Was that a sob she heard?
Sam looked about the dimly lit room, expecting, of course, to find some kind of specter floating about, sad for eternity to be trapped between worlds.
But she felt silly when her gaze actually landed on a head of wavy curls, gleaming golden brown by the light of the fire. She knew those curls. She’d committed them to memory just earlier today. Only his profile could be seen, but along his right cheek, there trickled a single tear.
Sam’s heart ached for him even though she had no idea why he was crying. She knew she ought to leave. No man wanted to be caught sobbing his eyes out, but then, he could have gone to his room to do so, couldn’t he have?
Before she could stop herself, Sam was padding across the Aubusson carpet toward him—Mr. Kendall.
Chapter 11
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” came a sweetly feminine voice, jarring Chad from his state of despair. “But I just had to make certain you were all right.”
A flood of emotions rushed through him. Annoyance that anyone dare approach him in his grief. Embarrassment, and at the same time, nonchalance, for why should he care that anyone saw him in this state? And finally…
For the second time that day, he found himself completely and utterly winded by a lovely redheaded girl. As if he’d fallen flat on his back, it seemed impossible to catch his breath.
“Oh, of course,” he said, coming to, and swiping at his moistened cheeks. “I, um…” He shrugged. There was nothing for it. “My father is ill, and I will likely not see him again.”
Lady Samantha nodded solemnly as if she completely understood. “That explains why you missed dinner, then.” There was a brief pause and then, “It is certainly none of my business, but I am an excellent listener, if you would like to talk about it.”
“Is that so?” he asked, wondering if she was being truthful or just trying to get a bit of gossip to share with her cousins later.
“Indeed! Mainly because I don’t much like to talk.”
“No?” Chad’s spirits lifted a little as his curiosity about Lady Samantha piqued.
“Not really,” she replied. “That is, I don’t mind talking, but…Oh, it’s silly.”
“I could use silly right now.”
Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth formed a perfect little Oh. “But your father…”
“His state will not change whether you are silly or not. Please, sit down, and do explain your silliness.”
Lady Samantha stood silent and still for a long moment, her gaze locked with his, clearly debating if she should stay or not. Sitting, after all, meant a longer commitment than simply standing. But after a longing glance at the fire, she must have decided she was too cold to stand there any longer, and took a place near the hearth. Chad took his place too, eager to forget about his father’s condition, if only for a few minutes.
“Now, where were we?” he said, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Ah, yes, you were about to tell me why it is you don’t like to talk.”
She eyed him sideways. “Do you promise not to poke fun?”
He held up a hand in allegiance. “I promise.”
Lady Samantha took a deep breath and stared into the fire. “Well, you see, I feel as if my thoughts are often…deeper than what most people want to hear.”
“Deeper?”
His interruption seemed to frustrate her, or embarrass her—he couldn’t quite tell which. Either way, she rolled her eyes, and said, “See? You already think I’m ridiculous.”
Chad failed to see how reiterating one word had indicated he found her ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to argue with her. He was certain he would lose anyway. “Merely confirming I heard you correctly. No judgments, I promise. Please, go on.”
Another deep breath. “Well, I suppose that sometimes—the few times I’ve dared to share my deepest thoughts—they were met with confusion or derision or completely ignored in favor of changing the subject. And furthermore,” she continued, something igniting a flame within her and setting her on the edge of her seat, “when I think back, I think how foolish my thoughts sounded once they were out of my mouth! Can you imagine? Something that seemed so profound and important on the inside, seemed to lose all profundity and importance on the outside.” She shook her head, clearly more thoughts on the matter rattling around in her brain. “Does that make any sense at all?”
For the first time in hours, a smile tipped the corners of Chad’s mouth upwards. “Do you know what my father always said to me as a boy?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” she answered, even though the question was obviously rhetorical. It was quite an endearing thing.
“Have the courage to be yourself.” Chad’s throat caught halfway through the sentence, but if Lady Samantha noticed, she didn’t say as much.
Instead, she sighed quite loudly and sunk lower into her chair. “Your father clearly wasn’t a woman born into the aristocracy.”
“No,” Chad admitted soberly. “He wasn’t.” He’d never stopped to consider that. As trapped as he might feel as the heir to the barony, Lady Samantha must feel such entrapment by ten, being a woman.
“Now…your father?”
Chad nodded. “Cancer.”
He wasn’t sure why he told her. He ought to have kept it to himself. He’d known Lady Samantha all of three hours—she certainly didn’t need to be burdened by his sorrow. But it was too late to take it back. She was sitting up straight in her seat now, facing him, her shimmering eyes wide and pained.
“Mr. Kendall,” she breathed. “How awful. Goodness, here I am, dithering on about my own problems, when yours are far greater. Oh, my mother was right. I am selfish and unthinking. Please, please say you forgive me.”
He would forgive her just about anything, if he was being honest. “You couldn’t have known, my lady. You mustn’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, her voice small in the large room.
“No, I don’t imagine there is.” He forced his gaze away from hers. “His dying wish was that I be here for the reading of Banfield’s will. I was hoping to coax Mr. Hunt into reading my portion today so I might be on my way again, but he refused.”
“You were summoned then?”
“Indeed.”
“Do you know what for?” Lady Samantha’s hand flew to her mouth. “Forgive me. That was forward and rude of me.”
“You must stop apologizing, my lady.”
“I can’t seem to help myself.”
He gave a mirthless chuckle. “I wish I knew why I was here. Might have made it easier to leave my father on his deathbed. But I suppose I shall simply have to make the most of my time here.”
Silence fell over them, their eyes locked, the only sounds coming from the cracking of the fire in the grate.
“May I speak freely, Lady Samantha?” he ventured into the charged silence.
She nodded. “You may.”
“I think you are quite the loveliest girl I’ve ever met.”
A half smile came to her lips and she looked away. “Thank you, Mr. Kendall. And now if I may speak freely?”
He nodded and gestured for her to go on.
“I am very glad you are not my cousin.”
Chapter 12
Why, oh, why did she say that? It was one thing for him to compliment her appearance, but quite another for her to say what she had said, for it indicated that she wanted something else entirely from him. Not a friendship, as cousins might enjoy, but something…more. And in truth, she did, regardless of the fact she’d known him but a few hours. No question, her parents would say it was merely infatuation and she must remember who she is and into what family she’d been born. That a mere mister would never do, and furthermore, she’d had only one season so far! They’d never let her marry him before she’d had at least another season, she knew that with great certainty.
So what was she doing here? What was she playing at? If he, for some ridiculous reason, returned her aff
ections, she would have to disappoint him greatly. Oh, why had she opened her mouth?
And now he stared at her, a grin on his face—a face so perfect, it was obvious God had spent extra time creating it. Time stood still for that moment, which she was certain lasted less time than it felt, for it seemed to stretch into eternity. Until he began to lean towards her on the settee, his gaze fixed on her lips, clearly about to—
BANG!
Samantha jumped so high she nearly missed the seat coming back down and had to fumble to keep her bottom on the settee. Mr. Kendall was on high alert, jumping off the small sofa and glancing about the room with wide, wild eyes.
“Who’s there?” he called, and then, when no one answered, he looked to her. “My lady, are you all right?”
Sam nodded. “A little shaken, but otherwise fine. What in heaven’s name was that?”
Mr. Kendall’s eyes were fixed on the offending door that had slammed so furiously shut moments earlier. “I’m not certain, but I intend to find out. Wait here.”
He strode across the room, but Sam wasn’t one for sitting still while others put their lives in danger, nor was she one for doing what she was told, so naturally, she got up and followed Mr. Kendall across the room.
She waited in the doorway as he stepped into the corridor and looked about, and when he turned, he let out a gasp and clutched his hand to his chest. Oh, dear. She hadn’t meant to startle him.
“Didn’t I tell you to wait there?” he asked pointing back in the direction of the sitting area.
Sam stuck her nose in the air. “I was not aware that I was in your charge, sir,” she replied a bit haughtily.
It was the first time she’d seen frustration pass over Mr. Kendall’s perfect features. Of course, she had to remind herself, she hadn’t really known him long enough to see many expressions pass over his features at all.
He took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to condescend to you. It is just that…”
No one had ever apologized to Samantha for condescending to her. Ever. Even though it happened quite often, by Mother, Father, her elder brother Benjamin, and sometimes even Cassy, who thought the extra year she had on Samantha made her an authority on practically everything. So it rather took her by surprise. Blast it all, if she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself quite in love with Mr. Kendall, and that just wouldn’t do. Not according to her parents, at least. Which was why it was quite the most foolhardy thing she’d ever said when she admitted she was glad he wasn’t her cousin. How could she have let those words out of her mouth?
“It’s quite all right,” she finally said, relieving him of having to say anything further. “You are right. I am but a small, young woman, and you…”
Goodness, could neither of them finish a blasted sentence? The truth of the matter was that she was about to wax poetic on his quite manly features, but she couldn’t possibly do such a thing. Goodness, Mother was going to have her head.
“Well, anyhow, I’m afraid I must be off to my bedchamber. My maid will be waiting, and I do hate to keep her up late when she has to be up so very early in the morning.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Yes, well, when one witnesses unkindness, one is more compelled to become the champion of the victim.”
Mr. Kendall eyed her curiously, a wry smile on his lips. She wondered what he could be thinking. Probably that she was a daft and silly girl with hair far too shocking to make her respectable. She was certain the latter was what most people thought about her, which was rather unfair. It wasn’t as if she’d chosen her hair. Of course, the ones who condemned her were also the ones prone to make statements such as “We are all made in God’s image.” It always hung in the air, the unspoken addendum to that phrase: Except redheads, for they were clearly made in Satan’s image.
“You are quite a peculiar young lady,” Mr. Kendall said, which wasn’t at all surprising to Samantha. It wasn’t the first time someone had uttered those words to her—or about her—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “Perhaps you’d be willing to stroll the gardens with me tomorrow afternoon?”
Samantha stared at him, her lashes blinking rapidly and out of her control. The statement about her being peculiar was never followed with an invitation to stroll anywhere, or through anything. Rather it was usually accompanied by an eye roll or a grimace, after which the person usually removed themselves from her company.
“I…erm…”
“Perhaps I am being too forward?”
“Oh, no!” Sam rushed to assure him. “It’s not that at all.” She debated whether she should tell him what it really was but decided she wanted him to maintain his good opinion of her. If he heard most people found her strange, he might wonder at that. “I would be delighted to stroll with you.”
“Mr. Kendall,” came the unmistakably stern voice of Mrs. Bray.
The pair of them took an instinctive step away from each other under the scrutiny of the frumpy housekeeper.
“Yes, Mrs. Bray?”
“Your door is opened now. I do apologize for the delay.”
“Many thanks, Mrs. Bray.”
Sam blinked up at him, the question in her eyes—or at least she thought it was.
“I somehow locked myself out of my chambers this afternoon.”
Which explained why he was here.
“I am glad to hear they’ve opened the door for you finally.”
“As am I. I will be glad to get some rest.”
The thought of Mr. Kendall in his bed did all sorts of things to Sam that she couldn’t quite explain. All she knew was that if he asked her right now, in the dim light of the library, his eyes shimmering and his hair glistening, to join him in his room, she was quite certain she’d say yes, for clearly she was the most foolish of all girls.
“Well, I shan’t keep you then,” she said, trying to sound normal even though she felt completely at sea. Then she swept a most ridiculous bow and put an affectation on her voice when she said, “Until the morrow, good sir.”
Whether he was laughing with her or at her, she couldn’t be certain, but either way, he was indeed laughing as he bid her goodnight and disappeared into the corridor.
Chapter 13
As exhausted as Chad had been, he found himself wide awake as soon as the sun kissed the horizon. Light slowly spilled into his room, getting brighter as he lay there, staring up at the brocade canopy above him. All the sadness and heartache over his father came flooding back into his consciousness, wrenching his gut all over again. It didn’t make sense—a world without his father seemed impossible. And yet, miles and miles away, his father lay dying.
Chad really wasn’t ready to assume the title. Of course, he knew legally he had no choice. It would be his soon and without question. But until then, he would remain Mr. Kendall. Thankfully, no one here knew him. Perhaps if they pored over Debrett’s they might figure it out, but Father hadn’t gone out much in society, and Chad hadn’t been back to London in years. He preferred the country, the quiet. And if he had his druthers, he’d find a wife there and not in a stuffy, crowded ballroom.
The picture of a lovely redhead flashed to his mind at the thought of a wife. He chuckled into the cold, cavernous room. Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, though he found it remarkable how she had the power to make him smile in the midst of such sadness. Simply the thought of her brought him comfort, and he suddenly longed to be in her presence.
But that would have to wait. He had Thomas Vail’s funeral to attend this morning. He rang for breakfast, choosing to eat in his room, not ready to socialize over eggs and toast, then began the arduous task of dressing himself. Chad did his best, finishing just before the maid brought his meal.
Once he’d eaten, he set off for the funeral on horseback. The skies loomed dark above and there was a chill in the air, teasing that it might rain, but blessedly remained dry on the short ride to the parish church. It was a welcome distrac
tion to find there were old friends there to pay their respects as well.
“Kendall, is that you?”
Chad stuck out his hand. “Redgrave.” He stared at his old friend, a more mature version of the young man he’d attended Eton with.
Redgrave gestured behind him. “You remember my brother, Lord Michael.”
He nodded toward the younger man, remembering the day he’d arrived at Eton, his blue eyes wide beneath a shelf of blond hair. “But of course,” he said, reaching out to shake his hand.
“Oh, and look,” Redgrave said, flicking his head toward the doors.
Chad turned just in time to see Lord St. Giles stride through, every bit the confident buck he’d been at the ripe old age of sixteen. They’d not been close—more acquaintances than friends—but Chad still remembered him well.
Redgrave did the re-introductions as Chad and St. Giles shook hands.
“You’re staying at Keyvnor with the rest of us, then?”
“Indeed. Summoned for the reading of the will. I saw Vail when I arrived yesterday and he told me about…this.”
“Terribly sad, isn’t it?” Redgrave put in.
They all nodded, and then, as the vicar took his place on the altar, the four of them slid into the nearest pew.
Chad wouldn’t call himself a religious man, usually, but there was something comforting in being in the church this morning. He could pray for his father’s soul as he prayed for Thomas Vail’s. He swallowed down the sadness and recited the Lord’s Prayer along with everyone else.
It was during the final prayer at the family’s crypt that Vail turned to them and asked, “Brandy?”
No one was inclined to say no, not when it seemed their friend could use some company, and so they made their way back to the manor and settled into a tableau in Vail’s study. Chad was feeling a bit restless and, if he were being honest, a bit on the fringes of this gathering. They’d all been friends at Eton, yes, but Chad had always been the most quiet, studious one of the bunch. When they’d gone carousing after hours, Chad had stayed home with a book. It was a wonder they ever invited him into the fold, but just as Adam didn’t care to be alone right now, neither did Chad, really. So he was happy to be there, among friends.
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