“I believe I explicitly told you to sleep in your bedchamber.” Edward’s head peeked into the library, frowning when he caught sight of Sam, pacing in front of the fireplace.
“I am not tired,” Sam replied, tugging the shawl around her arms.
With a shake of his head, Edward entered the room, shutting the door with a light click. “Everyone has gone to sleep, Sammie.”
“What time is it?” She paused in front of the fireplace, warming her frozen body.
“Late or early, depending on your definition of the words,” replied Edward, gliding across the room, dropping into the nearest armchair.
“I think late is better.” Sam tilted her head, studying her brother. “Where did you go today?”
“I ran an errand,” Edward said, fiddling with a book on the table beside him.
“I already knew that,” grumbled Sam.
Glancing up, Edward smiled. “Then why did you ask me?”
Sam growled.
“That particular behavior is not ladylike.”
“Is there a specific reason you disrupted my evening, or was it simply to mock me?” Sam snarled, then shivered, rubbing her arms for warmth.
Edward rose, wrapping her in his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. He sighed, ruffling the strands of hair which escaped her braid. “Much of my life has been spent protecting you. Tomorrow, you will deliberately place yourself in harm’s way.”
“I am already in danger,” said Sam. She tried to push him away, but Edward refused to release his hold.
“It is against my nature to allow both you and my wife to shoulder such a heavy burden,” he replied, ignoring her outburst.
“You would look extremely silly in Mother’s jewelry.”
“Yes, I would.” Edward released her and turned away for a moment, watching the fire crackle in the grate. “Thomas and I will remain beside the both of you throughout the entire evening. He and I will be carrying pistols.”
“Pistols at a masque? How uncivilized,” Sam said. Her flippant tone belied her true sentiments. If Edward thought carrying a weapon was necessary, he suspected the worst.
“You would be surprised how many ‘fine’ gentlemen are concealing weapons.”
“You think Franklin will attend this evening!” The accusation flew from her lips.
“No, I do not. However, it is best we are prepared,” replied Edward, “especially since Benjamin will not be in attendance. In that vein, I wish you to carry this with you tomorrow evening.” Edward passed her an object which winked in the firelight—Franklin’s penny knife.
Sam accepted the weapon with uncertainty. Heavy in her hand, she wondered how much blood the blade had drawn over its lifetime. She unfolded it curiously, inspecting the metal. It flashed ominously.
“I do not anticipate you will need the knife; however, I prefer you take every precaution.”
“Have you received any news from Lord Westwood?” she asked with a hopeful tone, refolding the dangerous blade. Her eyes flicked up to Edward’s pinched face. Something was wrong.
Edward turned and paced several feet away, keeping his back to Sam. She chased him across the room, grabbing his face with both hands, twisting his head until she forced him to stare directly into her eyes, a mirror image of her own worries.
“Where is Lord Westwood?” she asked, a hysterical edge in her voice.
“We lost contact with him,” Edward said after a long pause. “The last missive we sent was returned.”
“Is he alive?” whispered Sam, paling considerably.
“Thomas assures me Benjamin is fine,” replied Edward.
“How does he know?” Sam’s stomach flopped, twisting like a serpent. What if Franklin got to Benjamin first?
Edward shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I am not sure of the mechanics of being a twin. Thomas simply stated he would know if something happened to Benjamin.”
Sam eyed Edward critically. “Do you believe Mr. Reid?”
“Implicitly,” replied Edward without hesitation.
Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Edward, I am terrified.”
Edward hugged her forcefully again. “I will ensure nothing happens to you,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.
A second knock at the library door startled them both. The door opened gradually to reveal Miss Clemens. Wrapped tightly in a shawl, she glided into the room and offered a tiny smile.
“Please accept my apologies for the intrusion.” Her quiet voice wavered. She curtsied to Edward. “Mr. Hastings, if you would care to spend the rest of the evening with Mrs. Hastings, I will keep your sister company.”
“That is exceptionally generous of you, Miss Clemens,” Edward said.
“It is no trouble, Mr. Hastings.” She offered him a small smile. “I am having my own difficulties sleeping and would prefer not to spend the remainder of the night in solitude.”
Edward glanced at Sam who nodded her consent, shooing him from the room with a small gesture. Edward bowed to both Sam and Miss Clemens. “Ladies, please do try to get some rest.”
“I am surprised to find you awake at this hour,” Sam said as Edward disappeared behind the ajar library door.
Miss Clemens flushed. She took a seat in the armchair nearest the fire, chewing on her lip. When she glanced up, her hands were twisted into knots. “How did you convince Lord Westwood to fall in love with you?” Her timid voice cracked on the last word.
“I did not do anything,” Sam replied caustically, dropping into the empty armchair. “The man is frustratingly stubborn, pigheaded, and uncontrollable.” As the comment slipped from her lips, Sam realized the motive behind Miss Clemens’ strange inquiry. Sam smiled at her kindly and softened her tone. “Would this question have anything to do with Lord Westwood’s brother?”
“Yes,” said Miss Clemens faintly, her eyes focused on the dancing flames in the fireplace. When she spoke again, her distant voice addressed the burning logs. “I hoped my affection was mutual, especially after the lovely morning we spent fishing together. However, I fear Mr. Reid does not harbor any special attachment for me.”
Sam sat silently for several minutes, her mind feverously devouring Miss Clemens’ admission. “I suppose it would be best to involve Wilhelmina.”
“Oh, no, please do not tell Mrs. Hastings,” said Miss Clemens, her hand flying across the space between the chairs, grabbing Sam’s arm. “I cannot bear the embarrassment if everyone knew of my fondness.”
“Wilhelmina would never reveal anything delicate to anyone,” Sam replied. “Plus, of the three of us, she has the most experience with courting; I hardly have one season.”
“Do you think it feasible Mr. Reid might regard me as a potential match?” asked Miss Clemens hopefully.
“I believe anything is possible,” said Sam, thinking over the shared glance between Lady Westwood and Mrs. Stanton from the previous day. It seemed highly probably the two matrons were already scheming on this very subject.
“As do I.” Miss Clemens relaxed into the armchair, snuggling her shoulder blades into the plush cushion, her eyelids fluttering close. “He called me exquisite,” she murmured dreamily, light breathing following her comment. Miss Clemens slept peacefully, free of her secret.
Sam contemplated Miss Clemens’ predicament. Surely, Aunt Abigail and Lady Westwood were plotting to bring her and Mr. Reid together. However, Mr. Reid’s temperament changed abruptly at the mention of Alana’s name, thus proving he may not be a willing participant in their machinations. And the reason Lord Westwood chose to visit the estate two evenings prior—the anniversary of Mr. Reid’s broken heart.
Sam rose and padded over to the window. She slid between the heavy curtains, allowing the material to flow around her until she was completely hidden from view. Pressing her forehead against the cold glass, she stared out into the night, brightly lit up by the moon.
“Come back to me,” she whispered, her warm breath feathering across the window.
Sam held her post until the sun broke the horizon. Disentangling herself from the curtains, Sam’s eyes flicked over the unchanged library. Miss Clemens, still curled in the armchair, snored lightly. Sam covered her with a shawl. Miss Clemens mumbled incomprehensibly and sighed again, curling into the cushion.
Slipping from the room, Sam shuffled to the dining room, following the smell of breakfast. She hoped to speak with Mr. Reid regarding his curious brotherly connection to Lord Westwood. However, only an empty dining room greeted her; Mr. Reid did not appear. She mechanically chewed her food, barely able to swallow a piece of toast and abandoned her breakfast in favor of the garden.
Wilhelmina’s arm snaked out of the sitting room as Sam passed by the opening and grasped Sam’s sleeve. “We have much to do before tonight’s plan can transpire, Samantha.”
“Lord Westwood,” said Sam in a hollow tone.
“Is away on business,” replied Wilhelmina with a note of finality in her voice. “Now, you have a final fitting this morning, and I cannot allow you to disappear again. Stop mooning about and get on your stool.”
The day of the Shirely masque flew by in a blur of color and anxiety. Too soon, Sam found herself dressed for the occasion. She fidgeted with the gold choker which bound her throat in a sparkling band interwoven with diamonds and pearls, hiding the bruising around her neck. A comb, equal in decadence, decorated her hair, an enticing invitation to Franklin and his accomplice.
Adorned with the largest piece of the collection—the diamond and sapphire necklace—Wilhelmina vibrated restlessly as well, pacing back and forth in the foyer, her eyes glancing toward the study at every pass. Beside the staircase, Miss Clemens remained pale and motionless, attempting to fade into the background.
As the grandfather clock chimed in the hallway, Edward and Mr. Reid appeared simultaneously by Wilhelmina’s side, Edward slipping his arm through Wilhelmina’s with a silly grin. She returned his smile, leaning against him with a deep sigh. He kissed the top of her head affectionately before escorting her to one of the carriages which waited outside, a firm grip around her waist.
Mr. Reid offered his arms to both Sam and Miss Clemens with an exaggerated bow. Miss Clemens giggled uneasily, pressing her gloved hand to her mouth. Sam could barely manage more than a tight smile, the sentiment not extending beyond her lips. She adjusted the necklace again, fiddling with the clasp.
The short ten-minute ride to the Shirely country estate did nothing to ease Sam’s worries. Her eyes darted about the carriage. Mr. Reid, catching her gaze at one moment, offered a half-hearted grin. He thumped on the carriage wall, encouraging the driver to increase the carriage’s speed. With a crack of a whip, the horses responded, jerking the coach forward.
Light pressure clasped Sam’s hand. Miss Clemens’ gloved hand squeezed Sam’s, a nervous, yet comforting gesture. Sam squeezed back. Dragging in a ragged breath, she exhaled slowly as the coach bounced along the dirt road. They overtook Edward’s carriage—at Mr. Reid’s continued urging—and passed it easily, arriving at the Shirely estate several moments prior to Edward. Sam grimaced; Edward detested any alteration to his plans. She wondered if antagonizing Edward was a favorite pastime of the Reid brothers. Miss Clemens leaned forward, distracting Sam from her brooding and twitched the curtain aside to peer out the window.
Taking advantage of the full moon, the Shirely’s chose to host their masque in the gardens adjoining the drive, candles flickering invitingly from their posts above the garden path. A maze of hedges, immaculately trimmed, awaited those couples daring enough to attempt solving the labyrinth. According to Wilhelmina, a gorgeous marble fountain wrapped in ivy and several marble benches waited at the center. However, deciphering the labyrinth proved extremely difficult, Wilhelmina explained earlier that evening, since the Shirely’s altered the pathway each year.
Lanterns swung merrily, tickled by a gentle breeze, bathing the garden in speckled light. Small groups of costumed guests murmured amongst themselves, the exuberant mood of the party increasing with each new arrival. Masks of all colors, highlighted by nearby torches and the bright moon, glinted at Sam as she peeped out the window over Miss Clemens’ shoulder. Sam’s stomach flipped over twice.
Swallowing her nerves, she glanced at Mr. Reid. He forced a smile, pulling down his mask to hide from the worry leaking from his brown eyes. Mr. Reid’s mask, identical to Edward’s, hinted at a zebra—black with white accentuations.
Sam donned her peacock mask, effectively hiding any remaining injuries which Franklin had administered upon her fragile skin. Miss Clemens repeated Sam’s actions in kind with her canary mask, drawing in a shaky breath.
The coach door ripped open, causing a tiny shriek to escape from Miss Clemens. Edward’s zebra mask appeared. Sam imagined the face underneath was quite vexed. Several quietly hissed words were exchanged between Mr. Reid and Edward before Mr. Reid climbed from the carriage. He turned, holding out his hand to Sam.
“Breathe, Samantha,” she instructed herself as she stepped from the safety of the carriage.