by Alyssa Drake
Taking a cool cloth, Edward gently dabbed her forehead and tried to force lukewarm broth down her throat, stroking her throat softly to help her swallow the liquid. He vowed not to leave her side, reading to her continuously, books from his classes, books from their library, even books he found hidden in the governess’ room. He prayed, lips moving fervently, eyes cast upward, and he swore such blasphemies even the doctors blushed.
After two days of pacing and cursing, Edward exhausted himself beyond reason. Unable to keep his tired body awake, he passed into a dreamless slumber. The gilded armchair stationed by the bed provided a cocoon for him to rest. His head drooped to his chest as fatigue claimed him.
A little voice traveled across the sleep-veiled barrier. Softly at first, it grew more insistent, waiting for a response. Edward mumbled incoherently and smiled in his sleep.
“Edward.”
Awakening with a start, Edward fell out of his chair. Placing both hands on the bed, he heaved himself back into a sitting position. His eyes flicked to the bed where Sam sat, propped against the headboard. She studied him with a concerned look on her face.
“Edward, I have been calling your name for nearly five minutes,” she scolded, placing her hands on her hips.
“Sammie!”
Leaping on top of the bed and haphazardly knocking books onto the floor, Edward threw his arms around his sister. He buried his face in her little neck, wetting her nightdress with tears, sobbing uncontrollably.
Sam stroked his hair, her arms wrapped tightly around his head. Ephraim discovered this odd picture ten minutes later—a child comforting an adult. He entered the room silently and waited quietly for a moment. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Ephraim allowed Edward to regain his composure before stepping forward.
“Samantha, I am pleased to find you awake.”
“Uncle Ephraim,” her eyes crinkled in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
He crossed the room, leaning heavily on his left leg. With a grunt, he sat in the chair recently abandon by Edward, rubbing his knee with a mutter about cold weather. He gazed at Sam for a moment with the same blue eyes, although slightly dimmer, as both his niece and nephew.
“Well, my dear, you almost died,” he stated in his gruff voice. “However, it seems as though you are much stronger than the doctors supposed.” He paused at that moment and withdrew a handkerchief. Coughing several times into the cloth, he refolded it and placed it back in his pocket.
“Uncle Ephraim,” began Edward. “She is too young to hear things like that.”
“Ridiculous,” replied Ephraim in a tone indicating the much-conversed subject was closed. His eyes never left Sam’s face. “It is important to deal with reality, and I do not have time to cater to your overprotective tendencies, Edward. Now, Samantha, you are on strict orders to remain inside for the next few weeks.”
“Yes sir,” replied Sam, her face unreadable.
Ephraim coughed again, a deep, throated sound which reverberated through his chest. “I have been speaking with Governess McConnell, and she has brought to my attention you have been practicing fencing. She has expressed her concern about the inappropriate tutoring you have been receiving from Edward. I am sorry to inform you that Governess McConnell will no longer be offering her services. I shall see about finding you a proper tutor.”
A wide grin split Sam’s face. “Thank you, Uncle Ephraim.”
Ephraim leaned forward with a wink. “I have added a few more books to your library. They are on the large table downstairs. However, this one is special; it was your father’s favorite.” He pulled a small, leather-bound book from his coat pocket and placed it carefully on the bed.
“I am residing here at Hastings Manor for a week at least, possibly longer, just to ensure you are in full health. Nevertheless, at this moment, I have some business that needs tending to if you would excuse me.” Ephraim stood with a groan, stretched out his legs to relieve the stiffness in his knees and shuffled toward the door. He paused at the frame and turned around with a mischievous grin. “Samantha, once you are feeling better, I expect an exemplary demonstration of your fencing skills.”
As Ephraim opened the chamber door, he was met by the butler who had just raised his arm to knock on the door. Ephraim nodded politely and continued his heavy step down the hallway.
“Lord Hastings, a Mr. Reid and his luggage have arrived.” Edward glanced up at the butler who stood waiting in the room for further instructions.
“Damn,” Edward cursed under his breath. “I forgot I had invited him for a hunting weekend.”
“Who is Mr. Reid?” asked Sam. She stopped leafing through the book on her lap and regarded her brother with a curious expression.
“An old friend from school,” replied Edward. “Perhaps I should send him away.”
“There is no need,” answered Sam with a wave of her hand. “Uncle Ephraim is here to watch over me. Enjoy your weekend.”
Edward nodded and turned back toward the butler. “Show him to the informal sitting room and prepare some food. I’m sure he is hungry.”
“As you wish,” the butler nodded. “Glad to see you awake, Miss Hastings.” He smiled a rare smile and disappeared out the door.
“Sammie, if you feel even the slightest bit dizzy or sick, please let me know.” He placed a gentle hand against her forehead, judging the strength of her fever.
She nodded, returning her attention to the book. Edward remained immobile on the bed, studying Sam.
“Edward,” Sam spoke quietly after a few moments without even glancing up from the page. “You have a guest. It is impolite to keep him waiting.”
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, standing suddenly.
“Please open the drapes,” Sam decided after a moment. “I want to see the sunshine.”
“Certainly.” Edward glanced at the book in her lap as passed beside the bed. “I remember that story. You’ll love it, it’s about pirates.”
“Is there sword fighting?” Sam’s eyes shone.
Edward laughed. “There may even be a curse word or two.”
Chapter Thirteen
March 1853 – Westwood Estate
The candles burned low, casting a dreary gloom across the bedchamber. Benjamin, his large frame folded uncomfortably into a tiny wooden chair stationed beside a rumpled bed, slumped snoring. His head, heavy from exhaustion, rested carelessly on the bed, while an arm dangled, forgotten, on the floor. Miss Hastings mumbled a nonsensical word or two and fitfully thrashed in the bed of tangled sheets. At the first sound, Benjamin sat straight up and stretched, pain radiating through his cramped muscles. Standing slowly, he moved in front of a fire crackling in the nearby grate, both eyes focused on the girl sleeping restlessly next to him.
For two days, she slept, her fever bringing nightmares of the past. Occasionally, she whimpered; a soul-baring sound that nearly brought tears to Benjamin’s eyes. He wanted to comfort her, but thus far his efforts were ineffectual. Helplessly he watched Miss Hastings’ internal struggle and prayed she would awaken soon. Edward would never forgive him if she died. One promise, Benjamin thought ruefully, one simple promise to a friend. Of course, Benjamin had never thought Edward’s ship would be lost at sea—no one did. It was a short voyage to France, nobody ever died sailing to France. Now he was burdened with a promise that tormented his very essence.
“Edward,” Miss Hastings whispered from the blackness of her mind.
Benjamin rushed over, placing a cool cloth on her forehead. A bead of water trickled down her cheek. Within moments, the blistering fever burned the towel dry. He sighed, dipping the towel again in a nearby bowl of water, placing it once more over her burning skin. No sign of recovery. The doctors–Benjamin asked more than one to assess her condition–stated they must wait for the fever to break. The fire would either consume her, or it would burn out, they concurred. Considering her experience with fever, the doctors were positive she would recover. Dissatisfied, Benjamin had thrown them all out.
He sat diligently beside her bed, through the day and night, begging Samantha to wake up.
“Edward,” Miss Hastings screamed, her body suddenly flying forward as she sat up. Her hand stretched out for her brother’s fingers, groping the sheets. Benjamin grasped her hand tightly and squeezed. She blinked several times and gazed around the unfamiliar dim room. Her eyes remained cloudy.
He removed the cold cloth–already bone dry–to study her face, concern etched in the deep lines across his forehead. She gazed at Benjamin, her blue eyes focusing on him. As the confusion cleared, her eyes widened in surprise. She suddenly scooted back against the mahogany headboard, pulling the sweaty sheets to her chin.
“Where am I?” she rasped, her cracked voice gravelly and deep.
“I am glad to see you are finally awake,” Benjamin smiled politely, his hand still clamped on her burning fingers. “We were all very worried.”
“I am certain you were,” Miss Hastings replied, the words grating her throat. Benjamin noted she continued to clasp the sheets over her nightdress. Her voice sounded a little stronger, but her eyes still possessed a worrisome dimness. She ripped her hand from his grasp. “So concerned, you kidnapped me and hid me away in your private lodgings?”
“You are in my mother’s house,” Benjamin answered in amusement.
“Oh.”
“I expect your sister-in-law will be relieved to talk to you,” he continued, ignoring her sheepish tone.
“Wilhelmina is here?” Miss Hastings asked, craning her neck to search the chamber again.
He smiled. “They are occupying the adjoining room.”
“They?”
“Mrs. Hastings brought all three of her daughters,” sighed Benjamin. “I am surprised the din did not rouse you.”
Miss Hastings managed a tiny grin. “They are quite a handful.”
“Yes, they are,” Benjamin agreed. “But my mother is enjoying the company. She likes having grandchildren to spoil. I daresay she has started on Thomas and me anew. She will not rest until both of us provide her with her own grandchildren.”
“That should not be too difficult for a rake like you,” Miss Hastings murmured. A flush crept into her cheeks when Benjamin raised his eyebrows.
Benjamin placed a hand over his heart in mock pain. “Your accusations are unfounded.”
“With all your wanderings, how can you not have children?” Miss Hastings retorted, looking extremely uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.
“I can assure you, I have no children.” Benjamin leaned closer. “If I did, I would marry the woman straight away.”
“So, you are a rake, but not a cad. Thank you for making that distinction,” Miss Hastings muttered. She glanced at her fingers, somehow trapped under his hand again.
“Hmm,” Benjamin mused, his eyes following the movement of her head. He wondered himself how his hand had taken possession of hers again. He tapped absently on the back of her hand, pondering the actions of his wayward appendage. The tips of his fingers trailed up her arm to the crook of her elbow. A visible shiver traveled through her body. His fingers moved slowly back to her hand, which he lifted leisurely to his lips. Placing a searing kiss on her wrist, he saw the growing passion ignite behind her sapphire eyes, despite her delicate condition. She quickly looked down.
“Miss Hastings, I may be a rake, but I am an honorable one.”
He continued his assault on her hand, his lips nibbling at the soft part of her wrist. A slight moan escaped her lips before she regained her senses. Snatching back her hand, she stared scathingly at Benjamin.
“Sir, I am wrong. You are a cad too.”
“Why do you suddenly accuse me of this title again?” he smirked, his fingers inching toward her wrist again. He found himself desiring another taste of her skin.
“Because you tried to take advantage of a woman not completely in control of her senses,” Miss Hastings growled, rubbing the spot on her wrist where his lips caressed her a moment before.
“I like you better when you are not in control of your senses.”
“Why is that?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.
“Because your tongue is not so sharp,” Benjamin replied smoothly, a smile playing across his lips.
Miss Hastings tried to smile too. The corners of her mouth tilted slightly upward as if the effort itself was exhausting. Her face paled noticeably. With a sigh, she leaned back against the pillows, nestling in them with her shoulder blades until she felt comfortable. Running her palm lightly over the sheets, she smoothed out the wrinkles, and–catching Benjamin watching her–flushed again.
“Are you comfortable?” Benjamin asked lightly, enjoying a private joke.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I like the bed, it is both hard and soft in just the right places.”
Benjamin physically bit his tongue until he tasted blood to prevent an ungentlemanly comment from slipping past his lips. He settled for teasing her, unwilling to completely ignore the innuendo in her innocent sentence.
“I am glad you like it,” he murmured, leaning close again, his eyes gleaming wickedly. “It’s my bed.”
“Hell.” The word traveled the distance of the bed before Miss Hastings realized she swore. She swore again. The word sounded even less ladylike than the one she had uttered a few moments before. Her hands flew quickly to her mouth to stifle any more improper comments.
“Surely a lady would never use such language,” Benjamin teased, enjoying this surprising side. “Who taught you these terrible blasphemies?”
“My brother,” she stated defiantly, her chin jutting out as if challenging him to chastise her behavior.
Benjamin threw his head back and laughed. He laughed a full five minutes before catching his breath. He enjoyed having this woman in his bed, a shock considering they were both clothed, well, mostly clothed.
“Of course, he did. Edward always insisted on teaching you the most inappropriate things. In fact, if I remember correctly, he had been teaching you to fence right about the first time I met you.”
“My governess had a fit,” reminisced Miss Hastings with a small smile. “She nagged him every time he brought out the foils. She said it was improper for a lady to learn anything aside from tea and embroidery.”
“Indeed,” replied Benjamin. “Even you must admit it was a little inappropriate.”
She shrugged. “You stayed for a fortnight. It helped brighten Edward’s attitude immeasurably, even Uncle Ephraim noticed the change. Edward blamed himself for the near drowning incident.” Her eyes dropped to the bed.
“I know. He was my best friend, we talked at length about you,” Benjamin replied. He moved his hand to cover hers in a comforting gesture.
The warmth from her hand sent shivers through his body. Improper images began tumbling into his head—images of Miss Hastings, her ivory skin, glowing underneath his touch. He became aware the sheet had moved over the course of their conversation, partially exposing the enticing skin of her upper thigh, which distracted him immensely each time she shifted underneath the covers. He fleetingly wondered how he could move close enough for a taste of her silky, smooth skin, his tongue twitching impatiently.
“Edward was a good brother,” she said, interrupting his fantasy, causing Edward’s face to swim in his mind. Benjamin’s entire body felt as though it had been plunged into ice. Memories flooded the room, causing a brief silence between the two occupants.
“Yes, he was,” Benjamin finally said after a few minutes passed. His voice contained the lump he had been unable to swallow. “He was a very good friend as well. My father passed away just a couple of years after yours. Edward helped me enormously through an extremely difficult time.”
Benjamin rose suddenly, crossing to the fireplace. He counted the bricks, six up from the bottom. On the side of the fireplace, he pulled the sixth brick. After some tugging, it came loose from the other bricks, revealing a hollow space in the wall of the fireplace. Reaching in, he plucked
a dingy handkerchief from the hole and replaced the brick.
“Wow,” breathed Miss Hastings. “That is a fantastic hiding place.”
“It was the only place Thomas never found,” Benjamin responded wryly.
He regarded her for a long moment, his mind jumbling with yellowed recollections, flashes of the past, tinged with sadness. He crossed the room and handed the handkerchief to her with a heavy sigh. Looking into her sapphire eyes, he wondered how much of the past she remembered. Perhaps the real reason Edward kept her in the country was to protect her from his own actions.
“Your brother lost this in a game of cards shortly after your mother’s funeral. Later, I purchased the watch from the winner of the hand. I never wanted it, but Edward refused to take it back. I think you should have it.”
Miss Hastings stared at him with questions in her eyes, but Benjamin shook his head. The lump rose in his throat as he thought of his heartbroken friend. Benjamin had to look away. He had never noticed just how much Miss Hastings resembled her brother. When he finally composed himself, he turned back toward her.
The handkerchief, carefully unwrapped, lay in Miss Hastings’ lap. Inside the handkerchief, a gold pocket watch sparkled in the firelight. He noted she held her breath as she studied the watch, turning it cautiously in her hands. Her fingers traced the engraved letters, M.H., carved on the back.
“This was my father’s watch,” she stated in a small voice.
Benjamin nodded, unsure he could keep his voice from cracking.
“Why did Edward refuse it back?”
"I do not know. At that time, he was not in his right mind.”
“Edward loved Father very much,” she said, her hand still caressing the watch.
“I hid it in the fireplace until the time came when he would appreciate its true value.”
Miss Hastings studied the watch, tracing her finger around the golden edges, abruptly glancing up at Benjamin. “Why did you wait so long to try to return it?”
“I had forgotten it was hidden there. Edward never asked me about it again.” He glanced around the chamber with a tight smile. “It has been a long time since I have visited my old room.”