by C. J. Archer
I tried not to smile, but she was so adorable with the dirt on her cheek and a leaf stuck in her hair.
"Of course you must remain hidden," Samuel said with utmost seriousness. "Is there something you need to tell us?"
"Oh yes. It's very important." She glanced past us to the house, and, seeing no one watching, said, "I heard them whispering down there among the trees before I arrived."
"The Myers?" I asked. "Jane, I'm not sure you ought to tell us what you overheard. It's not nice to eavesdrop."
"I know. It's uneffical, my mother told me. But this is important and everyone knows effics don't matter when it's important."
"Of course," Cara said. "Go on, Jane, tells us what you overheard."
She shifted her position, but didn't stand. "Well, Mrs. Myer was very angry with Mr. Myer for being here in Harborough for such a long time. She told him it looks bad, and that he ought to not bother my mother the way he does. What do you think he meant?"
I exchanged alarmed glances with Samuel and Cara. "Uh, probably that your mother is being a wonderful hostess, but he shouldn't overstay his welcome."
Jane seemed satisfied with that answer. "She then told him he needed to return to London. He's got responsibilities there to the bank."
"I thought he had very little to do with the business," I said to Samuel and Cara.
"I thought she didn't want him interfering anyway," Cara added.
"It's my understanding that he's a figurehead only," Samuel said, a small frown line connecting his brows. "He's a major shareholder through his marriage, but has no real power. Perhaps she only wanted him there for the sake of appearances. What did he say to her suggestion?"
"He laughed," Jane said. "Then Mrs. Myer saw me and was about to pull my ear off as punishment for listening, so I told her you wanted to speak to Mr. Myer."
"Is your ear all right?" I asked.
She rubbed it. "It is now. She has to do more than hurt my ear if she wants me to stop listening!" Her gaze darted back and forth, before she leapt up. "I've got to go. Spying makes me hungry." She dashed off toward the house, probably to grab another cake.
We followed her at a much slower pace.
"Did Mr. Myer marry Mrs. Myer for her money?" Cara asked.
"That's the rumor," Samuel said. "She was an heiress to her father's banking empire and he doesn't seem to have any other income. Knowing what we do about him, my guess is he hypnotized her into accepting him."
"How despicable," Cara whispered.
"It's theory only. Don't condemn the man unless we know for certain."
Yet it seemed plausible and very likely that it had happened exactly how Samuel suggested. Mrs. Myer certainly didn't seem to like her husband. Why would she have married him willingly? He had nothing to recommend him.
We gathered Sylvia from the drawing room, said our goodbyes to Mrs. Butterworth and her daughters, and piled into the Langley coach. We stopped at the post office on the way back to see if our telegram had been answered, but there was no response.
"It's far too early," Samuel assured a fretful Sylvia. "Give it more time."
"Tomorrow?"
"Hopefully. The postmaster has instructions to deliver it to the house immediately if he receives a response."
"There's also a chance that we may not be answered with a telegram," I told her. "Bollard may come in person."
"I do hope so," she murmured, touching the corner of her eye with her gloved finger. "I miss him terribly. Who would have thought a silent man could leave such a hole with his absence?"
To keep her mind off Bollard, we told Sylvia about our discussion with the Myers. We drove through the Frakingham gates by the time Samuel launched into telling her what Jane had overheard. But he stopped mid-sentence and uttered, "Hell."
I followed his gaze out the window and saw the large coach that had pulled up at the front steps of Frakingham House. "Who is it?" I asked.
"My family."
My heart did a dive. The last people I wanted to see were Samuel's mother and brother. As it turned out, there was a third person with them, whom I'd also hoped never to see again.
Ebony Carstairs, Samuel's one-time betrothed and the woman I'd encouraged him to marry.
CHAPTER 7
The arrival of unannounced guests always caused a stir at Frakingham, but the arrival of unannounced important guests, who were universally disliked and while one of the senior members of staff was absent, was a test of household management. When Sylvia learned that the visitors planned on staying at Frakingham, she froze, unable to give Mrs. Moore any instruction on where to put them. With some of the ten guest bedrooms unfurnished, we were one short.
"Move my things in with Sylvia," I directed the housekeeper. Sharing her vast bed would still be more sumptuous than the one allocated to me in my cupboard-sized room at the school, where I couldn't even stand up on one side, thanks to the sloping roof.
When Sylvia nodded like a simpleton, Mrs. Moore took that as affirmation and gave orders to Tommy and the stable lad who'd been enlisted to help carry luggage up the stairs.
What came next was even more difficult. The greetings. They were stilted and much too polite for a group of people who'd said so many hurtful things to one another in the recent past.
I tried to remain at the edge of the drawing room for as long as possible. Perhaps if I couldn't be seen, they would simply continue to ignore me. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. The first to acknowledge me was Samuel's brother, Bert. I had not forgotten how he'd called me a whore, thinking I was trying to trap Samuel, and he had also wanted me to be his mistress. Samuel was unaware of his brother's low regard for me. I'd thought it unwise to rouse his anger further by telling him what had happened.
"Should you be here?" Samuel asked his brother. "What about estate business?"
"It can do without me for a few days," Bert said.
"And your health?"
Bert shrugged thin shoulders that seemed more stooped than the last time I'd seen him at his father's funeral. He was just as pale, yet his mouth was more pinched and jaw more rigid, as if he were in pain.
Ebony gave me a cool nod then didn't look at me again. She was somewhat warmer toward the others, saving her most enthusiastic greeting for Cara.
"Miss Moreau! I didn't know you were acquainted with the Langleys." She kissed the air near Cara's cheeks. "What a pleasant surprise to find you here."
"Both Miss Charity and Miss Langley are dear friends," Cara said. "Miss Langley was kind enough to invite me to enjoy the sunshine here at Frakingham for a few days."
"And how are you, Samuel?" Mrs. Gladstone asked her son as she eyed him closely. "Have your injuries healed?"
"On the mend," he said, not showing any signs of a limp as he made his way to an armchair. What that must have cost him in pain, I hated to think. "I'll be all right, Mother," he said with a smile as he sat. "Don't worry about me."
"But I do." She seemed to realize everyone was watching her, and left it that. "And Miss Langley, Miss Charity? You're both well, after everything that transpired here with the wild dog?" It would seem Ebony was to be kept in the dark about our demon problem. I agreed that it was for the best.
"Yes, thank you," Sylvia said.
I thanked her as well, surprised that she'd included me. I'd expected to remain unnoticed by the door.
"Lord Frakingham is here," Samuel told them.
His mother's lips parted and her gaze darted past me to the doorway. "How interesting. Of course, I hardly know the fellow."
I gave Samuel a glare and shook my head. He answered with a slight nod. It would seem their acquaintance and the link with the society would not be spoken of, just yet.
Sylvia made a little sound of panic in the back of her throat. I rested my hand on her arm and whispered for her to sit with her guests. She nodded numbly and perched on the sofa's edge. "Tea," she announced. "I must order tea." She promptly stood again and tugged the bell pull, knowing full well that the
housekeeper and maid were preparing rooms.
I slipped out of the drawing room and hurried to the service area, thankful for an excuse to get away. My departure wouldn't have gone unnoticed, but at least I was out of that room. The atmosphere was so taut it was rather like waiting for a guillotine to drop.
I assisted Cook in preparing the tea and organizing a tray, then carried it back to the drawing room. Nobody commented, though Ebony paused in the middle of her sentence ever so briefly before resuming as if nothing were untoward.
"My involvement is not what it was," she said, eyes demurely downcast. There was nothing demure about Ebony Carstairs, however. As Viscount Mellor's daughter, she'd led a privileged, fortunate life, and was expected to be an obedient, accomplished woman to attract a suitable husband. She had her heart set on Samuel being that husband. If her heart weren't so engaged, I wouldn't have encouraged her to pursue him, yet I'd believed her when she said she loved him. Samuel was, after all, an easy man to love. Or he had been.
"You've given up your political views?" Mrs. Gladstone asked Ebony.
"My views are the same, but I've found my interest has waned. I don't see the point in becoming involved in something I cannot affect." I got the distinct feeling the speech was choreographed, but it was as slick as any production and difficult to be certain.
"Very wise," Mrs. Gladstone murmured. "Don't you agree, Samuel?"
I handed Mrs. Gladstone a teacup and she gave me a knowing smile. So it seemed my suggestion that she encourage Ebony to put an end to her political ambitions had worked. Good. I was glad of it. Perhaps Samuel could now see her for what she was—perfect for him.
"I think it's unfortunate that Miss Carstairs has no say in our nation's government," Samuel said. "If you feel passionately enough, Ebony, you should encourage other ladies to join you in a movement. Surely if enough influential women speak up, they will be allowed the vote."
"Don't be silly," his mother chided. "The best way for a woman to influence the government is to marry someone in government."
"Considering women lack the vote, I have to agree," Samuel said, taking the teacup I handed him. "What made you decide to leave politics to the politicians, Miss Carstairs?"
Ebony sipped her tea very slowly and deliberately. "An acquaintance convinced me it would never give me what I wanted," she said, setting the cup down.
"And what is it you want?"
"Happiness. Isn't that what everyone wants?"
"And what if you discover that politics and being influential is the thing that gives you happiness?" He was testing her. I knew it, and by the pained look on his mother's face, I could see that she knew it too. It would seem Samuel understood that the conversation had been choreographed for his benefit.
"That won't be the case," Mrs. Gladstone said quickly. "Will it, Miss Carstairs?"
Ebony blinked rapidly, then, apparently catching on, said, "Quite."
There followed a strained silence, filled only with the sounds of sipping. Sylvia still looked to be in a state of shock over the arrival of her unexpected visitors. She would be no help at dispersing the tension. Relief came from an unexpected quarter.
"So where is Lord Frakingham?" Bert asked. "I'd like to meet him."
"In the attic," Sylvia said.
"What's a peer of the realm doing in your attic?"
"Searching for family heirlooms that he or his son may wish to claim. We're cleaning it out and giving some of the old things away to charity."
"Charity? Does she even want your old things?" He chuckled at his joke. No one else did.
"Is Lord Malborough here too?" Ebony asked.
"He is also in the attic," Sylvia said. "I'll send someone up to tell them of your arrival. I'm sure they'd like to greet you. I believe it's been some time since you've seen his lordship," she said to Mrs. Gladstone.
"Some time, yes," Mrs. Gladstone said weakly.
"Why don't we go and fetch them?" I said to Sylvia and Cara. "I'm sure Samuel would like to be alone with his family." I did not exclude Ebony from that statement. It was important that she stay and talk with him.
"It's quite all right," Samuel said quickly.
"Nonsense." Sylvia rose, a flush of color on her cheeks now that an escape route had been presented to her. "Come, ladies."
I avoided Samuel's gaze and followed Cara and Sylvia out of the drawing room, although I felt it on my back.
"That was rather tense," Cara said once we reached the base of the stairs. "Are all Gladstone family gatherings like that one?"
"They are of late," Sylvia said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, Samuel likes Charity, but his mother would prefer he marry Miss Carstairs. Indeed, Miss Carstairs would prefer it too. And of course his brother is ill, and nobody really knows how long he has on this earth."
"The poor soul."
"On top of which, Mr. Gladstone summoned a demon when he was here and it killed him. Oh, and Mrs. Gladstone has lied to us about how well she knew Lord Frakingham and belonging to the Society for Supernatural Activity. Is that everything, Charity?"
"You've summed it up well," I told her.
"No wonder it feels like everyone is walking on eggshells," Cara said with a nod back the way we'd come.
"Do you mind informing Lord Frakingham about our new arrivals?" Sylvia said to me. "I must go to Uncle, and tell him everything we learned today. He must be quite lonely without Bollard. Then I must find the servants and see that everything is in order. Oh, and dinner! What shall be done about dinner?"
"Cook assured me she has enough to cater for the extra guests," I said.
She blew out a breath and we parted ways on the second floor landing. Cara and I carried on to the attic, but she laid a gentle hand on my arm before we reached it.
"Are you all right?" she asked me.
"Of course. Why?"
"You look somewhat anxious. After what Sylvia said, I'm not surprised. It must be awkward for you, with Mrs. Gladstone's and Miss Carstairs' sudden arrival."
Not to mention Bert. My first priority was to avoid being alone with him. "Not at all. What Sylvia failed to mention was that I would like Samuel to marry Miss Carstairs too. It's a good thing that she's here. He can hardly fall in love with her from afar."
"You don't mean that."
"I do."
"No, Charity." She walked off. "You don't."
***
I had hoped to get through dinner without any private discussion or confrontations. Unfortunately, I didn't even make it to dinner without one. Samuel came to the room I now shared with Sylvia in the late afternoon. She had not yet returned from seeing Langley and I was alone. I was surprised to see him standing in the corridor when I opened the door upon his knock. I'd thought it would be Bert. I'd been dreading it, in fact. My relief at seeing Samuel instead must have shown on my face because he smiled in response, as if he'd expected a different, less favorable reaction.
He did not ask to come in and I didn't invite him. "Forgive the intrusion," he said. "I know you need to dress for dinner, but I hoped to see you quickly before we have to face them again."
"You make it sound like we're going into battle," I teased.
"In a way, we are." His smile slipped. "I'm sorry, Charity. If I'd known they were coming I would have discouraged them."
"I suspect that's why your mother didn't write. Anyway, you can't stop her from seeing you. She's worried about you. Your brother, too. They needed to see you for themselves. Now that they have, perhaps they'll be satisfied that your injuries are healing well."
"Perhaps." His gaze shifted to my shoulder. He changed his stance, putting more weight on his good leg. "I'm not sure that's their only motive, however."
"No. I'm sure it isn't, or Miss Carstairs wouldn't have come."
"I wish they'd not dragged her here. It's not fair on her. Mother must have led her to believe that I would change my mind, when I've given no such indication."
"Don't be too hard on your mother. She only wants wh
at's best for you."
He shook his head. "Then she should let me choose my own wife."
"She might, if you showed her you would choose wisely."
His gaze narrowed. "I know you think I would be better off with Ebony, but—"
"Of course you will be." He went to interrupt, but I put my hand up to silence him. He huffed in frustration but said nothing. "Didn't you hear Ebony?" I went on. "She's given up her ambitions."
"Has she?" he asked drily.
"Even if she hasn't, nobody can push you into a political career if it's not what you want. Set her ambitions aside, Samuel, and see Ebony for what she truly is."
He crossed his arms and arched a brow at me. "And what is that?"
"An accomplished, well-bred, beautiful woman who loves you."
The color drained from his face. His nostrils flared. "Don't," he croaked.
"Don't tell you that she loves you? Why not? She told me so herself." It was bold and provocative, but I didn't care. He needed to hear it, and I doubted he would listen to anyone else on this matter. Yet the cool ripple of fear traveled down my spine nevertheless, as his temper became a palpable thing.
He won't hurt me, he won't hurt me. I chanted it over and over in my head, and the fear lessened, but did not disappear altogether.
"I won't be forced into a marriage with someone I don't love." His low voice was filled with simmering anger, barely contained. But I knew it wasn't directed at me. It was directed at his family—his mother in particular—and perhaps Ebony herself. "No more than you will be."
I suddenly forgot what I wanted to say next. It was impossible to argue with such a statement. He was right, of course. Nobody should be forcing him to do anything, and I, of all people, ought to understand that.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled into my chest. God, how unfair of me, and stupid too. "You're right. I should never have…"
His finger gently lifted my chin until I was once more looking at him. My pulse hammered in my throat. The turmoil swirling in his eyes clawed at me. It was my fault he was distressed, yet I couldn't do anything about it.
