“Pardon?” Daphne stared at Miss Randall in astonishment. Why would she ask Daphne to sever her friendship with Mr. Reid? Surely, there had to be an explanation, a misunderstanding regarding her present relationship with him. Did Miss Randall know he had kissed Daphne as well? Her heart thudded loudly.
“I told you earlier, I suspected Mr. Reid would give me an offer of marriage this morning. However, he did not. He refused my appeal for protection.” She paused, pressing her hand to her mouth, her eyelashes fluttered, blinking back the glistening moisture in her eyes. “He apologized, explaining he had a recent conversation with someone, regarding the reasons behind a man’s desire to marry, and he agreed with the person’s suggestion a man only commits the act of matrimony when he is in love.”
“And you think I was that confidant?”
“I do.” Miss Randall’s violet eyes locked on Daphne. “It was rather sound advice, not at all the kind he would have received from his brother.”
“Do you believe Lord Westwood would have recommended marriage?”
Miss Randall paused, digesting Daphne’s question. “I’m not certain. However, that doesn’t change my suspicion.” She fell silent for a moment. “Do you know much of my past, Miss Clemens?”
Daphne shook her head.
“You must have heard some rumors regarding my birth.” Miss Randall slipped her arm underneath Daphne’s, tugging her toward the house. They hobbled down the slope. “Surely your mother is incapable of holding her tongue, especially when she is intoxicated and speaking in front of an audience.”
“I don’t remember seeing you at my birthday celebration.” Daphne’s head whipped sideways. She stopped, leaning on her uninjured leg and breathed shallowly. Closing her eyes, she exhaled through clenched teeth, her ankle throbbing.
Miss Randall gently squeezed Daphne’s arm. “Would you like to sit for a moment?”
“Thank you.” Gratefully, Daphne dropped to the grass, stretching out her leg and rubbing her ankle.
Miss Randall gracefully sank to the ground, drawing her legs underneath her. After arranging her skirt into a colorful circle, Miss Randall leaned over and plucked a flower, raising it to eye level, and brushed her fingertips over the blue petals. “I was not invited to your birthday party. However, the incident—and your mother’s lack of propriety—reached my ears through Aunt Hattie’s capable tongue.”
Daphne sighed, drawing her leg to her chest and wrapping her arms around it. Resting her head on her knee, she glanced up at the sky, watching a cloud drift over the sun. “I may have heard a few sentences spoken about your character.”
“I’m certain they were kind in their description.”
“As much as you would expect.”
Miss Randall laid back, placing the flower to her lips. She spoke through closed eyes. “My mother, Della Randall, ran away with a man when she was just sixteen. Six months later, she returned home—alone, unmarried, and pregnant. My grandmother was ashamed and disowned her, sending her to live in the servants’ quarters. There were complications with my birth, and my mother died before I took my first breath.” Miss Randall dragged in a shuddering breath, one tear sliding down her cheek. Swiping at it, she opened her eyes, staring at the sky. “As Aunt Hattie was barren, the family decided she would be the best person to raise me.” She flipped the flower into the air, a light breeze caught it, blowing it out of sight. “They were mistaken.”
“What about your father?” Daphne asked, lying back and folding her hands underneath her head.
“I don’t know his name.” Miss Randall turned her brilliant eyes toward Daphne; they shimmered with tears. “Hattie cared nothing for me and did little to comfort me as a child… or a young woman.”
“I’m sorry for your suffering.” Daphne reached across the small space between them, placing a hand on top of Miss Randall’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Even though Daphne’s mother treated her cruelly, she always had Aunt Abigail to protect her. She couldn’t imagine how she would defend herself against Miss Shirely’s verbal assaults alone. Miss Randall endured the entire Shirely family for the whole of her life… with no defender.
“Thank you,” she replied, turning her gaze to the sky again. They laid silently for a few minutes, watching the sole cloud glide across the sky. “A few years ago, my life changed; I received an inheritance.”
“From whom?”
Miss Randall sat up with a shrug. “I don’t know… a mysterious benefactor. I always assumed it came from my father’s family, a silent apology for his actions, but I wasn’t allowed to read any of the documents. Uncle Horace inspected the paperwork and said the claim was legitimate. As my guardian, he put the funds into an account for me until he felt I’d received enough instruction to manage my affairs. Afterward, I convinced him to rent the little cottage on the south end of their property to me.”
“You pay them to live there?”
A sad smile crossed Miss Randall’s mouth. “I’m safer on their estate than living in town. It’s dangerous for a single woman on her own; however, now I have to move.”
“Why?”
“With the death of Uncle Horace, his cousin, Mr. Peter Pierce, inherits the estate. He has claimed the cottage for his personal use. He sent a letter just this afternoon, dismissing Mrs. Larson and evicting me from the property.”
Daphne gasped, shooting forward, twisting toward Miss Randall. “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. Mr. Morris has directly threatened my life, and Aunt Lillian has no desire to add me to her household; she turned Mr. Reid and me away this morning.” Miss Randall grabbed Daphne’s sleeve, her nails digging into Daphne’s arm. “I’m frightened, Miss Clemens. I have no protection, no house, and no family. What will I do?”
“I will help you as best I can,” Daphne replied, giving her a tight hug. “I promise we will work out a viable solution.”
Miss Randall sniffed, wiping her eyes, offering Daphne a watery smile. “Then you’ll convince Mr. Reid to marry me.”
Numbness flooded Daphne’s body. She lumbered to her feet, ignoring Miss Randall’s offered hand. “I believe you have confused me with Miss Shirely. I’m not the sort of female who can convince a man to change his mind.”
“I think you underestimate your abilities,” Miss Randall replied, rising from the ground and brushing bits of grass and dirt from her skirt.
“Miss Clemens?” Miss Hastings appeared suddenly, climbing the rise toward them. “I thought you were shooting with Alana.”
“Alana has been awake since yesterday afternoon. I felt she needed her rest,” Daphne replied, grateful for the distraction of Miss Hastings.
“Considering her situation with her father, I’m inclined to agree with your decision; we can hunt apples another day.” Miss Hastings’ eyes traveled down Daphne’s dress, rounding as they spied the swollen portion of her leg peeking out from underneath her skirt. Miss Hastings’ head whipped up, her mouth open in reproach. “Miss—”
“Miss Randall needs your assistance.” Daphne blurted out.
Miss Hastings’ eyes flicked to Miss Randall. “What is the trouble?”
“Mr. Pierce has been notified of the death of Uncle Horace. He sent a missive evicting me from my little cottage.” Miss Randall exhaled a shaky breath. “I have nowhere to go.”
“Of course, you do. You will stay right here until we sort out this matter.” Miss Hastings nodded once. “I’m certain Wilhelmina, as well as Lady Westwood, will have some suggestions on how to handle this difficulty.”
“Thank you,” Miss Randall whispered, offering a faint smile. “I’m sorry to cause so much trouble.”
Miss Hastings laughed. “You are no trouble, Miss Randall. I daresay Wilhelmina enjoys your company as much as I do.”
“She does?” Miss Randall’s eyebrows rose.
“She considers you to be a shining example of gentility.”
Miss Randall snorted. “Even after our brawl at the luncheon?”
“That incident has been laid solely at my feet… or foot, since only one of my shoes was missing.” She turned to Daphne. “Do you need assistance walking down the hill?”
“She does,” Miss Randall replied, sliding under Daphne’s arm. “She fell off the horse again.”
“I’m beginning to doubt Mr. Reid’s ability to be a proficient tutor.” Miss Hastings copied Miss Randall, wrapping Daphne’s arm around her neck, and the three of them descended the hill.
“He is a fine tutor,” Daphne ground out. “My ability is lacking.”
“Where is Mr. Reid?” Miss Randall asked, her voice falsely bright.
“He, Benjamin, and Edward went to investigate Franklin’s estate,” Miss Hastings said, peering around Daphne. “Mrs. Clark was found this morning.”
Miss Randall’s eyes rounded, her face paling. “Was she…”
“Yes,” replied Miss Hastings, “she was murdered.”
Fainting, Miss Randall hit the ground with a thud. Daphne, who had been leaning heavily on her shoulder, stumbled, crying out. Wrenching her ankle, she collapsed, falling on top of Miss Randall, who groaned. Scrambling backward, Daphne helped Miss Hastings lift Miss Randall’s head from the grass. Miss Hastings laid Miss Randall’s head in her lap, drawing a comforting hand across her forehead.
“You are safe,” she murmured. “We will make certain Franklin doesn’t harm you.”
“Do you promise?” Miss Randall sniffed, lifting her head, her violet eyes pleading with Miss Hastings.
“I swear.”
“I believe you.” Relief ebbed in Miss Randall’s face.
“Can you stand?”
Nodding, Miss Randall gingerly climbed to her feet. Miss Hastings followed, holding her hands out to Daphne and dragging her up. Simultaneously, Miss Hastings and Miss Randall ducked under Daphne’s arms.
“I suppose I will have to forgo the Mason’s Annual Hunt this year,” Daphne murmured as they started down the slope again.
Miss Hastings laughed. “Since you’ve missed your shooting lesson, I believe that is a wise choice.”
“Bernard hates the event too,” murmured Miss Randall.
“How is your dog?” Daphne asked as they reached the base of the slope. Although Daphne had witnessed the scandalous luncheon incident, she was tucked so far into the shadows, no one noticed her attendance.
“Bernard is well, thank you.” Miss Randall smiled, her face lighting with joy. “Robert has been caring for him since the luncheon. Aunt Hattie didn’t want a wild dog running loose on her property.”
“That is very kind of him.”
“Robert is not the person everyone thinks he is,” Miss Randall replied, her tone light.
“Your experience with him has differed greatly from mine,” said Daphne, keeping her tone amiable, “I would like to hear some of your memories.”
Miss Randall’s eyes narrowed, glaring at Daphne as though she were trying to determine whether the question was sincere. After a moment, she nodded. “When I was younger, I spent most of my time with Robert and Alice.”
Daphne shivered.
A grin pulled at Miss Randall’s lips. “Yes, Alice draws that reaction out in many people, especially girls she considers to be competition.”
“I cannot compete with Miss Shirely,” replied Daphne.
“It is Alice’s perception of you which makes you her enemy,”—Miss Randall glanced at Miss Hastings—“and you.”
Snorting, Miss Hastings shrugged. “I’m not concerned about what Miss Shirely thinks of me.”
Inclining her head, Miss Randall turned back to Daphne. “You can understand why I spent my time with Robert instead. When he was a boy, he was a kind, patient child, my favorite companion; however, everything changed after his brother died.”
“Jeremiah?” Daphne asked, thinking of a conversation she’d overheard between her mother and Miss Bloomhaven’s mother.
“Your mother enjoys her gossip,” Miss Randall said, a harsh tone in her comment. “Yes, you are correct. Even though there was no proof Robert was directly involved in the accident, the family condemned him for Jeremiah’s death. Due to that isolation, Robert grew into the selfish, stubborn, brutish man who attacked you.”
“Do you think he killed Jeremiah?” whispered Daphne.
“No.” Miss Randall adamantly shook her head. “He would never hurt his little brother.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I was with him that day, and I know he didn’t kill Jeremiah.”
“Miss Randall!” Miss Larson burst from the house, running across the courtyard toward them, a missive, scrunched in her small fist, flashing in the sunlight. “This arrived from your aunt.”
“Aunt Hattie?” Miss Randall shrieked, ducking under Daphne’s arm and racing toward Miss Larson. She ripped the missive from her lady’s maid’s hand and tore open the seal, perusing the note.
Daphne and Miss Hastings trudged across the courtyard, reaching Miss Randall just as she looked up from the letter, tears filling her eyes. “It wasn’t from Aunt Hattie.”
Miss Hastings wrapped her arm around Miss Randall, dragging her into a tight embrace. “Who was it from?”
“Aunt Lillian,” murmured Miss Randall, passing Miss Hastings the letter. “She has invited the household for dinner.”
Miss Hastings read through the note, her mouth slightly open. She raised her head, staring at Miss Randall. “The entire household? Why would she do that?”
Miss Randall paced a few steps away, Miss Larson moving in unison with her. “Robert and Alice were both informed of Uncle Pierce’s death last night. Perhaps Aunt Lillian has determined the threat is great enough to put aside her long-standing disagreement with Mrs. Stanton.”
“What disagreement?” Daphne’s head whipped around. Aunt Abigail was opinionated and outspoken, to be sure. Had she said something to earn Mrs. Shirely’s ire?
A strange smile pulled at Miss Randall’s mouth. “Mrs. Stanton inadvertently caused Alice’s failed engagement.”
“How?” asked Daphne and Miss Hastings simultaneously.
“Mrs. Stanton introduced Alice’s suitor to his current wife.” She held up her hand. “I cannot say more. I have sworn never to reveal the name. As much as I detest Alice, I cannot break my word.” She reached for the letter again, reading it through once more. “I suppose Mrs. Stanton and Lady Westwood have a previous engagement this evening.”
“They do,” confirmed Miss Hastings. “They have invited Benjamin’s cousin, Mr. Asher Reid, and his sons to dine with them this evening.”
“I do, as well,” Daphne murmured. Mr. Reid expected an answer to his proposal this evening. However, between the discovery of Mrs. Clark, Mr. Thomas Reid’s confusing behavior, and the further injury to her person, she had not given her reply much consideration. Perhaps Mr. Reid would give her leave to defer until the end of the week, under the need to discuss the matter with Aunt Abigail—although she felt certain Aunt Abigail would approve of the match.
Miss Randall glanced up, her eyes rounded in surprise. “You do?”
Forcing a tight smile, Daphne nodded. “Unfortunately, I do.”
Spending an evening pretending to be civil while Miss Shirely meticulously picked apart her character seemed a fruitless exercise in patience. She much preferred a quiet dinner with Lady Westwood and Mrs. Stanton, and she very much wanted to meet Mr. Reid’s children. He was the only man to offer her marriage, and despite his cousin’s protest, she was considering it.
Her heart constricted, a stinging pain slicing through the center. She didn’t have the luxury to be romantic. She must be practical, and a practical woman understands, sometimes sacrifices need to be made. Was marrying Mr. Asher Reid a sacrifice? To be certain, his was not the face she imagined when she closed her eyes. Did she dare hope Mr. Thomas Reid’s jealousy would lead him toward love?
“Miss Randall?” Miss Larson’s small voice interrupted Daphne’s thoughts. “Would it be possible to accompany you this evening? My mother took a position with Mrs. Shirely, and I would like to see her.”
“Certainly, Miss Larson. It would delight me to bring you.” Her violet eyes slid to Miss Hastings. “Will you attend this evening?”
A flicker of disgust flashed over Miss Hastings’ face. She swallowed the grimace and forced a smile. “I will speak with Benjamin.”
“What invitation are you attempting to decline, Samantha?” Mrs. Hastings’ irritation floated across the courtyard. She appeared on the veranda, her arms crossed.
“We have been invited to dine with the Shirelys this evening,” Miss Hastings replied, walking toward her.
“It’s a pity I won’t be able to attend. With no one to watch the girls, I will have to decline Mrs. Shirely’s invitation,” Mrs. Hastings said, looking not at all disappointed by the outcome.
“What happened to their governess?” Miss Hasting’s suspicious question held a hint of amusement.
“She is unable to continue with her duties,” Mrs. Hastings replied with a sniff.
Miss Hastings grinned. “Isn’t that their fifth governess?”
Mrs. Hastings narrowed her eyes. “You are well aware she was, Samantha.”
Lady Westwood and Aunt Abigail appeared beside Mrs. Hastings. They glanced at each other, a silent conversation occurring between them.
“Miss Hastings,” said Lady Westwood, “please consider accepting Mrs. Shirely’s invitation as neither Abigail nor I will attend, and it would be impolite for the entire household to decline.”
“Daphne, I suspect you will want to join us this evening,” Aunt Abigail said, thumping her cane once on the veranda. Nodding, Daphne limped toward them. Aunt Abigail’s eyes narrowed. “Is your injury worse? I thought you were resting.”
“I fell off a horse this morning,” Daphne said as Miss Hastings slipped under her arm, helping her climb up the veranda steps, then deposited her on a bench.
Aunt Abigail flicked the edge of Daphne’s hem up, inspecting her swollen leg. “Katherine, I apologize, but I will have to discipline your son. He assured me he would return Daphne in the same state as when she left, and this,”—she flung her arm at Daphne—“is not acceptable.”
“Please, Aunt Abigail.” Daphne pushed off the bench with a groan and stood. “I must protest. Mr. Reid was not with me when I fell.”
“Where was he?” yelled Aunt Abigail.
“He went with Mr. Davis to retrieve Lord Westwood and Miss Hastings.”
“Who was with you?”
“The first time, it was Mr. Flannery.”
“The first time?” Aunt Abigail’s voice crackled with fury. “How many times have you fallen?”
“Twice.” Daphne stared at the wooden floorboards of the veranda, twisting her hands together. She was going to forbid Daphne from ever riding again.
“Who was with you the second time?” Aunt Abigail asked, her voice low.
“I was alone.” Aunt Abigail looked as though she would explode. Daphne rushed on, “A snake frightened my horse, causing it to rear and run down the road toward Mr. Morris’ estate. I slipped off just as we reached the barn. Mr. Reid discovered me and carried me to safety.”
Aunt Abigail wrapped her in a tight embrace. “I’m extremely grateful you are unharmed. However, in the future—”
“Miss Randall was turned out of her house,” Daphne said, hoping the admission would distract Aunt Abigail from her current focus.
Aunt Abigail released Daphne, her gaze sliding to Lady Westwood. “That was quicker than I expected.”
“Yet not unexpected,” Lady Westwood replied, turning to Miss Randall. “We discussed the possibility Mr. Pierce would claim your uncle’s property; you are welcome to stay with us until a suitable arrangement can be found.”
“Would you be willing to accept me as a permanent guest?” Miss Randall asked, a tentative hitch in her question.
“It would delight me to have you, Miss Randall. However, would you not want to marry at some point?”
“I do intend to marry; I have already picked my match.” She offered a brilliant smile.
“That is excellent news, Miss Randall. Who is the gentleman?”
“Your son.”
Lady Westwood and Aunt Abigail exchanged another glance.