Chapter 12 #2
“Jakeston was being the proper gent and rescuing Cummings’ property from ruin,” Haversham said, stepping in to aid his friend—but in no way offering a convincing explanation. “He only needed a spot of help to remember his gentlemanly obligation to fetch the mallet.”
“Was it gentlemanly to then trudge through Lord Cummings’ home, allowing the filthy pond water to mar his floors?” It was Lady Haversham’s turn to narrow her eyes at her husband.
“Let us be off,” Sam whispered, leaning close to Eli’s ear. “These two are likely to continue their debate until the sun rises on the morrow.” She pulled on his arm, stepping around the two couples. “We will see you all in the parlor.”
They moved toward the voices coming from the other gathered guests as Haversham and Jakeston appeared to act out the scenario at the pond. It must have taken place while he and Sam had been in her bedchambers.
Eli chuckled. “I would have relished seeing that.”
“Oh, I am certain the pair will offer continued entertainment during our stay.” The tension left her as they neared the parlor. “They bicker and banter much like a wedded couple.”
They stepped through the open door in unison, Eli grinning like a fool with Sam proudly on his arm.
“Sam!” Payton called, leaping from the chaise lounge she shared with another young girl. She dashed across the room and grabbed Sam’s free hand. “There are to be cards after our meal—and Marce says I can play!”
The dark-haired girl bounced before them as if not noticing Eli at Sam’s side. The young woman had sat between Sam’s older siblings at the breakfast table.
“That is very gracious of our sister to allow,” Sam said, squeezing the girl’s hand before glancing toward him. “Lord Ridgefeld, this overexcited young woman is my youngest sister, Miss Payton Samuels.”
She dropped Sam’s hand and took a step back, curtseying deeply before him. “My lord, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Standing straight once more, the young woman glanced over her shoulder, and Eli noted a petite blonde woman nod her approval.
“And it is a delight to meet another of Miss Samantha’s siblings,” Eli responded. “I look forward to a rousing game of cards later. Will you save me a seat at your table?”
A blush blossomed in the girl’s cheeks, and he was uncertain from where his charming question had sprung. “Of course, my lord, but I do hope you brought extra coin.”
He had no time to answer as the young woman bounded off to regain her seat next to the other girl.
“If you value your coin, do not take a seat at Payton’s table.”
Eli glanced at Sam, his brow furrowed. “Why ever not? Is she an accomplished player?”
“Heavens no,” Sam confided. “She is a superior cheater.”
“No!” Eli glanced back to where Miss Payton was seated, her head now tilted toward the girl beside her as they chatted in hushed tones. “I do not believe it.”
“Do take my warnings to heart,” Sam said, pulling him farther into the room.
“Marce has the gaming debt slips to prove it. I am unsure if my sister is happy Payton mastered counting cards or if she’d rather continue to pay the debts Payton incurs by being a horrible player.
It is said she gained the tendency to scheme from her father. ”
Sam’s humorless tone said she spoke the truth.
Cartwright and Miss Judith moved to greet them, and Eli was taken aback once more at the resemblance shared by the sisters—they were identical in appearance. It was little wonder he’d mixed them up.
“Good evening, my lord.” Miss Judith offered a warm smile.
Tonight, the sister’s gown choices could not be more different.
While Sam’s neckline plunged low, allowing an expansive view of her mounded breasts, Miss Judith’s was secured high on her neck.
They had both settled on blue gowns, but while Sam’s choice was almost a vibrant, sapphire hue, Miss Judith’s was more of what a young woman was expected to wear—a light pastel color not too different from a bright sky on a clear day.
Eli couldn’t help but notice that the sisters avoided eye contact, and Sam stiffened on his arm. “And to you, Miss Judith. Thank you again for extending the invitation.”
“Oh, once Simon explained the situation, I readily agreed,” she said. “We will be away from London for some time. I would not want the museumgoers to suffer the loss of such a delightful collection because I am dragging Lord Cartwright to the country.”
“There is no dragging needed, my sweet plum,” Cart reassured his intended, patting her arm gently. “I would follow you to the ends of the Earth.”
Sam snorted, garnering a stern look from her twin.
“Your gown is stunning, dear sister.” Miss Judith addressed Sam for the first time. “You look exquisite, as always. I am delighted to see you are feeling better.”
Eli wondered if the comment was in reference to Sam’s afternoon spent within her room, but kept the question to himself, content to wait for a private moment.
“Thank you, Jude. If you will excuse us. I find I am in need of refreshments.”
“Lord Cummings has several options on the side table,” Lord Cartwright cut in, looking similarly uneasy with the overwrought atmosphere between the sisters.
“We can speak again at supper. Cummings is interested in seeing the list of items you plan to donate to the museum. The man can speak of nothing else but our meeting.”
“Certainly, Lord Cartwright.” Eli agreed.
“Come now, Simon. Can you not convince Lord Cummings to go one meal without discussions revolving around antiquities?” Miss Judith’s sharp stare had her soon-to-be husband nodding in agreement.
“It is only another twelve hours he must wait to view the list.” Lord Cartwright rubbed his jaw in thought. “I will speak with him. Though, he is our host…”
“And I am the bride.”
“You will not hear any argument from me,” Cartwright readily agreed, placing a chaste kiss to Miss Judith’s cheek. “My apologies for introducing the matter to the conversation.”
Her light, melodic laugh filled the space between them. “I will forgive you anything.”
Elijah nodded as the couple moved toward the door where Lord Haversham, Mr. Jakeston, and their wives appeared.
There was much he longed to ask Sam, but his simple question would have to suffice with so many people gathered close. “Is all as it should be, Miss Samantha?”
“Things are rarely as they should be,” she replied, forcing a laugh—though he wasn’t certain whose benefit it was for. “Let us move to the refreshment table.”
He noted her need to change the subject and feign interest in the table along the far wall. Two servants stood at the ready to pour sherry or something a bit stronger for the gathered guests.
As they moved across the room, Sam nodded to several people and issued greetings to others, but she made no move to halt for further conversation, favoring to continue on.
Her eyes scanned the room continually, only pausing briefly as she took in the twenty or so people gathered.
It was as if she searched for someone specific—but they were not present.
Her shoulders relaxed, and her hold on him loosened.
Eli wondered if she had another reason for offering to stay by his side during their time at Hollybrooke.
“Who do you plan to introduce me to next?” he asked.
“I fear I’ve forgotten the names of the few people I met this morning.
What about that man over there?” Eli nodded quickly at a man standing alone by the windows.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off Sam since they’d entered the room.
The man, Eli’s senior by at least a decade, glared at him and Sam, a pinched expression on his face.
His fists clenched and released before he turned sharply to look out the bank of windows into the growing darkness.
Sam accepted a flute of sherry from a servant before responding. “That is Lord Gunther.”
“Lord Gunther, you say?” Certainly, Eli had never met him, but something about the name was familiar. “Where have I heard that name?”
“In The Post, I dare say. He and Cartwright became entangled in a scandal not long ago.”
“And the man still received an invitation?”
“The invitation ended the disagreement between the pair.” She quickly glanced at the man one last time before guiding Eli back to face the door.
And somehow convinced the man that his pursuit of Lord Cartwright’s new sister-in-law was wanted—and, dare she say, expected.
“He was actually the reason I embarked on my walk the other day—and the reason I was almost caught in the storm. He has confessed his affections for me and has been quite smitten for several months now. He cannot reasonably comprehend I do not hold the same fondness for him.”
Her assurance did nothing to assuage Elijah’s spike of jealousy. “Is there something wrong with the man?” he prodded, unwilling to allow a change in topic.
She took a long sip of her drink, her eyes focusing on the door once more as another couple entered the room.
“Oh, nothing is wrong with the man if one is resigned to live in a home that hasn’t seen a proper dusting in over a decade—or thinks a grown man collecting porcelain dolls is not a bit peculiar. ”
“Dolls?” Eli couldn’t help but take a closer look at the man.
“An entire upstairs room filled with them—too many shelves to count. And I would likely be added to his collection were I to be interested in his courtship.”
“Interesting,” Eli mumbled.
“Certainly not as interesting as the man over there.” She notched her chin at a rail-thin gentleman with lank hair standing a bit too close to Lord Cartwright by the door.
“Who is he?”
“Only the premiere auction house owner in all of London, Mr. Lewis Stanford.” She leaned close to Eli, as if her next words were so interesting she feared others hearing them. “It is rumored the man dresses in women’s finery and walks about the London streets after dark.”
Eli snorted, unable to keep his mirth at bay—at the precise moment Mr. Stanford started in their direction. “He certainly has a narrow waist perfect for stays.”
“Yes, but it is said he uses apples to fill his top.” She raised her flute to hide her smile.
“Lady Chastain said she saw him at Covent Garden once. He bent over to pick up his fan after it had been knocked from his grasp, only to have the apples bounce to the ground and roll under the feet of the moving crowd.”
“You jest!” he hissed as Stanford halted before them, issuing a greeting to Sam and a curt bow to Eli.
“Mr. Stanford,” Sam greeted. “It is lovely to see you again. How long has it been?”
“I am uncertain, Miss Samantha.” The man beamed with pride at Sam’s recognition of him.
“I know, it was at Covent Garden…am I right?” she asked.
The man’s cheeks flamed. “I…well…,” he stammered, squirming.
“No,” she acquiesced. “It was last month when I attended your shop with my sister.”
Stanford visibly relaxed, though his eyes remained guarded. “That was certainly when we last saw one another. Cartwright said you would introduce me to Lord Ridgefeld.”
Sam smiled. “Mr. Stanford, allow me to make Lord Ridgefeld known to you.”
“Melly’s grandson, correct?” Stanford turned to Eli, Sam forgotten. “I see the resemblance. Cartwright tells me you plan to donate your grandfather’s collection to the museum.”
“That is correct, Mr. Stanford.” Eli eyed the man, his shrewd gaze that of a true businessman.
“Everything?”
“I do not understand.”
“Is it your intent to hand over all of your grandfather’s antiquities to the museum?”
The hair on the back of Eli’s neck stood on end at the man’s overzealous interest. “Yes, everything I do not plan to keep for future generations.”
Stanford reached into his front coat pocket and fished around, removing a small card. He held it out to Eli. “Here are my directions. If you are willing to sell anything, I’d be very interested.”
“My grandfather was not one to make a profit—“
“Be that as it may, you are now the marquis.” Stanford wisely paused when Eli’s shoulders stiffened at his inference. “Sad loss, to be sure. Melville was a resourceful man—a tough tradesman.”
“You did business together?” He’d never heard of Stanford before now and had come across nothing in all of his grandfather’s paperwork mentioning either him or his business.
“Oh, no.” Stanford shook his head. “We met several times, but we were never able to come to an agreement on anything.”
Eli didn’t doubt that. His grandfather rarely gave up any artifact he discovered, preferring to keep it close or bring it to the museum for study.
“It was nice to see you again, Mr. Stanford,” Sam stepped close. “I believe my sister is requesting our attention.”
“Very well,” Stanford bowed. “Please call on me if you find yourself in London, my lord.”
As the man scurried off, Eli could imagine him in stockings and heeled boots.
“Who is next?” Sam tapped her finger against her glass, taking in all the guests in the room.
“I thought you said your sister was requesting our attention.” He looked toward Lord Cartwright and Miss Judith, but they were engaged in conversation with their host—who’d arrived at some point without Eli noticing. “Miss Judith does not appear to need us.”
“I have other sisters.”
Eli glanced to Miss Payton, who’d left her perch on the chaise to speak with another fiery-haired woman. He’d met her that morning—Lord Chastain’s wife if he were not mistaken.
Once again, Sam brought her flute close to her mouth and whispered, “See the blonde woman—standing with Garrett and staring daggers at me?”
It was the woman who’d nodded to Miss Payton earlier. “That is your eldest sister, correct?” He couldn’t keep the shocked tone from his voice. “She looks nothing like you—or Payton.”
“We are half-siblings—we share a mother,” Sam answered. “My sister’s name is Marce. Since our mother’s death, she has raised us all…at Craven House, once, long ago, the most notorious bordello in all of London—some have claimed, all of England.”
“You jest,” Eli said a bit too forcefully, catching the notice of Lord Gunther by the window along with several others he’d yet to meet.