by Alyssa Drake
Lord Westwood stared right into her eyes. She gasped, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. A small smile appeared on his lips as he turned back toward his companion. He took a small sip from the glass, running his finger over the rim thoughtfully.
“There have been no marriage proposals?” asked the other man in a disappointed tone.
“Not one,” replied Lord Westwood, still watching Sam over the man’s shoulder. “But the season has just started, I am sure there will be a couple within the next few weeks.”
Who was this man? Sam could not fathom why Lord Westwood would discuss marriage proposals with a potential suitor. She sidled closer to the door, pushing it forward slightly to hear the conversation clearly.
“You are making sure each gentleman is suitable?”
“Absolutely.”
“Is wealth a factor?”
“Certainly,” Lord Westwood responded. He turned his attention back to his guest. “There is a lot of money in Hastings Manor, and I want to ensure the suitor is not solely interested in a sizeable inheritance.”
“Are there any frontrunners?”
“Several gentlemen have expressed an interest: Mr. Franklin Morris, Captain Daniel Mason, and Mr. William Lockhearst.”
“Franklin is too old. He has near forty years,” scoffed the other man.
Sam bristled at the comment. Franklin was a dear friend and close confidant. Very few men could hold a candle to his generosity and intelligence. She forcefully bit her lip to keep her angry retort from slipping out. She noticed Lord Westwood raise his eyebrows at her reaction, but he continued the conversation without bringing any attention to her internal struggle.
“True, Mr. Morris is older,” agreed Lord Westwood carefully, his eyes traveling back to Sam. “However, she seems more at ease with him than any of the other suitors.”
“Of course, she would be most comfortable with Franklin. He spent a lot of time at Hastings Manor while she was growing up.”
“They also correspond regularly,” added Lord Westwood. Sam thought she detected a sour note in his tone.
“She is fascinated with his expeditions to foreign lands.”
“She does encourage his stories.”
“I know little of Captain Mason, except he is Nigel’s brother. That itself would be enough to approve of the match.”
“Daniel is a little too green for her. I fear her tongue would shred him to pieces.” Lord Westwood glanced up with this statement, his emerald eyes twinkling. Sam stuck her tongue out, and he laughed, covering the sound with a cough.
The other man sighed deeply. “I suppose I must agree with that.”
Benjamin took another sip. “The last candidate, Mr. Lockhearst, is an intelligent man, definitely not green.”
“Lockhearst, I remember him. He took over his father’s business about ten years ago. A little callous for my own taste.”
“Perhaps he just needs a strong woman to keep him in line,” smiled Lord Westwood. He winked at Sam, who rolled her eyes in return. “Although, I would not recommend the match.”
A pause followed. “Has she shown favor to any man?”
“Actually, no. I have been told, rather loudly and on several occasions, she does not intend to marry.”
“We might have to force her,” the other voice mused.
Lord Westwood glanced over at the door again. His eyes locked on Sam’s face. “She will not be pleased with that arrangement.”
“You are correct, she would not be pleased with that arrangement!” Sam burst into the room, unable to hold her tongue a moment longer. “How dare you plan my life without my approval,” she spat.
“Sammie.”
The voice called from Sam’s memories, a childhood name, echoing from her past. Dazed, Sam turned slowly toward the other chair. The ghost grinned widely, the smile splitting his face with happiness.
“Edward,” she screeched, flying to the man and falling on his neck.
Sam’s excited cries woke Wilhelmina who, upon reaching the study door, screamed in shock and promptly fainted. Within minutes of Wilhelmina’s episode, the entire house had risen. Marie, Rose, and Lucy began dancing in circles around the chair where their father sat comfortably, singing an old nursery rhyme. Ever the gracious host, Lady Westwood had sandwiches brought to the room for a late-night snack.
“Father,” Lucy began, stopping mid-circle. Her lips pouted. “What happened to you?”
Edward leaned forward, looking each child directly in her eyes. “I was attacked by pirates.”
Marie gasped. “Ooh, pirates. I love pirates.”
“Well, you would not have liked these pirates,” chuckled Edward, patting his eldest daughter on her head.
“Did you fight with them Father?” asked Rose, swiping her arm with an imaginary sword.
“I tried, dear, but pirates are very sneaky. I was fencing with one man, our swords clashing in the storm, creating sparks upon the deck.”
“It was raining?” interrupted Lucy, her thumb in her mouth.
Edward smiled at his youngest child. “Yes, it was a terrible storm with lightning and thunder. The ship tossed back and forth, threatening to dump everyone on board into the ocean.”
A collective sound of “ooh” echoed around the room. Marie scooted closer to her father, nudging Rose over slightly. Rose glanced at her sister quickly as if deciding to poke her in the side for spite.
“One of the other pirates crept up behind me,” continued Edward in a low voice. “He hit me in the head with a bottle, knocking me to the deck where I lay unconscious for several moments.”
Marie muttered something about a dirty bastard and swung her arm like she was going to punch an invisible pirate. Edward silently raised his eyebrows toward Wilhelmina.
“If you are looking for someone to blame for your children’s vulgar mouths, you ought to look to your sister,” Wilhelmina retorted.
Everyone glanced at Sam, who turned a delicate shade of pink. “I only know those words because you taught them to me,” she mumbled, suddenly interested in the pattern on the couch she sat upon.
Edward laughed until tears ran down his face. He wiped the back of his hand across his face and continued his story, his raspy voice accompanied only by the crackle of the fire. “The pirates tied all the sailors and the passengers…”
“To the mast,” interrupted Rose.
“Yes, to the mast.”
“But you escaped,” added Lucy.
Edward chuckled again. “Yes, I escaped. I wriggled out of the ropes and quietly slipped over the railing into the icy water.”
“During the terrible storm,” breathed Marie, so fascinated, she barely noticed Rose poking her in the side to scoot back over.
“Yes,” answered Edward. “And I swam and swam until I could not swim anymore. I was so tired, I thought I might drown from exhaustion.”
“Then what happened?” Lucy asked, leaning against his leg, staring up at her father with wide eyes.
“Luckily, I was rescued by a fishing boat which happened to see me struggling in the waves.”
The girls were quiet for a moment, their minds full of pirates. “What took you so long to get back then?” demanded Rose, her arms flying to her hips. The childish pose caused Lord Westwood to flash a grin at Sam. She frowned at him.
“Well,” Edward continued in a theatrical voice, overlooking the silent communication between Sam and Lord Westwood. “Just as the fishermen were pulling me aboard, the storm worsened. The ship tossed back and forth between two gigantic waves, and I was thrown overboard again. The water quickly pulled me away from the boat until it was a tiny speck in the distance. I feared I would drown. Suddenly, I heard the most beautiful song. A woman swam up to me…”
“Was it a mermaid?” Lucy interrupted.
Edward smiled. “Yes, it was a mermaid. Her name was Serena. She breathed into my mouth and took me under the ocean to her village. I lived there for a long time, a prisoner in Serena’s castle.”<
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“Kidnapped by a mermaid,” exclaimed Marie, her shining eyes full of wonder.
“However, I never forgot about my girls,” continued Edward. “Eventually, I convinced Serena to allow me to return to my family because I missed them so much. However, I swore to her I would never tell anyone about what happened. So, you have to promise never to speak of this to anyone.”
“We promise,” the three girls dutifully replied.
The conversation stretched into a discussion of the current gossip, and eventually, all three girls fell asleep at their father’s feet, their jam smeared faces stretched into satisfied smiles. Wilhelmina, refusing to release Edward’s hand, silently stroked his arm. Sam sat across from them, near Lady Westwood. They shared a small smile before Lady Westwood suggested everyone return to bed just as the first streaks of light began to paint themselves across the morning sky. Sleepily, the three little girls staggered toward the stairs, ushered by Wilhelmina and Sam.
Lady Westwood yawned and nodded goodnight to the gentlemen. Leaving the salon door slightly ajar, she followed the parade upstairs to her own chamber. Doors shut all over the house in a resounding echo.
Remembering her shawl downstairs, Sam helped tuck the girls back into bed before dashing back down the stairs. She paused outside the study door, her hand raised to knock, but the voices on the other side caused her to pause.
“What really happened Edward? I know pirates and mermaids would not have kept you away this long,” Lord Westwood’s voice faded slightly as he paced back toward the fireplace. There was no hint of a smile in his tenor.
“I was attacked on my way to the port,” explained Edward. “I never boarded the ship. When I stepped from the carriage, I was struck from behind. I awoke two days later in a monastery with no memory of how I got there.”
“When the ship went down your name was signed on the ledger. Everyone thought you were dead.”
“An unfortunate coincident,” added Edward grimly.
“Someone else must have boarded in your place.”
“Yes,” confirmed Edward.
“Do you know why?”
“They were looking for this.” The sound of papers rustled as Edward handed something to Lord Westwood. There was a moment of silence as he read through the papers.
“They must have thought you hid this letter in your trunk after they could not find it on your person.”
“Exactly what I thought,” concurred Edward.
“Why leave you at a monastery?”
“I was stuffed in a hay cart. The driver stopped at the monastery to visit his brother. They discovered me under the hay when I started moaning.”
“You must have been a sight.”
“I was. Covered in hay and dried blood, the monks were amazed I was still alive. It took several days before I was able to communicate with them.”
“Why did you stay away so long?”
“Since everyone assumed I was dead, I decided to allow the rumor to continue. It gave me additional time to do some investigating, to find out if the information contained in the letter was true.”
“And is it?”
“Yes,” whispered Edward. “My father was murdered.”
Sam gasped involuntarily. Both men stopped talking abruptly, allowing the fire to crackle for several moments. Backing away slowly, Sam dashed down the hallway and up the stairs to her room. Quickly, she closed the door and sank to the floor before allowing the uncontrollable sobs to shake her entire body.
Sam sat frozen, staring unseeingly at the fire grate for over an hour. As the embers died, a chill settled in her bones. Edward’s sudden return, his admission of her father’s murder, and the attempt on Edward’s life—Sam’s head spun wildly. Murdered. The word reverberated in her mind. She wanted to go home. She needed the peace and freedom country living afforded her.
All the ridiculous parties wore on her nerves—between the constant gossip and the strict rules of polite society, she felt stifled. Trapped in a continuous nightmare of should and should not, Sam grew weary of pretending to be someone she was not.
Lord Westwood floated into her whirling thoughts. His green sparkling eyes and sinful mouth disarmed her. She did not understand his intentions. One moment he was passionately kissing her, and the next, he was trying to fob her off to the first available suitor. Yet it seemed as though he was against the idea of marriage as much as she. The man confounded her. No, she shook her head to clear him from her thoughts. It was better if she just disappeared. No complications, no heartbreak, just a quick escape. A mere two-hour walk and she would be home.
Quietly, Sam crept over to the writing desk in her chamber. She searched through the drawers until she found several blank pieces of paper. She sat at the desk for quite a few minutes, pondering her rash plan, eventually deciding to follow through with it. Dashing off three notes, Sam stuffed the letters into three separate envelopes.
Waiting until she heard Edward climb the stairs and enter the room next to hers, she stole swiftly down the stairs. Pausing, she placed two notes on a silver tray for missives in the front hallway. The third she held for a moment before adding it to the pile and slipping out the front door.
* * *
The first one read:
* * *
Dearest Edward,
I am pleased you have returned home to your family after such a long absence. I missed you desperately. However, your wife and children have missed you too. Since I have had you longer in my life, I feel you deserve to spend some private time with your family.
Last night, Lord Westwood explained to you I do not intend to marry, a belief of mine you were familiar with even before he spoke of it. The available suitors do not interest me. Please enjoy your time in society. I will see you after the end of the season.
Love,
Sammie
* * *
The second letter was much shorter:
* * *
Lady Westwood,
Thank you for your hospitality during my ordeal. I appreciate all your generosity. It is a shame I will not be able to attend the Leveret’s ball. I thoroughly enjoyed your birthday party.
Respectfully,
Miss Hastings
* * *
The third letter took much longer to write than the first two. Sam even considered tearing it up as she stood in the hallway, but she left it with the others and closed the front door behind her before she could change her mind.
* * *
Lord Westwood,
Since my brother has returned, it seems your duty of finding a proper suitor has been removed from you. As I told you before, I have no intention of marrying. Do not be disappointed in yourself, I did not imagine you would be able to complete the task. I fear Edward will not be able to do so either. To prevent him from any future attempts though, I have decided to make myself less available.
I thank you for your kindness during my illness and for the use of your bed. I am sure Edward will reimburse you for any expense which you have suffered.
Respectfully,
Miss Hastings
P.S. Of all the rakes I have met in my life, of which there have been few, you will always be my favorite.
Sam breathed in the early morning air as she stood in Lady Westwood’s expansive garden. The sun, barely rising, illuminated drops of dew collecting on the flower petals, they sparkled like jewels. She sighed and took a final glance back at the house, then she set off running, her hair whipping behind her, unbraided and free. When she reached the edge of the Westwood property, she had to rest a moment. The fever had taken much of her strength. Relaxing on a rock that protruded over a large stream, Sam dangled her bare feet in the cool water–one last indulgence before the trek home.
That rainy afternoon in Lord Westwood’s carriage seemed a world away now. She allowed herself a small smile at the memory of his face when he realized she was barefoot—such a shock to see a well-bred lady without her footwear. Sam imagined that many of her quirks would
surprise him. Franklin was correct—high society did not agree with her.
The brilliant green of spring cast itself over the meadow, spotted with bright colors of blue and purple. They reminded Sam of the meadows surrounding the lake next to Hastings Manor. With a final, heavy sigh she plucked her shoes and stockings from the rock and replaced them on her feet. Following the riverbank, she turned south and began the journey home.
“Goodbye, Lord Westwood.”
Chapter Fifteen
Benjamin paced his study after Edward retired upstairs. He barely noticed the tread of his feet. Benjamin’s head–crammed full of so many thoughts–throbbed mercilessly. Exasperated, he rubbed his temples. With the return of Edward, Benjamin no longer needed to find a suitor for Miss Hastings. Edward would take over that happy task.
“Samantha,” he whispered. He closed his eyes. Her scent surrounded him. She appeared suddenly, quietly standing next to him. Reaching out, he tried to touch her skin, but the vision disappeared like a mist. He was left with only the chill of the morning air.
A door closed softly somewhere in the house. Wondering who was wandering around at this early hour, he left his study and strolled quickly down the hallway. He peeked into the salon. The embers of a dying fire glowed in the fireplace; however, the room was empty. Turning, he spied three letters resting on the entryway table. The topmost letter captured his attention. It was addressed to him.
Tearing the note open, he read through the contents twice. Swearing, he bolted out the front door and saddled a horse from his mother’s stable, cursing under his breath. Where would she have gone? Morris kept a house near here, but Benjamin doubted she would impose on her cousin. No, she would go somewhere she could hide. Hastings Manor. Benjamin dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, urging it to run faster.
Did she not realize the immense distress this would place upon her brother, upon himself? Traveling alone was dangerous enough, but with the threat of an unknown killer, her recklessness was preposterous. Fear kept him company during the ride. All manner of horrific thoughts consumed him—Miss Hastings’ broken, lifeless body left carelessly in a ditch, the image haunted him.