The sorrow fled him once more as his eyes lit with merriment at her jest. His chuckle was deep and genuine, filling the enclosed carriage.
Chapter 2
Elijah hadn’t laughed since boarding the ship for America the previous May. Now, his chuckle echoed in the carriage. It was the sound of a man who laughed often. The thought sent a shot of guilt through Eli—and he suppressed his merriment with an awkward cough. Since returning to England, and his family estate close to Liverpool, there had been little cause for happiness—only the sting of loneliness at his grandfather’s absence. In a way, his enjoyment during the last several minutes struck him as a betrayal to Melville Watson’s memory. His time of mourning was not over… truly, the one-year requirement for women to mourn the deceased, denoted to be proper by his countrymen, would never fulfill Eli’s need to pay homage to the late marquis.
Honoring his grandfather was the purpose of his journey to Derbyshire—to speak with the curator and special exhibits acquisitions representative for the British Museum in London. Both Lord Cummings and Lord Cartwright were in residence at Hollybrooke Manor for the next several days until Cartwright departed for an extended trip with his new bride.
And so, Eli had made the twelve-hour carriage ride when the invitation arrived. He’d known Cartwright had been acquainted with the late marquis, but was unaware his grandfather had consulted with the man after several of his exploration excursions. Cartwright had examined, identified, and catalogued several pieces for the museum’s national records.
Eli would not complain or discourage the opportunity to be away from his country estate since reminders of his grandfather were in every room—hung on every wall and adorning every table; only feeding his sense of loss.
The distraction posed by the woman across from him was welcome, as well, though a sense of shame settled, thinking that any distraction was necessary. Eli should allow himself to feel the agony of losing his grandfather, for it was his fault the great man was gone before his time.
There was something wholly unfamiliar about the woman with him—maybe it was the slant of the coy smile she tried to hide when he laughed. Or the way her reddish hair—the light in the carriage showed it to be dark auburn—hung untamed about her shoulders, wild with abandon from the winds. Or possibly the way he’d happened upon her, on a deserted country lane in the middle of a sudden rainstorm without even the benefit of a cloak to shield her from the harsh weather. Then again, it might be her ability to bring a spot of gaiety after so many months of mourning the loss of the man he considered closer to him than a father.
Mathers, his valet, who was also serving as his coachman for the journey to Hollybrooke, rapped on the top of the carriage to alert him that they’d nearly reached their destination.
And make him aware of the startling fact that he’d spent the last several minutes appraising the woman across from him as if she were an object—a piece to be admired and treasured.
“May I ask your name?” His question hung heavily in the air. When she remained quiet, he feared she’d refuse his request, so he continued, “If I am to arrive for Lord Cartwright’s wedding, chilled through to my skin with a drenched woman on my arm, I should at least know my companion’s name. Not to mention the damage done to my carriage from our wet clothes.”
Her breath hitched, remorse filling her eyes as she took in the harm she’d done to the velvet bench. “My lord, I am sincerely apologetic for any damage I have caused your carriage.”
“The carriage is merely a possession and is of little actual value to me.” He placed his hand at his heart. “It is human life—and the preservation of it—that concerns me. You could have been injured, or worse, set upon by highwaymen out there alone.”
“Or a wild beast?” she hissed.
“There are wild beasts about?” She’d been in far more danger than he’d assumed.
“That is yet to be determined.” The spark in her eye said she jested with him yet again. “Cummings’ land has not seen any unlawful activity in two decades. I know because the man is more than happy to go on and on about the vast greatness of his family holdings. If you ask me, perishing on the side of the road during the storm would have been the most entertaining thing to happen in all of Derbyshire in three decades.”
He wanted to inform her that loss of life was never an entertaining occurrence, but instead he smiled, suspecting she jested once more.
“I am Miss Samantha Pengarden. My family and I are in attendance for the Cartwright wedding, as well.”
“It is certainly nice to have made your acquaintance before my arrival, as I will not know another person present,” he admitted, lowering his gaze. He’d lived a life of travel and exploration, but London and society were not things his grandfather had found interesting. Therefore, they had avoided the city and the ton, as a general rule.
The last time his family had mixed with the beau monde, his father had found himself saddled with a bride. Not many years later, Eli’s mother was with child, and his father dead. No more had he been born than his father’s bride fled England, leaving the aging marquis with a babe to raise.
A long lock of red hair fell over her shoulder, a droplet of water falling on her hand where it was clenched in her lap. She quickly swiped it on her skirt. “May I ask how one attains an invite to a wedding when he is not known to either party… surely even a marquis, such as yourself, must wonder?”
He’d found the invitation quite puzzling until he read the note attached. “This is the final time Lord Cartwright and Lord Cummings will be in England at the same time for the next two years. You see, I have a rather large donation to make to the museum and wish to discuss it with both men before deciding that London is the finest place for the pieces.”
“It is a superb museum, for certain,” she said, nodding. “I have been dozens of times.”
“Would you agree it is superior to The Louvre in France?” He was interested in her opinion, not that he’d ever consider shipping his grandfather’s prized possessions outside the country. A woman who attended museums was not as common in his part of England, where most labored every day at the shipyards or manufacturing houses to gain enough coin to feed their families. Most of the ton preferred to stay closer to London, rather than brave the sparsely populated countryside in Liverpool.
She flipped her hand, pushing her hair back over her shoulder before aiming a serious glare in his direction. “The museum in London is the only museum I’ve ever visited.”
“But you hold it in such high regard.”
She lifted her chin as if shocked another would question her judgment. “Certainly, my lord.”
“I meant no offense, Miss Samantha.” The carriage jerked to a halt. “It seems we have arrived. It is not London, but we will soon be dry and fed.”
“I do believe, Lord Ridgefeld, a dry gown is preferable to journeying all the way to London sopping wet.” She pulled the carriage curtain back and gazed out the window. “It seems that no one has noted my absence—and more guests have arrived. I must look a fright. Can my good fortune last long enough for me to hurry through the foyer and up the stairs?”
Eli attempted not to stare again. The woman was beautiful… even in her drenched state. He could only imagine her stunning splendor once she was outfitted in a clean, pressed gown, her hair piled atop her head or hanging in long curls down her back.
She turned back to him, an auburn tress falling forward to hide her slender neck. “Oh, bother, Lord Cartwright is already coming this way.”
“I will attempt to distract him while you slip inside.”
“You would do that for a perfect stranger?” She eyed him, biting her lip uncertainly.
“But we are not strangers. Not any longer,” Eli paused in an attempt to stifle his next words. “However, I do not take issue with agreeing that you are perfect.” Perfect? If he knew anything for certain, it was that perfection didn’t exist—at least not in any place or person he’d encountered in his li
fetime. Although Eli suspected he’d found it in the least likely place—Derbyshire.
The carriage door swung open, and Mathers reached in to assist Miss Samantha in her descent.
She dropped her gaze, a rose-tinted hue blossoming on her cheeks as she stood and took his coachman’s hand to exit the carriage.
“Thank you for rescuing me from the storm—and any wild beasts that may roam the area, my lord.” She cast the words over her shoulder and took the first step down from the carriage, her sly smile returning.
“My pleasure, Miss Samantha,” he called, but she was to the ground and speaking quietly with Lord Cartwright before hurrying into the house as he exited.
What had he been thinking calling her perfect?
He was not the man to enter into witty banter with another—especially a woman. Lord Cartwright had witnessed their arrival… together… her gown soaked… both with a smile upon their faces.
He knew not a soul but her; though it was likely everyone in attendance would know his name long before suppertime.
“Lord Ridgefeld? Elijah?” Lord Cartwright asked, holding his hand forth in greeting. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you for the invitation, my lord.” Eli took the offered hand with a smile, happy to be back on track and addressing the reason he was here. “It is very nice to finally meet face-to-face, as well. I stumbled upon many letters of correspondence between you and my grandfather. I do hope it was agreeable I contacted you.”
“Of course, of course.” Lord Cartwright gestured toward the open entry door. “Let us be out of the rain.”
“Certainly.” The man before him was not what he’d expected when Eli had decided to journey to Derbyshire. Lord Cartwright could not be more than three years his senior. He was neither stodgy, nor elderly, but appeared the proper gentleman. The correspondence between Melville and Lord Cartwright had dated back over seven years—the man must have still been at University at the time.
Elijah followed Lord Cartwright into the foyer as a footman rushed past him to help Mathers unload his trunk. Eli spotted Miss Samantha as she rounded a corner at the top of the stairs and disappeared… his ease with her. It was a burden he’d lived with since leaving America. The sense of being alone even when surrounded by others. For those brief moments in the coach, he hadn’t felt that way.
Lord Cartwright chuckled, obviously noticing Eli’s distraction. “Thank you for bringing her back safely. I fear the woman would have been stranded in the storm long past nightfall if you hadn’t happened upon her.”
“Her sudden appearance was a surprise as I hadn’t seen another soul since passing through Derby earlier in the day.”
“Yes, this part of the shire is rather remote and rustic; however, when Cummings offered his impressive gardens with ample space for guests for the nuptials, I could not turn him down.” Cartwright glanced about the foyer. “His family has taken rather magnificent care of Hollybrooke Manor.”
Eli couldn’t disagree. The floors were polished until they shone, and the stair railing could be used as a looking glass—it reflected the many candles from above, making the area glow brighter than a windowless room should. Deep voices could be heard down the corridor, and the sound of female laughter sounded from another direction. It had been years since he’d attended a gathering this large—and by society standards, this hardly counted as anything more than an intimate gathering.
Mathers and a footman entered, carrying Eli’s trunk as they moved toward the staircase.
“Ah, yes, Lord Ridgefeld.” Cartwright took in his disheveled state. “I am certain you wish to change and remove the travel dust from your person. The butler will show you to your room. Please send word if you are in need of anything.”
The rain had removed most of the dirt from his clothing, but his linen shirt still clung to him damply—his neckcloth altogether forgotten where it hung limply at his neck. “Thank you, my lord. I look forward to meeting your intended and Lord Cummings when I am properly attired.”
“Dinner will be served in an hour’s time. You are welcome to join us or take your meal in your room.”
“And do call me Elijah—or Eli.” He smiled, realizing he rather liked Cartwright and saw why his grandfather had taken so well to him. “I am still hard-pressed to recognize Ridgefeld as me, it was always my grandfather.”
Cartwright set his hand on Elijah’s shoulder, a rare moment of intimacy over a shared loss. “Melly was a great man, an inspiration—and a proud grandfather. You may not know this,” he lowered his voice as if to impart a secret. “He sent me many letters over the years when you and he were traveling—from Africa, Scotland, and even India.”
He’d known the marquis had spent many late nights writing, but Eli had always assumed he wrote of their exploration and discoveries in his journal. Maybe he did not know his grandfather as well as he’d assumed.
“My grandfather was a man entrenched in adventure—seeking a new journey at every turn,” Eli said. He’d come here to take his mind off his loss, not to spend time wallowing. Though he welcomed meeting another who obviously missed the marquis, as well. “It is only right his treasured finds be appreciated by all.”
“Lord Cummings and I are very grateful for your consideration of the British Museum to house his collection—“
“I know there is nothing of great worth, but it is everything he worked his entire life to discover. If even one person—or child—is inspired to seek out their own adventure because of my grandfather’s passion, then his life will hold meaning for many years to come.” Eli was uncertain why he’d shared so much with Cartwright. He cleared his throat before continuing, “Either way, I am not entertaining any other museums. My grandfather trusted your counsel with antiquities, and I intend to do the same.”
“We appreciate that, Elijah.” A bell sounded deep within the house. “It seems time has passed quicker than I expected. That is the dinner bell. I understand your need to wash up. I will have a meal brought to your room.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Let us dispel with the formalities. This is a quiet country gathering—truly, not much more than family and a few close friends. Call me Cart.”
A friend? Lord Cartwright saw him, Elijah Watson, as a friend—and he couldn’t help but like the man more. “Thank you again for the invitation.”
“The men will congregate in the study for drinks after the meal.” Cart turned toward the sound of the other guests moving toward the dining room. “Please join us if you are feeling rested enough. If I do not see you this evening, do have a pleasant night.”
Elijah nodded and headed toward the stairs, following the butler to his assigned bedchamber. During his long carriage ride, Eli had looked forward to arriving at Hollybrooke and seeking his chambers to await his meeting with Cartwright and Cummings—completing his business and departing soon after the wedding ceremony.
To his amazement, he found himself hurrying up the stairs, delighted with the prospect of an evening in the company of Lord Cartwright—a kind friend—and his guests.
Chapter 3
Sam halted, pushing the door to the servants’ stairwell open an inch, and listened. No footsteps sounded. No sound of movement nearby. All the guests were busily playing parlor games in the salon—allowing their meal to settle and taking time to visit before everyone retired for the evening.
It had been simple to make her escape once the men joined the women after they’d imbibed their drinks and enjoyed their cigars. Her ruse of feeling chilled ever since being caught by the storm was believable and partly true. Even after changing into a fresh gown and donning a shawl, she still found a shiver traveling through her, and her voice was raspier than normal.
Peeking down the hall in both directions, Sam verified that no one lingered within sight. She stepped from the stairwell and silently closed the door behind her. She and Jude had spent years sneaking about their home, Craven House, undetected by Marce, their e
ldest sister. Hollybrooke was far larger, and therefore affording more opportunities to scurry about unnoticed.
Her slippered feet made a soft pattering noise as she quickly slinked into Lord Cummings’ study. She left the door as she’d found it—partially open. The men had been overly kind, leaving a strong fire in the hearth that sent warmth and light to every corner of the room, creating shadows as the wind howled outside. It was the perfect setting for the entertainment she had planned for her evening.
Her only concern was the lingering stench of cigar smoke that shrouded the room. It would clear soon enough, though.
Sam would have thought twice about leaving the group and skulking about in Lord Cummings’ office if Lord Ridgefeld had attended the meal—but as course after course passed and the women retired to await the men, Elijah hadn’t joined them.
Now, she hoped to find what she sought before scurrying back to her bedchambers without anyone seeing her. Her maid had assured her they were here—stacked among all the other books. A scandalous secret the Cummings’ servants took great pleasure in sharing with visiting servants.
If Cummings knew his secret had been spread to all his guests, he’d release all his servants immediately—but as yet, he hadn’t heard, giving Sam ample time to slip in and collect a sample from his collection.
Lord Cummings was not foolish enough to hide his scandalous collectibles on the shelves nearest the door where anyone could happen upon them—especially with several elderly men and a few matrons in attendance. Unexpected heart palpitations were a serious risk if the aforementioned group were to find such scandalous items. She surveyed the room, furnished with all dark, cherry wood pieces—massive desk, tall chairs, tables both large and small—and shelves lining every wall except the one that housed the bank of windows to her left. Her eyes moved back to Cummings’ desk. If Sam had something she wanted to hide, the best place was behind her, allowing her to guard her treasure.
The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis Page 3