by Alyssa Drake
Mr. Reid shrugged as he rose. Untangling the horse’s reins from the grass, he lithely leapt atop the mare and forced a half-smile. “If I was Benjamin, I would pluck you from the ground, drape you over my saddle—despite your stubborn reluctance—and force you to return to the house.”
She sat up, tilting her head as she considered his threat. “However, you are not.”
“I am not,” Mr. Reid replied, “and I prefer not to do what is expected of me. Which means I must encourage you to the same.”
Sam grinned.
“Try not to get too wet,” he said as the horse stamped the ground impatiently. “Mrs. Hastings’ opinion of me will not improve if I allow you to return in a bad state.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam saluted him.
Mr. Reid attempted a second smile but failed dismally. Digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, the horse whinnied and galloped toward the stables without further direction from his rider.
Judging the distance of the clouds, Sam calculated she had at least a half hour before the rain began. However, the storm moved more rapidly than she anticipated. Just as the house appeared over the rise, rain fell in sheets, pelting her with thick drops. Instantly soaked, Sam raced for cover. Losing her footing, she slipped on the wet grass and skidded down the final hill in a decidedly inelegant fashion. A large tear—hem to waist—appeared with a deafening rip.
Stunned, Sam lay on her back, raindrops stinging her face. Rolling to her side, she pushed up on her arms and climbed to her feet, scraping soggy curls off her cheek. She wrapped the skirt tightly around her waist, covering the tear and hobbled toward the house. As she approached the veranda, her pace slowed until one foot barely shuffled forward an inch. She debated the ruined dress.
How would she sneak into the house?
“Samantha, would you at least move under the roof while you finish your daydream?” Wilhelmina yelled from the doorway, startling Sam from her trance.
Sam nodded, slogging her way toward the veranda. Two sodden shoes left a trail of muddy footprints across the wooden porch boards. She stopped just in front of Wilhelmina, shivering and dripping on the floor, her hand still clasping the torn skirt.
“I see you followed my instructions exactly.” Wilhelmina clucked. Shaking her head as her gaze traveled up Sam’s clothing, Wilhelmina grimaced. Reaching out, she lifted an edge of the ripped dress. “Edward is in the study. If you hurry, you can change without anyone else discovering your complete lack of propriety.”
Sam bowed her head and squeezed past Wilhelmina who shrank away from Sam’s sopping clothes. Dashing across the foyer, Sam’s feet squished with each step, her shoes barely touching the staircase as she raced up them. She rounded the hallway corner before Wilhelmina closed the front door and scurried into her chamber, slamming the door.
Peeling off her drenched clothing, Sam left the ruined dress and her underclothes drying in front of the crackling fire and stood, her hands stretched toward the heat. The warmth from the fireplace did nothing to melt the cold block which settled in Sam’s stomach. She shivered. Droplets of rain slid down her back, freezing her skin. She was alone. The silence pressed in.
She could not stay in this room, not without Benjamin here. His absence amplified the emptiness.
Rooting through her trunk, she yanked out fresh clothing and dressed quickly. Even Edward’s lectures were a better option than the endless quiet. She hooked a shawl off the lid of her trunk and fled the chamber, creeping downstairs. She glanced down the hallway; a light emanated from underneath the closed study door. Edward’s muffled voice echoed through the foyer. Gliding past the door, she snuck into the library. A silver tray laden with food and a small handwritten note waited on the small table. Sam snatched the note, her eyes flying over Wilhelmina’s handwriting.
There has been no news from Lord Westwood.
Dejected, Sam hefted an armchair over to the library window and propped her stocking feet on the ledge, watching the rain fall in torrents.
“Benjamin, where are you?” she whispered, wrapping her shawl tightly around her arms. Her heavy head, lulled by the steady drum of raindrops, drooped against her chest. Franklin wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.
Chapter Thirteen
Day 3
“What exactly am I?” asked Sam, her eyes flicking to Wilhelmina as a dressmaker fluttered around Sam’s feet, stabbing portions of the dress with pins. Mrs. Silverthorne jerked the hem of the blue gown, signaling her disapproval of Sam’s constant movement. Removing a pin from the bunch clamped between her lips, Mrs. Silverthorne shoved it through the material, sticking Sam for a third time in the past ten minutes. Sam’s ankle throbbed. She scowled at the dressmaker. Mrs. Silverthorne turned her head to Sam and smiled, the pins rolling in her mouth. Sam shuddered.
“You are a peacock,” replied Wilhelmina, unwrapping a parcel. She produced a glittering mask in the same shade as Sam’s gown, plumage decorating the top in a crown-like arrangement.
“Oh, that is lovely,” Miss Clemens gushed from her stool. She stood in a similarly uncomfortable position—confined to a tiny stool—her yellow dress pinned up in various sections.
Sam touched a large discoloration on her forearm, her mouth twisted unhappily. “How do you plan on covering the contusions on my arms,” she asked, her self-consciousness growing increasingly worse with the reveal of capped sleeves.
“With these.” Wilhelmina laid a pair of long gloves next to the mask. “Miss Clemens, I have a pair for you as well. We will all match with the exception of color.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Miss Clemens replied with a curtsy.
Clearly, balance was not an issue for Miss Clemens. Sam’s mouth twisted. She wobbled, earning another poke from Mrs. Silverthorne.
“Miss Clemens, I hope you do not mind my selection of a canary for your costume. Yellow looks lovely with your coloring.” Wilhelmina offered her a smile.
“I wonder what hue Miss Shirely decided to wear,” Miss Clemens murmured with a nervous hitch in her voice. Her eyes followed Mrs. Silverthorne as she moved to the back of Sam’s gown.
“I believe she has selected pink,” replied Wilhelmina, laying a feathered yellow mask and matching gloves next to Sam’s blue pair.
“She has chosen to dress as a pig,” Sam muttered under her breath, causing Miss Clemens to laugh. She coughed to cover her gaff and turned away from Sam.
“Samantha!” Wilhelmina chastised without looking up.
Sam rolled her eyes. “Please excuse my inappropriate comment.”
“I would much more prefer you meant the apology. However, I suppose that was a beginning,” replied Wilhelmina. She lifted a third mask and gloves, each white in tint.
“Miss Shirely has alleged much worse,” Miss Clemens said, causing Wilhelmina to glance up with an arched eyebrow.
“About Samantha?” Wilhelmina inclined her head in Sam’s direction.
“Yes,” whispered Miss Clemens, her eyes unable to meet Wilhelmina’s.
Sam stretched out her arm and grasped Miss Clemens’ hand, squeezing gently. “I am afraid every bit of it was true.”
The ladies burst out laughing. Miss Clemens breathed a deep sigh, accepting the yellow gloves Wilhelmina offered. Pulling them up her arms, Daphne rotated slowly on the stool, her breath catching timidly.
“You are beautiful.” Aunt Abigail spoke from her position on the sofa. She and Lady Westwood quit their quiet conversation when Miss Clemens mentioned Miss Shirely’s name.
“I would like to see the entire costume,” said Lady Westwood with a smile.
Wilhelmina passed the mask over to Miss Clemens who dutifully pulled it over the top portion of her head. Mr. Reid chose that exact moment to peek his head into the sitting room.
“Would any ladies….?” He paused as his eyes traveled over Miss Clemens, his mouth hanging open in shock. Lady Westwood and Aunt Abigail exchanged a knowing glance.
“Miss Clemens, you are exquisite
.” Mr. Reid finally spoke when he remembered himself.
“Thank you, Mr. Reid.” Miss Clemens glowed. She tried to curtsy, but her nervousness overtook her. Losing her balance, she toppled forward, crashing to the ground with a groan. She flushed, embarrassment crawling through her face.
Mr. Reid leapt forward, and knelt, offering his hand to assist Miss Clemens to her feet. Righting the stool, he held her hand until she returned to her original position atop the stool, giving it a tiny squeeze before releasing her fingers. The matrons in the family exchanged a second glance.
“Thomas, it is always lovely to see you, but I must ask the purpose of your interruption.” Lady Westwood sipped from her teacup. “Dress fittings do not generally interest you.”
“I was wondering if any of the ladies present would care to join me fishing tomorrow morning if the rain has ceased by then.” Mr. Reid spoke directly to Sam who gleefully grinned at Wilhelmina.
Wilhelmina sighed and glanced out the window, watching the thick, dark clouds pensively, and nodded. “You have no obligations tomorrow. You may occupy yourself however you wish as long as the weather is favorable.”
“I would be delighted to join you, Mr. Reid,” Sam replied happily, bouncing on her stool in uncontainable excitement.
“Miss Clemens, would you care to join our outing tomorrow morning?” Mr. Reid turned his full gaze toward the younger girl to extend his invitation. She nearly fell again.
“I do not know how to fish,” she replied quietly, blushing again.
“It is not a difficult activity to learn, Miss Clemens. I can teach you,” said Mr. Reid.
Miss Clemens hesitated at his suggestion. “Mother said it was inappropriate for a lady to learn a man’s sport. ‘No gentleman wants a wife who behaves like a man,’” she said, replicating her mother’s shrill tone.
Wilhelmina snorted. “Edward taught Samantha a slew of improper activities, and she still managed to receive a marriage proposal.”
“More than one if you include Mr. Lockhearst’s feeble attempt,” said Lady Westwood with a wink at Aunt Abigail.
“I heard Miss Hastings shredded his hopes with her sharp tongue.” Aunt Abigail leaned over, loudly whispering to Lady Westwood. Sam blushed.
“It was not that sharp,” Sam muttered to Miss Clemens.
“I think he cried,” replied Lady Westwood, her face glowing with delight. The ladies burst into giggles.
Mr. Reid’s eyes flicked over his aunt and mother. Shaking his head, his amused gaze returned to Sam. “I am curious to know the other unsuitable pursuits in which you have experience, Miss Hastings.”
“Edward has sworn me to secrecy as my inappropriate tutoring lands squarely on his shoulders.” The corner of Sam’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “However, I have a query for you in return, Mr. Reid. Have you ever been bested by a woman?”
He raised his eyebrows at her challenge. “Miss Hastings, I am intrigued by your confidence. Would you care to make a wager?”
“One shilling on Miss Hastings.” Aunt Abigail announced her bet with a deft thump of her cane.
“Please, do not allow Edward to discover you are betting again,” said Wilhelmina, her lips puckered into a frown.
“Just because you lost the last wager…” replied Sam. She paused when Wilhelmina shot her a sharp scowl.
“What was the bet?” asked Miss Clemens.
Frowning, Wilhelmina turned to Miss Clemens. “A proper lady does not place bets.”
“Does that mean you are no longer a refined woman?” Sam goaded.
Wilhelmina narrowed her eyes. “What goes on between a husband and wife is private.”
“Nothing is private,” Sam replied. Aunt Abigail snickered.
“A lady does not gleefully point out the faults of others.” Wilhelmina arched an eyebrow.
“By that definition, I cannot say I have met more than four ladies during my entire time in society,” replied Sam.
“Dear me, only four?” Feigning shock, Lady Westwood’s hand flew to her chest.
“I hope you count me as one of those ladies.” Aunt Abigail turned with a sniff.
“Most certainly not,” replied Lady Westwood.
“Thomas,” Aunt Abigail said with a twinkle in her eyes, “would you consider me a lady under Miss Hastings’ terms?”
“Ladies,”—Mr. Reid held his hands in the air—“before this becomes a dangerous situation for me, I must take my leave. Have a pleasant evening. I shall meet you both in the library tomorrow at daybreak.” Thomas bowed and escaped into the hallway.
“Why the library?” asked Miss Clemens.
“Samantha has a tendency to end up there,” replied Wilhelmina, collecting the blue mask and gloves and holding them out to Sam.
Sam frowned.
“A fact is not a reason to be angry, Samantha,” Wilhelmina said, her eyes indicating the offered gloves and mask.
“You don’t have to point it out,” replied Sam, pulling the gloves up her arms.
“Mr. Reid is not attending dinner with us tonight?” Miss Clemens asked, a melancholy undercurrent in her question.
“Mr. Reid has a prior obligation,” replied Wilhelmina.
“Which has absolutely nothing to do with the unexpected arrival of a certain young lady.” Aunt Abigail murmured to her sister.
“Abigail!” Lady Westwood admonished her. “We do not discuss that matter.”
“That matter,” said Aunt Abigail, “occurred eight years ago.”
“Eight years ago, today,” replied Lady Westwood softly.
“Oh, I see.” Aunt Abigail patted Lady Westwood’s hand, her tone exceedingly sympathetic. “I forgot the date. I do apologize for my insensitivity, Katherine.”
“What are they discussing?” Sam whispered to Wilhelmina.
Wilhelmina glanced at Lady Westwood. “It is not my place to discuss Mr. Reid’s past.”
Lady Westwood raised her eyebrows and stared Wilhelmina. “I was unaware Thomas shared this information with anyone outside our family.”
“Edward told me,” replied Wilhelmina. “We were engaged at the time. I was acquainted with both Lord Westwood and Mr. Reid. Edward wanted to share the good news with me.”
“It was the fastest engagement in history,” said Aunt Abigail.
“It is also not common knowledge, and I would prefer it remain that way until Thomas decides otherwise.” Lady Westwood indicated Mrs. Silverthorne who labored unobtrusively around the hem of Sam’s skirt.
“I have completed the necessary adjustments,” Mrs. Silverthorne announced from her crouched position, giving no indication she had overheard any portion of the hushed conversation.
“When will the alterations be completed?” Wilhelmina asked as she passed her gown to Mrs. Silverthorne.
“I will have them completed by Friday. They will be delivered in the afternoon.” She turned to Sam and Miss Clemens, still perched upon their footstools. “Ladies, if you would remove your gowns for me, please?”
“Would you also be able to repair this dress as well?” Wilhelmina handed Mrs. Silverthorne a ragged dress. Sam recognized it immediately as the ill-fated outfit from her previous day’s adventures.
Mrs. Silverthorne stroked a weathered thumb over the material, mumbling to herself as she inspected the split. “I may be able to save this garment. I will do my best Mrs. Hastings.”
“Wonderful,” Wilhelmina replied, arching an eyebrow at Sam.
“It was my pleasure to assist you today.” Collecting the dresses, four in total, Mrs. Silverthorne bobbed her head to each lady in turn. “Please let me know if there is anything else you require.”
“Not at this moment, Mrs. Silverthorne,” replied Lady Westwood. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“I was surprised to learn you declined your invitation, Lady Westwood. I hope you are not ill,” Mrs. Silverthorne said as she returned her materials to her basket. “The Shirely masque is an exceptionally popular event.”
“My Lady.” Mrs. Silverthorne nodded again to Lady Westwood. Without another word, the seamstress hefted her basket of sewing supplies off the floor, draped each dress over her arm, and scooted through the sitting-room door.
“I believe it is time for more tea,” Aunt Abigail said, refilling her teacup.
A flash of color over Sam’s right shoulder captured her attention. She squinted out the window through the rain-streaked glass, her eyes searching the grey soup. A second burst of color appeared in the distance—a horse and atop the horse, Mr. Reid. He rode full-bore across the drive, rocks flinging under the horse’s wild hooves.
Sam did not draw attention to the ghostly sight of Mr. Reid, subtly shifting away from the window, blocking it with her body until she was sure he was no longer in view. She joined Wilhelmina on the settee, accepting a teacup and saucer.
The ladies moved on to discussing the less interesting topic of fashion. Sam felt her mind wandering, jumping over rain-soaked bushes and brambles on horseback with Mr. Reid. Periodically, her eyes flicked sideways in the hopes of observing his intriguing horsemanship, but he never reappeared. The afternoon plodded on in dull fashion, rolling into an evening of ennui and cards.
When the other ladies retired for the evening, Sam found herself wandering toward the library again, unable to sleep. Neither Edward nor Mr. Reid invaded her sanctuary although she heard their voices in the house, resonating from the foyer sometime after midnight. She strained her ears, endeavoring to translate the mumbles into viable words, but she could not. The footsteps of both gentlemen faded as they ascended the staircase, resulting in an abrupt end to the hushed conversation. She sighed, picked up her book, and waited for Franklin.
His laughter filled the library.
Chapter Fourteen
Day 4
“Is there a legitimate reason why you voluntarily abandoned a perfectly good bed in favor of these stiff chairs?”