A loud thump, followed by a yelp, sounded deep within the cavernous storerooms behind the museum proper. Eli made to stand, but several sets of feet rushed down the corridor outside the room he worked in.
Maybe travel would assist him. He’d had no urge for worldly adventure since his grandfather had passed away and his mother had crushed his spirit. Eli’s journey to Hollybrooke had helped, but how much of that was due to Sam’s unexpected presence? Honestly, London had been more enjoyable than he’d anticipated, as well—again, mostly because of Sam.
A leather-bound journal was wedged into the crate between another wrapped treasure and the wooden side. As he grasped it and opened to the first page, the scent of his grandfather surrounded him as he noted the man’s neat script on the first page. Elijah set the journal aside. It was not the time for him to travel down the path of memories. Possibly he’d allow himself the luxury on the long journey back to Liverpool.
His time at White’s with Lord Cartwright and Sam’s brother was a unique time he’d hoped to repeat, that was until he’d spied Samantha’s name—with his own linked to it—in that blasted betting book. He had no qualms about him and Sam being connected. His intentions were of the purest nature; however, the other men listed and the nature of the bet were highly inappropriate.
She’d insisted she would never seek to become any man’s mistress; though her coquettish banter with the raven-haired lord—disguised as Viggo—spoke to the contrary. Had she enlisted Eli’s accompaniment only to meet the man at the party? He could not handle such deception on her part. With any luck, he’d be gone and would never learn the extent of Sam’s duplicity. He would depart before nightfall that very night, despite Lord and Lady Cartwright’s insistence he stay as long as he desired.
Elijah preferred to depart immediately, yet obligation dictated he remain long enough to finish his work at the museum and see the late marquis’ collection properly arranged and catalogued.
After that, his debt would be paid, his responsibilities fulfilled to both his grandfather’s legacy and his promise to Lord Cartwright and Lord Cummings.
“My lord!” a male voice sounded from the door. Eli turned to see Ames, the young apprentice assigned as his helper during his time at the museum. “I did not expect you until later today. I came in early to organize things for your arrival.”
“Sorry to startle you.” Eli stood from where he’d hunched over the crate. “I could not sleep and decided to arrive early. The night watchman let me in. I do hope I did not overstep.”
“Oh, certainly not, my lord.” Ames hurried across the room. “Lord Cummings and Lord Cartwright gave specific instructions you were to have full access to the museum until further notice.”
Eli couldn’t help but smile at the man. Ames had been overly accommodating since being assigned to him. “That will be today, Ames. I plan to finish and depart London before sundown. I have been away from my estate too long as it is. I cannot have the place falling apart while I’m away.”
Ames nodded in agreement but held his tongue before setting to work.
It was a lie. The Ridgefeld estate needed little oversight to run properly and efficiently. His steward had grown used to the late marquis’ long absences, and truly, Eli being underfoot all the time was likely a hindrance. However, since Eli had taken his place as marquis, he’d been much like a ship without sails, tossed around by the wind and sea, trying to gain some sort of course that always eluded him in the end.
Eli set back to his task, unwrapping the two identical square objects.
He’d mistakenly thought he’d found his intended course, discovered where his future lie and how to fill the void created by his grandfather’s death and his mother’s indifference.
With Sam by his side.
There was no lack of irony in the notion that one woman’s negligence had led him into the arms of another.
That he’d been so foolish as to allow Sam to burrow under his skin and nestle in a place he’d never intended to let another soul was inconceivable.
He shook his head in disgust of his deep-seated need to have someone close, to share his secrets, losses, and fears with. And she’d thrown them all back in his face.
“May I assist you, my lord?” Ames asked. “I am nearly finished with this trunk, and I can catalogue everything you’ve unpacked.”
“Thank you for all your help.” The man was eager to please. Cartwright had shared the man, fresh from Eton, was hopeful for a paid position with the museum. “I think you will make a wonderful addition to the staff here.”
Ames beamed with pride. “It is an honor to assist you with such an impressive collection, my lord.”
“It was my grandfather’s life’s work, all these antiquities.” Both men paused to scan the huge storeroom, almost every inch covered by assorted objects, ready for museum goers to enjoy. “I was with him when he collected half of these.”
“I, myself, have never been farther than the Scottish border.”
“Then I think it imperative that if your life allows, you journey and explore the world at large.” The vacant place within him from his grandfather’s passing opened again as memories flooded him: fond memories, exciting memories, harrowing memories, and…sad memories.
How many nights had he spent alone? How many days had he been left in camp while his grandfather explored areas too dangerous for a boy? How many times had he met great people in far-off lands, felt a part of their life and them a part of his, only to journey to a new place and leave them behind? After many years, Eli had learned never to get too close. Always knew tomorrow would mean a new place and new people.
How had he forgotten this self-taught lesson?
Bloody hell, he’d even pictured himself spending afternoons at White’s with Cartwright and Garrett, evenings dining with Sam and her large family, and holidays in the country.
He could almost hear his mother’s cackle at his delusional thoughts of rescuing her from the clutches of some evil man—or place—in America and bringing her home to England.
He was an inept simpleton who’d been turned by a pretty face and enchanting manner.
“What would you call this?” Ames inquired, holding aloft a scepter encrusted with green gemstones. “A spear?”
“It is a scepter from the Aztec ruins.” One of his grandfather’s most prized discoveries and, without a doubt, the most valuable piece of the collection. “It is said to have belonged to the second king of Tenochtitlán, Huitzilihuitl in 1400. My grandfather thought it comical to carry it around our estate and use it to point out things.”
“I would have much enjoyed meeting the late marquis.” Sadness seemed to fill Ames as if he understood the immense loss and emptiness Eli had faced in recent months. “Lord Cartwright speaks very highly of him.”
“He was a kind, caring, and compassionate man. Not to mention, a man of great patience and understanding.”
Eli had barely thought of his grandfather during his time in London, beyond thinking the old man would have enjoyed gallivanting about the city. Phaeton races, the play, and a scandalous card game.
It would be hard to enjoy the memories now. Sam’s image would taint them all. He could not think of one without thinking of her: in his arms, bodies pressed together, heated lips exploring. His heart fluttered for a brief moment before crashing once more.
He would return to Liverpool to be haunted by not one ghost, but two.
The life he’d had stolen away from him when his grandfather had passed.
And the life he’d almost had which was never fully realized.
Lord Cartwright—and Jude—had been correct when they’d cautioned him against thinking that Sam’s feelings were true when all she’d sought was a means of escape during her time at Hollybrooke, made all the more complicated when her father appeared. She’d been honest with him. He’d known the terms of their agreement. It was his foolishness that had led him to believe he meant more to her than a mere companion while in town�
�a distraction from her mundane life and a way to keep away the many men who sought her physical charms with no other promise for the future.
He’d held a true affection for her, and thought she’d felt the same.
It was a mistake to think she’d accept a proper courtship from him. His only saving grace was that he hadn’t mentioned his plans to Cartwright and Garrett the other evening. How embarrassing to have to look the men in the eyes and for all to know Sam had refused his courtship.
Distance, and time. That was exactly what Eli needed.
Two things he would not obtain if he remained in London with Lord and Lady Cartwright…for no other reason than Lady Cartwright was identical in appearance to the woman he meant to forget.
In no other way were they similar. Sam’s appealing, honey-toned, husky voice was at complete odds with her sister’s high-pitched, singsong speech.
Their auburn hair was a similar length with Sam’s being ever so slightly longer, but their preference for style could not be any more dissimilar—Sam favoring upswept curls or long locks falling over one shoulder, exposing her long neck and graceful, confident poise.
Her choice of bold, rich fabrics only added to her allure—teardrop earbobs of cream with flecks of every shade or iridescent hues accompanying every gown.
Eli reached into his pocket and withdrew the jewelry she’d lost at the card table the night before. He hadn’t gotten the opportunity to return them to Sam. Making a mental note to leave them with Lady Cartwright before he departed, Eli made to stuff them back into his pocket for safekeeping, but Ames noticed them first.
“Those are beautiful opals,” he commented, seating himself next to Eli. “My mother never left the house without her opal necklace with matching bracelet. Are they for the collection?” He held a notebook, ready to scribble notes about the earbobs.
Eli shook his head. “No, they belong to a friend. I must return them.”
His only regret was that he would be unable to return them himself.
Sam had made it perfectly clear she had no wish to see him again; his presence as a distraction was no longer required.
Sam pushed further into the warmth of her bed, having only given herself over to sleep as the sun crested on the London skyline. Her eyes could not have been closed more than two hours, at most; her head pounded from hours of sobbing and lack of rest.
Quiet. An entire day spent abed. It was all Sam longed for. Not all she longed for, but the one thing available to her. She’d instructed her lady’s maid not to disturb her until Sam rang for her assistance. Marce would likely sleep late as well after their midnight discussion in her office.
Something had drawn her from the slumber that had finally claimed her.
But what?
She was warm. Her bed plush and comforting. Her room dark as night.
The pounding continued, though it wasn’t in her head.
“Samantha Pengarden!” Jude said sternly on the far side. “Open this door this instant before I call Mr. Curtis to knock the thing down.”
Sam flipped her bedding back, revealing her neat room with the drapes pulled tight. Jude’s bed still resided not far from hers, untouched since she’d married Lord Cartwright and moved out of Craven House. Sam’s eyes ached as they focused in the dark, a sliver of light peeking under her door.
It hadn’t been her brightest idea to throw the bolt on the door before allowing her tears to fall unrestrained after dismissing her maid the previous night.
She slipped her stocking-covered feet over the side of the bed and stood, the cold floor seeping through to her toes as she padded across the room to allow her sister entrance.
Jude entered with a stern frown, her hair loose about her shoulders as if she’d left home in a hurry, not sparing enough time to properly prepare for her day.
“Why are you still in bed?” Jude demanded, grabbing Sam’s arm when she attempted to climb back beneath the covers. “It is almost noon!”
“Noon, that is all?” Sam pulled away and threw herself on the bed. “If only I could sleep another two, possibly three days. I am exhausted.”
“What is the matter with you?” Jude sat on the bed next to her, glancing at her old bed. “Ever since Hollybrooke, you have acted strangely. I wrote every day while away after the wedding, and not one response came from you. And then, I arrived back in London, and you have yet to visit me at my new home. I barely saw you at the ball the other evening, and then I received a note from you requesting Lord Cartwright and I accompany you to Covent Garden. Only you disappeared with Lord Ridgefeld, and barely spoke when you both returned.” Jude paused, taking a deep breath after her long ramble. “And now you are staying in bed all day—“
“Stop, Jude,” Sam pleaded, bringing her hands to cover her ears—not that it would block out her sister’s rant completely. “Everything is fine. I am feeling unwell today. That is all.”
“Did you think me ignorant enough to truly think you wanted to attend the play with Simon and me?” She scooted farther onto the bed. “You knew proper decorum dictated we bring Lord Ridgefeld along.”
“So?” Sam was not having this conversation right now. Her headache had returned with a vengeance.
“So…I spoke with Marce,” Jude admitted.
“You conversing with our sister should strike me as odd now that you are a countess, married to a fine lord?”
“Do not think to use that tactic with me, Samantha,” Jude warned. “You know exactly what our sister told me.”
“That I favor a future similar to our mother’s?”
“Sam…”
“What?” She pushed to a sitting position and tucked her legs beneath her long nightshift. “She told you of the wager in White’s betting book. A wager, I might add, I knew nothing about. I am not, nor do I ever plan to be, a harlot. I will never sell my body for finery or exchange my independence for a fancy townhouse.”
“That is good to know; however, I never expected you’d do such a thing.” Her sister eyed her in the dim light coming from the open door. “I am here about Lord Ridgefeld.”
“What about him?” Had he told Simon of their quarrel?
“You care for him, do you not?”
Sam had rarely been accomplished enough to lie to her twin. They shared a connection far greater than that of mere blood sisters. They’d shared everything from birth—their clothes, their tutors, their bedchambers, and more than all that, they shared their identical looks. Had shared a womb.
At the moment, Sam saw her inner sorrow and pain reflected in her sister’s identical eyes.
“I do not need to hear your answer.” Jude shook her head. “I know you have feelings for him. I’ve known since Hollybrooke. I suspected that when he arrived in London, you’d continue your companionship.”
“Then why did you bid him leave Hollybrooke?” Sam had wondered, but as her sister had said, she hadn’t spent enough time in Jude’s company to ask.
“Because,” Jude took hold of her sister’s hands and turned to face her directly, “I feared your feelings for him were only inspired by father’s unexpected arrival. That your affections for Lord Ridgefeld were only to distract yourself from the turmoil you felt over my wedding and Beauchamp’s appearance.”
Sam could not deny it. “True, my draw to Lord Ridgefeld—Elijah—started as a means to keep my boredom at bay and the thought of losing you a dull pain to be acknowledged at a later time. Also, he helped to keep Lord Gunther from fawning all over me.”
Jude laughed, and Sam gave a weak smile.
“And then, well, I enjoyed his company greatly. We spoke easily.” Sam remembered their time in Cummings’ study…her naughty thoughts and his flirtatious nature. “But then when Beauchamp appeared, Elijah was there to talk to. A shoulder to cry on. I could not burden you with everything. It was your special time. You had Simon, and I had no one save Elijah.”
“You could have come to me.” A tear appeared in the corner of Jude’s eye and trickled down h
er cheek. “I was in pain, too. I was confused. I was hurting. We could have mourned together. At least tell me Lord Ridgefeld was kind and compassionate.”
“He listened to me, allowed me to cry, and told me of his own past—not so different from my own.”
“That is good to hear. If I wasn’t able to be there for you, he was.”
“But then he left Hollybrooke without a word of farewell.”
“I am truly sorry for my part in that,” Jude confessed, pulling Sam close. “It was not my intention to harm you, only give you the opportunity to listen to what Beauchamp had to say…he is our father. Family.”
“You are my family. Marce is my family. Garrett and Payton are my family. Simon is now my family. Beauchamp is not my family.” Sam tried to suppress the anger rising in her. Jude was not the person she was angry at. Even Lord Beauchamp was not the target of her fury. “For our brief time together, I saw Elijah as family.”
“But not any longer?” Jude whispered.
“No.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Sam. Lord Ridgefeld is a good man.”
Pain swelled in Sam’s chest, threatening to double her over from the sharpness of it. “I am sorry, as well.”
“Then I suppose it is best he is departing London.” Jude averted her eyes and busily straightened her skirts on the bed, arranging them about her legs to cover her exposed ankles. “The townhouse was crowded with him in residence,” Jude mused. “Entertaining houseguests is a lot of work. His carriage is being loaded now, and he will be off before late afternoon.”
Elijah was leaving London? It shouldn’t surprise her. He did not belong in London. He was an adventurer, an explorer, and a man used to travel.
It would not be long before he found a woman better suited to him and his life, one far more suitable than Sam could ever be.
“If you wish to say your goodbyes,” Jude continued, “he can be found at the museum, finishing his tasks and verifying that everything is prepared for his grandfather’s exhibit.”
“You know I do not favor the museum as you and Simon do.” Sam attempted to keep her voice level, to not betray the remorse and misery threatening to take over. No, those emotions were better felt alone…with no witnesses. Every part of her ached to go to Eli. To tell him that she cared for him, possibly more than he cared for her. That was what scared her most. What if she gave her heart to him, confessed her love for him, only to have him leave her? Not today, not tomorrow, but one day, he would leave her.
The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis Page 28