An Imperfect Engagement

by Alyssa Drake

  “Samantha.” The word held every bit of longing pent up in Benjamin, the smoldering fire inside him threatening to explode into an inferno.

  She ran into his embrace, knocking Edward aside in her rush. Benjamin wrapped his arms firmly around her. Leaning into his chest, she nuzzled Benjamin’s neck with a happy sigh, a tremble rolling down her back.

  Edward snarled, stepping toward them. His progress was stopped by Mrs. Hastings who put a gentle hand on Edward’s arm, shaking her head. He glared at Benjamin and back at his wife, his eyes bulging. She shook her head again, arching an eyebrow. Sighing, his shoulders rolled forward, and he nodded with a grimace.

  Apparently Edward’s interference had been a topic of recent conversation. He must remember to thank Mrs. Hastings for her assistance.

  “I have missed your company this evening.” Benjamin pressed his lips into the warmth of her skin. His shoulder earned blow from Edward who had broken free of his wife. He growled at Benjamin. Benjamin smirked.

  Miss Hastings twisted in Benjamin’s arms, glaring at her brother. “Miss Randall and I encountered Franklin at the center of the maze. He threatened to murder both of us, right there.” She grabbed Edward’s sleeve, hissing, “Edward, he had a pistol.”

  Miss Clemens gasped, her skin paling. She fainted in a graceless heap on the sharp gravel path. Miss Randall, her eyes rolling madly, followed, collapsing atop of Miss Clemens, the penny knife slipping from her fingers. It tumbled, blade first and stuck into the ground, millimeters from Miss Clemens’ head.

  “Thomas…” Benjamin asked with a half-hidden grin as he studied the two unconscious women, “which young lady would you prefer to assist this evening? They both seem quite taken with your rescuing abilities.”

  Miss Hastings struck Benjamin in the same place as her brother. He rubbed the tingling spot on his arm and grinned at her. “Is this new lack of manners something else inappropriate in which Edward instructed you?”

  “It is,” replied Miss Hastings as she knelt next to the ladies’ immobile forms. Benjamin crouched directly across from her, capturing her gaze with his hungry eyes.

  “Do you think a husband should be aware of all his wife’s capabilities prior to the wedding?”

  “No.” She shook her head adamantly. “It would ruin the surprise.”

  Benjamin glared over his shoulder at Edward. “You are not going to warn me of her talents either, are you?”

  Edward smiled and shook his head. “I am not.”

  “Gentlemen.” Mrs. Hastings inserted herself between Edward and Benjamin, kneeling. “Given the current state of Miss Randall and Miss Clemens, I propose we postpone this discussion of Samantha’s inappropriate education.”

  Thomas smirked and stooped beside Miss Hastings, fanning Miss Clemens and Miss Randall with his mask, his gaze flicking toward Benjamin. “I wish to revise my earlier statement regarding Miss Hastings’ dreadful influence over Miss Clemens.”

  “You believe Miss Clemens is a terrible influence over Miss Hastings?” asked Benjamin incredulously.

  “Not at all. I believe Edward is the cause of both ladies’ unsuitable behavior,” Thomas jovially replied.

  Miss Randall moaned, drawing Thomas’ attention. He and Mrs. Hastings helped her sit forward, moving her off Miss Clemens supine figure, who groaned in kind.

  “What happened?” Miss Clemens asked. She looked around and flushed, embarrassed by her prone location, struggling into a sitting position.

  Miss Randall, lifted to her feet by Thomas, stood unsteadily and brushed the dirt from her gown. She stumbled, still off-balance and toppled forward. Thomas easily caught her, wrapping his arms around her petite waist. She smiled gratefully, her violet eyes sparkling in the light cast from a nearby lantern. Momentarily losing his ability to speak, Thomas stared, enraptured. Edward shot Benjamin a smirk.

  “Thomas,” Benjamin called, crouched beside to Miss Clemens.

  In a dreamlike movement—fluid and unhurried—Thomas raised his head and regarded Benjamin with a curious expression. “Yes.”

  “Would you care to assist me?” Benjamin indicated Miss Clemens who remained seated on the pebbly pathway.

  “Certainly.” Thomas reluctantly passed Miss Randall to Mrs. Hastings who wrapped a supportive arm around Miss Randall's shoulders.

  Miss Clemens stubbornly climbed to her feet without assistance, pushing away Benjamin’s and Thomas’ arms. Benjamin wondered if her sudden solitary attitude was driven by the foolish smile pasted across Thomas’ face.

  “Edward, Lord Westwood, Mr. Reid, I suspect you want to search the maze after Samantha’s shocking announcement. However, I have no desire to patiently wait while you complete that happy task. Considering the depraved behavior Mr. Morris previously exhibited, I believe it best to return to the country estate. Samantha? Miss Clemens? Would you care to accompany me?”

  “I would,” replied Miss Clemens, her tone flat.

  “Actually…” said Miss Hastings.

  “Samantha, my invitation to you was not a question,” Mrs. Hastings said. Edward nodded in concurrence.

  Miss Hastings opened her mouth to protest. Benjamin placed a single finger over her lips, the caress eliciting a small tremor which traveled the length of her body. The diamond necklace shimmered in response. She blushed, holding his gaze.

  “Are you planning to argue with me?” he asked.

  “I am,” she replied. Edward snorted.

  Benjamin ran his fingertip along the diamonds surrounding Miss Hastings’ delicate throat. She shivered again and bit her lip. Benjamin grinned. Leaning closer, his warm breath brushed lightly over the most sensitive part of her ear, he whispered against her skin. “I bet I can change your mind. Would you like me to try?”

  “No, I would not,” replied Edward, ripping Miss Hastings away from Benjamin and pushing her toward his wife.

  “You will have a difficult time locating anyone in this maze,” Miss Randall said dreamily. She leaned against Thomas who had reclaimed her from Mrs. Hastings.

  “Miss Randall is correct,” said Miss Clemens in an unnerving monotone. “We did not even manage to reach the center of the labyrinth. How will you find someone who is trying to remain hidden?”

  Edward grumbled his agreement with Miss Clemens’ observation and ran a hand through his hair. He turned to Miss Randall. “Miss Randall, as Mr. Morris has threatened your life this evening, would you prefer an escort to your home?”

  “I am extremely grateful for your offer, Mr. Hastings. I do not wish to cause any undue hardship; however, I doubt Aunt Hattie would loan me the coach so I could depart the masque early,” Miss Randall replied, her harmonious voice faint.

  “It is no trouble at all,” said Thomas with a broad grin. “I would be delighted to accompany you on the journey.”

  “Mr. Reid, you cannot attend Miss Randall alone,” said Mrs. Hastings, “think of her reputation.”

  “I will travel with you.” Miss Hastings volunteered as the group retraced their steps toward the maze’s entry.

  “I will accompany you as well,” said Benjamin. His arm brushed against hers. Heat flickered between them, sparks threatening to combust with each step.

  “I think ambushing Aunt Hattie in such large numbers will cause a scene,” replied Miss Randall. “Perhaps Miss Hastings and I can inform her of my departure.”

  “That is an excellent idea, Miss Randall.” Mrs. Hastings nodded. “Lord Westwood and Mr. Reid can meet you at their carriage.”

  Edward’s objections overruled, he accepted defeat. “Sammie, we will convene at the country estate. Please…”

  “Be careful,” replied Miss Hastings, imitating her brother’s intonation. Edward glared at her in irritation. Without warning, he embraced her roughly. Just as swiftly, he released her and turned toward his wife, offering his elbow.

  “My dear.” Mrs. Hastings entwined her arm through his as they proceeded through the maze arch toward the line of carriages decorating the expansiv
e drive. Miss Clemens trailed behind them silently, almost invisible.

  Miss Hastings watched Miss Clemens slog toward the waiting carriage, her head wavering between Miss Randall and Miss Clemens. Benjamin stepped behind her, encircling her waist with his arms, dropping a light kiss on the top of her head. She glanced up at him. Biting her lip, her eyes indicated Miss Clemens’ shrinking form. Benjamin shrugged, having no recommendation how to heal a broken heart.

  “Miss Hastings, shall we?” Miss Randall called, gesturing for Miss Hastings to follow her. Benjamin released his grip on Miss Hastings, losing sight of her among the crowd of masks. He prayed one of them was not Franklin Morris.

  Chapter Twenty

  Miss Randall and Sam scoured the garden for Mrs. Pierce over the next ten minutes. After passing the refreshment table a third time, Miss Randall stopped, her face scrunched with worry. “Where could she have gone?”

  “Perhaps your aunt decided to try her hand at solving the maze,” Sam said. Exploring the labyrinth again, especially with Franklin still loose, seemed extremely risky. Was it worth tempting fate twice in one evening?

  “No,” replied Miss Randall, quickly dismissing Sam’s idea. “Aunt Hattie never ventures into the labyrinth.”

  “Why?” asked Sam, following Miss Randall as she wove through the throng.

  “She is afraid of small, enclosed spaces. More than five minutes in the maze would be torturous,” Miss Randall said in a distracted voice, her eyes searching the grounds.

  “Did you notice your uncle?” Sam asked, hurrying to catch up to Miss Randall.

  Miss Randall paused mid-step, turning to Sam with a peculiar expression. “No. Actually, I have not seen either of them all evening.”

  “Did you not arrive with them?”

  A small grin flitted across Miss Randall’s exquisite face. “My current residence is a little cottage on the edge of Uncle Horace’s estate; it has been my living situation for some time now. Unbeknownst to Aunt Hattie, Uncle Horace sent the carriage to my door an hour prior to their departure so I would not need to walk and ruin my beautiful gown.”

  “That was extremely kind of him,” said Sam, unsure how to respond to Miss Randall’s admission.

  “I rarely have any contact with anyone in the family with the exception of Uncle Horace.” Her mouth pulled into a smile. “He writes me weekly.”

  Sam tilted her head. “Do you get lonely?”

  “Not at all.” Miss Randall patted Sam’s arm. “I find the solitude refreshing although there are moments when I miss conversing with Uncle Horace. He possessed a fabulous sense of humor.”

  “I regret causing you to depart the masque early. It deprives you of societal contact.”

  “I find your company much more amusing. Leaving this party early is no great loss for me. The Shirelys are dreadful hosts.” Miss Randall leaned in. “To be honest, I already planned to give my excuses long before our accidental meeting.”

  “Miss Randall, your opinion of your family, a family who took you in as a penniless orphan, should not be shared with outsiders.” Mrs. Shirely pulsated behind them, her irate eyes twitching uncontrollably.

  “Aunt Lillian.” Miss Randall acknowledged the family matriarch with a tiny curtsy.

  “Perhaps your lack of manners and education is truly to blame for this show of ungratefulness.” Mrs. Shirely scowled.

  Miss Randall narrowed her eyes. “Thank you for your honest criticism, Aunt Lillian. My faults can only be attributed to the disinterest Aunt Hattie—and the entire family—subjected me to during my childhood. Please accept my apologies for Aunt Hattie’s inability to raise proper children.”

  A purple hue exploded on Mrs. Shirely’s face as she ground her teeth, struggling to maintain her composure.

  Was she irate due to Miss Randall’s allusion of Mrs. Pierce’s barren condition or her improper instruction of Miss Randall? Perhaps it was a bit of both. How often did Miss Randall jab barbs into this particularly egregious wound?

  Mrs. Shirely glared at Miss Randall, a silent argument occurring between them, malice glowing on Mrs. Shirely’s face. “Charlotte, I expect you to conduct yourself properly while in public, including refraining from denouncing the family who financially supported you.”

  “I did not choose to be part of this cruel family,” said Miss Randall, her hushed voice strained with rage.

  “Your mother made that decision for you.” Mrs. Shirely’s mouth set furiously. “Selfish woman.”

  “Della,” Miss Randall enunciated acerbically. “Her name was Della, and she was your sister.”

  “She,” replied Mrs. Shirely, hissing, “was careless. She left me to clean up her mess, yet again.”

  “Just like Aunt Hattie,” replied Miss Randall.

  Mrs. Shirely struggled not to physically attack Miss Randall. “Hattie possessed enough sense not to ruin our family name.”

  “Is that how you see me, a constant blemish on your good name?” Miss Randall shot back.

  “Your birth cost me a husband,” Mrs. Shirely growled, millimeters from Miss Randall’s face.

  “I think you survived the scandal adequately, Aunt Lillian.” Miss Randall smirked and gestured about at the house and expansive grounds.

  “Your disrespectful attitude can only be attributed to your mysterious inheritance, no doubt. I wonder how you would act if I confiscated those funds.”

  “You have no control over my affairs,” Miss Randall smiled sweetly, “and you never will again.”

  “Miss Randall, you are no longer a welcome guest. I must ask you to leave immediately.” Mrs. Shirely jerked her head toward the drive.

  “With pleasure.” Miss Randall curtsied. “Please inform Aunt Hattie of my departure.”

  “Inform her yourself,” Mrs. Shirely snapped, “she declined my invitation.”

  “When did she do that?” Perplexed, Miss Randall stared at her aunt, her mouth dropped in shock.

  “I received her refusal late this evening. She claimed Horace’s gout was intolerable, and they would not attend this evening’s soiree. Such terrible manners,” sniffed Mrs. Shirely. “It is a wonder you are not a complete heathen.”

  “Not unlike your son,” replied Miss Randall with an arched eyebrow, her voice dangerously soft.

  “Good evening, Miss Randall.” Mrs. Shirely’s eyes popped from her head. She turned her burning ire on Sam. “You will not repeat one word of this discussion, or I will personally have you cast out of society.”

  “Be careful who you threaten, Aunt Lillian,” Miss Randall said. “Your rough tones may offend Lord Westwood’s future wife.”

  “I am well aware to whom you are engaged, Miss Hastings.” Mrs. Shirely glowered at Sam. “However, I very much doubt you will fulfill that marital obligation. Lord Westwood’s continued interest can only be accredited to your scandalous behavior.”

  “Mrs. Shirely, when I am your better, I shall remember your unfounded accusations,” Sam replied softly.

  “If. The word you want to use is if you are my better,” sneered Mrs. Shirely in an equally quiet tone. “Engagements have been broken off before.”

  “You have experience with that, do you not, Aunt Lillian, as does your daughter?” Miss Randall leaned forward, eyes flashing, her head nearly bumped Mrs. Shirely’s.

  “Charlotte, I heard you were unable to attend this evening.” All three ladies swiveled in the direction of the booming voice. Mr. Shirely lumbered toward them with a large smile, unaware of the heated exchange he interrupted.

  “How could I miss your annual masque, Uncle Alexander?” answered Miss Randall tightly. She raised on her toes to plant a chaste kiss on her uncle’s bearded cheek. “The maze is my favorite attraction.”

  “Unfortunately, Charlotte must retire early,” said Mrs. Shirely with feigned disappointment, forcing a smile to cross her tart lips. Sam hoped the action was as painful as it looked.

  “That is a shame, Charlotte. We rarely see you.” Mr. Shirely flung a jovial a
rm around his niece’s shoulders and hugged her roughly. He noticed Sam and licked his lips appreciatively as his beady gaze unhurriedly traveled the length of her gown. Turning to Miss Randall with a broad smile, he indicated Sam with a jerk of his head. “Charlotte before you take your leave, you must introduce me to your lovely companion.”

  “Uncle Alexander, I would like to introduce you to Miss Samantha Hastings.” Miss Randall obliged unenthusiastically, still trapped under her uncle’s heavy arm. She finally managed to extricate herself from his indelicately familiar grasp.

  “Miss Hastings.” Mr. Shirely lifted Sam’s hand to his mouth and slobbered on her silk glove. “It is an immense pleasure to meet you. I must say, you look ravishing this evening.”

  “Mr. Shirely.” Sam curtsied, retracting her hand with a shudder of revulsion, the scent of alcohol overwhelming her senses. Mrs. Shirely’s shrew eyes narrowed maliciously.

  “Hastings,” Mr. Shirely muttered to himself. He retrieved a folded handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped the top of his balding head absently. “Why have I heard the name?”

  “My brother, Mr. Edward Hastings, just arrived home from a long trip,” said Sam, distracted by the numerous beads of sweat popping out across the top of Mr. Shirely’s crimson brow.

  “A long trip?” Mrs. Shirely cut in with a snort. “He returned from the grave.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember. Frightened nearly a half dozen ladies into a dead faint.” Mr. Shirely chuckled, amused by his joke.

  “She is also the future wife of Lord Westwood,” said Miss Randall, glaring at her aunt.

  “Well, you have done well for yourself, Miss Hastings, a fine catch, I hear. Perhaps you can give my daughter some advice as she seems to be lacking husband snaring capabilities.”

  Mrs. Shirely’s purple hue blackened, her mouth pressed so tightly, half her face disappeared into a thin line. “My dear,” she ground out, “we cannot keep these ladies from their departure. Charlotte is anxious to return home due to Horace’s ailing condition.”