Mystified

by Renee Bernard

  Chapter 15

  Chad paused on the verandah and watched as Lady Samantha rushed into the castle ahead of him. The rain turned from a mist to little pelts, dabbing his face over and over. But he couldn’t move. He was too confused. What had he done? Hadn’t they just shared a kiss in the garden? Sure, the mood had changed after the second round of acorns had come flying at them, but who wouldn’t have been thrown off by such an event? He’d been fuming, really, ready to pummel whoever it was into the ground. And then when she’d suggested a ghost, well…Chad hated to admit it, but she did, perhaps, have a point.

  He laughed, coming out of his trance at another clap of thunder above, and then finally made purposeful strides toward the castle door. He pulled on the handle, only to find it…locked? Bloody locked? Hadn’t Lady Samantha just gone through this very door?

  Damn and blast, what on earth was going on? He tested the next set of doors along the verandah, only to find those locked as well, and the next.

  The rain had picked up in earnest now, and every second that passed saw him more and more drenched. He considered his options. He could go all the way around the front of the castle to the main doors, but that could take quite some time, and he didn’t fancy running about in the rain any more than he had to.

  Then he remembered he’d seen a little passageway under the garden stairs. Perhaps they led to some kind of servants’ entrance. But even if they didn’t, he could at least wait out the rain there.

  Chad practically ran down the stairs and finally slipped beneath the arches, happy to find he’d been right—there was indeed a door, and outside of it, a servant enjoying a cheroot. The man stood quickly to his feet and dropped the cheroot to the ground.

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” the man said, even though Chad wasn’t a lord. He wasn’t certain how he felt about the term, regardless of the fact he’d spent a lifetime preparing for it.

  Chad held up his hands. “Do not apologize on my account. I seem to have locked myself out of the castle—if I may use this entrance I would be most appreciative.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The servant rushed to open the door for Chad, who was, indeed, most appreciative. But when he turned back to thank the man, there was no one there.

  He shook his head and blinked several times as he poked his head around the edge of the door. No one. And yet, there on the ground, was a burning cheroot.

  A chill raced down Chad’s spine as he quickly made his way down the servants’ corridor, past the kitchens and their dining room, and other rooms that he couldn’t even begin to know what they were used for, until he reached the staircase to the main floor. As he gained the top step, he barged through the door and unfortunately met with a bit of resistance. Not a locked door this time, but clearly another body on the other side.

  “Ow!” came the voice of a young boy that he’d come to recognize.

  “Damn and blast,” Chad muttered as he rounded the door to find the boy sprawled on the floor. “Are you all right, Toby?”

  Toby rubbed at the back of his head, looking strangely like his sister had when she’d rubbed her own head in the garden. “I think so,” he replied, then he narrowed his eyes on Chad. “Where are you coming from?”

  “Ehm…well, I had been strolling about the gardens and somehow got locked out, so,” he gestured to the door to the servants’ quarters, “I had to come through here.” And then, suddenly realizing that he didn’t actually have to answer to an eleven-year-old, he puffed up his chest and said, “And what about you? Where were you headed in such a hurry?”

  Toby screwed up his face and glanced backwards. “Running from Miss Harper.”

  “Your governess?”

  He nodded his head full of dark hair. “She’s trying to make me read.”

  “Oh, heavens, what a shrew,” Chad replied, hoping the boy would pick up on his sarcasm.

  Instead, he surprised Chad by coming to the teacher’s defense. “Oh, no. She’s quite kind. It’s just that I don’t much like to read.”

  Chad reached his hand out and lifted the boy off the ground. “You’re headed to Eton or Harrow soon, I presume?”

  Toby nodded. “Eton.”

  “Well, my young friend, if you think Miss Harper is demanding of you, you shall be in for quite a rude awakening at school.” He bent down so he was at eye level with Toby. “I suggest you listen and listen well to Miss Harper, and count your blessings while you’re at it.”

  Toby inhaled a long breath and flattened his lips into a straight line, conceding to Chad’s point, if a bit reluctantly.

  “Now, off you go,” Chad said, turning him back in the direction he’d been coming from. “And no more running from Miss Harper.”

  “Well, well, well,” came a voice from behind him, and Chad whirled to find a man he did not recognize sauntering toward him. “Nicely done, Mr…?”

  “Kendall,” Chad provided. “Chadwick Kendall.”

  “Widcombe,” he returned. “You seem well acquainted with my son.”

  “Your so—” If Toby was his son, that meant he was standing before Lady Samantha’s father. “Oh, of course, my lord. A pleasure.”

  “I’m quite impressed with the way you handled Toby. I’ve been trying to get the boy to apply himself for years now, but he seems to think life is all fun and games.”

  Oh, how Chad wished that were the case. “My first year at Eton was eased only because I paid careful attention to my lessons with my governess.” He thought fondly of Miss Banks. She’d been young and pretty—only just then did he realize she, too, had been a redhead. Not the sort of bright, fiery red that Lady Samantha had, but a redhead nonetheless.

  “Well, perhaps he will listen to you, Mr. Kendall. I fear for him if he doesn’t.”

  “Your boy is quite clever, my lord. I’m certain he will be fine either way.”

  “Will we see you at supper this evening, Mr. Kendall?” the man asked, as he began walking again.

  “I believe you will.”

  “Until then.”

  And then he was gone, striding down the corridor, leaving Chad in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Should he have said something to the man about Lady Samantha? At least that he knew her—that he’d met her? Certainly not that he had any intentions toward the girl, though he did. God knew he had quite a few intentions toward her. Like the intention to take her to his bed. But he was an honorable man—he’d not offer more than a kiss until they were properly wed.

  Well, that’s what he told himself anyhow. Other parts of his anatomy felt quite differently on the matter. Good God, it had been so long since he’d been with a woman, that single, simple kiss she’d planted on his lips in the garden had caused his member to jump to immediate attention. He would have to take matters into his own hands before he saw her next, or who knew what would happen?

  Chapter 16

  Something had changed. That much was painfully obvious from drinks in the drawing room before supper and all through the meal. She wouldn’t even look at him—not so much as a single glance the whole bloody night. And there she was, looking as ravishing as ever in a gown of green velvet that complimented her copper curls to perfection. She didn’t seem the sort to paint her face, and yet, this evening, her cheeks were especially rosy and her lips stained to a plump ruby color. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for her to smile at him, just once, with those ruby lips. Or to press them against his own lips once again, as she’d done earlier that day.

  Thank God he’d relieved himself that afternoon, or otherwise, he’d be stuck at the dinner table until the rest of the party cleared out. There was still that risk, if he was being honest. Better to ignore her, as she was doing to him, and focus on the company around him. Not that anyone was paying him any mind anyway. There was a great deal of reminiscing going on, what with all the cousins in attendance.

  Chad had no cousins that he knew of. His father’s brother had offed himself before he’d married or had children. And as far as he knew, his mot
her had been the only child to her parents. If Chad thought about it too long, the loneliness might seep in. Goodness, he was going to be quite alone in the world, wasn’t he?

  He looked down the table to Lady Samantha again. He didn’t have to be alone. And if she would agree to be his wife, he’d never want for anyone or anything else as long as he lived. Granted, he didn’t know her terribly well—thirty-six hours was hardly long enough to get to know someone that one might spend the rest of their life with. But on the other hand, plenty of people married without ever having seen the other person. This was surely better than that, wasn’t it? And they suited well. At least, he thought they did. If only he could get her alone for a few moments to sort out what had gone wrong in the garden that afternoon. Surely it was a misunderstanding. Or something. He really couldn’t comprehend what had happened.

  Eventually, the ladies retired to their tea, leaving the men to their port and cigars. Chad indulged, but not too heavily. He wanted to have his wits about him when he spoke with Lady Samantha.

  It seemed the time had come when, after port, they joined the ladies in the drawing room. But just as he was about to approach Lady Samantha and ask her for a turn about the room, she gave him a pointed look and then looped her arm through her sister’s—at least, he assumed it was her sister, as he’d yet to meet the young woman—before dragging her off to the opposite side of the room.

  “Whist, Mr. Kendall?”

  Chad looked up at one of the many cousins that littered the drawing room. He’d already forgotten his name. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Whist? Do you play it?”

  “It has been many a year since I’ve done so—I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very useful on anyone’s team.” And besides, if Lady Samantha wasn’t going to speak to him, he didn’t care to stick around any longer. “I think I’m going to turn in early anyway.”

  “Suit yourself,” the man said, and then wandered off to find a partner for his card game.

  Bugger it all. He was just going to have to grow a pair of bullocks and interrupt her and her sister. With purposeful strides, he set off across the room and stopped just behind the pair with their heads dipped together.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Samantha,” he said, but blast it all if his voice didn’t crack when he spoke.

  She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Good evening, Mr. Kendall.” Her tone was so cool it nearly chilled him to the bone.

  “I was hoping to have a word, my lady.”

  Her sister’s eyes widened, but she remained silent as Lady Samantha said, “I’m very sorry, but my sister and I were just heading in to play whist. Perhaps another time.”

  And then she stood, bringing her sister along with her, and left the room. Chad stared at the open doorway they’d just disappeared through. Blast it all. Every nerve in his body was set on edge. He wasn’t a violent man, but he wanted to throw something. Or punch something. Or…perhaps just go to bed. If he could sleep, that was. There was no point trying to puzzle out what she was thinking or why things had gone so sour or why he bloody cared so much, but maybe in the light of day it would all seem a bit simpler.

  “Who was that?” Cassy pried as they made their way to the game room where the card tables had all been set up for their game of Whist.

  “No one,” Sam replied, not at all eager to speak of Mr. Kendall just then. If she did, she would burst into tears. She hated being so cold to him—goodness, it had taken all her strength not to look at him tonight. He was so very striking, and all she could think about was how wonderful he’d been to her in the garden that afternoon. And how vulnerable he’d been with her last night in the library. He was handsome, yes, but even more importantly, he was kind. And gentle. And everything Samantha wanted for her life. But absolutely nothing her family would approve of. No title, no land. He, perhaps, had a bit of money—his clothes, while not in the latest fashion were at least somewhat fashionable and well tailored. Make that expertly tailored. The way his jacket hung on his broad shoulders, the way his trousers hugged his muscular legs—

  “He wasn’t no one,” Cassy replied. “That much is obvious.”

  “His name is Mr. Kendall. He’s here for the reading of the will, that’s all.” Or that was at least all she was going to share about him. Cassy didn’t need to know just how well she’d come to know Mr. Kendall over the last day and a half.

  But all of a sudden, Cassy wasn’t so interested in Mr. Kendall. No, it seemed someone far more interesting had caught her eye, if the way she was gazing at Lord St. Giles was any indication. Though why Cassy was gazing at St. Giles at all was a mystery. She’d spent most of the last season hiding from the man. But heavens, if they didn’t get their wits about them, they’d lose sorely to Lady Marjorie and Miss Hawkins. And as time went on, they did lose sorely. Thankfully they were only playing for pennies, but still…

  “It would be nice if you might try focusing on the next hand,” Samantha whispered to her sister, hoping to get her to stop batting her lashes at Lord St. Giles, who sat at the next table over.

  “We haven’t lost all that much, Sam.”

  “What in the world?”

  Samantha jumped at the sharp and unexpected voice behind them as Mother’s shadow fell over the table.

  “We’re just playing, Mama,” Cassy said, already on the defensive.

  “Playing for entertainment is one thing, but playing for money—“ Mama picked up a penny and pinched it between her thumb and forefinger— “is gauche, Cassandra.”

  “We haven’t lost all that much,” Sam added, echoing Cassy’s words from just a few moments ago. Unfortunately, that did nothing to assuage Mother’s fury. As a matter of fact, it might have further fueled the fire.

  Mr. Lancaster was at their table a moment later. “Is everything all right?” he asked Miss Hawkins quietly.

  “Of course not!” Mother snapped. “Miss Hawkins clearly doesn’t understand that gently bred women do not gamble.”

  “You’ve lost money, then?” Mr. Lancaster’s brows drew together. Lord, how grateful Sam was that Mr. Kendall wasn’t here for this humiliation.

  And then she reminded herself that it wouldn’t matter, anyway. It wasn’t as if she had any kind of future with him, so what did it matter how embarrassing Mother was?

  Mother punched her fists to her slender hips. “I would never consider wagering in cards. It’s simply not done.”

  “How much did she lose?” Mr. Lancaster asked.

  Samantha looked to Miss Hawkins, who shrugged her delicate shoulders. “Her daughters, Lady Samantha and Lady Cassandra, played against Marjorie and me. We were only making small wagers.”

  Samantha tried to hold her head high, but poor Cassy looked as if she wouldn’t mind being gobbled up by a fire-breathing dragon just then. For certain it had something to do with the fact that Lord St. Giles was looking on.

  “Any wagers at all are inappropriate,” Mother pressed. “And if you were from a decent family, you would know this.”

  Oh, heavens. Mother had done it now.

  Miss Hawkins sucked in a sharp breath and then stood, her head held high. “Marjorie, you can see to it that Lady Widcombe receives everything back?” And then she made her exit with Mr. Lancaster quick on her heels.

  Sam could feel the heat in her cheeks, but heavens, Cassy was red as a tomato, and her gaze was fixed on the table before them. That was, until Lord St. Giles appeared at their table.

  “Lady Widcombe,” he began. “You do look lovely this evening.”

  Well, that was unexpected. Mother seemed rightfully taken off guard. “Thank you, Lord St. Giles.”

  “Your nephew was just telling me that you play the harp.”

  Cassy glanced to Michael, and Sam followed her gaze. Their cousin shrugged.

  “It’s been a while,” Mother said.

  Jack nodded. “I was afraid you’d say that. I noticed one in the music room a few days ago. My mother used to play and it made me wistful in my
thoughts of her. I had hoped I might convince you to play a song or two.”

  Oh, he was good. It was no wonder the man was reputed to be a silver-tonged lothario.

  “Oh.” Mother lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “I didn’t realize Her Grace played the harp.”

  “It’s one of my fondest memories of her.”

  “Well, I suppose I could be convinced to play a song or two.”

  Lord St. Giles smiled a little too widely. “Only if you want to. I’d hate to impose.”

  “No, no,” Mother insisted. “I would be honored.”

  And in the next moment, they were all on their feet, headed toward the music room. Samantha walked in front of her sister, who now hung on the arm of Lord St. Giles. They were whispering as they exited the parlor into the corridor, but Samantha was just out of earshot. That was all right. She’d allow them their privacy now and then later, force Cassy to tell her what was going on there.

  They’d almost gained the music room when Cassy let out an ear-piercing scream. The kind that made one’s blood run cold and limbs turn all tingly. Heavens! What was her sister about?

  She whirled around to find Cassy, her eyes wide and petrified, clinging to Lord St. Giles.

  “I’m here, Cassandra. It’s all right. I’m here,” Lord St. Giles whispered into her hair, seeming to mind not at all that there was a lovely young woman in his arms.

  “What in the world?” Mother pushed through the crowd and promptly dragged Cassy away from St. Giles.

  “Th-th-the man in black,” Cassy stuttered. “H-h-he grabbed me, a-a-and then he vanished and—”

  Mother sighed, and truthfully, Sam couldn’t blame her. Cassy had grown quite melodramatic over the ghosts in the castle. “Not again, Cassandra,” Mother hissed. “You are making a scene.”