Emptiness oozed into her bones. Without opening her eyes, Sam felt Lord Westwood’s absence. It permeated the room, seeping under the sheets, leaving Sam with icy chills. Refusing to confirm the truth she already knew, Sam stretched her arm out to her side. Her fingers slid along the cold linens, searching for his warmth, agonizingly aware her action was fruitless. With a sigh, Sam retracted her hand and opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling.
He was gone.
“Samantha.” She spoke aloud. “Get out of this bed. You already know he departed early this morning. You heard the door shut.”
She had half hoped Lord Westwood would change his mind. However, the light click of the door awoke her. She sat up immediately, instantly recognizing the sound of the latch. Racing to the front-facing window, Sam ripped the drapes aside. Hovering impatiently, her eyes scanned the drive. After a few minutes, she saw a flash of light in the darkness near the gate to the main road. It lingered, dancing like a firefly in the night. Sam imagined Lord Westwood raised the lantern as a final farewell. Pressing her hand against the smooth glass, she watched until the lamp disappeared.
Two hours later, she had finally relinquished her post at the window. Lord Westwood did not return. Shivering, Sam slid under the bed covers, but sleep eluded her. In an attempt to trick her mind into slumbering, she squeezed her eyes tight and breathed deeply, concentrating on each breath... one… two… three. The endeavor failed. Now, as the first beams of the morning crept across the floorboards, Sam abandoned the idea. Rolling off the bed with a grunt, she paced the room, her bare feet carving circles in the decorative rug.
The room suffocated, its walls closing around her like a cage. She decided fresh air would be the best remedy for her melancholy attitude and dressed quickly, needing to escape the prison in which she now found herself. Nearly tearing the seams on the muslin dress as she yanked it over her head, Sam rushed from the room as if it were ablaze. Slipping quietly down the stairs, she scurried toward Lady Westwood’s extensive gardens.
The sun warmed her frozen skin but did not penetrate the surface, leaving ice chunks swimming in her blood. Her hands clutched at her shoulders, she frowned. The missing shawl, draped carelessly over an armchair, waited forlornly in her chamber. She sighed, shivered, and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Her sigh, visibly frosting, tingled icily on her lips. She really should retrieve her shawl, Sam argued silently with her melancholy. As she dissented, Sam wandered toward the gazebo situated in the center of the gardens. When she reached the wooden stairs, she glanced into the shadows of the gazebo and gasped.
“Benjamin!” She joyfully leapt into his arms, knocking him backward onto the floor of the gazebo. Her zeal carried her forward as well, and she landed on top of his supine body.
“Wrong brother,” Mr. Reid replied, detangling himself from Sam’s enthusiastic embrace as he gently rolled her to the side. Sitting up, he brushed dirt from his coat.
“Mr. Reid,” Sam replied with chagrin, mortification burning her face. She flung her arm over her eyes and lay face up on the floorboards. Her heart sank, splintering during its descent. “Please accept my apologies for my exuberant behavior,” Sam mumbled through her sleeve.
“I think I prefer Benjamin’s greeting,” replied Mr. Reid. He climbed to his feet and offered Sam his hand. “Would you like some assistance, Miss Hastings?”
Sam debated remaining on the gazebo floor. It was not the most comfortable place to rest, but it made it easier to hide her embarrassment. Sighing heavily, she sat up.
“Am I that horrible to converse with?” Mr. Reid teased, a grin tugged at his mouth.
“Not at all, Mr. Reid.” Sam shook her head and flushed.
He studied her a moment, his head tilted to the side. “This must be extremely difficult for you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I look just like him.”
“You really do,” replied Sam with a tiny smile, accepting his aid and rising—almost gracefully—from the floor.
“Benjamin left early this morning,” Mr. Reid said, his brown eyes holding none of their usual twinkle. “I was unable to dissuade him.”
“He would not allow his mind to be changed,” Sam replied softly, feeling the need to ease Mr. Reid’s guilt.
He took a step nearer and spoke forcefully, “Benjamin will be cautious. Of the two of us, he is the most pragmatic.”
Sam was unsure if he was trying to convince her or himself. She twisted up the corner of her mouth. “Actually, this particular idea of his seems a bit reckless.”
“Indeed,” replied Mr. Reid, his face grim. “However, would you not agree your plan is also somewhat dangerous?”
“I would.” Sam nodded vehemently.
“And do you still intend to move forward with this scheme?”
A spark of fury colored Sam’s eyes. “I do.”
“Good, you have my full support.” He paused, nose lifted in the air like a dog and grinned. “Would you care to join me for breakfast?”
Despite her glum mood, Sam giggled. “How can you smell breakfast all the way out here in the gardens?”
Mr. Reid tapped the side of his nose. “I have an excellent sense of smell when it comes to food.”
“Just food?” Sam laughed.
“Yes,” Thomas replied, winking.
“Samantha!” Wilhelmina yelled from the front of the house. The veranda creaked softly as she stalked its length.
Sam groaned. Wilhelmina—no doubt—already planned a whirlwind of activities for the day, and chances were, they were all wedding related.
“Mr. Reid, I regret I must decline your offer for companionship. Please inform Mrs. Hastings you have seen me this morning, and I was walking toward Mr. Flannery’s estate.”
“That is in the completely opposite direction from the gardens,” Mr. Reid replied, his mouth twitching.
“Indeed, it is.” Sam waved airily.
“Samantha Hastings!” Wilhelmina bellowed. “Do not think you can hide from me all day!”
“Miss Hastings, I will deliver your message.” Mr. Reid grinned and bowed low, exiting the gazebo. He took the nearest path to his right but paused before the path joined the main walkway around the house. “I must ask you not to leave the grounds, Miss Hastings.”
Sam shot him a peculiar look. “Is that your demand or your brother’s?”
“It is my request.” He bowed low, flashing her a debonair smile.
“I shall endeavor to comply with your request.” Sam curtsied.
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy your breakfast.”
“Oh, if you do decide to head in that direction, watch out for Mr. Flannery. He is wandering about with a loaded rifle.”
Mr. Reid waved cheerily and disappeared around the front of the house, leaving Sam alone in the gazebo. She shuddered in the shadows. Without the sun to warm her skin, the chill returned full force. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she glided down the stairs and followed a different footpath toward the rear of the house.
Sam wasted her morning wandering through the meadows. True to her word, she did not leave the estate; however, she did find herself turned back on several occasions. Surrounded by a well-worn wooden fence, the property’s edge ran along the road leading to the Shirely’s country manor. Several times, she came across Mr. Reid who, like her, was avoiding the ongoing wedding planning. He strolled beside her for several minutes, silently trudging through the grass. Sam was grateful for his company even though his doppelganger appearance caused painful squeezing in her chest.
“Damn,” he muttered suddenly and melted into the scenery. Sam spun around, shocked by his disappearance.
“Ah ha! Intruder!” A voice accused from behind, the thick brogue unmistakable.
“Hell,” said Sam, turning to stare at a loaded rifle. Three more curse words slipped from her lips.
The old man squinted, studying her intently with his faded blue eyes. He tilted his head before lowering the gun with a smile. “There are only two ladies in this entire world who would dare to speak such terrible blasphemies to me. As you are not my delightful daughter, you must be my niece.”
“Uncle Aengus.” Sam smiled as she hugged him tightly, the smell of stale tobacco wafting from his clothes.
“It is good to see you again, m’girl. I hardly recognized you with all those marks. You look as though you were attacked. What happened?”
Sam crossed her arms, self-consciously covering the bruising on her throat. “I ran afoul of an old friend.”
“Some friend.” Aengus snorted, stroking his beard thoughtfully, his fingers tangling in the strands. “I suspect Edward has already dealt with the matter.”
“He is attempting to rectify the situation.”
“Would this be the same cause for Benjamin’s distress earlier this morning?” Aengus arched an eyebrow.
“Lord Westwood rescued me from my attacker.” A stabbing pain shot through Sam’s chest as she said his name. Where was he? Was he thinking of her?
“He’s a good boy.” Aengus smiled, his eyes flicking over Sam. “I wish you would have given us some advance notice of your arrival, we could have prepared a formal dinner for your visit. No matter, you shall dine with us tonight.” Aengus clapped his hand around Sam’s wrist, leading her down the rise toward his house. In the distance, smoke puffed continually from one of the chimneys.
Sam planted her feet, pulling against him. “I appreciate your kind offer, Uncle. However, I am currently Lady Westwood’s guest. It would be rude of me to make plans without first consulting my host.”
Aengus glanced back in confusion. “Lady Westwood is not family.”
“Not yet,” murmured Sam.
“What did you say, m’girl?” Aengus took a step closer. “My hearing is not what it used to be.”
“She said, ‘Not yet,’ Da,” Aidan replied from Sam’s shoulder.
Sam whipped around to greet her cousin. “Aidan!” Joy radiated through her body.
He embraced her tightly. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Cousin.”
“How is Alana?” asked Sam.
“Stubborn, just like every other member of this family," replied Aidan, grinning widely. “She is due home later today.”
“Since we cannot tempt you this evening, I do hope you will arrange to dine with us in the near future,” Aengus said, releasing Sam’s arm. “It gets a little lonely with only Aidan and Noreen to keep me company.”
Sam raised her eyebrows, but Aidan shook his head subtly. His blue eyes ached with unspeakable anguish.
“I would be delighted,” replied Sam.
Aidan narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing wandering about by yourself?”
“I was strolling with Mr. Reid, but he vanished several meters ago.” Sam gestured behind her.
“Hmph. Never got over her, did he? That boy still refuses to cross the boundary lines.” Aengus shook his head in pity.
“Da,” Aidan warned softly, “there is no need to dredge up old wounds.”
Aengus tipped his head, his eyes rolling with delight. He held a wizened finger to his lips. “Listen. The piano forte,” he whispered. Whooping, Aengus lumbered down the slope, moving much quicker than Sam believed possible considering his age.
Aidan sighed heavily as Aengus raced toward the house, wildly swinging the rifle with glee. “I must take my leave Cousin. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.” He turned and trudged down the hill after his father, a mere speck dancing in the distance.
Sam watched Aidan thoughtfully as he caught up to his father at the gravel pathway leading toward their garden. It was not quite as large as Lady Westwood’s garden, but it possessed a quaint charm which she enjoyed on her last visit. Aidan flung an arm around his father’s slight shoulders, extracting the gun from Aengus’ grip. Together they stood in front of the sitting room’s open window, Aengus swaying along with an inaudible tune. Aidan remained stoic, his back stiff.
Straining her ears, Sam listened intently to the breeze which ruffled the ends of her curls, hoping to hear Aengus’ invisible torment. Nothing. Her heart broke for Aidan. He was forced to watch his father slowly descend into madness, possessing no ability to prevent his father’s worsening condition. Perhaps Alana’s presence would ease Aidan’s burden.
Retracing her path, Sam returned to the main house by nightfall, her muddy dress hem dragging along the ground, torn during her exploration. As she slowly ascended the veranda, Sam was met by an extremely irate Edward.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, nearly apoplectic.
“I was walking about the estate,” Sam replied mildly, trying to scoot around him.
He blocked her passage. “I was worried. Wilhelmina was worried. Everyone was worried.”
“Mr. Reid was not.” Sam slid to her left, attempting to edge past Edward.
“Samantha.” Edward vibrated with annoyance, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Reid is not your guardian.”
“Yet he is the only one who knew exactly how Miss Hastings spent her day.” Mr. Reid joined them on the porch, appearing out of the darkness with a jaunty grin.
“Mr. Reid, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Sam offered him a dazzling smile.
“Miss Hastings, I believe I can smell something delicious wafting from the kitchens. Would you care to join me?” Mr. Reid offered his arm, which Sam gratefully accepted.
“Thank you. I would be delighted.”
Edward growled his displeasure as Sam disappeared into the house.
“Is he gnashing his teeth?” Mr. Reid whispered as they entered the dining room.
“Yes,” Sam replied with a grin.
Mercifully, Edward did not chase her down the hallway. As the earliest inhabitants in the dining room, Sam and Mr. Reid managed to fill their dishes before the rest of the household arrived. Sam took advantage of Edward’s tardiness to dash from the room with her dinner plate before he found occasion to restrict her to indoor activities. She paused in the hallway, her head swiveling between the staircase and the library. Unwilling to return to Lord Westwood’s cold bedchamber, she opted to investigate the library, in search of distraction.
She picked at the food on her plate while she walked along the well-stocked shelves, her head craned sideways as she perused the bindings. Selecting three interesting titles, Sam snuggled into an armchair near the fire, stacking the books and her heaping plate on the table next to her. She read, undisturbed until exhaustion took hold. Her body slumped, the book resting in her lap toppling to the floor… and the nightmares began.