by Alyssa Drake
“Not at all, my Lord,” Miss Hastings responded graciously, her eyes lifting to his face. She held his gaze a moment longer than socially acceptable.
“I prefer it to be your pleasure,” whispered Benjamin, his emerald eyes melting into liquid pools of green. He snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
“Thomas, where are your manners?” Lady Westwood interrupted their private conversation.
“Yes,” Benjamin chimed in, looking up at his brother as he mimicked his mother’s tone. His arm remained tightly wrapped around Miss Hastings. “Thomas, where are your manners?”
Thomas glared at Benjamin; Benjamin grinned in return. After rolling his eyes at Benjamin, Thomas turned his full attention to Miss Clemens who nearly fainted with delight.
“Miss Clemens, are you free for the next dance? I would be honored to escort you.”
She radiated joy. “Thank you, Mr. Reid, that is very gentlemanly of you.”
“I am a gentleman,” stated Thomas, his eyes twinkled as he offered his arm to escort Miss Clemens onto the dance floor.
Benjamin chortled quietly. As Thomas passed by, he stepped hard on the toe of Benjamin’s boot. A silent exchange passed between the two brothers. Benjamin winked and spun Miss Hastings in a small circle, navigating her in the opposite direction of the dance floor, the terrace clearly his intended destination.
“Am I to understand Mr. Reid’s definition of a gentleman is similar to your definition of the word?” asked Miss Hastings, her eyes flicked up to gage Benjamin’s reaction.
“I have not the faintest idea to what you are referring,” answered Benjamin slyly as he continued to steer her through the guests, his hand resting happily on the small of her back.
“Oh dear, poor Miss Clemens,” Miss Hastings muttered to herself, her eyes drifting over the swirling couples.
“Miss Clemens has nothing to fear from Thomas.”
“Why is that?” Miss Hastings demanded, halting their slow procession, placing her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with Miss Clemens?”
Benjamin, finding Miss Hastings rooted to the spot, turned as well. The childish pose caused his lips to twitch. It surprised him how protective she had grown over Miss Clemens, considering the two women hardly knew each other. He looked around, judging the people pretending not to listen to their conversation.
“May we continue this discussion outside?”
Miss Hastings shook her head. “No.”
“Why?”
“You will become distracting once we reach the terrace.”
A languid smile crossed Benjamin’s face. He traced one finger lightly down the skin on her arm, reaching her wrist, caressing it softly. She shivered under his touch. He leaned in, his voice whispering intimately in her ear.
“That is my intention.”
“Then answer my question first,” replied Miss Hastings with less conviction, her eyes half-closed.
“Have I told you how lovely you look this evening?” hedged Benjamin, his finger continuing its tantalizing trail.
“Benjamin,” she murmured, her voice a mixture of passion and warning.
“Miss Clemens is safer with Thomas than with most of the men in this room,” he whispered, continuing his subtle assault. “Thomas prefers his woman with a little more experience, she is much too naïve to tempt him.”
“A lesser man might take advantage of that situation.”
Benjamin leveled his gaze at Miss Hastings, a serious expression replacing his playful demeanor. “Thomas is not a lesser man.”
Miss Hastings’ eyes flicked to Miss Clemens and Thomas as they whirled past them. Unapparent elegance hidden beneath the shyness, Miss Clemens possessed grace in her dancing, which few ladies could rival. Several young men gawked in astonishment; Miss Hastings snorted.
“Then perhaps, your brother would be safer with another woman as it appears Miss Clemens might become a little more attached than he intended.” Miss Hastings inclined her head in the direction of the couple under discussion as they passed by again.
Following her gaze, Benjamin noted the glowing smile decorating Miss Clemens’ face. Her eyes focused solely on her partner, oblivious of the extra attention she garnered from the sidelines. A woman in love, Benjamin smirked; Thomas was going to have his hands full. Thomas glanced up at that exact moment. His blithe expression revealed he did not realize the effect of his chivalrous action. The direct result of his request, Miss Clemens’ unrequited affection increased tenfold.
“That is an interesting development,” mused Benjamin.
He caught his mother staring intently at Thomas and Miss Clemens from across the room, a devious expression crossing Lady Westwood’s face. Benjamin sighed audibly. His mother was already planning on meddling again. He wished she would stop throwing young ladies into Thomas’ path. The harder she pressed, the more Thomas fought the idea of settling down.
Benjamin preferred to allow Thomas to find his own direction as their father had done while he was alive. Even the stipulation in the will, stating Benjamin needed to marry and produce an heir, allowed Benjamin to make his own decision between responsibility and frivolity. He knew what choice Thomas would have made. At least, he thought he did.
Perhaps, in his own way, his father did lead him into marriage. Benjamin glanced at Miss Hastings who stood watching Thomas and Miss Clemens with curiosity. Tightening his fingers on Miss Hastings’ arm, she turned to him and smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. It seemed as though fate intended for the two of them to be together; perhaps fate had a secret plan in mind for Thomas as well.
“Mr. Reid,” teased Miss Hastings, breaking into his thoughts. “I believe you were planning on escorting me to the terrace.”
“Lord,” corrected Benjamin with a wicked grin as he tugged her toward the balcony stairs. The darkness slid out to greet them with an inviting kiss. The dim shadows enveloped Benjamin softly as he continued to pull Miss Hastings into the night air. His breath caught with anticipation.
“Fire!”
Benjamin paused on the top step, his mind processing the unusual word which echoed through the abruptly silent ballroom. Surely, he heard the word incorrectly. His eyes swept across the floor. There was no visible fire. In fact, there was no smoke. Miss Hastings froze next to him, her fearful eyes searching his. Suddenly she gasped and pointed.
Whirling around, he noticed a billowing cloud of smoke rising in the distance. Without a word, he grasped Miss Hastings’ arm tightly and rushed down the stairs onto the crowded floor. People stampeded hysterically for the ballroom’s two exits. Several young ladies were knocked to the floor in the madness, including Miss Clemens who collapsed in an ungraceful heap. Benjamin noted how Thomas lifted her from the ground, brushing her gown, before thrusting her in the direction of Aunt Abigail. With her cane swinging, Abigail cleared a path and led Miss Clemens by the hand from the room. Miss Clemens turned once to send a grateful smile at Thomas, however, he did not notice, his focus rested entirely on reaching the man who incited the mad dash.
“Sammie,” Edward sighed with relief as he joined them on the bottom step with his wife in tow, her eyes darting about with fear. Edward wrapped his arm tightly around her waist to calm her nerves; she appeared to be on the verge of fainting. Thomas came rushing from another side of the room, accompanied by Mr. Walton.
Mr. Walton, wheezing and pale, tried to speak, but could not catch his breath. He gestured for Thomas to speak for him. Thomas glanced at Mr. Walton briefly as the elderly man puffed with exhaustion.
“The fire was at the townhouse,” Thomas spoke gravely. His tone conveyed sentiments he could not voice aloud.
“The children,” gasped Mrs. Hastings. Her face paled as her eyelids fluttered, and she rocked dangerously on her heels, nonsensical words tumbling from her white lips as her eyes rolled back into her head.
A slap resonated around the empty room. All four men turned to stare at Miss Hastings with wide eyes. Edward’s mouth hung open wi
th shock as Miss Hastings slowly lowered her hand.
“We do not have time to panic,” stated Miss Hastings, grabbing Mrs. Hastings’ arms forcefully, her eyes bore into Mrs. Hastings’ face. “Do you understand?”
Mrs. Hastings nodded and swallowed several times.
“Mr. Walton would have made sure the children were safe before he came to warn us,” continued Miss Hastings, her attention still solely on her sister-in-law. Mrs. Hastings nodded again, the color returning to her skin.
“Of course. Of course, you are right.” Mrs. Hastings took several deep breaths and turned her attention back toward the butler, gesturing for him to continue.
“As per our discussion,” began Mr. Walton. Benjamin shook his head in the barest of movements. However, he suspected Miss Hastings caught his signal. Her mouth scrunched at the corners, a slight grimace, although she remained silent.
“The children and Miss Nancy went by coach to Lady Westwood’s estate,” Mr. Walton explained, mopping his brow with a handkerchief he kept hidden in his waistcoat pocket.
“I wish to see them,” stated Mrs. Hastings, interrupting Mr. Walton. She grasped her skirt, starting for the door. “Samantha, we are leaving immediately.”
Miss Hastings glanced apprehensively between Benjamin and Mr. Walton, eagerly hoping to hear the rest of his story. She took one hesitant step toward the exit as if hoping Mr. Walton would continue speaking. However, Mr. Walton waited quietly, a patient smile on his lips. Benjamin grinned despite the situation. It seemed the butler was well experienced with Miss Hastings’ curious nature.
“Samantha, right now,” bellowed Mrs. Hastings from the doorway. Sighing, Miss Hastings resolutely lifted her skirt and hurried after Mrs. Hastings’ retreating back. Benjamin supposed she would have several unanswerable questions for him once the men finally arrived at his mother’s house. Benjamin wondered how much he could tell Samantha without Edward’s permission.
Edward watched Miss Hastings disappear through the open door before he spoke. His strained voice barely reached Benjamin’s ears. “I guess we made someone very angry.”
“I would say so,” agreed Thomas.
“How did the fire start?” asked Benjamin, drawing their attention back to Mr. Walton.
“A lit oil lamp was flung through the sitting-room window sometime after midnight,” explained Mr. Walton, his voice hitching. “The crash initially woke me. When I went to investigate the disturbance, the sitting room was already ablaze. I was able to wake the girls and Miss Nancy before the fire spread into the hallway. We escaped down the back stairs and out the kitchen.”
“How much of the townhouse has been destroyed?” Edward spoke through a hand pressed against his forehead.
“Much of the damage was held to the sitting room,” replied Mr. Walton. “However, the hallway will need significant repairs as well. The fire brigade arrived just as I sent the carriage with Miss Nancy and the children to Westwood Estate.”
Benjamin placed a comforting hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Edward, no one was injured.”
Edward looked up, worry etched across his forehead. “I have placed my family in danger.”
“They were already in danger,” answered Benjamin, more forcefully than he intended. “This was a risk we knew we were taking.”
Edward sighed heavily.
“Your family will be safe at the country house,” Thomas added softly. “Plus, Mother will enjoy having company to dote upon.”
“Perhaps we should investigate the townhouse for clues before they are completely ruined by the fire brigade,” prodded Benjamin.
“Yes,” Edward nodded in agreement, lost in thought. “Good idea, Benjamin.”
The men rode silently in the darkness toward the dying remnants of the flickering blaze. A cloud of smoke billowed ominously over the townhouse, an indication of the sinister acts performed underneath. Edward’s haunted eyes watched the horrific scene draw nearer as their coach rounded the final corner.
Neighbors milled around outside, whispering excitedly, wrapped in heavy coats and an array of bedroom slippers. They stared with shock at the blackened hull which once was the elegant sitting room, situated prominently at the forefront of the Hastings’ townhouse. Barely moving aside as the carriage approached, Edward was forced to push through the crowd as he stepped onto the street.
Both Mr. Walton and Edward sought out Lieutenant Collins and spoke with him quietly on the side. Benjamin watched the man gesture to various parts of the house with a grim expression. Thomas stood next to Benjamin, his eyes roving inconspicuously over the onlookers.
“It would have been someone at the party,” Thomas muttered out of the side of his mouth.
“I do not see anyone who looks out of place,” mouthed Benjamin.
Edward and Mr. Walton finished their discussion with the fireman and joined Benjamin and Thomas as they continued to scrutinize the crowd. Benjamin noticed a puzzled expression on Mr. Walton’s heavily lined face.
“Is something bothering you?” asked Benjamin.
“Yes.”
Edward turned toward his butler. “What is it?”
“It was something Lieutenant Collins mentioned in his conversation to us.”
“Go on,” encouraged Edward.
“The fire brigade arrived just as we were rounding the front of the house after escaping through the kitchen. Lieutenant Collins said they were roused by a man wildly banging on the door and yelling the address. Who would have had the ability to react so quickly? Who would have noticed the fire?”
“Was anyone at the door when Lieutenant Collins opened it?” asked Thomas, his eyes traveling over the crowd of spectators.
“No,” answered Mr. Walton with a small shake of his head. He looked around the group, his eyes red from the smoke still rising from the townhouse. “How would someone have had the time to set the fire and alert the fire brigade before the blaze raged out of control?”
“There had to have been two people,” determined Benjamin. “One person to set the fire and one to alert the fire brigade. It is the only explanation.”
“That would make sense,” Thomas continued Benjamin’s thought. “Two people would have had the strength to lift Edward’s unconscious body into the hay cart and bury him under the hay.”
“Why would someone start a fire, then alert the fire brigade as soon as it began?” Mr. Walton stared at Benjamin. “What purpose would that serve?”
“Mr. Hastings?” A small voice spoke from Edward’s left.
Edward turned automatically. Standing next to him on the sidewalk was a messenger, not more than eleven years of age. The boy trembled slightly and reached a grubby hand out. In his fingers, a missive, clasped so tightly, it wrinkled.
“I am he,” answered Edward.
“I am under strict instructions to hand this message to only Mr. Hastings,” repeated the boy dutifully.
Edward smiled encouragingly at the boy and gently pried the note from the boy’s hand. The boy nodded once as if satisfied with his obligation. Then he turned and raced up the street, disappearing into the darkness as quickly as he appeared.
Glancing at the note with an odd expression, Edward tore the seal and perused the letter quickly. He paled visibly and wordlessly thrust the missive into Benjamin’s hand. Thomas leaned over Benjamin’s shoulder, and the two of them read the letter in the flickering light of a nearby street gaslight.
* * *
I bid you good evening, Mr. Hastings. Consider tonight’s misfortune a warning. If you do not give me what is rightfully mine within twenty-four hours, a Hastings will die.
* * *
Benjamin crumpled the note with a growl. “Coward.”
“Does anyone recognize the handwriting?” asked Thomas, taking the note and smoothing it carefully. All the men shook their heads.
“What about the boy?” asked Mr. Walton in a hopeful tone. “Do you know him?”
“No,” replied Edward, “just a street urchin.”
<
br /> “I think we need to leave for the estate immediately,” said Thomas. His voice held no hint of his usual playful nature.
“I quite agree,” whispered Edward.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sam’s head tumbled with worry. Unable to remain still, she paced, her nightgown–a blur of white cotton–trailed after her like falling snow. What caused the fire at the townhouse? Luckily, no one had been injured—the girls, Miss Nancy, and Mr. Walton had all managed to escape before any serious harm occurred. She could not bear to imagine what would have happened if Mr. Walton had not awakened in time to rescue her nieces.
Mr. Walton must be incensed. Someone deigned to interrupt his perfectly timed household schedule, not to mention threatening his life as well. Sam allowed herself a wry grin. Of course, the butler would be angriest at the disruption of his schedule.
However, houses do not suddenly burst into flames without provocation. Was it possible this tragedy was the work of the mysterious person who had attempted to murder Edward? The same man who murdered her father? Sam shuddered, rubbing her hands over the thin material covering her arms. She snagged her shawl off the back of an armchair–one of two placed next to the large window–and continued her restless circle.
The danger was greater than even Lord Westwood led her to believe. She assumed his omission was due to Edward’s influence—always trying to protect his little sister. Sam snorted. She deserved to know the entire truth, and Lord Westwood was going to tell her.
Jumping at a noise, she cracked open the door to peek into the hallway. Her eyes searched the blackness fruitlessly. There was nothing, only darkness pressing against her strained eyes. She shook her head at her own silliness, the sound merely a fabrication of her hyper-sensitive imagination. Closing the door with a click, she walked slowly back to the window. The drawn drapes allowed the room to glow with moonlight. A fire flickered merrily, trying to combat the dour feelings crawling throughout the room. Worry etched a permanent line across Sam’s pale forehead, her mind racing over the evening’s events.