by Alyssa Drake
“Do not forget your shoes,” Wilhelmina called after her in a smug tone.
The Westwood estate, located thirty minutes from town, had a line of carriages parked along the sprawling drive when Sam and Wilhelmina arrived. Accepting the footman’s hand, Wilhelmina stepped daintily from the carriage. Sam, holding the orange tree, stumbled on the step, clasping the footman’s hand tightly. Her exit slightly less graceful, Sam righted herself quickly and smoothed her skirt with one hand. She caught Wilhelmina rolling her eyes and flashed a sheepish grin.
The path to the gardens, indicated by the footman, was lined with rosebushes blooming in various shades of pink and yellow. Butterflies fluttered throughout the adjoining garden pausing to kiss the colorful petals. The warm sun broke through the morning’s fog and lit the pathway with magic.
“Oh,” breathed Sam as she stared at the sight.
“Breathtaking, is it not?” a deep voice whispered behind her.
Sam’s heart leapt into her throat. Her breath caught as she spun to her right, almost losing her grip on the pot she carried. There, on one of the white marble benches near a gazebo, sat Lord Westwood in elegant repose, looking more handsome than Sam remembered. His intense stare burned into Sam’s eyes. She blushed meeting his gaze.
“Lord Westwood,” Wilhelmina turned at the sound of his voice.
“Mrs. Hastings.” He rose, his movement almost liquid, and walked leisurely toward them. “I was just commenting to Miss Hastings on the beauty of my mother’s gardens. She takes considerable pride in them.”
“Yes, they are striking,” agreed Wilhelmina with a smile.
“Miss Hastings, allow me to take that lovely tree from you.” Lord Westwood stepped closer to Sam.
Sam clutched the pot closer, trying to slow her pounding heart. “No, thank you, my Lord. I can manage.”
“I am sure you can,” he replied, swallowing a grin.
“Samantha, do not be ridiculous. Allow him to carry the orange tree,” Wilhelmina clucked, turning to continue up the path.
Sam relinquished the pot to Lord Westwood. He took it with a smirk and continued his unhurried pace beside her. “My mother loves oranges.”
“Wilhelmina will be so pleased,” replied Sam with a frown.
Lord Westwood regarded her oddly but said nothing as they walked slowly behind Wilhelmina’s retreating figure. They rounded a bend in the path, and Lord Westwood walked over to a large table covered with gifts of assorted sizes. Sam noted there were several orange trees scattered across the table.
She chuckled quietly.
“Something amuses you?” questioned Lord Westwood as he glanced back at her before depositing the orange tree next to the others.
“Oranges seem to be a popular gift.” Sam tried to hide her smile.
Lord Westwood cocked his head. “Yes, they are.”
“I wonder if Wilhelmina knows,” she mused, still trying to keep the inappropriate grin from appearing on her face.
Lord Westwood ignored her comment. Glancing down, he meticulously brushed the dirt off his coat left by the pot. “If you continue to follow the path, you will find my mother as well as the rest of the guests. Please excuse me, Miss Hastings, I have other matters that need my attention.”
“Certainly, Lord Westwood,” she murmured to the empty air; Lord Westwood had already disappeared down the path. His cool demeanor and abrupt departure stung immensely. Sam felt tears prick her eyes. Before they could spill, she spoke sternly to herself. Why did she care about the manners of a man–a scoundrel–whose only interest in her was to shuck her off onto any other man?
“Such is the busy life of a lord.” The quiet sound from beside Sam caused her to jump.
“Franklin,” smiled Sam, blinking away a tear swiftly and spinning to greet him. “I did not know you were attending this party.”
“How could I pass up such a wonderful opportunity to spend the afternoon in your company?” he grinned back amiably, lifting her hand to his lips.
“Have you decided whether you are going to postpone your trip next week?”
“Unfortunately, I cannot.” He noticed Sam’s crestfallen face and gave her hand a squeeze. “I should only be away a few weeks.”
“That is too bad. I was looking forward to seeing a friendly face at the Leveret’s ball.”
“I would extend the offer for you to travel with me, but I think your sister-in-law would not approve.” Franklin’s wistful tone confirmed Wilhelmina’s over-protective tendencies.
“She most definitely would not,” agreed Sam with a heavy sigh.
“There will be a time when you will be able to travel,” comforted Franklin. Then he bowed dramatically and offered his arm to Sam who accepted with a giggle. Wrapping her arm through his arm, they strolled slowly down the path. Every few meters, they stopped to smell a flower or to watch the butterflies dance. Wilhelmina, now a mere speck in front of them, disappeared around the final corner.
“Wilhelmina will wonder where I have gone,” frowned Sam.
Franklin shook his head. “She knows you are with me. I already bade her good afternoon. We are free to be as leisurely as possible.”
“Franklin,” whispered Sam, leaning in slightly. “What does one do at a countess’ birthday party?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Franklin whispered back.
They rounded the last bend in the gravel path. Beyond them stretched a vast lawn dotted with canopies, surrounded by various overgrown trees and hedges. Underneath the canopies, most of the guests gathered, chatting amongst themselves and watching the arrival of new visitors. Sam and Franklin walked slowly to the center tent where Wilhelmina was greeting Lady Westwood.
They ambled past Lord Westwood and Miss Shirely, who were seated under the shade of a nearby canopy. Lord Westwood raised his eyebrows at their intimacy, his eyes raking over their interlocked arms. However, he pursed his lips and said nothing. Resolutely, he turned back to the chattering girl next to him. Miss Shirely, sparkling in pale blue, glared haughtily at Sam as payment for stealing Lord Westwood’s attention briefly. Sam resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.
Sam wondered how she had missed Lord Westwood passing her and Franklin on the path, especially since it took them a quarter of an hour to walk the length of the garden. She realized Lord Westwood must have escorted Miss Shirely through the house once she arrived. The thought perturbed Sam. Was Lord Westwood avoiding her?
“Lady Westwood, a pleasure to see you again.” Franklin bowed deeply to Lady Westwood, releasing Sam’s arm.
Sam noticed a triumphant gleam in Wilhelmina’s eyes when she realized Franklin had escorted Sam to the canopy. Sam turned her full attention to their hostess, purposefully ignoring Wilhelmina’s gleeful face.
“Lady Westwood. I wish you a very happy birthday.” Sam offered an awkward curtsy.
“Thank you, Miss Hastings. Mr. Morris, I am pleased you could attend my little soiree. I was under the impression you had other business that needed your attention.”
“Lady Westwood, I could never pass up the opportunity to spend time in your extraordinary company.”
Lady Westwood giggled playfully. “Mr. Morris, you flatter me.”
“Morris, come play cards with us. We need a fourth.” Mr. Charles Leveret gestured from one of the nearby tables. Franklin nodded at him in acceptance of the request. “Ladies, please excuse me.”
Sam watched Franklin as he seated himself in the offered chair. She did not recognize the other two gentlemen at the table, but Franklin seemed at ease with the men. Soon his boisterous laugh carried over the lawn. Sam smiled. He was the type of man who seemed comfortable anywhere. He would be a fantastic traveling companion, having already visited many foreign countries. Her head cocked slightly to the side as she studied Franklin. He glanced up at her at that moment, winked, and slapped down his cards. His companions groaned, each man laying down his cards in unison. Franklin collected the coins in the center of the table with a flour
ish.
“Mrs. Hastings, Miss Hastings, have you had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Stanton?” Lady Westwood continued, introducing Abigail, who stood quietly on her right.
“Yes,” smiled Wilhelmina. “We were introduced at the Allendale’s ball, not six days ago.”
“Mrs. Hastings, it is a delight to see you again so soon and with your charming sister-in-law.” Mrs. Stanton’s eyes traveled slowly over Sam as if appraising her. The scrutiny caused Sam to squirm. A tiny giggle threatened to burst from her lips.
“Allow me to introduce, Miss Samantha Hastings.” Wilhelmina indicated Sam with a graceful wave of her hand.
Mrs. Stanton continued her silent inspection of Sam, who, uncomfortable by the older woman’s curious interest, nodded the barest of greetings. Anxious laugher continued to bubble in Sam until an errant giggle escaped. She quickly pressed her hand to her mouth, rouging instantly.
Wilhelmina’s disapproving glare flashed briefly across her face. Sam winced. She could imagine the upcoming lecture she would receive once she and Wilhelmina were alone together on the long carriage ride back to the townhouse.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” Sam managed to choke out, swallowing her ill-timed laughter. She noted Wilhelmina’s approving nod out of the corner of her eye.
“Come now,” stated Mrs. Stanton in a jovial tone. “There is no need for such formalities. I find them to be lacking in sincerity on most occasions.”
Sam smiled gratefully, taking an instant liking to the older woman’s no-nonsense demeanor. Mrs. Stanton’s shrewd eyes swept over Sam once again. A tiny grin emerged briefly, long enough for Sam to catch it, before it disappeared again into the wrinkled face.
“Mother, how are you enjoying your day?” asked Mr. Reid, approaching the four ladies, swinging a long wooden mallet. He kissed his mother on the cheek and bowed to each of the women.
“Immensely,” Lady Westwood responded with a smile.
“Would you care to join me in a game of croquet?” he nodded to the mallet in his hand.
“No, thank you, Thomas,” stated Lady Westwood. “I will leave the game playing to the youth.”
“Aunt Abigail,” Mr. Reid turned toward her with a grin. “Would you care to try your luck?”
“Thank you for the invitation, Thomas, but I would much rather watch the game from the shade of the canopy.”
“Ladies?” Thomas extended his offer to Sam and Wilhelmina.
“We would be delighted,” answered Wilhelmina with a glance toward Sam as if daring her to object.
“Excellent. You can be my partner Mrs. Hastings. Miss Hastings, we will have to find a second member for your team.”
“I will play,” volunteered the gentleman currently waiting to greet Lady Westwood.
“That is the spirit, Lockhearst,” replied Mr. Reid jovially, heartily clapping him on the back.
“Mr. William Lockhearst,” the man introduced himself to Wilhelmina with a polite nod and raised her hand to his lips.
“Mrs. Hastings,” Wilhelmina responded with a gracious smile. “May I present my sister-in-law, Miss Hastings?”
“The lady and I have already met,” Mr. Lockhearst abruptly answered. “We were introduced at the Allendale ball. I had the immense pleasure of dancing with her that evening.”
“Mr. Lockhearst,” replied Sam politely, offering her hand. “It is delightful to see you again.”
He took her hand and pressed the barest of kisses upon it. “I hope you are well.”
“Amiably so,” said Sam. “I am looking forward to our game.”
Mr. Lockhearst smiled, but the warmth did not reach his eyes. “As am I, Miss Hastings. I must warn you though, I do take my game playing seriously.”
“I hope you do not intend to forgo the opportunity of allowing me to best you once again, Thomas.”
Tingles vibrated over Sam’s skin. She rubbed her arms as if fighting off the chill. Her heart rate increased to an alarming pace. Why did this man affect her so much? She drew a deep breath and turned her attention to the newest member of their small group.
“Lord Westwood,” acknowledged Mr. Lockhearst with a slight, cold nod.
“Mr. Lockhearst,” answered Lord Westwood, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Benjamin, we are playing partners. Is there a young lady who would be willing to play on your team?” Mr. Reid interjected.
Just at that moment, Miss Shirely appeared by Lord Westwood’s side as if conjured from thin air. “Miss Shirely, I would like you to meet my brother, Mr. Thomas Reid, his partner Mrs. Wilhelmina Hastings, Mr. William Lockhearst and his partner, Miss Samantha Hastings.”
Miss Shirely’s sharp eyes raked over Sam and Wilhelmina’s clothing, taking in the details of their dresses. Sam glared insolently back at Miss Shirely’s critical gaze, imagining the horrible critique she would give later to her social clique. Something about this girl rankled Sam.
Miss Shirely broke eye contact with Sam and looked back at Lord Westwood with an innocent smile, batting her eyelashes. “I am not sure I really understand the game.”
“That is alright, Miss Shirely. I will explain the rules to you,” Lord Westwood answered in a comforting tone, not one trace of annoyance in his response.
Sam rolled her eyes at Wilhelmina who stifled a giggle before frowning at Sam for her impolite behavior. Witnessing the exchange between the two women, Lord Westwood’s lips twitched. He rearranged his features, but not before Sam caught his grin.
“Beware, Mrs. Hastings, Benjamin cheats,” muttered Mr. Reid with a glance in his brother’s direction, quickly extending his arm to Wilhelmina. “We will need to watch him carefully.”
“Edward has already warned me about your croquet tournaments,” laughed Wilhelmina, clasping Thomas’ arm. “I have no doubt we shall win.”
Chapter Ten
The sextet wandered down the lawn, away from the canopies and other guests. Each man carried a wooden mallet of varying colors with a thick solid band of color near the handle to match a specific ball. Set out on the manicured grass were several iron wickets, designed in the most complicated pattern known to mankind. Benjamin snorted when he saw the location of the hoops—Thomas’ imagination had certainly influenced the positioning of the wickets. Ignoring him, Thomas set up three colored balls at one end of the course.
“Shall we allow the ladies to hit first?” suggested Mr. Lockhearst with a polite nod to Miss Hastings as he offered her his mallet. She took it from his hand, grasping the top of the handle carefully, so as not to brush her fingers against his.
“I think, since Miss Shirely has the least amount of experience with this game, we should let her go first,” recommended Mrs. Hastings, a dash of venom in her sugary statement.
Miss Shirely glared at her. Mrs. Hastings smiled serenely back and tilted her head slightly. Huffing, Miss Shirely accepted the mallet from Benjamin and leaned over the yellow ball. Her body positioned awkwardly, she swung the mallet with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The mallet flew wide, missing the ball by several inches. Instead, a large chunk of grass sailed through the air, carved out of the ground by her wild swing. She pouted daintily and glanced up at Mr. Lockhearst who seemed struck silent by her sudden notice of him.
“I guess I am just not strong enough,” she sighed, sending a winning smile in Benjamin’s direction as well. She delicately picked a blade of grass off her pale skirt.
Benjamin watched her thoughtfully, failing to return her dazzling smile. Aunt Abigail may have been accurate in her assessment of Miss Shirely after all. She was feigning her inabilities to garner not only his attention but that of every man in the group. Benjamin slid his eyes furtively to the left, in his brother’s direction. Thomas, conscious of Miss Shirely’s pretense, raised his eyes dramatically at Benjamin, giving a subtle shake of his head. Then deliberately turning his back to Miss Shirely, Thomas placed his focus solely on Mrs. Hastings while they discussed their game strategy.
Clearly not
reaping Thomas’ notice, Miss Shirely pouted, her eyes flicked to Benjamin. She flashed a second, even larger smile toward him. Ignoring her flirting, Benjamin busied himself with resetting the ball in its starting place. He glanced up briefly at Miss Hastings, realizing she observed the entire exchange between Miss Shirely and the three gentlemen. A ghost of a grin crossed her lips as if Miss Hastings were enjoying his disappointment.
Dejected by both brothers’ lack of interest, Miss Shirely turned her full attention back toward Mr. Lockhearst, a pout decorating her lovely face. Mr. Lockhearst took several unconscious steps toward Miss Shirely as if hypnotized by her beauty, his mouth hanging open slightly. Benjamin crossed his arms, bristling; Miss Hastings snorted quietly next to him.
“Perhaps, one of us could help you swing the mallet?” suggested Mr. Lockhearst, using the opportunity to slide closer to Miss Shirely, his outstretched arms trying to slip around her delicate waist.
“I think,” Miss Hastings declared in an unusual tone, “her partner should offer to help.” She watched Mr. Lockheast’s actions with a curious expression. “We would not want anyone think we cheated.”
“I agree,” concurred Thomas with a nod as he looked up from his discussion with Mrs. Hastings.
Benjamin flashed Miss Hastings a dark look. She tried to shrug innocently, but the ghostly smile graced her lips again. “It seems only fair, Lord Westwood.”
Mr. Lockhearst moved away from Miss Shirely, lowering his arms slowly. He, too, had a scowl on his features. Benjamin stepped behind Miss Shirely with a sigh, carefully placing his hands further down on the mallet, so they did not accidentally brush against hers. Warily, he swung the mallet with her, striking the ball evenly, sending it flying across the grass. As soon as the mallet connected, he immediately released the handle and moved several paces away, lest he appeared more eager to Miss Shirely than he intended.
Oblivious of his departure, Miss Shirely clapped her hands, dropping the mallet and squealing, the high-pitched sound grating his nerves. Benjamin shook his head slightly. Aunt Abigail was correct, he needed to reconsider his judgment of Miss Shirely. Surely no man should be subject to such ridiculous behavior.