Heathcliff coughed, trying to cover up a chuckle.
Samantha slowly sat beside him, her heart pounding with a nervous pleasure. As she placed her hands demurely in her lap, she cast a sidelong look at Heathcliff, her betrothed. His warm gaze met hers, and he reached out and placed a warm hand over hers. The heat seeped through her, warming her hands, then her arms, and then spreading through her chest, causing her heart to increase its pace before slowing into a comforting rhythm.
For a moment, she felt quite treasured.
It was a lovely feeling.
When he didn’t remove his hand, she slowly relaxed, and then turned her gaze to her brother-in-law, who was clearing his throat.
“I was under the impression time was of the essence.”
“Never did I hear anything about time from your valet, only that there was a missive—”
“In the bloody dead of night.” He paused. “Forgive me.”
“For what?” Liliah asked, tilting her chin.
“The vulgar choice of words, but also for not waiting for you to accompany me.” He spoke with a contrite tone.
Samantha couldn’t quite decide if he was being utterly honest. He sounded repentant, and he certainly looked it, but it was a little too quickly requested, the apology.
“Why, Sister . . .” Liliah turned to Samantha. “Do I feel as if this is a situation where the quote, ‘It is better to ask forgiveness than permission’ is quite apt?”
Samantha lifted her gloved hand and hid a grin. “I hardly think your husband needs your permission for anything, Liliah.”
Liliah sighed. “I suppose you’re correct.”
“But I do understand what you mean. And I do think it’s appropriate,” Samantha finished.
Liliah turned a triumphant smile to her husband.
Lucas sighed, then turned his attention to Heathcliff. “I hope you know what you are getting in to. She is a copy of her sister in many ways.”
“Of that I’m quite aware,” Heathcliff made by way of response.
“I take that as a compliment,” Samantha chimed in, grinning widely. Growing up, how often had she imagined that she and her sister would marry men who not only tolerated each other, but were friends? She imagined the parties they could have, and Michaelmas, and all the holidays they could enjoy as a beloved extended family, something she never had experienced growing up but had seen in other families in the ton.
It wasn’t common, it was extraordinary, and she’d dreamed about such a blessing in her own life.
It looked as if the fates had heard her silent prayers and given her what she’d almost not dared to ask for.
“That’s a lovely smile. A bit wistful, however,” Heathcliff murmured softly, for her ears only.
She turned to him, offering a small smile. “Just musing. Happy thoughts.”
He gave a slight nod. “It’s been quite an eventful morning.”
She met his gaze, wondering how much of her heart she should reveal.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“But a good morning, in many ways,” she allowed. Let him take that however he wished.
He studied her, his eyes deep and rich. “On that we are in agreement.”
Samantha felt a smile start in her heart, then travel to her lips as they spread into a grin.
“Now, if we can simply get those two to make up.” He arched a brow and glanced in her sister’s direction.
“I’m not worried.” Samantha followed his gaze, noting the small smile on her sister’s face. All would be forgiven soon.
Movement by the door had Samatha glancing away from her sister. Mrs. Keyes walked into the room, followed by Miss Iris. Poor Iris! Samantha watched as her gaze moved around the room and then landed on her, as if asking for reassurance that everything was all right. Heaven only knew what she thought of all the commotion of the morning. Why, Samantha had heard so many sets of footsteps in the hall earlier, it was a wonder Iris was just emerging now. The house had seemed alive with all the activity. Even though it was clear the servants were trying to be discreet, it was still uncommon, and disconcerting.
Samantha nodded warmly, then stood. She was still Iris’s governess, was she not? She hadn’t resigned her position, nor had she any intention of leaving Iris to fend for herself, not that Heathcliff would allow that either, but still. Samantha had a responsibility, and she took her responsibilities very seriously.
“Come, Iris. It has been a full and early morning. I expect we all are in need of some tea and breakfast before we can do anything further about it.”
“Well said,” Miss Keyes asserted. “Speaking of which, Cook has set out everything necessary to break your fast.” Mrs. Keyes bowed her gray head respectfully, then gestured toward the hall.
Samantha noted how Lucas stood, then tugged on his coat. His gaze went to Liliah, and he offered his elbow and arched a brow questioningly.
Liliah’s lips pursed, but she placed her hand on his arm, then straightened her spine and followed him to the door.
Samantha bit back a grin, then cast her gaze toward Heathcliff.
His eyes were amused, and he arched a brow as he turned to her, offering his arm.
Samantha gave an accepting smile and waited for him to approach, knowing Iris was certainly putting two and two together at that gesture.
He offered his arm, his shoulders impossibly broad and his frame making her, not for the first time, seem delicate and small as she reached out and placed her hand on his sleeve. Such a sense of rightness, of home, washed over her. She glanced up, watching as Iris’s eyes darted from the viscount, to her, to their arms, then back to Samantha. Her expression was a perfect question mark, eyebrows slightly raised, her lips in an O, just the right amount of confusion in her gaze.
“I’ll explain later,” Samantha said softly.
Heathcliff paused, and she looked up to see him raise a knowing brow.
Samantha bumped him just a little with her elbow, earning a wide grin.
“Is that the way of it, then?” he asked, leading them toward the hall.
Samantha replied archly, “Would you expect any less?”
“No. Nor would I wish it,” he murmured, making her feel warm and soft inside. Who knew that words could hold such power?
The sideboard was loaded with a feast for breaking their fast. The cook at Kilmarin had always set a generous table, but it was as if this morning was an attempt to test the integrity of the table’s ability to hold weight. Rashers of bacon were piled high on several white plates, and thick, fat sausage links had been fried to a golden plumpness, rising in pyramids on other platters. The coddled eggs were steaming hot, as were several slices of ham, a nice brown crust over the outside from being pan fried.
Samantha hadn’t realized how hungry she was, and she was quite certain the others were as well as their breakfast party descended upon the spread like locusts. This was one time she wasn’t about to offer insight or correction on a meal. Part of wisdom was knowing when and where it should be used.
And amongst the hungry and emotionally charged was not the time or place.
The gentlemen allowed the ladies to travel through the line first, and Samantha bit back a grin when Liliah selected one piece of toast, then another, and then muttered something under her breath and applied a thick layer of strawberry jam to each.
Samantha followed her sister’s example and anticipated the delights of breakfast as she filled her plate and then took a seat at the table.
The men’s plates were loaded down with the weight of the food they’d selected. Samantha expected Heathcliff was probably hungry in the same way a bear is after hibernation. He’d had quite the evening, and fisticuffs no less.
Their breakfast party was silent, with no one offering any anecdotes to launch conversations, simply a few groans of appreciation and the rustling of napkins being used.
Mrs. Keyes soon served tea, and Samantha inhaled the rich steam with great appreciation.
After several minutes, Samantha glanced at Iris, who was watching as she politely ate her food, exceeding all the others in her manners.
It was quite monumental, Samantha decided. It was always rewarding when a teacher saw her lessons bear fruit in her pupil.
Samantha licked the corner of her mouth, tasting a sweet, tart hint of jam.
Iris was certainly surpassing her at the moment in manners.
It was amusing, and Samantha let out a little chuckle.
Heathcliff’s gaze darted up, and he arched a brow, then glanced around the table. His grin widened. “We do appear to be a pack of wolves, do we not?”
Iris giggled behind her napkin. “A bit.”
Samantha shared a knowing smile with Heathcliff, then turned to her sister.
“Pardon?”
At her sister’s obliviousness, Samantha giggled louder. It felt so delightful to release the tension and simply laugh.
Heathcliff joined her in amusement, and soon Lucas joined in.
This had to be a promising sign for the future, didn’t it?
Tomorrow would come with problems of its own.
But today, now, in this moment, they could laugh, they could let their worries go, they could simply be.
That would be enough. She’d make sure of it.
Chapter Twenty-six
Heathcliff didn’t wish to have a grand wedding. Hell, he hadn’t even been planning on marrying ever again. Yet, as he listened to the women discussing his upcoming nuptials, he wondered if perhaps Samantha had other wishes, bigger dreams, and maybe he was falling terribly short.
Didn’t most women dream about their wedding? And women of the ton dreamed about fashionable weddings at St. George’s, with all the frills and decadence London had to offer. They would include a wedding breakfast that was a generous sampling of the deep pockets of the parents, along with a heavily attended wedding, where everyone of note appeared. Not to mention banns being read weeks before, along with an announcement in The Times, leading to the gossip surrounding whether it was a good or poor alliance. In short, it was all about the attention.
And here in Scotland, Samantha would get none of that.
Hell, in Scotland, you could get married over any blacksmith’s anvil.
It was why scandalous marriages were all known to take place in Gretna Green. No marriage license, no approval, just a willing man and woman and some smithy wanting to make a few extra pounds. While it wasn’t socially acceptable, it was still a binding marriage.
And, he supposed, that was the important bit, but he still felt a slight uneasiness.
Samantha was a lady, a proper and gently bred lady—and he felt as if he was behaving like a villain in a gothic novel.
Damn, he hated that feeling.
Not that it wasn’t true. It was closer to the truth than he was willing to admit. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“You’re oddly silent,” Lucas said softly to him while the ladies continued discussing their plans.
Heathcliff turned to him. “It seems quite anticlimactic.”
“That’s for you to remedy later.” Lucas arched a wicked brow.
“You’re such an arrogant pain in the arse,” Heathcliff bit out.
“Yes. I’ve learned from the best. Now, what’s got you acting like a caged tiger? You’re marrying the woman you’re quite besotted with; don’t tell me you’re angry about marrying. You’re the one who bloody suggested it. Honestly, I’m almost proud you succeeded in pulling your head from your arse in time.”
Heathcliff gave him a frustrated look. “Oddly, I’m not resentful about entering into marriage. It doesn’t make a pint of sense, but I’m not going to worry over much. I’m just feeling like an ass because she is getting a rather ramshackle wedding.”
Lucas blinked, then tilted his head slightly. He breathed in, paused, then glanced away. “Is that so? You’re worried she’s unhappy with the lack of pomp?”
Heathcliff gave a curt nod.
Lucas looked back to him. “Does she bloody well look upset?”
Heathcliff turned to watch Samantha’s expression. She was speaking with Mrs. Keyes, her movements wide and enthusiastic, a sharp contrast to the way she was normally, so self-aware and controlled. She appeared . . . happy, excited even. It didn’t make sense.
“You’re confused,” Lucas stated.
Heathcliff turned to him, his mind offering several remarks of the more vulgar nature.
“Welcome to the club, my friend.”
“That doesn’t sound encouraging.”
“My wife confounds me on a regular basis. You remember, do you not? When we were first . . .” He paused.
Heathcliff grinned. Because what Lady Liliah and Lucas’s beginning of the relationship entailed wasn’t exactly proper behavior, nor was it something that should be mentioned out loud.
“I was going to say courting—”
Heathcliff snickered.
Lucas glared. ”Getting to know each other.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Heathcliff asked with an air of superiority.
“Go to hell,” Lucas bit out, but without heat. “What I’m trying to stay to your dim-witted self is that I never was able to understand what was going on in that astonishing mind of hers. It vexed me, tortured me, drove me mad, and utterly captivated me at the same time. It is very much the same way, being married to her. But I’d not change a thing. And you’ll soon discover that Samantha will both drive you mad and drive you to your knees because who she is will both humble you, vex you, and astonish you. And I look forward to watching.”
Heathcliff glanced at Samantha, replaying Lucas’s words and tasting the truth in them. “‘Misery loves company’ and all?” Heathcliff remarked after a moment.
“Something like that,” Lucas finished.
“Then you’re saying I shouldn’t worry?”
Lucas chuckled. “I’m saying that worry means you care, and that, my friend, will take you, and her, far.”
Heathcliff nodded, taking a deep breath.
“What do you think?” Liliah turned to him, her light brows raised in question.
“Of?” he asked, utterly at a loss as to what they’d been discussing.
“Of the party. If you’re to have such a small affair for the wedding—” She spoke with a little air of frustration.
Lucas cut in. “May I add that we had quite a small affair for a wedding too, my dear. You offered no complaint.” He grinned wildly; it was an expression of victory.
Liliah pursed her lips, then her mien seemed forced as her eyes glowed with an amused expression that finally caused her smile to break free. “Very well. You have a point. But what I’m saying is that if the masquerade is to be the event we wish it to be, the event that brings word all over Scotland and back to London—” she said meaningfully, “we are going to need your help. Which means giving us your opinion.”
“I do believe they just asked us for insight,” Lucas said in an astonished tone.
Heathcliff turned to him, nodding. “Miracles do happen.”
“You’re impossible,” Liliah ground out. “But unfortunately, we need you. As much as I’m loathe to admit it, you’re much better at throwing a . . . noteworthy event.”
“We do have experience.”
“Years of it,” Heathcliff added.
“I know,” Liliah said through clenched teeth, her patience running thin if her expression were any indication.
“So, the invitations are sent, the décor is set, the food is established, but what we need is the something that makes a party the event of the Season. Do you know what I mean? The little something extra, maybe even scandalous.”
“And being the proper lady, you don’t know what that is?” Lucas added, his smile wide.
“No,” she bit out the word.
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Lucas leaned forward, his countenance secretive and devilish. Heathcliff knew what he was thinking; it was the same thing they’d often discussed when creating events.
“Secrets.”
Heathcliff grinned, fully expecting the confused expressions he found on the ladies’ faces.
Lucas continued. “You spread the word that there is some secret, some deep and startling undisclosed piece of news, and you tell the servants, who tell other servants. You let the rumor mill do the work for you. Because if there’s something that no one can resist, it’s scandal. If you have gossip and knowledge, you have power. And we have the perfect bait.”
Liliah and Samantha blinked, an owl-like movement. Even Mrs. Keyes appeared lost.
“Why, Lady Samantha, you’ve escaped His Grace, the Duke of Chatterwood. You ran off to Scotland, hiding away as a governess only to marry your employer. The only thing people love more than good gossip? A good romance. And we, ladies, have both.”
Heathcliff chuckled as understanding dawned on Liliah’s face. Samantha’s expression was thoughtful, reflective. “I had never thought of it that way.”
“How so?” Heathcliff asked.
“Escaping. I rather think I did, didn’t I?” A small smile grew into a larger, more confident one.
“You did.” Liliah reached out and placed her hand on her sister’s.
Heathcliff’s gaze darted between the two sisters, both so alike yet unique in so many ways. Liliah was all energy, with light hair and sparkling green eyes. But Samantha ’s eyes were soulful, aware and provoking. They disconcerted him with how much they saw, as if she were able to see past pretense and emotional barriers. Where her sister was light featured, Samantha had darker coloring, yet their smiles—they were almost identical.
“I suggest we start the gossip today, allowing the word to have time to spread. The masquerade is in two days?” Lucas paused, then nodded to himself, as if confirming something internally. “Ideally, I’d like more time to get a buzz going, but it will have to do, I suppose.”
“Which means your wedding should happen tomorrow, as we discussed.” Liliah turned to her sister, as if confirming that she agreed with the assessment.
Escaping His Grace Page 18
