“Samantha, in an effort to divert your focus from your involuntary imprisonment, I have invited your cousin for tea this afternoon.” Wilhelmina forced a tired smile at Sam over a plate of steaming eggs the next morning.
She had been screaming again. The maid told her this morning when she came to stoke the fire in Lord Westwood’s chamber, “We could hear you all the way on the fourth floor, Miss.”
“I look frightful.” Sam protested, indicating the slowly healing bruises on her face.
“Alana has seen worse,” said Edward from the head of the table. “She grew up with four rambunctious brothers. Your condition will not surprise her in the slightest. Aidan already informed Alana of Franklin’s violent actions; she is concerned for your well-being.”
As much as Sam detested any social activity, she did enjoy Alana’s company and was extremely pleased to hear she was arriving for tea that afternoon. A small party of ladies was much easier to digest than the large societal functions normally foisted on her. Plus, Alana hardly qualified as a condescending society member, having caused a few scandals in her own right.
“Perhaps we can take a stroll about the gardens after breakfast.” Miss Clemens spoke from Sam’s left. She too found the splendor of the gardens enchanting. Sam discovered her meandering dreamily through the flowers on several occasions over the past few days.
“I think that would be a lovely idea,” said Wilhelmina, placing a silencing hand on Edward’s arm.
“What would be a lovely idea?” Mr. Reid asked as he seated himself in front of an overflowing platter of food and tucked in with gusto.
“I am surprised at your tardiness this morning, Mr. Reid.” Sam grinned at him. “Typically, you are the first to arrive when any type of refreshment is offered.”
“I was unexpectedly delayed,” he replied cryptically, taking a large bite of bacon.
“The ladies are planning an intimate luncheon this afternoon. Would you prefer to accompany me on an errand?” Edward asked, sharing a meaningful glance with Wilhelmina. Sam wondered if Edward’s unexpected engagement was motivated by Mr. Reid’s disastrous relationship with Alana.
“Most definitely,” Mr. Reid replied. He gulped down a cup of coffee. “Will we be leaving shortly?”
Edward nodded, rising from the table. “I will meet you in the stables in five minutes.”
“Shall we save you some sandwiches?” asked Lady Westwood with a knowing wink at her son.
Mr. Reid chuckled. “That would be most appreciated, Mother.” He grabbed several pieces of toast, swallowed the last of his coffee, and departed, flashing his lopsided smile.
Lady Westwood waved to her son, then returned her attention to Aunt Abigail. They bent their heads together, their whispered voices a mere hum at the table. Sam’s eyes narrowed; they were plotting something.
Finishing her meal swiftly, Sam rose with Miss Clemens who seemed grateful for the excuse to retreat from the dining room. They strolled, arms linked, through the gardens toward the gazebo, choosing a path which ran the length of the flower beds. As they sauntered down the walkway, Miss Clemens paused unexpectedly and spun toward the house.
“My room is right there.” She pointed at a window centered on the second floor. “Every night, I get the pleasure of viewing these beautiful gardens by moonlight.”
“What a fortuitous location,” said Sam, her eyes traveling over the side of the house.
“How so?”
Sam smiled, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “Ever since Wilhelmina forced me to attend all those tedious social functions, I developed a habit of seeking out the best escape route.”
Miss Clemens offered a tiny smile, her gaze flicking back to the window. “How would you flee from my room?”
“Should we find ourselves hosting a luncheon in your chamber?” asked Sam. She immediately regretted her comment. Miss Clemens’ crestfallen face glanced down at the pebbles along the pathway. Sam patted her arm encouragingly.
“I would climb down the trellis.” Sam indicated the wooden, ivy-covered lattice which split the wall between two windows. “There are plenty of footholds, and it is easy to reach from your window.”
“There are many occasions when I wish I could escape,” said Miss Clemens, her faint voice nearly overpowered by a light breeze. Her eyes searched Sam’s face for reassurance.
“The next time I intend to run off, I shall take you with me.” Sam winked.
“Could we forego the masque?” asked Miss Clemens timidly. “Miss Shirely finds great enjoyment in my suffering.”
Sam contemplated Miss Clemens’ distressed expression. “I must attend the masque, plans are in motion which cannot be changed. Rest assured, Wilhelmina and I will be next to you the entire evening.”
Miss Clemens swallowed and nodded, her voice a mere squeak. “Are you frightened?”
“Petrified.”
Alana arrived not long after Sam and Miss Clemens returned from their promenade, greeting them on the veranda. Alana looked exactly as Sam remembered—long red hair, which fell past her waist and the same twinkling blue eyes as her father. Her contagious spunk lifted Sam’s spirits immediately. Alana’s laugh carried across the courtyard as she squeezed Sam in a tight embrace.
“It has been far too long, Samantha.”
“Indeed,” replied Sam, gasping against Alana’s strong grasp. “I would like to introduce you to Miss Daphne Clemens. She and Mrs. Stanton are guests of Lady Westwood as well.”
“Miss Clemens.” Alana curtsied politely and laughed again. “Unfortunately, that is the extent of my manners.”
“Miss Flannery.” Daphne curtsied shyly, overwhelmed by Alana’s boisterous personality.
“Now, we will have none of that formality,” said Alana, waving her hand. “Please address me as Alana. I have no desire to be remembered by any other name.”
“Certainly, Alana,” said Miss Clemens dutifully. “It is lovely to meet you.”
“I heard you completed the Parisian finishing school.” Sam escorted her into the house, Miss Clemens trailing behind them. “What happened to all the etiquette lessons foisted upon you?”
“I forgot those autocratic teachings as soon as I left the grounds.” Chuckling, Alana flung a wayward tendril over her shoulder. “I still hold the record for the most demerits in one school year.”
“Your father must have been thrilled.”
“That he was.” Alana laughed.
“Alana is the only person I know who is less proper than me,” Sam half-whispered to Miss Clemens as she joined them in the foyer.
“I recently heard about the dog incident.” Alana arched an eyebrow. “Getting into trouble without me, dear cousin?”
Sam laughed. “Hopefully, you will have the opportunity to meet Miss Randall. She is a delight.”
“It would be my pleasure to meet the other woman involved in your shameful brawl,” replied Alana.
“Do you intend to remain at your father’s house for an extended holiday?” Sam gestured toward the sitting room.
“I have no plans to leave,” replied Alana tersely. “Both Da and Aidan need me.”
“Poor Mr. Reid.” Miss Clemens murmured barely loud enough for Sam to hear.
“Well, I am pleased you have returned. I sorely missed your company,” replied Sam with a smile, hoping Alana had not heard Miss Clemens comment.
Oblivious, Alana walked into the sitting room where Wilhelmina, Aunt Abigail, and Lady Westwood already conversed. Shortly after they were situated with refreshment, a messenger arrived with a missive for Miss Clemens. Astonished, she rose from her chair and accepted the note, perusing it quietly, her face paling.
Alana glanced her in concern. “Miss Clemens, is everything alright? You look quite agitated.”
“The letter is from my sister.” Miss Clemens’ eyes flicked to Aunt Abigail.
Aunt Abigail set her cup down, her expression grave. “Alright, let us hear what she has to say.”
Miss Clemens swallowed and read aloud, her voice trembling. “Dearest Daphne, I am troubled regarding Mother’s well-being. She has been distraught since you abandoned her in favor of less desirable company. I do not understand why you have chosen to be so willful and can only attribute your appalling behavior to the influence of your new acquaintances.”
“I seem to remain extremely popular among your family,” Sam muttered quietly. Wilhelmina silenced Sam’s next comment with a warning glance. Sam pursed her lips and allowed Miss Clemens to continue reading.
“Mother has informed me she managed to arrange a fiancé for you, which is no small feat, considering your lack of acceptable attributes. If you return home, you will finally enjoy the same happiness as me, to be a wife. I will not tell you the name of the gentleman as I have sworn not to reveal his name. However, I will give you a hint. We would be sisters two times over. Love, Delilah.”
A collective gasp went up in the group with the exception of Sam whose head bobbed between Wilhelmina and Miss Clemens.
“I do not understand.” Sam whispered to Wilhelmina. “Why is everyone distressed? Who is the proposed fiancé?”
Wilhelmina leaned over, murmuring, “Miss Clemens’ sister is married to Mr. Alexander Shirely II.”
Sam’s eyes flew to Miss Clemens, and they exchanged a grimace. “What is his brother’s name?”
“Mr. Robert Shirely,” replied Wilhelmina with such contempt, Sam’s head whipped to stare at her.
“A vile young man,” Alana added with equal vehemence. “I had the misfortune to encounter him last year at a friend’s wedding.”
“How shall I respond?” Miss Clemens’ wide eyes pleaded with Aunt Abigail.
“We will discuss this matter properly,” Lady Westwood said with authority. She set her cup down on the table as well and angled her body until she faced Miss Clemens directly. “Miss Clemens, you have received an offer of marriage from Mr. Robert Shirely. Do you accept his proposal?”
“No, I do not.” She shook her head so hard, it nearly popped off her neck.
“You realize, rejecting this proposal, you may not receive another one,” said Lady Westwood, her tone severe.
“I do.”
“Good. We shall write to your sister with your response.” Lady Westwood smiled encouragingly at Miss Clemens.
Sam glanced around the group of ladies. “I will acknowledge I do not favor Miss Shirely’s company; however, I have heard nothing of her family.”
“You will not either,” Wilhelmina said curtly.
“At least not in polite society,” said Alana.
Aunt Abigail winked at Lady Westwood. “Which we are not.”
Lady Westwood struggled to keep a grin from her lips. “Mrs. Stanton,” she scolded, attempting to feign shock.
“There have been rumors surrounding Robert since his youth.” Aunt Abigail lifted her teacup from the saucer and sipped. Her eyes held great sadness. “The Shirely family used to have four children, three boys and one girl. The youngest boy, an adorable child by the name of Jeremiah, was about six at the time of the incident.” Aunt Abigail looked to Lady Westwood for confirmation. She nodded and picked up the story where her sister left off.
“Jeremiah and Robert were playing outside one summer day. Their governess left them alone for several minutes for some murky reason. It is even rumored young Robert bribed the governess for the few moments of privacy with his little brother.”
“True or not, the Shirely’s sacked the governess immediately after the investigation,” Aunt Abigail interrupted.
“By the time the governess returned from her walk, Jeremiah lay unconscious on the ground, bleeding severely from his head. He died before the doctor arrived. Robert claimed Jeremiah fell and hit his head on a rock while they were playing.”
Aunt Abigail shook her head. “The attending physician stated it looked as though Jeremiah’s skull had been bashed in with a rock, much more damage occurred than could be explained by Robert’s story. Whatever the truth may be, the Shirelys buried it along with their son.” She discreetly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Poor little Jeremiah, he had the kindest heart.”
“Did Mr. Davis not work for them during that time period?” asked Lady Westwood.
“He did,” said Aunt Abigail. “He left their employ shortly after the incident, working for several families over the next few years before he took the position with Benjamin. However, I have never heard him mention one word about the Shirely family.”
Alana took a sip of tea. “Patrick was at university with Mr. Shirely this year. He wrote me that Mr. Shirely was recently expelled for his excessive temper; he attempted to beat another student to death.”
“He tried to assault me,” Miss Clemens admitted quietly, twisting a napkin into knots.
All heads snapped in her direction. “When did this occur?” asked Aunt Abigail, her face dark.
“Five days ago, when you sent me to fetch Mr. Reid from the gentlemen’s club,” Miss Clemens replied, her voice barely audible.
Aunt Abigail rose from her chair, angrily knocking the table aside as she grasped her cane. “I will kill him myself.”
“Mr. Reid intervened on my behalf.” Miss Clemens attempted to calm Aunt Abigail. Lady Westwood placed a restrictive hand on her sister’s arm.
“Abigail,” she said firmly. “Thomas dealt with this incident already, and I am given to believe Mr. Shirely is sporting some fresh bruises due to my son’s interference.”
Aunt Abigail allowed herself to be cajoled back into her seat. “Daphne, I forbid you to marry Mr. Shirely.”
“I shall be sure to note your objections to the union in my response to Miss Clemens’ sister,” said Lady Westwood, her tone surprisingly austere.
“Thankfully, Mr. Reid will be escorting you to the Shirely masque tomorrow evening.” Wilhelmina offered Miss Clemens an encouraging smile.
“Will you be attending?” Alana asked politely to Aunt Abigail, ignoring the mention of Mr. Reid.
“Most certainly not!” Aunt Abigail replied with venom. “I never attend their functions.”
“Yet you continue to receive and decline their annual invitation,” said Lady Westwood.
“Societal decorum must be observed,” replied Aunt Abigail, banging her cane on the ground. “Even when one is dealing with a family as vile as the Shirelys.”