by Alyssa Drake
“Ah!” he exclaimed before sliding a brass key into the lock. He twisted the large piece of metal firmly, pushing the door open. Sam expected the peeling door to scrape along the floorboards, but it swung easily, the hinges noiselessly complying with his request.
“Mrs. Clark must have gone to the market,” Franklin explained as he led Sam into a small foyer. Squeezing past her, he inserted the brass key again and locked the outer door. He dropped the key ring on a small ornate table near the front door and murmured, “This part of town is not quite as sheltered as where you reside.”
“Franklin...”
“It was a few bad business decisions, I will recover in time.” He patted Sam’s arm. “Thank you for your concern, dear cousin, but I shall be fine. Please, allow me to show you my apartment.”
Franklin’s lodgings were tastefully decorated, radically different from the depressing exterior. The sitting room, bedecked in deep hues of green and gold, reminded Sam of the German forests Franklin described from his exotic travels. The entire apartment was spotless, scrubbed from the rafters to the floorboards, a tribute to Mrs. Clark’s efficiency. Elephant statues of varying sizes littered the room sporadically. Sam wondered how long Franklin had been collecting them; he never mentioned an affinity for pachyderms. The statue nearest her looked to be as large as a horse. She laid a hand gently against the cold surface, marveling at the pristine ivory.
Shaking off his coat, Franklin laid it carefully over a nearby chair and gestured to his left. The study, doubling as a guest room, was situated off the sitting room. It was this room which Franklin directed Sam toward, pointing out the desk featured prominently near a dirty window. The window seemed out of place in Franklin’s otherwise immaculate accommodations. A large spider web stretched intriguingly across the frame, leading Sam to believe the room had not been cleaned for quite a few months.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” Franklin announced brightly from the doorway. “There should be ink and paper on the desk. I will scrounge up some breakfast for us. It may not be as delicious as Mrs. Clark’s cooking, but I daresay, I do have some culinary talents.” Franklin patted his belly and wandered toward the back of the apartment, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
Sam glided over to the desk and sank down with a sigh. Already she had written the note countless times in her mind; however, putting a quill to paper made the task more difficult. How does one explain why they intentionally broke a promise? There was nothing she could say that would excuse her thoughtless behavior. She sighed again and extracted one heavy sheet of creamy paper from the stack on the far corner of the desk.
The scent of roses hit her nostrils sharply. Sam glanced up, perplexed, expecting to find a bouquet of fresh flowers in the room. There was not one visible rose. She peeked out the door into the sitting room but found the smell lessened as she moved away from the study. Curiously, Sam returned to the desk and lifted the sheet of paper to her face, inhaling deeply.
Rose-scented paper. Sam’s hand began to tremble, the page clasped in her fingers vibrating wildly. Sam’s mind flashed on the threatening note she’d hid in Benjamin’s chamber at the Westwood estate. It was the same smell. It was the same paper. The paper slipped from her fingers and floated featherlike to the floor.
It was Franklin.
Franklin sent the threatening letter to her brother. Franklin set fire to the townhouse. Franklin murdered her father and attempted to kill Edward as well. Franklin was the sinister face behind the mysterious terror gripping her family. Sam’s mind sifted through the past, quickly analyzing all her interactions with Franklin; it did not seem possible. How did he fool her so easily? Her childhood memories of her parents’ last ball bubbled in her brain—Franklin whirling her in dizzy circles, her father laughing merrily, the beautiful necklace adorning her mother’s slim neck. Did Franklin know at that moment he would commit cold-blooded murder later that evening?
“My dear,” Franklin exclaimed as he entered the room with a plate of fruit and cheese. “You look as though you have seen a specter.”
Sam glared at him with rounded eyes. “How could you, Franklin? He was your cousin!”
Franklin laughed, the hollow, mechanical sound ringing in Sam’s ears. “My dearest Samantha, I fear you may have deduced my little secret.”
Sam nodded mutely. Her eyes searched the room, darting from the tiny, filthy window over the wooden floorboards, and to the open door, yawning widely behind Franklin, his wide frame blocking the only exit.
“How did you figure it out?” he spoke languidly, popping a grape in his mouth as if they were discussing the weather.
“The paper,” whispered Sam as she gestured to the innocent stack in the corner of the desk. “It smells like roses.”
“Damn.” Franklin shook his head with a disgusted grin. “I have always loathed scented paper. However, I am surprised Edward shared my little note with you. He is usually so secretive when it comes to questionable affairs.”
“He is unaware I read the note,” admitted Sam. She rolled her shoulders back, elongating her frame—her feeble attempt to appear intimidating.
Franklin’s lips stretched across his face, forming a thin grotesque smirk. “You are an intelligent little thing. I always told Uncle Ephraim it was a terrible decision to educate a girl; more trouble than it is worth. I see now I was correct in that assumption.”
Sam’s eyes skipped about the room again, focusing on the door leading into the sitting room. How would she escape? If she charged Franklin, would she have enough strength to knock him over? Where was Mrs. Clark? Surely, she would not permit Franklin to slaughter Sam. Sam took a deep breath to calm the macabre thoughts dancing through her imagination.
Franklin tilted his head, baring his teeth. “There is no one to hear your scream.”
“M-M-Mrs. Clark?” Panic bubbled in her throat.
“Mrs. Clark is happily working at my country estate. She refuses to visit town for any reason; she has never been to this apartment, nor does she know of its existence.”
“Why, Franklin?” Sam asked, her eyes flashing back to the grimy window. She needed a distraction. Conceivably, she could squeeze through it and climb down the roof to safety. She could also slip on the loose slate and fall to her death.
“I think you are going to be more of a nuisance than I originally anticipated.” Without warning, Franklin lunged forward and struck Sam with the plate. It split in two as it crashed down on Sam’s head, sending the fruit and cheese flying in various directions. Sam crumbled to the floor, unconscious.
Humming, Franklin stepped over Sam’s immobile form and extracted a rope hidden underneath the bed. He dumped Sam’s body unceremoniously on the mattress and lashed both her arms together at the wrists. His eyes fell on the rose-scented paper. Plucking it from the floorboard, he laid it on the desk, and sat down, staring at the blank page. With a nod, he lifted the quill from the inkwell and penned a quick message. Leaning out the window, he called over a boy passing underneath, tossing the letter and a coin to him with strict instructions to deliver the message to the Westwood estate.
Wilhelmina scoured the house for Samantha, stomping through empty rooms, snarling at the staff. As she crossed the foyer, a knock sounded at the front door. Scowling, she jerked open the door, her eyes falling on a small boy who held out the missive with a trembling hand. Once his soiled fingers released the note to Wilhelmina, he spun and dashed off, running until his legs became a blur of gray.
Ripping open the letter, Wilhelmina pursed her lips, expecting to read the far-fetched excuse Sam invented in order to forego her own engagement party. Instead, Wilhelmina fainted.
* * *
Mr. Hastings,
I bid you good afternoon. I thank you for the generous donation of your sister’s life to my worthy cause. Interestingly, Miss Hastings seemed more than willing to assist me with my current endeavor. If she proves most helpful, I shall return her body to you for a proper funeral. However, if
she becomes willful, as she has proven to be in the past, I regret I will only be able to return pieces of her to you.
Rest assured, once I have found my inheritance, I will no longer haunt your family. I appreciate your patience in this matter.
Please give my regrets to Lord Westwood for stealing his fiancée so young. However, I do believe he will be happier without her.
* * *
The End
* * *
An Imperfect Engagement
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♥
Alyssa
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling Author Alyssa Drake has been creating stories since she could hold a crayon, preferring to construct her own bedtime tales instead of reading the titles in her bookshelves. A multi-genre author, Alyssa currently writes Historical romance, Paranormal romance, Contemporary romance and Cozy mystery. She thoroughly enjoys strong heroines and often laughs aloud when imagining conversations between her characters.
She believes everyone is motivated by love of someone or something. One of her favorite diversions is fabricating stories about strangers surrounding her on public transportation. Alyssa can often be found madly scribbling notes on a train or daydreaming out the window as the scenery whips past.
Read More from Alyssa Drake
http://www.alyssadrakenovels.com
A LADY’S BARGAIN
Published as part of Pirates: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology
AVALISSE ROSS MYSTERIES
VIRTUALLY YOURS (book 1)
ETERNALLY YOURS (book 2)
(October 2019)
DAMSELS DEFEATING DISTRESS
FORTRESS OF DESIRE
HARBOR OF SECRETS
SHELTER OF INNOCENCE
(August 2019)
PARANORMAL TALES FROM FIREFLY ISLAND
CONJURED
CURSED
DAMNED (May 2019)
HEXED
POSSESSED
SUMMONED
Published as part of With Love from London
THE WILTSHIRE CHRONICLES
A PERFECT PLAN
Wiltshire Chronicles (Book One)
AN IMPERFECT ENGAGEMENT
Wiltshire Chronicles (Book Two)
A PERFECT DECEPTION
Wiltshire Chronicles (Book Three)
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