Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

A s far as parties went, it was not the worst. Samantha knew that, but it did not compel her to want to be there anymore.

Her days of being the better daughter were well and truly over. There was no comparison; she was an unmarried soon-to-be spinster, and her sister was duchess, and her half-brother would eventually be an earl. Then again, there was no comparison between a daughter and a son. She knew that much already.

What Samantha didn't understand, however, was how interested the other guests were in her specifically. To be sure, at balls there would be one or two interested in seeing her there, it could only be expected when one is so fun to gawk at, but it felt as though all eyes were on her as she entered the room.

She could not stand it.

The dinner was fine, the people there seemed fine, everything was fine, except for her. Samantha was decidedly the opposite. She could not say that, of course. Nobody would care to hear about how she must marry one of the gentlemen in attendance, or else she would be promised to some old friend of her father's. One could not appear desperate even if one quite frankly was.

"Are you enjoying your evening?" a lady asked her, breaking her thoughts.

"Hm? Oh, yes, yes, it is quite lovely."

What Samantha really wanted to say was leave me alone; I want my sister, but that was not at all appropriate.

Besides, Diana had her own life. She had a husband and a house and children, just as Samantha would soon enough, come hell or high water. The thought of that paralyzed her. There was so much more that she wished to do, and —

The Duke of Gloryfield was standing behind the lady, keeping his distance, and staring at her. He was not being what one would call warm and welcoming. Instead, it was almost as though he was daring her to break first, to look away.

It was a childish game, and she was not going to play into it. She turned back to the lady in front of her, not wanting to partake in whatever it was that he was doing.

"I know that is not how you truly feel," the lady laughed, "but you are certainly a good house guest, I shall give you that."

"What is there not to like?"

"Well, for one, you do not know anyone here. I know that to be true because you are all that anyone here can talk about."

"And what exactly are they saying about me?"

Her words left her a lot more bitter than she would have intended, but she tried not to care too much about that. The lady with her certainly didn't in any case.

"Oh, the usual things. You must want a husband; you must be here for one thing and one thing only; your father is a scoundrel, but you are very pretty. I would not pay it any heed; they say such things about every young lady."

"They seem delightful company to keep," Samantha sighed. "I shall have to make conversation with them, too. They must think I am such a fool for being here."

"They are not stupid, Lady Samantha. They know that you do not have much of a choice in the matter, and though they are unsure of why Lord Drowshire invited you both, I must say that I am personally quite happy that he did. You are not like them."

"Not amongst them, you mean. They certainly will not accept me, either."

"Perhaps not, but I would not care too much if I were you. They are not the best company to keep in any case."

"Then why do you?"

"Why does anyone do anything here?" She sighed. "We do what we must. Now, do you suppose you might dance tonight?"

"Certainly not. There is nobody here that I would ever dance with for a start."

But he was still there, his eyes not leaving hers. He had quite a presence about him, even if Samantha did not truly wish to acknowledge that fact. This time, she did not fall to his challenge, and she held his gaze. His eyes were as blue as water, but they were burning into her with a heat so intense that one might have mistaken it for fire.

This time, he looked away first, making his way to Lord Drowshire. A victory, small, but a victory nonetheless.

"Ah, he seems quite taken by you too," the lady nodded at last turning to see the Duke walking away. "Though I must say that I cannot quite decide how he is feeling about your presence here."

"Oh, that is not in question. He cannot stand it. He wants my father and I to leave because as far as he is concerned, we are only here to elevate our status."

"That is rather odd for Graham," she mumbled, followed by a quicker, "Pay him no mind. He is not the happiest of gentlemen, and so I would not be too terribly upset by anything that he says to you. He does not mean it, and I promise you that there is no harm in him, not truly."

"If you are sure."

"Lady Samantha, there is nothing in the world that I say or do that I am unsure of. I only ever talk when I am wholly certain."

"Do you?"

The lady laughed brightly, raising her glass to her.

"Of course not. That sort of behavior is for the boring and serious gentlemen with titles. You and I, we have many more options than that! I must go, but you should make your rounds. Introduce yourself, and I am sure that you will be very much liked, more than you expect."

Then, just as quickly as she had appeared, the lady was gone. Samantha was alone once more, and even though she had made what she considered to be an ally, she did not even ask for her name, even though the lady clearly knew her .

Perhaps, Samantha thought, there would be more comfort in being unknown.

That was what had been the most painful in all of it. Not the threat of marriage, not the demands of her father that seemed to grow evermore impossible to meet, not even his actions when she could not meet them. It was her uncertainty. She simply did not know anymore, and that was something that she had never felt before.

It might have gotten her into trouble, but she used to have a voice. The night Diana had met her husband, it was at a ball that Samantha had wanted to attend because she had wanted to speak with scholars. She knew it would not end well, but she knew that she needed to try. It did, indeed, end in embarrassment, but she had at least known that she wanted to do it.

Now she was confronted by a man that was once again looking at her, and she did not know how he was making her feel. Was she angry? Perhaps, though not entirely with him. Was she uncomfortable? Certainly, but not simply because he was looking at her. It simply did not make any sense, and once more, she was left confused.

The confusion infuriated her. She was supposed to be the intelligent one. Was this how her father felt? Lesser than, embarrassed, unwanted? It was certainly how he was treated at least. She looked at the silver tray of glasses, sparkling in the candlelight, and for the first time in her life, that one little thought came to her.

If it helps him, perhaps it will help me too?

She knew it would be a terrible thing to do. She knew it would only end badly, but with how little she trusted her own feelings, it was a simple choice to make. She strode over, snatched a glass, and finished it in one swallow.

And it burned.

She looked around, wondering just how much judgment would be passed now that she had truly done something bad, but there was nothing. Nobody seemed to take any notice, and it was divine. They were not interested in what she was doing anymore; they had grown tired of her.

"Where is the lady from before?" she asked, and the other guests seemed to look amongst themselves, puzzled.

"Oh, she left," Samantha continued with a giggle. "Terribly sorry. Enjoy your evening!"

She took a second glass and headed for the door. The second that she stepped into the cool air, it all hit her harder. She tried to tell herself that it was not the alcohol as she tipped back the second glass. There was that burn once more, and it was almost pleasurable.

No wonder her father did it so often.

It should have been a sad thought to have, one that might have even been quite sobering, but given everything that had happened, Samantha could only find the humor in it.

"Like father like daughter," she hummed into the silence before collapsing onto the grass. "From one disappointment comes another."

The ground was cool, and the leftover dew from the day felt wonderful against her skin. She had been burning up from all that had happened, and she knew that, but she no longer cared about any of it. She no longer had the capability to care. All that was in her mind was how cold the air was and how nice it felt.

"What on Earth are you doing?" a voice thundered.

Her father had found her, and Samantha could not care a bit about hurrying to her feet, which was just as well because it was suddenly a lot harder than usual.

"I've been having a nice evening," she hiccupped.

"Samantha, what have you done?"

"Had a nice evening," she repeated, giggling as she hiccupped again.

The Earl's eyes fell to the glass on the ground, and he picked it up and smelled it.

"Have you been drinking ?"

"Only two. It isn't a problem."

"Only two? Samantha, you have never had a drink before; it is completely — It does not matter. Go to your bed chambers."

"No," she whined. "I am having such fun. That is what you want, isn't it, Father? You want me to enjoy my time here and find a husband and spend my life in bliss as any good father would. You are simply just so selfless ."

"Samantha, bed. Now."

"Why, are you afraid that I shall embarrass you? Are you concerned that the state that I am in will make people look down on you? Not to worry, I have felt the same way for years now."

A small part of her knew that she needed to be quiet and simply do as she was told before she made everything worse, but it was drowned out by the larger and more frightening part of her that wanted to be very angry, indeed.

"Samantha —"

"Samantha," she mocked, imitating his tone. "That is all you ever say. Samantha, do this, or I will do this. Samantha, say that, or I will do that. Samantha, Samantha, Samantha. It is a funny name, is it not?"

At last, she realized that she could not remain composed enough to say all that she wanted to say. She needed to do as she was told, and she needed to go to bed. Her father would be furious by morning, but that hardly changed anything from her usual life. Besides, it was not as though he could use his usual punishment with others in attendance.

"Goodnight, Father," she said sweetly, stumbling back into the household.

Her father followed her, which she hated. He was always there, breathing down her neck. Then again, that small part of her that seemed able to see sense knew that he was likely ensuring that she was simply going to the correct room.

As she passed through the hallway, there was the horrid duke that continued to stare at her. This time, however, he seemed almost amused by her state. Had she been in a clearer state of mind, she might have said something to him, but even she knew that it would not end well, and so she simply glared at him and hoped that would be enough.

"Stay in here," her father ordered once they arrived. "If I could lock you in, I would."

"I already know that to be true," Samantha slurred, but her father did not find her amusing in the least.

"Bed," he commanded, and with a small nod, she turned and entered, the door closing firmly behind her.

In truth, the only reason that she obeyed was because it was what Diana would have told her to do anyway. She was certainly not going to do what her father said out of respect or any such thing. Not in her state.

Besides, her bed did look quite comfortable. Throwing herself onto it, she proved her theory to be true. It was incredible, almost as blissful as the damp grass. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift off.

It was still dark outside when she awoke. She was rather dazed and very much confused, and she wondered if she had slept through the entire day, and now, it was night once more. It was strange, not knowing when it was. She still could not think clearly, and she knew that whenever she had felt like that before, all that she had to do was cross the hallway and talk to Diana. Her older sister had always known what to do, and she was very rarely wrong.

If someone knew what to do, it would be her.

And so, in spite of her orders, she creaked her door open and stepped into the dark hallway. The door seemed to have moved, but she found it quickly enough and slipped into the room.

"Diana?" she whispered to no response.

She must have been asleep. It made perfect sense; it was the middle of the night, after all. Yes, her sister would be fast asleep, and Samantha would join her and fall asleep easier, and then they would discuss what happened in the morning.

She climbed into the bed, resting her head on the pillow and sighing deeply. She felt a heavy arm wrap around her waist which was quite the comfort. There was such warmth in it, and since Diana had left, she had hardly received any of that, and so she clung to it.

She did not notice that anything was amiss for a moment, simply enraptured by how at peace she wanted to feel. She realized that the arm around her was far larger than Diana's ever was, but she was also aware of her condition and so did not feel the need to trust her own judgment.

"Can you not sleep?" a voice whispered.

Samantha froze. The voice was deep and surly, decisively not Diana's. It was unmistakable.

It was a man.