
Malborough picked up his wineglass and snorted into it. "Hardly."
Sylvia bit her lip and blinked rapidly. The poor girl. It was the height of rudeness for Malborough to make her aware of her ignorance. I
knew she felt terribly provincial sometimes, and his derision would only make her feel worse. I was about to draw her into a different conversation when Tommy approached. He poured wine into Malborough's glass, even though it hadn't been requested. Unfortunately some splashed on Malborough himself.
Malborough jumped up, shoving his chair backward so hard that it tipped over. He futilely tried to flick wine off his shirt. "Fool!" He dabbed at the stain with his serviette, spreading it further. "Look what you've done! You've ruined my shirt."
"I'll assist your valet to clean it later," Tommy said, backing away from the scene.
Nobody could have failed to notice his lack of apology. I wanted to catch his eye to offer him silent congratulations, but he was intent on Sylvia. She, however, looked as if she wished her chair would swallow her up.
"I insist you dismiss this fellow at once," Malborough said, picking up his chair and sitting down again.
"Unfortunately that's not possible," Langley said with detachment. "Not unless you wish the maid to serve."
Malborough muttered something under his breath and swiped up his glass from the table, managing to spill more of its contents over the tablecloth. His father quietly and calmly continued to eat, as if nothing had happened.
"About the philosophical group that used to meet here," Samuel said to Lord Frakingham. Thank goodness he found something else to talk about. The tension in the room grated on my nerves. "Can you elaborate further on what you discussed in your meetings?"
It wasn't until he brought it up again that I realized he hadn't received any answers the first time he'd mentioned it.
"Philosophical group," Lord Frakingham muttered. "Is that what it's called now?"
"Do you mean to say it wasn't a group that discussed philosophy?"
"Not in my time here."
"Then what did they discuss?"
The clinking of cutlery against china ceased. Mr. Langley paused with his wineglass at his lips. My breath sounded loud in my ears.
Lord Frakingham lifted his gaze to Samuel's. "They were linked to the Society for Supernatural Activity."
Sylvia fingered the pearl choker at her throat. "Oh dear," she whispered.
