Beauchamp grimaced and glanced again at the closed door. “I believe they are with the other women. Which is surely safer for all involved.”
Elijah hadn’t any idea what the man meant, but Lord Cartwright appeared at his elbow then, holding out a tumbler of port to each of them. “Ah, Ridgefeld, I see you have met our surprise guest.”
“I have. Lord Beauchamp was telling me he arrived today and that his daughters are with the women. I am looking forward to meeting them.”
Cartwright laughed, and Beauchamp blanched, all color draining from his face, and even down his neck before the pallor disappeared beneath his cravat.
“Did I say something amusing, my lord?” The other conversations in the room had quieted, and all attention was on Eli—or maybe it was Beauchamp. Tendrils of recognition connected…tall and rail-thin, hair of burnt-red, and eyes the color of—
“I am Dexter Pengarden, Viscount Beauchamp. Miss Samantha and Miss Judith are my daughters.”
Could it be? Sam had spoken nothing of the man and had insinuated Lady Marce had raised her and her siblings.
A whistle of shock sounded behind him.
It was encouraging to hear he wasn’t the only person in the room reeling in utter surprise.
“I…well…” For not the first time since arriving at Hollybrooke, Eli was stunned into wordlessness. “It is very nice to make your acquaintance, my lord.” But was it nice? It was not difficult to deduce that it was this man’s arrival that had sent Sam into a tailspin.
“Do not worry, Ridgefeld,” Cummings said, joining the small group. “You are not the only one surprised by the appearance of Lord Beauchamp. I fear we are all still whirling with disbelief.”
“Enough, Cummings,” Cartwright hissed. “Come, my lord. Let us speak over here.”
The pair moved to the far end of the room, out of earshot of the others, and Elijah was left with his mouth gaping open. Had this been the true reason Sam was crying earlier?
Why would her father’s arrival at her sister’s wedding cause her such upset? Eli glanced around the room, each man only now starting on their drinks—it would be at least an hour before they joined the women again.
“Lord Ridgefeld?”
Eli’s mind had been elsewhere, unaware Gunther had moved from his position against the wall to stand beside him.
Exactly the man Elijah had no interest in speaking with—he’d sat at Lord Cartwright’s end of the table during the meal but sent barely veiled looks of discontent in Eli’s direction.
“Lord Gunther, is it?” Eli said by way of greeting.
“Yes.” The man narrowed his eyes, and his shoulders tensed. “May I speak frankly?”
“Certainly.” Though Eli hadn’t a clue what the man could possibly have to discuss—frankly or otherwise.
“Have you said or done something to injure Miss Samantha?”
The question caught him off guard. He’d wondered what had altered Sam’s demeanor since this morning, but that Gunther suspected as much, as well, meant the man was at least partly familiar with Sam.
A jolt of pain coursed through Eli’s jaw, his teeth clamped tightly to hold back any foolish outburst. Instead of issuing a scolding retort, Eli breathed deeply and exhaled. “I haven’t any notion of what you speak, my lord.”
Gunther took a menacing step forward. “It is only I was invited as a possible suitor for Miss Samantha, and I swear the woman is avoiding me. I think you know something of the matter.”
She certainly was avoiding Gunther, but it was not Elijah’s place to enlighten the poor fellow to that fact.
“I regret to inform you that I will be of no help in the matter.” Eli had no reason to trust Gunther—and Sam’s aversion to his attention only solidified things. “Miss Samantha and I have only recently gained an acquaintance. She has taken me under her wing to introduce me to the other guests.”
“Good to hear, my lord.” Gunther sighed in relief. “I had heard from my servant that he saw you exiting Miss Samantha’s private chamber earlier.”
He’d been careful to survey the corridor in both directions when he’d departed Sam’s room—Eli hadn’t seen or heard anyone close. “Your servant must have confused me with someone else.” Foreboding coursed through him. If a servant had, indeed, witnessed his departure from Sam’s room, it would not be long before their host was informed. Eli could not allow the man to see him react in any way.
If the man pressed, Eli would have no further explanations to give. Not another guest could vouch for him—except… “I went for a walk earlier today about Lord Cummings’ estate. Across the lawn and by the pond in time to see Mr. Jakeston’s untimely fall into the water.” Lord Haversham had seen Elijah walking, even motioned him to join the group on the lawn, but Eli had acted as if he hadn’t seen the man’s gesture. He hoped it was enough to keep anyone from speculating further on Eli’s whereabouts that afternoon.
Thankfully, Gunther laughed. “I would have given a hundred pounds to see that. Is it true Lord Haversham pushed him into the frigid water?”
There was no going back now—Eli could only make sure the man believed his every word and no future questions arose on the subject. “Actually, Lord Haversham was attempting to help Jakeston extricate a mallet from the water when the man took a tumble.”
It was the story he’d overheard after descending the stairs earlier. The hectic commotion surrounding the fall would likely prevent anyone from remembering who exactly had been present to witness the incident.
Greatly benefiting Eli and his much-needed alibi.
Glancing over his shoulder, he noted Lord Cartwright, Garrett, and Lord Beauchamp had disappeared from the room.
Eli took a long drink from his glass. “Will you excuse me?”
With a satisfied nod, Lord Gunther moved toward Stanford, reassured Eli posed no threat to his coming courtship of Miss Samantha. Which for all intents and purposes, was true.
However, he and Sam had struck a deal—and Eli expected her to see it to completion.
And in turn, he would see his side through until he departed Hollybrooke.
The thought of leaving the guests behind in favor of the solitude of his estate no longer filled him with a sense of ease.
Despite all that had happened since his arrival, or maybe in spite of it all, Elijah was having an enjoyable time. He could not deny it was mainly due to Sam.
And at the moment, something deep inside him knew she needed him.
He set his empty glass on the sideboard and slipped through the door, closing it quietly in his wake.
He retraced the path back to the drawing room they’d met in before the meal had been announced. The double doors were open, affording Eli a clear view of the entire room.
Suspiciously missing, along with Sam, was Lord Cartwright, Garrett, Lord Beauchamp, and Lady Marce Davenport.
Chapter 15
Sam wanted to throw something, hurl it as hard as she could into the dying fire in Cummings’ study hearth—unfortunately, everything in the room was worth far more than she. Had her father not instilled in her and Jude how little he valued their existence? No, she would never treat another’s possessions with the wanton disregard her father had with his own children.
Her feet pounded against the hardwood as she carved a path back and forth before the hearth, her cheeks aflame, but Sam was too preoccupied to notice beyond the fire that coursed through her veins.
True, no person was a possession, but to be wanted, to be cherished, to be treasured as much as Lord Cartwright—or even Lord Cummings—did the objects he collected would fill her with a sense of belonging, especially now with Jude leaving her. No one seemed to understand the deep-rooted isolation Sam experienced every time Jude was not by her side.
It had rocked Sam to her core when she had departed the dining room, trailing the other women, only to walk straight into Lord Beauchamp. She’d prayed he’d left Hollybrooke after their confrontation that morning, but it seemed he was n
aive enough to think staying in residence would win him some sort of forgiveness from his daughters.
And it very well might from Jude, but Sam was in no way ready to hear the viscount’s rationalizations for the deplorable neglect of his family. Yet, Beauchamp wasn’t any more family to her and Jude than the man who swept their chimney flue at Craven House—actually, at least Sam recognized that man, knew his name and disposition…Beauchamp was a perfect stranger.
An imperfect stranger.
How could the scoundrel think that showing up at Hollybrooke would gain him anything?
The notion had Sam coming up short and halting her frantic pacing. Beauchamp must certainly expect something from her—or worse, Jude. What other reason could he have for accepting Marce’s invitation?
Sam had fled the others, needing a private, quiet place to think and mull over what she was to do next.
Cummings’ study was far enough from the other guests to afford her the privacy and silence she craved. No one would search for her here. It was likely Jude had been called from her own celebration to locate her twin. She had been far more reserved and distant since their arrival at Cummings’ estate. Sam understood. Jude hadn’t meant to leave Sam out or make her feel unwanted; unfortunately, that was precisely what Sam was fighting. No longer did she and Jude stay up late, exchanging gossip and giggling until the morning sun began to light the London sky. No, now, Jude shared those talks with Lord Cartwright, the man she loved.
Regrettably, she did envy her sister’s happiness.
Though they’d been without a mother or father, at least they had one another; which at times was preferable. A sister was superior to a friend, as well—they could bicker, argue, and disagree, but always come back to one another.
Jude had always recognized Sam’s need to garner the favor of those around her. Her twin had even gladly accepted her place in Sam’s shadow at society entertainments.
Fresh tears fell once more. Sam hadn’t felt them rising through her anger, but now they streamed down her cheeks, creating burning trails until they fell from her chin.
Sam brushed the moisture away. She need only stay strong until Jude was properly wed on the morrow, then she could return to London and live as she had the last year. Yes, a side of her bedchamber would be empty, but she could fill it with new baubles—maybe even a permanent bathing tub. Certainly, her days and evenings would be lonely without Jude for company, but Sam could spend more time with Lady Chastain—or possibly take a suitor or two, there were always gentlemen seeking her favor. And there was always Payton. Her young sister would need guidance as she prepared to enter society—why could Sam not dedicate her time to this good deed? Though, only scarcely a year younger than Sam and Jude, Payton was no longer the child Sam seemed to think of her as.
However, none of those things would fill the spot where a part of her heart would be missing—not gone, but far away and out of reach.
Would Payton agree to share a bedchamber with her if she begged?
Sam shuddered at the thought. Heavens no.
What of Lord Beauchamp? Had he spoken with Jude, convinced her he was sorry for all he’d done? All he hadn’t done. Did he actually feel remorse for the past—deserting a woman he’d claimed to love and the children that love had brought into existence?
It was all too overwhelming.
Sam rubbed her temples to alleviate the pounding in her head. While it soothed some of the ache, it did nothing to realign her swirling thoughts.
There was no reason for her to join the gathering in the drawing room. Nor could she seek out her chambers. Her siblings would not allow her to wallow in self-pity. They would demand she talk to them about her pain, her anguish, and her despair. Sam wasn’t prepared to labor through such a conversation as yet—may never be ready to discuss her father’s appearance and her twin’s coming departure.
She stared into the flames as they licked at the logs, throwing a wave of heat across her skin. It would be so easy to allow them to engulf her—extinguish her sorrow, wipe it from her being.
Taking a step closer, Sam begged the blaze to draw out her grief. To take it from within her and destroy it in its flames.
“I suspected I’d find you here.”
Sam yelped in surprise.
The deep, whispered words had her taking a step back from the hearth as she patted her hair back into place before turning. She hadn’t heard the study door open and then close behind Elijah, but a part of her soared to see him there—certainly not her heart, but some part of her recognized what he offered her.
“I met your father, Lord Beauchamp.” He continued toward her before stepping to her side and turning to stare into the hearth. “Is he the cause of your pain?”
Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the fire and avoiding the man beside her. Sam was uncertain how much to share with Eli. He was only slightly less the stranger than Beauchamp; however, he’d proven his caring and compassionate ways. “A great portion of it, yes.” Her voice quaked, betraying the hurt she’d attempted to hide.
“Why? I would assume a person would feel a measure of happiness to see their father.”
“Of course, any other person might…though, today was the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on the man.” She didn’t dare glance in Eli’s direction, couldn’t handle the pity she would see in his eyes. It would only serve to crush her more. “Jude and I have known his name, obviously, as we share it, but he has never been a part of us.”
“Us?” His tone remained quiet.
“Craven House—Marce, Garrett, Jude, Payton and me. And before she passed away, our mother. Beauchamp walked away, leaving us all, to take his place as viscount. His father gave him the option of marrying a proper lady and one day taking his place as Viscount Beauchamp, or being left with only what was entailed to his estate and not a shilling more.” Sam sighed, bringing her hands forward toward the heat as a chill ran down her spine. “He chose the option that afforded him the most—his family lands, holdings, and coins. He married soon after we were born.”
“I am sorry.”
“As am I. However, none of this is your doing, my lord.” Sam turned toward the darkened room, putting the glow from the fire at her back and a shadow masking her face. “But I often wonder if he ever thought of us—rode past Craven House hoping to see us outside. Did he remember our birthday or see a jewelry chest in a shop and long to buy it for us?”
“Something you cannot know unless you ask,” Eli replied. He remained facing the flames, giving her a piece of the privacy she needed.
“That is easy for you to say. You know nothing of such heartbreak, of growing up knowing your father was so close but didn’t care enough to seek you out or want any type of relationship.” Sam shook her head, exhaling to calm her nerves. She need remember none of this was Elijah’s fault—but he was the one present, at her side, willing to listen. “My apologies. I am upset beyond reason. I think it best I retire to my chambers for the evening.”
“I would not, if I were you.”
“And why not?”
“Your brother and Lady Marce are awaiting you there,” he confided. “I slipped past your open door and saw them inside. I feigned a need to seek my own chambers, but snuck down the servants’ stairs to locate you.”
“Why did you think to find me here?” she mumbled, finally risking a glance at him.
“It was either here or on the road leading toward London, and it is dark and cold outside. Not to mention the threat of wild animals on the hunt.” His hand found hers where it hung at her side, his fingers entwining with hers. “Do not doubt that if I hadn’t found you here, I would have called for a horse and rushed out into the night in search.”
Sam’s head ached ever more when she allowed a light laugh to pass her lips. “You would risk the wilds of Derbyshire after dusk for me?”
“I would risk far more than that, Samantha.”
“Well, it is a good thing you are not in the place my father was, or mayhap yo
ur choice would be altered significantly.” She longed to think the best of Eli, but he was a lord—just as her father was—and she would never think undesirably of him for making a choice that benefited his future and his family name. “Gentlemen are sometimes put in very hard predicaments. I think I shall retire now. I will seek privacy in Payton’s chambers until I am certain mine are my own once more.”
Sam pulled her hand from his, and their fingers slid apart, though she felt the squeeze of his hand as he attempted to hold her there. Lord Ridgefeld was in attendance at Hollybrooke to conduct business, not soothe or rectify a long ago wrong done by another man. “You are not the only person in this room abandoned by someone whose only goal in life should be to love, protect, and cherish their child.” His voice wavered, halting Sam.
She’d been so carried away with her own life circumstances she hadn’t thought of Eli’s situation—why he’d been raised by his grandfather. Each time he’d mentioned the late marquis, his eyes had lit with love. She’d assumed he’d lived a content and happy life. Then again, how many people thought the same of Sam and her siblings?
“Let us sit, Sam,” Eli whispered, taking her hand once more and tugging her toward a lounge close to the little heat coming from the hearth. “I have a story to tell you.”
“I am in no mood for a cheerful story—“
He refused to release his hold. “There is no cheer to be found in this tale, I assure you. However, you may realize you are not as alone in your situation as you think.”
Sam wanted Eli close, but didn’t want to listen to his fabled story, concocted to soothe her frayed soul. She longed to escape to an empty room, cry until there were no tears left, and fall into an exhausted sleep—awaking to a new day. Only then could she fathom donning her gown of rich golden silk and joining her family in the Cummings’ gardens for her twin’s morning wedding.
“All I ask is for you to listen,” he coaxed.
For some unknown reason, Sam gave in and sat beside Eli on the lounge. She would listen to his story, though she could not promise to find meaning behind his words.
The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis Page 13