Franklin’s black eyes burned menacingly, his fingers closed around her throat, squeezing until she choked. She clawed at his hands, digging her nails into his skin, his deafening laughter ringing in her ears. Screaming, Sam swung her arm at Franklin’s smug face and fell out of the armchair, landing on the floor with a grunt. Her eyes flew open. She stared at the room, the nightmare fading from her mind like wisps of smoke rising from a dying fire.
She was in the library.
Someone shifted in the chair beside hers. Sam’s head snapped to her left, terror hovering on her lips. Wilhelmina, her hands elegantly folded, waited patiently. Disapproval leaked from her eyes, which traveled slowly over Sam’s disheveled appearance, landing on her ripped hemline.
“I half-expected you would have already escaped out of the residence by the time I arrived.” Wilhelmina gestured to the chair which Sam fell from.
Sam struggled to her feet. The fire had died at some point during the night, and her stiff muscles ached in the cold air. She grimaced, stretching her arms. “That was my intention.”
“Samantha.” Wilhelmina sighed heavily, her brown eyes softened. “I realize you have suffered through a horrific experience.” She indicated the visible bruising on Sam’s face.
Sam bit her lip, turning her back to Wilhelmina. Hugging her arms tightly around her chest, she moved in front of the fireplace, her body craving heat.
“And I suspect there are some details you have chosen to withhold from myself as well as Edward.” Wilhelmina paused. “You have my blessing to wander freely about the grounds today, just as you did yesterday.”
Whipping her head around, Sam opened her mouth to defend her behavior. However, before she had a chance to speak, Wilhelmina held up her hand.
“Tomorrow you are expected for a fitting. If we are to execute your plan to draw out Mr. Morris at the Shirely ball, you must be properly attired. Mr. Reid and I discussed this in great detail after dinner last evening.”
“My brother—”
“Is reluctant to lend his support,” said Wilhelmina. “However, he has no choice in this matter.” Rising, Wilhelmina lifted a sack from a nearby table and handed it to Sam. “In here, you will find some provisions for the day. Please return by the evening meal.”
“What about Edward?” Sam asked, untying the strings and peeking inside, her stomach rumbling.
“Edward is exceedingly concerned for your well-being. Therefore, if I were you, I would take my leave before he discovers me in the library. Do not bother changing your clothes, that dress is already ruined.” Wilhelmina raised her eyes heavenward and shook her head. With a sigh, she returned her attention to Sam. “You might as well complete the job. Go now before Edward wakes.”
“Thank you,” whispered Sam, embracing Wilhelmina.
Wilhelmina extracted herself from Sam and walked to the door. She stopped at the threshold, keeping her eyes forward. “When Edward disappeared, I was lost without him. I had no relations and three little girls to support. You showed me incredible kindness during that time. I would like to do the same for you.” She turned, her eyes moist. “It would be an honor to wear your mother’s necklace to the Shirely masque.”
She glided through the door without another word, her sentiments swirling around Sam’s head in dizzying circles. Heeding Wilhelmina’s advice, Sam hefted the sack over her shoulder and slipped into the hallway.
“Samantha!” Edward’s voice echoed upstairs, his boots stomping down the hallway toward her bedchamber.
Tiptoeing down the hallway toward the rear of the house, Sam snuck through the kitchens, avoiding detection. She bumped into only one other person during her escape—Mr. Reid. Biscuit in hand, he too was sneaking through the kitchens.
Sam arched an eyebrow. “Are you just getting in?”
Mr. Reid grinned, pressing a finger to his mouth. “You did not see me this morning.”
“And as such, you did not see me either.”
“Indeed,” He winked, bowed, and vanished into the dining room.
Not a soul crossed her path in the morning. No sound interrupted her reverie, save the crunch of her shoes on the grass. Removing her stockings and shoes, Sam wiggled her toes in the warm blades of green. She sprinted toward the meadow, allowing her hair to whip freely behind her. Sam flopped down in the pasture, allowing the long stalks to spring up around her body, hiding her from view. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly, watching the blades of grass wave back and forth. Buzzing insects droned around her, the sound oddly soothing, and her eyelids fluttered close.
“When Benjamin mentioned your dislike of footwear, I had no idea he meant you intended to wander barefoot one the estate.”
Sam’s eyes flew open. Squinting into the afternoon sun, she placed a hand up to her forehead to block the light. Mr. Reid, on a tan and white stallion, paced a lazy circle around Sam’s hideout and lifted his hat as a friendly greeting. Sam sat up hastily, grass and flower bits stuck in her unbound hair.
“We almost stepped on you.” Mr. Reid patted the horse’s neck, murmuring a few gentle words before he slid from the saddle gracefully. Deftly landing on his feet, he wrapped the reins loosely around a thick patch of grass.
“I did not expect to meet anyone,” said Sam as she collected her shoes and stockings, reluctantly pulling them over her naked feet.
“Do not feel the need to be proper on my account,” Mr. Reid replied, sitting down next to her. Kicking off his boots, he stretched his long legs and wiggled his toes in an exaggerated fashion. “Ahhh,” he breathed, “I see the attraction.”
Sam giggled as Mr. Reid flopped back onto the meadow grass, rolling back and forth, similar to an exuberant puppy. He sat up, his tousled hair embedded with weeds. “Now we match.”
“I am not sure that is a good thing.” Sam laughed. “I have been accused of lacking certain ladylike qualities, and I am certain my most recent state of undress is not appropriate for a gentleman either.”
“Miss Hastings, I too am lacking certain ladylike qualities,”—Sam snorted—“however, rest assured nothing you do would ever compare with the improper activities which color my background.” He grinned.
“Which are?” asked Sam. Perhaps the rumors surrounding Lord Westwood and his brother were more accurate than she assumed.
“Definitely not suitable for discussion in mixed company,” replied Mr. Reid with a wink.
“I would expect nothing less.”
Mr. Reid leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper “Not every piece of gossip is true, Miss Hastings.” He paused and grinned again. “Unless it is about Benjamin.”
“I shall try to keep that in mind.” Sam laughed.
Mr. Reid collapsed onto his back, tucking his hands under his head, and stared the sky. “You had a visitor earlier today,” he said, his mood shifting mercurially with the statement.
Sam glanced at him, perplexed. “Who?”
“Your cousin, Mr. Aidan Flannery,” replied Mr. Reid, his usually playful tone greatly subdued. “The entire household has been invited to a belated birthday party for his sister in a fortnight. I informed him I would pass the message along.”
“That was very thoughtful,” said Sam, thinking back to Uncle Aengus’ off-hand comment about Mr. Reid’s prolonged absence. “Do you plan on attending?” she asked, peeking sideway at him.
Mr. Reid maintained his vigil on the sky. “I have a prior engagement.”
“That is unfortunate,” replied Sam casually. She laid down next to him in the long grass and lapsed silent, watching grey clouds seep toward the afternoon sun. The hazy glow kissed the meadow with melancholy.
“Rain is coming.” Mr. Reid sat up suddenly, tugging on his boots. “We should return to the house.”
“I would prefer to walk,” Sam said, unwilling to relinquish her sanctum.
Mr. Reid shrugged as he rose. Untangling the horse’s reins from the grass, he lithely leapt atop the mare and forced a half-smile. “If I was Benjamin, I would pluck you from the ground, drape you over my saddle—despite your stubborn reluctance—and force you to return to the house.”
She sat up, tilting her head as she considered his threat. “However, you are not.”
“I am not,” Mr. Reid replied, “and I prefer not to do what is expected of me. Which means I must encourage you to the same.”
Sam grinned.
“Try not to get too wet,” he said as the horse stamped the ground impatiently. “Mrs. Hastings’ opinion of me will not improve if I allow you to return in a bad state.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam saluted him.
Mr. Reid attempted a second smile but failed dismally. Digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, the horse whinnied and galloped toward the stables without further direction from his rider.
Judging the distance of the clouds, Sam calculated she had at least a half hour before the rain began. However, the storm moved more rapidly than she anticipated. Just as the house appeared over the rise, rain fell in sheets, pelting her with thick drops. Instantly soaked, Sam raced for cover. Losing her footing, she slipped on the wet grass and skidded down the final hill in a decidedly inelegant fashion. A large tear—hem to waist—appeared with a deafening rip.
Stunned, Sam lay on her back, raindrops stinging her face. Rolling to her side, she pushed up on her arms and climbed to her feet, scraping soggy curls off her cheek. She wrapped the skirt tightly around her waist, covering the tear and hobbled toward the house. As she approached the veranda, her pace slowed until one foot barely shuffled forward an inch. She debated the ruined dress.
How would she sneak into the house?
“Samantha, would you at least move under the roof while you finish your daydream?” Wilhelmina yelled from the doorway, startling Sam from her trance.
Sam nodded, slogging her way toward the veranda. Two sodden shoes left a trail of muddy footprints across the wooden porch boards. She stopped just in front of Wilhelmina, shivering and dripping on the floor, her hand still clasping the torn skirt.
“I see you followed my instructions exactly.” Wilhelmina clucked. Shaking her head as her gaze traveled up Sam’s clothing, Wilhelmina grimaced. Reaching out, she lifted an edge of the ripped dress. “Edward is in the study. If you hurry, you can change without anyone else discovering your complete lack of propriety.”
Sam bowed her head and squeezed past Wilhelmina who shrank away from Sam’s sopping clothes. Dashing across the foyer, Sam’s feet squished with each step, her shoes barely touching the staircase as she raced up them. She rounded the hallway corner before Wilhelmina closed the front door and scurried into her chamber, slamming the door.
Peeling off her drenched clothing, Sam left the ruined dress and her underclothes drying in front of the crackling fire and stood, her hands stretched toward the heat. The warmth from the fireplace did nothing to melt the cold block which settled in Sam’s stomach. She shivered. Droplets of rain slid down her back, freezing her skin. She was alone. The silence pressed in.
She could not stay in this room, not without Benjamin here. His absence amplified the emptiness.
Rooting through her trunk, she yanked out fresh clothing and dressed quickly. Even Edward’s lectures were a better option than the endless quiet. She hooked a shawl off the lid of her trunk and fled the chamber, creeping downstairs. She glanced down the hallway; a light emanated from underneath the closed study door. Edward’s muffled voice echoed through the foyer. Gliding past the door, she snuck into the library. A silver tray laden with food and a small handwritten note waited on the small table. Sam snatched the note, her eyes flying over Wilhelmina’s handwriting.
There has been no news from Lord Westwood.
Dejected, Sam hefted an armchair over to the library window and propped her stocking feet on the ledge, watching the rain fall in torrents.
“Benjamin, where are you?” she whispered, wrapping her shawl tightly around her arms. Her heavy head, lulled by the steady drum of raindrops, drooped against her chest. Franklin wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.