Page 28 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
“Mother, I—”
“Regardless,” she dismissed. Her hand waved him away. “There shall be no further talk of that. I would like you to be reintroduced to somebody, Ernest. It is someone I believe you should recognize very well, although it has been quite some time.”
Claire did not know for sure, but she thought that Lady Katherine’s smile was almost calculating as she stepped into the breakfast hall, revealing two women behind her. One was young but perhaps one or two years older than Lady Florence, with a pile of dark hair pinned back from her pretty heart-shaped face, and the other was a woman of Lady Katherine’s age, her own dark hair streaked with gray, emphasized by the sharp way it was pulled back to expose a rounded face.
The silence was so loud that Claire heard the intake of breath from Lord Bannerdown as he appeared to recognize their company.
“Lady Samantha,” he murmured, standing. “Mrs Elizabeth Brooks.”
Chapter 9
Shock settled in Ernest when he saw the raven-haired young lady, only one year older than his cousin, standing in the breakfast hall doorway. Her face was pale and drawn, and her smile pulled up when he stood to his feet.
“Lord Bannerdown,” she said, her voice soft, her smile demure. “It has been some time.”
“Indeed,” he answered, confused. He looked at his mother and then at the older woman behind Lady Samantha, her aunt. “Although I have enjoyed your letters since I returned—returned …”
He could not finish his sentence, not as a deep sadness entered Lady Samantha’s crystal blue eyes. Her eyebrows pinched, and she nodded, her mouth tightening.
We returned without her fiancé, he thought.
And then he could not help himself, not as the viscount’s face entered his mind. “Lady Samantha, he did nothing but talk of you,” he said quietly. “I apologize for saying this, but it is true.”
He blinked, but his friend’s face would not leave his mind. He thought of Graham joking about how Archibald never stopped talking of her.
And the first thing I shall do upon my return is marry the beautiful Lady Samantha.
He could hear his friend’s declaration as clear as day, and it choked him.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly, clearing his throat and glancing away so he could blink back tears. “I seem to have lost myself for a moment.”
He sat down, aware of both his mother’s narrowed gaze on him as well as Miss Gundry watching him. He glanced at her for a moment. She knew of his heartache, and her brow was pinched in concern, even as she looked sideways at Lady Samantha.
Ernest breathed deeply, reaching for his glass of water. He drank and wished it was stronger. He could see the blood on his hands—he could hear Graham’s scream in his ears.
Save him! Save him! Ernest, do what you must.
He remembered stitching up the wound, wondering why his friend wasn’t improving. The desperation that hung in the air as they all rushed to save their captain.
It had been hopeless.
But beyond the blood, he remembered his friend’s eyes, bright with mirth, and his love of toasts. He remembered his powerful voice booming across the tent as he commanded his men. But no. Archibald White had been more than a captain who had marched to his death. He had been a gracious host during the social season, the very first to reach for a slice of cake at parties, and a man who had always sought to lighten the moods of others.
Ernest’s chest tightened. He closed his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. A hand closed over his, and he half expected to look down and find Miss Gundry’s hand over his, but it was Lady Florence. She patted his fingertips, all while fixing him with a look of deep sympathy.
She understood the overwhelming sense of drowning that accompanied grief.
But as he struggled to maintain his composure, it was Miss Gundry who then stood up, clapping her hands. “It is a fine day, is it not? Lady Florence, how about we take a turn around the gardens? Lady Samantha, Mrs Brooks, would you care to join us?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” Lady Samantha’s voice was quiet. Nobody mentioned how it was a fine day but not warm. Still, they all agreed. Ernest still kept his face averted and his eyes downcast until he was sure they had all gone. Quickly, his grief turned to anger as he faced the one woman who had not gone.
“Mother, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice calm in anger. “Why would you invite Lady Samantha here? She is still grieving her fiancé! I am still grieving the loss of my friend!”
He lifted his gaze to her, and she did not compose her features fast enough. She wore a smug expression right before she smoothed it into something that didn’t really appear sympathetic.
“Of course,” she purred. “Viscount White. Yes, it was incredibly tragic that he fell in battle before Lady Samantha found herself married to him.” His mother’s face was pulled downward in her façade of empathy. “How unfortunate. She is only seventeen and back on the marriage market.” It was said with enough sarcasm that Ernest knew she did not find it unfortunate at all, for Lady Samantha was practically a debutante in age, still. Her engagement to Archibald had been a happy one, advantageously planned.
And now she would face down new prospects who were not him.
