A single tear escaped when Sam witnessed the light that filled Simon as Jude took her place at his side. They were fated to be together—always and forever.
Could that lay in Sam’s future, too? Did a man exist who would love and cherish her enough to keep her by his side for all eternity? Or was she meant to live her life one soirée, one opera, and one garden party at a time? Drifting from one social gathering to the next in an endless cycle of societal necessity.
A part of her wondered if a mundane marriage was for her. Certainly, after a spell, the usual ton gatherings would lose appeal, and Sam would seek something else to keep her occupied—and distracted. Just a short couple of days before, she’d desired nothing more than to return to the fancy ballrooms, lavish dinner parties, and scandalous outdoor playhouses of London.
At the moment, she wanted nothing more than a warm, male body taking a seat in the chair beside her.
Sam hadn’t expected her wayward fantasy to be realized, but no sooner had she thought it then a man did indeed take the seat beside her.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the lord she’d hoped for.
Or any lord at all. It was her brother, Garrett.
“This seat is spoken for. Move,” she hissed.
He glanced around as the guests resumed their seats with Jude and Simon standing before the vicar, their backs to the crowd.
“By whom?” he whispered back, gaining an evil stare from Marce.
“If you must know, I am saving this seat for Lord Ridgefeld.” There was little chance Garrett had been told of what transpired—or nearly transpired—the night before. If Jude said she would hold a confidence, she did not betray that, even to her own kin. “Now, kindly move. Please.”
The please was clearly an afterthought and only said to gain what she wanted—or more accurately, demanded.
Garrett only settled further, stretching out his legs and turning his attention toward the vicar as he spoke. “He left.”
“No,” she stuttered. “You need to leave. Now.”
“I meant, Ridgefeld departed this morning. Before breakfast.” He didn’t even bother glancing in her direction, further confirming her brother was unaware of Sam’s relationship with Elijah.
But gone?
“That cannot be,” Sam argued in a hushed tone. “We are seated next to one another at the feast, and he has business to conduct with Simon and Lord Cummings.”
“Business was completed, obviously, as I witnessed Ridgefeld, his valet in tow, leaving Hollybrooke before many guests had risen from their beds.” Garrett looked at her from the corner of his eye, one brow raised. “As to the seating arrangement, I cannot say, but maybe his plans were changed without word reaching Marce. She will likely be a little peeved to have an empty seat at the table. It should be comical to watch her scramble to have the place setting removed and seats shifted at the last minute.”
Garrett’s continued monologue blended in with the sound of the vicar speaking to the guests. Speaking of Jude and Cart’s unlikely meeting, their commitment, mutual love for one another—and their plans for the future.
None of it penetrated the haze that had settled around Sam.
Elijah had left Hollybrooke without so much as a farewell to her.
“He must be returning before nightfall.” Sam wasn’t sure why she felt the need to rebuff Garrett or what he’d claimed to see. “Mayhap a day trip into town for business.”
“Don’t think so, dear sister.”
Their bickering garnered them a loud “Shhh” from Lady Chastain—Ellington—who sat directly behind them.
“How can you be so certain?” she leaned close to whisper as Simon and Jude turned to face one another, clasping hands.
“They loaded his trunk, and the servants changed out his bedding. His room was across the hall from mine,” he offered.
Cheers sounded around her as guests stood, clapping and chanting their good tidings to Lord Cartwright and the new Lady Cartwright. Her sister…a countess.
But all Sam could hear was the tearing of her heart as it was ripped piece by piece from her chest. She didn’t want it to be true. She longed for Garrett to be mistaken.
Lord Ridgefeld, Elijah, would not depart Hollybrooke in such a manner, without a proper goodbye. Or at least a note of explanation for his hasty departure.
He’d made her a promise.
Sam pressed her lips together to stop any further denial. It would only serve to make her appear senseless and dimwitted. Of all people, Elijah was aware of the amount of scorn, disgust, and anger she held for her father, the first man to leave her without a backwards glance. To continue on with his life as if she and Jude were little more than a wrong turn taken, though his path was quickly righted and his course set as if he’d never embarked on the detour at all.
The inconvenience of two daughters, forgotten.
Had she been an inconvenience to Eli? Had he departed only to forget her before he reached the nearest town?
Guests milled about around Sam, congratulating the newlywed couple, offering advice on a successful marriage, and expressing appreciation for the feast to come.
People laughed with good cheer. Sam only longed to cry in despair.
People moved about. Sam could not bring herself to stand.
People spoke of good tidings to come. Sam’s voice was lodged in her dry throat.
As the day progressed, the guests ate until they were full and moved inside as evening fell. A night of dancing and cards had been planned in honor of the newly joined Lord and Lady Cartwright.
It was all a blur around her. Sam suddenly found herself standing against the wall bordering the dance floor with no recollection of how she’d come to be dressed in her evening gown of midnight blue silk, though the hue perfectly matched her mood.
Her neck tight and her hands clutched mercilessly before her, she searched the room once more, as the final strings of denial fled her, leaving her shoulders sagging.
Lord Ridgefeld had truly departed Hollybrooke Manor, and he was not to return.
Her chin trembled, and she sniffed to keep her sob at bay and her tears where they belonged…unshed.
Certainly, she’d been mistaken about Elijah and his character.
He was not the white knight who’d rescued her from the storm.
He was not the kind gentleman who’d allowed her to cry on his shoulder.
He was not the empathetic man who’d told her of his own heartbreak at his parents’ hands.
He was the marquis who’d inspired a deep passion within her, but without the rest, Sam knew her desire for him would wane with time.
Even now, she sensed her heart hardening to him—any thought of the man, in fact.
Elijah, the Marquis of Ridgefeld, was no better than Sam’s scoundrel of a father.
“Mathers!” Eli pounded on the side of the coach. “Stop the conveyance. I am in need of air.”
It was a bit of an understatement—in need of air. Elijah needed far more than air to turn is life right-side up once more. He desired Samantha Pengarden…at his side and in his home, forevermore. Had this been the affliction his father had faced when meeting his mother? He’d given so much thought to Alice Watson, and rarely thought of the man he’d only known through the musings of his grandfather.
The coach rumbled to a stop only three short hours after departing Hollybrooke. That time was all Eli could spend locked in the conveyance alone, with only this thoughts—filled with remorse and regret—as company.
He’d stood outside Sam’s bed chamber door for as long as possible before guests began stirring and preparing for the late morning wedding in the gardens. He’d flipped through the thin volume he’d taken from Cummings’ private study. He’d debated returning the book to her, allowing her to gain the knowledge he could never share with her, but that she so desperately longed to know.
He could not do this to himself. He’d made the correct decision. The only decision that would benefit everyone involved.
“My lord?” Mathers asked, opening the door wide.
Eli jumped from the confines of the conveyance, happy to do away with the restrictions imposed by the enclosed coach.
“Shall we turn about and start back to Hollybrooke?” Mathers’ brow rose in question, and a spot of hopefulness shone in his tone. “We can arrive before the meal is served—“
“No.” Eli slashed his hand through the space between them before pivoting to pace alongside the road. “Give me a few moments, and we will continue on our way.”
“Very well.” Mathers averted his glare before climbing back up onto his perch and taking the reins in hand to await Eli’s next command. Blast it all, but Eli hadn’t meant to be harsh with his servant. The man was loyal to a fault, and one of the few men Eli considered a friend despite the fact that he paid Mathers’ salary. It was something Mathers rarely forgot and because of it, he made himself available to Eli but rarely spoke of himself.
Eli turned and strode to stand below Mathers’ perch. “My apologies.” When his valet—and occasional carriage driver—only nodded but refused to meet Eli’s eyes, he climbed up next to the man, rubbing his open palms down his face. “I did not mean to speak harshly. My troubles are my own, and I know this.”
“May I speak freely, my lord?” The man’s hands tightened on the reins, his knuckles turning white with strain.
“Of course,” Eli sighed.
“I do not believe you wanted to leave Hollybrooke,” Mathers confided.
“No, I did not.” Truly, he hadn’t wanted to leave Sam and whatever the draw between them was. “Originally, I came to Derbyshire to escape the strain from Grandfather’s passing and the regret of failing to bring my mother home. Unfortunately, my troubles followed me here.”
In truth, he hadn’t gained the courage to knock on Sam’s door that morning and return the books because he knew it was a selfish act. Eli had wanted to see her one final time before he departed, though he knew full well he would never confess to her that he was leaving Hollybrooke. So, instead, Eli had discovered where Cummings had hidden his treasures, slipped the book back into its hidden spot, and fled.
It made him no more honorable than his mother, who’d snuck out of Liverpool during the dead of night. At least she’d left a note for Grandfather. Eli hadn’t so much as grown the nerve to do that.
Mathers flicked the reins, and the coach started once more.
Elijah settled in, enjoying the feel of the fresh breeze against his face, though it did nothing to clear the muddle of concerns he carried with him.
He freely admitted his family had a tendency to flee—disguised as travel or exploration trips—to run away from the things that haunted them. His grandfather had initially sought out adventure after his wife died, not thinking the impact it would have on his son and grandson. His own father had taken on far more risky exploits after learning of his wife’s pregnancy and expelling her back to England. And his mother had fled England altogether as soon as it was possible. Elijah’s father’s death was too much for her to handle. Having to care for an infant was entirely out of the question.
Fleeing Liverpool had been a way to escape anything and everything that reminded Eli of his failures and the things—people—he would never have back in his life. And now, he’d bolted from Hollybrooke for similar purposes. He could never possess Sam, had no right to set his sights on her; and everyone—including her family—had deduced as much. Even before Elijah had come to the realization.
The cycle continued. Eli was helpless to change his course.
“Miss Samantha is a rare thing of beauty,” Mathers said, glancing at Eli from the corner of his eye.
But Elijah would not allow his true feelings for the woman to escape him. It was too late for that.
“Truly enchanting.” Bloody hell, he hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud.
“I agree, my lord.” His servant wisely kept his gaze trained on the road before them, but he was unable to hide his smirk.
No matter how much Elijah wished to debunk his previous mindless uttering, it would be an outright lie to say he found the woman anything other than what he’d said: enchanting.
They barely knew one another, but there was something there. Something that pulled him to Sam. Gave him no other option than to be near her, listen to her every word, and pray that it continued.
It was the most convincing reason why he needed to leave Derbyshire. Cartwright had spoken the truth: Sam should be allowed the time and opportunity to know her father. But it had been the immense draw Elijah had felt to her that had influenced him to heed Cartwright’s warning.
What if Samantha’s feelings for him were only what they were because of the strain placed upon her by Beauchamp?
Elijah could not live knowing he’d come to care for—be connected to—a woman who did not share the same affection.
“When do you suppose we will arrive home, Mathers?” Elijah shouted over the din of the carriage wheels and galloping horses.
Chapter 18
June 1819
London, England
* * *
Eli sat tall on his mount, surveying the crowded streets as he led the half-dozen wagons behind him, each heavily loaded and packed with extreme care, carrying his grandfather’s most valued treasures. Decades of memories, travels, and foreign lands all carefully arranged in forty-eight large trunks and several crates. Twenty-seven hours spread over three days journeying from his estate outside Liverpool all the way to London. Four broken carriage wheels, and two thrown horseshoes.
Exhaustion infused every inch of his body.
The final day, Eli had escaped the confines of his traveling coach to ride astride. He was glad he had. The city was impressive, vast beyond his childhood recollection. The streets varied between unsavory to well-kept as he moved toward Lord Cartwright’s townhouse.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his country’s greatest city. It rivaled his time in South America and the Mayan ruins, the great Pyramids of Egypt, and the slow-moving rivers through the Amazon jungle.
Why had his grandfather kept the majestic nature of their homeland from him?
No doubt remained that Eli had selected the correct museum to house his grandfather’s amassed treasures.
A man walking down the street, keeping close to the storefronts, nodded in Elijah’s direction. He tipped his head in return. He likely appeared as someone far grander than he was as six wagons and his traveling coach followed him through the London streets.
He understood why Sam was so desperate to return to London. Excitement filled him at the mere thought of her. They’d known one another for such a brief period of time, yet Eli was hard-pressed to think of a moment spent without her coy smile, fiery hair, and hellion demeanor coming to mind. He’d fled his home to escape all the memories of his grandfather, but returned with a new ghost shadowing his every moment.
He had viewed his home in a completely different fashion following his trip to Derbyshire. Suddenly, he no longer favored the masculine presence in every corner of the sprawling estate. And found himself thinking back to the places of female whimsy that had existed during his early years—the last remnants of his mother. However, they’d slowly disappeared as his grandfather continued to collect, and his mother’s lilac drawing room was converted to house Grandfather’s pottery assemblage. Alice Watson’s sewing room gradually turned into a place where the marquis hung his prized sword collection. In the end, even his mother’s bedchamber—a room that had been floor-to-ceiling pink—had been transformed into a reading room.
The day he and Grandfather had returned from a trip to France and saw his mother’s personal space stripped of every memory of her life had been the day Eli had known she wasn’t coming back—ever. He’d been twelve and nearly a man, but he’d given in that day and cried…allowing his anger, despair, and abandonment to surface. He’d slept for two days after. And promised himself he’d never allow a woman to bring hi
m to tears again.
He’d come close to breaking that long ago promise when he’d sought out his mother in America.
“M’lord,” one of his drivers called. “Mayfair is that way. We be continue’n on ta the museum.”
“Just so, Carter.” Eli smiled over his shoulder. It had been good to travel with such a large party. It reminded him of his grandfather and their many excursions. They’d even spent one night camped under the wagons in a particularly desolate part of Buckinghamshire. It had rained the entire night, and they’d all awoken sopping wet and cold. Nevertheless, Eli had enjoyed their trek immensely. “They will be expecting you. Lord Cartwright and I will be round tomorrow to sort through everything. Please return to Mayfair when you’re done. A hot meal and dry bed await you.”
“Verra kind o’ Lord Cartwright to house us all,” Carter shouted over the noise of carriage wheels and hooves as they journeyed down the cobbled lane. “But I be honest in say’n I canna wait ta return ta Liverpool on the morrow, m’lord.”
Not long ago, Eli would have said the same.
Eli waved as he and his traveling coach turned into Mayfair and the wagons continued on to the British Museum. A weight lifted from him. He didn’t relish parting with all his grandfather had worked so hard to collect, but he knew the items would be properly cared for and appreciated. Something that was impossible for one man to accomplish in the middle of Lancashire.
The narrow streets were less crowded, giving Eli a clear view of the roads as he passed—each with grand townhouses on both sides, manicured shrubs, and well-tended drives. He would certainly need to visit a tailor if he planned to stay longer than a fortnight in town. He would gain the title of the country bumpkin with only three proper coats. Though a man only needed so many fine garments when he rarely left the presence of his servants.
Sorting and storing for proper transport had taken more time than Eli had expected, delaying his trip by almost two full weeks. The added time had hopefully given Lord Cartwright and his new bride the opportunity to settle in to town life before Eli arrived and took up their space and time.
The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis Page 16