Chapter 12
Eli stood before the looking glass as he fumbled with his neckcloth.
The blasted thing had given him so much trouble it had lost its pressed appearance three attempts ago.
He should never have excused his valet in favor of dressing in solitude.
He was bound to be tardy for escorting Miss Samantha to supper if he did not settle on a knot and accomplish the task quickly.
Making a good impression was imperative; however, arriving unburdened by secret longings for Sam was far more important.
Mathers had spent the better part of an hour with his straight blade to Eli’s jawline.
It was essential for him to make a notable impression on Cummings and Cartwright.
If not, the men might very well turn down the Ridgefeld donation.
With Sam at his side, she was certain to steer him in both navigating the meal and any entertainments planned for their evening.
Thankfully, there was no ball or dancing, making Eli’s formal shoes and stockings unnecessary.
The loathed finery was a necessary evil for some, but he’d managed to avoid their torture most of his adult life.
He’d settled on his Hessians, black trousers, a crisp shirt, and a coat. He was at ease, yet presentable. Fashionable without appearing the peacock.
If he were at his estate, he’d have recently finished meeting with his steward and would be preparing for a brisk walk about his property and stables to check fencing, the horses, and crops—trailed the entire way by the horde of cats that earned their keep as rodent catchers.
Cook would have his evening meal readied when he returned from his daily activities.
Did other lords take such an interest in their estate’s condition?
Elijah couldn’t help but think that he’d been raised in a vastly different manner than most men of the ton.
He’d never lived a life of luxury—he worked hard, every day, whether it was at his family home or on one of his many adventures with the late marquis.
His hands were calloused from swinging a pickaxe for days on a dig in Austria.
His legs were muscular from walking behind a plow in Africa when he’d helped a community plant row crops.
His skin was tanned from his many sea voyages.
These were experiences—adventures—many noblemen would never know.
And also memories he’d cherish; maybe one day share with his own children.
Sam had asked if he planned to wed soon, and he’d lied, saying he hadn’t thought of it and denied it was something he was interested in at present.
The fact remained that he would, at some point in the near future, take a wife and start a family—or face the possibility of living alone except for the servants at his estate.
Very much like stockings and formal shoes, London would soon be another necessary evil, for what other way could he become acquainted with suitable females?
If there were another way, Eli would be interested to know. Country parties seemed not at all horrid; however, one need be acquainted with the host and hostess to garner an invitation—which was exceedingly difficult when one was unfamiliar with polite society.
He would journey to London in the near future to transport his grandfather’s extensive collection of antiquities and artifacts. Certainly, there would be enough time to explore society for a week—maybe longer.
Eli could stall no longer in his chamber if he planned to arrive in time to partake of the meal with the other guests. Except for the morning meal, he was unfamiliar with any other people in attendance. It was also likely he’d already forgotten the names of the many people he had met thus far.
“The mail coach it shall be,” Eli mumbled, his fingers fumbling as he tied the rather simplistic knot. They were in the country, after all, certainly profligate neckcloths were not required. He turned one way and then the other, inspecting his handiwork. “It will have to do.”
Retrieving his coat, Eli slipped into the garment, allowing its restrictive tailoring to settle across his shoulders. If it were up to him, he’d don a far less limiting jacket; however, his valet had assured him the fit was indeed proper, even though he did not favor it.
Eli stepped into the hallway, pulling his door securely closed. The wall sconces had been lit, casting a glow down the corridor in both directions. At first, the deafening silence unnerved him. Everyone must have journeyed downstairs already.
The sense of being utterly alone was nothing new to Eli, but the unfamiliar house had him straining to hear the odd noises given off by the old manor.
A gowned figure rushed around the corner, her slippered feet making not a sound as she hurried toward him.
She passed under a sconce, illuminating her auburn hair and making her appear as if she wore a heavenly halo.
The thought almost had him laughing as Sam was in no way angelic.
He kept the comment to himself, fearing he’d mistaken Miss Judith for her twin once more.
“Lord Ridgefeld,” she breathed, her words leaving her on a pant from her hurried movements down the hall. “I thought you had abandoned me to the wolves.”
Her hair was pinned securely atop her head, much the same as earlier. The halo he’d seen wasn’t imagined, but the precise style she’d been intending. Her gown—of the purest azure—only complimented her fair skin and mossy eyes.
He cleared his throat when his eyes dipped, inappropriately, to the low neckline of her fitted gown.
“I made a promise, Miss Samantha.” He held out his arm, and she set her fingers lightly at the crook of his elbow.
“And a man can only be judged by the promises he keeps—or destroyed by the words he forsakes. Or so my grandfather says—” he paused, uncertain what had brought the odd adage to mind. “I mean, what he used to say.”
He sounded the perfect dolt.
“My apologies,” he said. “It is lovely to see you again, Miss Samantha. I do hope your day was more enjoyable as the time progressed.”
Her hold tightened on his arm at the mention of her less than composed time in her bedchambers. “I sincerely hope my evening is more pleasant than my morning, my lord.”
“I will do all in my power to make it so.” It was a promise he hoped to keep. “Shall we?”
When she nodded, they started down the hall and rounded the corner to the main staircase.
Voices from the gathered guests drifted toward them along with some soft female laughter, deeper male chuckles, and other jovial conversation—each carrying over the other, making it impossible for him to discern anything that was said.
Eli longed to be a part of it all, but still, his unease held him back from taking the first step down the grand stairs.
Sam halted at his side as if noticing his tentative steps.
“I hear there were a few scattered storm clouds expected through the night,” he commented.
She appeared more than happy to delay their arrival a bit longer. “That is correct, my lord. However, I suspect the heavens would not dare ruin Jude’s wedding day.”
“Lord Cummings’ garden is certainly prepared for the ceremony.” Eli remembered the precisely manicured roses, shrubs, and pathways. “He is most definitely taking Lord Cartwright’s pending nuptials to heart.”
“They have been friends since their time at Eton, Lord Ridgefeld,” she replied. “Not as close as brothers, but certainly more than mere friends—or so my sister insists.”
“I look forward to gaining a closer acquaintance with the pair.” Eli took the first step down with Sam following suit.
“Do not surround yourself with them all evening or,” she paused, a smile tugging at her lips, “we shall find ourselves falling into a slumber borne of boredom.”
His deep bark of laughter bounced off the tall walls as they turned on the landing to take the final few steps into the foyer. He glanced over at her, noting the way her eyes twinkled with mischief. “I genuinely doubt I could ever be lulled into sleep with you so near.”
“Oh, do not make a promise you are unable to keep,” she retorted, allowing her own laughter to bubble out.
Eli glanced to the foyer, only then seeing the group frozen in their places, watching him and Sam take the final step.
He could not comprehend their odd expressions. One woman’s eyes were rounded as if in astonishment at what she saw, another hid her smile behind her fan, and two gentlemen—Lord Haversham and Mr. Jakeston, he believed—exchanged a knowing look.
Sam’s gloved fingers dug into his arm, her nails biting his skin through his coat sleeve.
“Good evening, Lord and Lady Haversham.” Her words were tense as if uttered through clenched teeth. “Mr. and Mrs. Jakeston. It is a pleasure to see you all again.”
Eli risked a glance at Sam. Her lips were pulled back in a smile, but it didn’t resemble the genuine grin he’d noted she wore on several occasions since their meeting.
Though he was uncomfortable with the foursome’s stares, Sam seemed outwardly unaffected by their notice.
He pulled at his neckcloth, suddenly a bit too tight for his liking.
“We were overjoyed at the invitation,” the woman on Haversham’s arm said. “It was lovely for Lord Cummings to open his home to us—children and all.”
“Are you referring to us?” Jakeston set his hand at his throat dramatically. “You wound me, my dear Lady Haversham.”
The dark-haired woman on his arm swatted at him. “Do not sound so affronted, Harold. You and Brock are well aware of your childish behaviors—and likely, proud of them.”
“I dare say, I take grave offense to that,” Jakeston retorted. “I have been ever the gentleman since my arrival, Mrs. Jakeston.”
“You jumped into the pond earlier!” his wife contended.
“I most certainly did not!” Jakeston argued. “Haversham threw my mallet into the murky, frigid water—and then pushed me in after.”