by Alyssa Drake
Sam turned Marie to face her and leaned close. “I will tell you, but you must promise not to tell your mother.”
“I swear,” Marie said, placing her hand over her heart.
“At the end of every season before we returned to the country for the summer, my parents would host a ball at this very house. That year, your father, who was already away at school, returned the previous evening to spend his break at Hastings Manor. He was seventeen at the time, and therefore, he was allowed to attend the party.”
“That seems very unfair,” stated Marie in a grave tone.
“I thought so too,” smiled Sam in agreement.
“What did you do?”
“Before my mother went down for the ball, she dressed my hair in beautiful, pale blue and white ribbons. They matched her gown exactly. Around her neck, she wore an exquisite necklace of diamonds and sapphires that sparkled every time she moved.”
“Ooh, did Grandmother look like royalty?” whispered Marie.
“Yes,” nodded Sam. “She looked exactly like a queen. I watched her descend the stairs on your grandfather’s arm. She turned once and smiled at me before gesturing that I was to go to bed.”
“How could you be expected to sleep with all the excitement downstairs?” Marie grabbed a final ribbon for Sam to finish her hair.
“How indeed?” Sam murmured to herself. She deftly weaved the last ribbon quickly through Marie’s hair.
“What happened next?”
“I wanted to watch the guests arrive from the top of the staircase before going to the nursery; however, my governess refused to let me.”
“All governesses are mean,” declared Marie.
Sam grinned. “I pretended to fall asleep quickly, and my governess left for her own chamber. After a few minutes, I crept to the door and peeked into the hallway. Since it was deserted, I tiptoed to the top of the staircase and sat down on the first step.”
“Were the ribbons still in your hair?”
“Yes.” Sam spun Marie so she could see her own hair.
“Then what happened?” Marie, distracted by Sam’s story, barely noticed her reflection.
“A gentleman entered the hallway from the adjoining ballroom. Quickly, I slid behind a potted plant so he would not notice me.”
“Who was it?”
Sam winked. “Cousin Franklin.”
“He attended as well?” complained Marie, her voice colored by injustice for children everywhere.
“Franklin was in his twenties at the time and considered a fine catch by society. He stole into the hallway, attempting to escape from his overly enthusiastic dance partner.” Sam handed her brush to Marie, who began to brush the tangles out of Sam’s tresses.
“Did he see you?”
“Yes. He climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking as he neared my hiding place. Suddenly, the noise stopped; he paused just on the other side of the plant. Then he peeked around it and winked at me.”
“What did he say?” Marie paused with wide eyes, her hand mid-stroke.
“He asked me if I had a free place on my dance card,” laughed Sam, thinking of the memory. “I told him I was not invited to the ball. He grinned and said that he was inviting me.”
“What happened?”
“He escorted me down the stairs and into the ballroom. I was still in my nightdress,” added Sam when she saw the question form on Marie’s lips. “He began spinning me around the dance floor in my bare feet. Then your father cut in, and we whirled around in circles, faster and faster until we both collapsed in a fit of giggles. Franklin and your father spent their entire evening dancing with me. It was the most wonderful ball I ever attended.”
Marie was quiet, her eyes searched through the available ribbons on the bed. She carefully selected several dark red strands that matched Sam’s dress.
“Was Grandmother angry with you?”
“Not at all. She found the entire situation amusing. I can still hear their voices, joyful, lively. It was the last time I ever heard them laugh,” Sam’s mood turned somber at the admission.
“Why?” Marie tilted her head curiously, her hand paused mid-stroke, the brush hovering in the air.
“Shortly after the party, your grandfather became extremely ill. He died of heart failure the next morning. Shortly after learning of the news, your grandmother fell into a coma. She never recovered.” A tear threatened to slide down Sam’s face. Sam purposely chose not to tell Marie of the murder. Perhaps when she was older, Edward would explain the truth to his daughter.
Marie patted her hand on Sam’s cheek. “Do not be sad, Aunt Samantha.”
“Thank you, dear,” replied Sam with a tight smile.
“What happened to Grandmother’s beautiful necklace?” asked Marie, her voice pensive.
Sam thought for a moment. “Actually, I do not know. I assumed it passed to Uncle Ephraim, along with most of the family heirlooms. However, I do not remember seeing him take anything from the townhouse, apart from a portrait. Perhaps your mother has it.”
“Mother does not have it,” replied Marie, with a definite shake of her head.
“Is that a fact?” asked Sam with a grin. “And how would you know that?”
A knock interrupted their discussion. Sam quickly placed a finger to her lips, and Marie nodded.
“Miss Hastings,” Nancy’s voice came through the door.
“Come in,” Sam replied.
The maid entered, her eyes sweeping over the ribbons strewn across the bed. Nancy’s mouth formed a disapproving thin line when she realized Sam had decided to dress Marie’s hair instead of her own. Crossing the room swiftly, Nancy grasped the brush from the dressing table where Marie had discarded it during Sam’s story.
“Mrs. Hastings said to inform you that you are extremely late. Mr. Hastings has already gone downstairs to meet your guests.”
“Our guests?” Sam raised her eyebrows, puzzled.
“Lord Westwood and Mr. Reid,” Nancy replied, yanking Sam’s head around to face the mirror before ripping the bristles through Sam’s curls. Setting the brush aside, Nancy quickly began weaving Sam’s hair into an elaborate design.
Sam’s heart jumped at the sound of Lord Westwood’s name; she barely noticed the rough tugging of Nancy’s deft hands. Apparently, he intended on escorting her to all public functions for the rest of the season. She grinned—if she must suffer through tonight’s horrendous soiree, at least she would have a distraction.
“Who is hosting the ball?” asked Marie, startling Sam out of her contemplation.
“Mr. and Mrs. Charles Leveret,” replied Sam. “They have a daughter, Virginia, who is about your age. Maybe we can convince your mother to allow you to attend the next tea party at the Leveret’s home.”
“Would you?” Marie bounced happily from one foot to the other and clapped her hands together.
“Marie, there you are,” Wilhelmina rushed into the room and embraced her daughter in a quick hug. “Your sisters have already gone to the nursery. Say good night.”
“Good night,” repeated Marie with a polite curtsy, earning a grin from Sam. Marie grinned back and flounced from the bedroom, ribbons fluttering with each step.
“Samantha, we are overdue,” chastised Wilhelmina.
“We are always late, Wilhelmina. Besides, you had twice as many helpers as I did,” replied Sam, turning back toward the mirror.
“I’m almost finished, Mrs. Hastings,” stated Nancy, her hands still pulling violently on Sam’s tresses.
Wilhelmina nodded briefly. “Samantha, I will meet you in the sitting room.” She turned, crossing the room. “And Samantha,” Wilhelmina hovered in the doorway, “do not forget your shoes.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “It was one time.”
“Once was enough,” retorted Wilhelmina. She disappeared into the hallway.
Sam twisted around, frowning at Nancy in the mirror, “it happened weeks ago.”
Nancy answered Sam’s grimace with a sympathet
ic half-smile. “It seems Mrs. Hastings has not forgotten the incident yet.”
“I doubt she ever will,” groaned Sam as she rose from the chair, she stepped carefully into her shoes. “No one else even noticed.”
“They noticed,” replied Nancy, wiping her hands on her apron before she collected Sam’s wrap. “Their shrewd eyes catch everything. However, those ladies possess good manners and do not to mention the incident in front of Mrs. Hastings or yourself.”
Sam snorted. “Gossiping is not good manners.”
“Maybe not,” agreed Nancy, draping the wrap over Sam’s shoulders, “but it does make life much more interesting.”
“Not when one is the subject of that gossip.” Sam sighed, her body deflating. She dragged toward the bedroom door, placing her hand on the door handle. “Good night. Thank you for your help.”
“Good night, Miss Hastings,” responded Nancy with a short curtsey. She followed Sam in the hallway, turning in the direction of the kitchens. Nancy stopped suddenly and turned back.
“For what it’s worth, Miss, I would prefer to spend my days barefoot too.” With a quick bob of her head, Nancy disappeared around the corner.
Sam descended the stairs slowly, lifting her skirt so she would not accidentally step on the hem of the dress. She heard men’s voices rumbling in the study, indistinguishable words rising and falling in timbre. She crept closer and cursed under her breath. The door was completely shut, cutting off her ability to eavesdrop on their conversation. She suspected Edward had ensured privacy before beginning the discussion. Nevertheless, Sam pressed her ear to the door in the hopes of gleaning a word or two.
“Samantha,” hissed Wilhelmina from the sitting room entryway. “What are you doing?”
Sam jumped back with a squeak. “Nothing.”
“Good. Then come here. You can hear the conversation much better in this room,” Wilhelmina winked at her.
Sam’ mouth fell open. Silently, she followed Wilhelmina into the sitting room. Wilhelmina gestured toward the sofa nearest the adjoining wall and pressed her finger to her lips. Amazed, Sam sank down on the sofa and listened quietly. She could distinctly hear Edward speak.
“The both of you must swear not to discuss this with either Wilhelmina or Samantha.”
Sam looked at Wilhelmina quizzically, her mouth frozen in the shape of an O.
Wilhelmina shrugged, sitting next to Sam. “I discovered this phenomenon the first month after I moved into the house. I was sitting alone, working on my needlepoint and heard Edward talking. I looked up, assuming he was in the room and was surprised to find myself still alone. It took a moment before I realized his voice was coming from the study.”
“How is it possible?”
“I am not really sure of the mechanics of it, I assume the grate in the wall has something to do with it.”
Sam sat wordlessly listened to Edward as he discussed the upcoming evening. Lord Westwood answered in the affirmative. Sam leaned over and whispered to Wilhelmina, not wanting the gentlemen to overhear her question. “Do all the rooms in the house have this little quirk?”
“No, just this room,” Wilhelmina shook her head. “Believe me, I have tested all the rooms.”
“I take it Edward does not know.”
Wilhelmina smiled slyly. “Wives have their secrets too.”
Sam stared at her sister-in-law for a long moment. “How much do you know?”
Wilhelmina looked Sam straight in her eye. “I know enough not to question why Lord Westwood and Mr. Reid are accompanying us to the ball this evening.”
“Are you frightened?” Sam’s fingers twisted in her lap.
“Edward would never let anything happen to us,” Wilhelmina frowned at Sam. Taking Sam’s hand, Wilhelmina gave a gentle squeeze.
“Me too,” answered Sam.
The conversation in the next room ceased, and the study door scraped opened. Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Wilhelmina quickly grabbed up the needlepoint which sat next to the sofa in a basket. She tossed a nearby book at Sam, who caught it deftly and wrenched it open to a random page. Both ladies looked up with innocent faces as the sitting-room door opened.
“My dear, are you ready to leave?” Edward popped his head into the room with a smile.
“Yes, my love,” replied Wilhelmina pleasantly, rising from the sofa and returning his smile. She dropped the untouched needlepoint back into the basket and kissed Edward lightly on his cheek as she passed him.
“Sammie, you look beautiful,” said Edward, a note of surprise in his voice.
“Thank you, Edward,” Sam blushed.
Edward turned to follow his wife. Sam placed the book on the seat beside her and followed them. As Sam stepped into the hallway, she felt Lord Westwood’s presence. He waited silently in the shadows behind her. Moving closer, he slid his fingers slowly along the sensitive part of her arm, starting at her elbow and coming to rest at her wrist. Sam trembled as he continued to subtly stroke the inside of her wrist. For a moment, the entire house seemed to melt away.
“You are lovely,” Lord Westwood’s voice rumbled deeply in her ear, his warm breath sizzling along her neck.
Tingles ran up Sam’s skin. She shuddered involuntarily as her knees gave way. She sagged against him, his arm supporting her weight. The sudden closeness sent a fresh wave of tremors through her body. He chuckled softly.
“You are distracting me again,” Sam murmured.
“I like you distracted.”
Sam turned as the smile playing across his face melted into fierce desire. His eyes smoldered with liquid heat, which radiated with such intensity, Sam felt she might burst into flames from his proximity. Without thinking, she tilted her chin up, exposing her delicate neck to his sinful mouth. He shook his head slightly, his disappointment evident.
“Samantha,” he whispered, pulling her against his body. Her name rolled on his tongue decadently, sending shivers down her spine.
“You are going to drive me insane,” he growled, bending his head to touch Sam’s warm skin with his lips.
“Benjamin, we are going to be late,” Thomas chastised from the front porch.
Lord Westwood glared at his brother. “As always, Thomas, you have impeccable timing.”
“Miss Hastings.” Thomas winked at her as she passed him on the stoop.
“Mr. Reid,” replied Sam, a blush creeping up the back of her neck. She climbed into the carriage with Lord Westwood’s assistance, seating herself across from Edward and Wilhelmina.
Lord Westwood peered into the carriage briefly. “Edward, we will follow in a few moments.”
Edward nodded. “Thank you, Benjamin.”
Lord Westwood sent a wicked grin in Samantha’s direction before closing the door with a snap. Samantha flushed a deeper crimson. Wilhelmina’s lips pursed, her gaze jumping between Sam and the carriage door. Leaning back against the cushion, Sam closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to force the telltale blush from her pale skin. Abruptly, the carriage rocked forward, traveling at a quick pace toward the Leveret’s house and Edward’s unmasking. Dread settled in Sam’s stomach.
Chapter Nineteen
Benjamin watched the carriage with Edward, Mrs. Hastings, and Miss Hastings disappear around the corner. His eyes swept the street as he walked back toward the waiting carriage. The horses whinnied softly in the dusk, stamping their hooves impatiently. No unusual sounds captured his attention.
Thomas stood at the rear wheel of the coach, also searching the approaching darkness for any hint of danger. He sighed, rather loudly, causing Benjamin’s head to snap quickly in his direction. With a sheepish grin, Thomas shook his head and climbed into their waiting carriage.
Once more, Benjamin looked around cautiously before following Thomas into the dim compartment. Thomas, who had already moved his curtain aside, peered diligently out the window. Benjamin took up his post on the other side of the carriage, watching Edward’s townhouse as it faded into the shadows.
&nbs
p; “Edward instructed his driver to take a small detour. That will give us enough time to station ourselves in the best position to observe everyone’s reactions.” Benjamin addressed his brother without turning from the window, his eyes continuing to watch the cobblestone streets.
Thomas smirked against the glass. “I think the general response will be shock.”
“We are not looking for the general response,” countered Benjamin, his eyes flicking toward Thomas.
They remained silent for the rest of the short journey, each man contemplating the upcoming task. However, Benjamin found his thoughts straying to Miss Hastings. Radiant this evening and silhouetted by the flickering lights, she captivated his attention immediately. He could not resist a brief brush of his fingers on her soft skin. That minuscule caress left him wanting, reigniting the inferno that constantly smoldered beneath the surface.
He rubbed his forehead, an unconscious gesture. Tonight, he needed to focus. He glimpsed Thomas eyeing him with a curious expression from the opposite cushion. An amused look crossed Thomas’ face, but he held his tongue. Turning quickly, Thomas concentrated on the window again. Benjamin watched his brother silently. He hoped someday Thomas would experience the same disturbing, maddening passion he felt with Miss Hastings. Someday soon, Benjamin prayed wryly, turning his attention toward the upcoming lights decorating the Leveret’s lavish house.
The carriage slowed, stopping directly in front of the steps leading to the house. Lanterns illuminated the two footmen standing regally at the bottom of the stairs. One man opened the coach’s door, allowing Benjamin and Thomas to exit the compartment. Benjamin glanced down the street at the line of carriages parked along the sidewalk, noting Edward’s carriage approaching in the distance. Quickly, Benjamin and Thomas entered the house, allowing the butler to escort them to the ballroom and announce them before returning to his post at the entryway.
“Lord Westwood, may I have a word with you?” Mr. Lockhearst greeted Benjamin gruffly, stepping directly in front of Benjamin, effectively blocking his path.
Benjamin groaned inwardly and rolled his eyes. He nodded to Thomas who maneuvered around to the far side of the ballroom, stopping when he reached Mr. Charles Leveret; the two men began conversing amiably. Angling himself in the direction of the ballroom’s entryway, Benjamin turned toward Mr. Lockhearst with a polite scowl.