Seared With Scars (The 2nd Freak House Trilogy) Read online

  "It's not that."

  "A loan then, rather than a gift."

  "I have enough money of my own," I said through a tight-lipped smile.

  "I know how proud you are," she prattled on, oblivious to my rising temper. "But there's really no need. A lady should be showered with gifts by gentlemen."

  "You forget that I'm no lady. Besides, gentlemen have showered me with gifts for much of my adult life and look where it's gotten me." I rose and left the room without so much as a glance back to see how my words had affected her. She knew my situation and how men, including the master, had kept me as their paid mistress. Even he had given me trinkets and baubles, from time to time. He'd bought me pretty things but had demanded absolute obedience and favors in return. The cost had been too high then, and it was too high now, even with Samuel.

  Perhaps I was being too harsh on Sylvia when she only meant well, but I was frustrated at having to remain at Frakingham and not being able to return to the school and children.

  I decided to go in search of Tommy and see if I could be of use somewhere in the house. I hated being idle and I wasn't above doing servant's work, although I suspected the other staff might think me unconventional at best and disrespectful to my hosts at worst. So be it. I had to do something and I couldn't walk around the estate all day.

  I was passing by a window when I caught sight of a coach rumbling up the long drive. It was probably Langley's coach, returning from taking the Beauforts and Wendy to the station. But it didn't continue on to the stables at the rear of the house. The driver wasn't Fray, either, and the horses were a dark brown instead of light. Tommy strode out to open the door. He bowed as a lady emerged from the cabin, the bright green feathers decorating her hat brushing against the doorframe. I recognized her, and the gentleman behind her.

  Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone. Samuel's parents.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tommy was sent to fetch Samuel while Sylvia and I sat in strained silence in the drawing room with his parents and brother. Before I could flee, she had grabbed my hand and dragged me with her to meet our uninvited guests. I thought it a little unfair, since she knew Mr. Gladstone had called me a whore on his last visit. However, she seemed more uncomfortable than me, and I was positively wretched with anxiety. Our nerves weren't helped by the fact that both Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone refused to meet our gazes. He stared at the doorway as if he could make Samuel appear if he glared hard enough, and she sat meekly on the sofa, with her head bowed and her hands folded in her lap.

  Only their eldest son, Albert, spoke to us. Samuel had told me that the heir to the Gladstone fortune was a sickly man, and he did indeed look ill. He was an insipid version of Samuel. His hair was lighter and lanker, his skin paler, his stature smaller. It must have been difficult for him having a younger, healthier brother with a vibrant nature. Not that Samuel was vibrant of late, but he had been before he became privy to my memories.

  "We do apologize for not writing in advance of our visit," he said to Sylvia. "I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience."

  Sylvia stopped biting her lip long enough to say, "Oh, uh, no."

  It was hardly convincing. Albert blushed and adjusted his stance. He must have known what had transpired on his parents' last visit, and no doubt he knew of their fear that Samuel had formed an attachment to me. I admired him for trying to keep the meeting on a polite footing, despite the coolness of both his parents and our anxiety.

  He glanced at his mother then at me, but when he saw me watching him, he quickly looked away. His blush deepened.

  I elbowed Sylvia to force her to say something to ease his awkwardness. She cleared her throat. "We're delighted to meet you, Mr. Gladstone," she said. "Samuel has spoken about you."

  "Call me Bert, since you call my little brother by his first name. Besides, Mr. Gladstone is my father." He pulled a face. "Wouldn't want to get us confused, eh?"

  She gave the elder Mr. Gladstone a nervous glance, but if he heard his son he made no sign of it. Not even his mother chided him. She sat on the chair, as impassive as a porcelain doll.

  "Tommy will bring tea shortly," Sylvia said. "I'm sure you need some refreshments after your journey. Have you come directly from London?"

  Bert nodded. "We drove most of yesterday and stayed overnight a few miles away. After an early start this morning, here we are."

  Movement at the door drew everyone's attention to Samuel standing there. He stood like a wronged god, beautiful and strong yet seething with fury. I half expected a tempest to follow in his wake.

  "What are you doing here?" he growled at his father.

  His mother sprang up. "Samuel!" She ran to him and embraced him. He rested his hand on her shoulder and looked at me over her head. The anger in his eyes dimmed, but it was still there, lurking at the corners.

  He pulled away from her and greeted his brother with a friendly handshake.

  "It's good to see you looking well," Bert said.

  "And you," Samuel said.

  Bert gave him a lopsided grin that reminded me of Samuel's. "You need to have your eyes checked, little brother."

  "Don't joke about it."

  Bert's response was a simple shrug. "As to your question about what we're doing here, Mother thought it would be a good idea to bring me along to help convince you to return home."

  Samuel's gaze slid to his mother, still hovering in the doorway, looking like she would burst into tears at any moment. He ignored his father altogether. "And you agreed?"

  "I wanted to see you again. It's been too long." Bert coughed with such violence that his whole body shook with the effort.

  "You should sit," Samuel said, steering his brother to a chair.

  Bert pulled his arm free. "I'm all right," he snapped. "Stop treating me like an old maid." He suddenly glanced at Sylvia and me as if he'd just remembered our presence.

  Samuel didn't pressure him to sit, but remained at his brother's elbow. "I'm not coming home," he told Bert. "Your journey is wasted."

  "Nonsense," Bert said with a sudden smile. "Not only do I get to see my brother again after a long absence, but I have the pleasure of meeting these two delightful ladies."

  Delightful? I'd not spoken two words to him. Clearly he was cut from the same charming cloth as his brother.

  Tommy entered, carrying a tray filled with tea things. He poured and served while nobody spoke. It was a strange atmosphere that had me on edge; I didn't belong there and I wanted to leave, but Sylvia still held my hand clamped between both of hers.

  The silence stretched and stretched. The sounds of sipping filled the room. Only Samuel didn't have tea. He stood near his brother, his shuttered gaze slipping to me, from time to time. His father had not said a word, and I realized it was his response everyone was waiting to hear.

  Eventually, Sylvia's bubbly nature got the better of her and she broke the silence. "Will you be heading home today?"

  "That depends," Bert said with a glance at his brother.

  "On what?" she asked, oblivious.

  "On when I agree to return with them," Samuel drawled. "You'll be waiting a long time, Brother. I told you, I'm not going back."

  "Then it seems we're in need of a place to stay."

  "The village inn is comfortable enough."

  Mrs. Gladstone sighed heavily. "We stayed there last time. The rooms were terribly small." She appealed to Sylvia. "And I'm quite sure I spied a mouse."

  Sylvia pulled a face. "I hate mice. You must stay here, Mrs. Gladstone. I insist."

  "No," Samuel said.

  "Agreed," his father said, shooting an arched look at his wife, which she ignored. "The village inn will do us—"

  "We accept you offer," Mrs. Gladstone cut in. "Thank you, Miss Langley. That's most kind."

  I blinked. The exchange had happened so quickly and the response was quite unexpected. I thought the Gladstones wouldn't want to stay at Frakingham. Indeed, Mr. Gladstone seemed put out that his wife had ignored him. He huffed and puffed hi
s displeasure, but did not overrule her. Even Sylvia seemed taken aback by the acceptance. No doubt she threw out the offer from politeness and assumed it would be refused.

  "Bloody hell," Samuel muttered.

  "Samuel," his mother chided. "Mind your language around Miss Langley."

  It wouldn't have been lost on anyone that she didn't include me. It would seem she didn't think me worthy of good manners. I set down the teacup and pulled my hand free of Sylvia's. My presence wasn't welcome and I had the feeling they wanted to talk about me, anyway. They'd get it over with faster if I left.

  "Excuse me," I said, rising. "I have a matter to attend to."

  "Stay here," Samuel said. "Please," he added as an afterthought. "I'm sure my brother would like to get to know you better."

  "Indeed," Bert said, beaming. "Both of the ladies."

  "Thank you, but I do have something I must do." Run and hide. I scampered out of the drawing room. Once in the corridor, I pressed my hand to my churning stomach and drew in a deep breath. It would seem I was about to catch up on the books I'd selected from the library. I had a feeling I would be spending the rest of the day and most of the evening in my room.

  I retreated upstairs and settled onto the chaise by the window with a book. My peace didn't last long. A door slammed somewhere below and then came Samuel's raised voice. "I will not marry her!"

  It would seem the topic of Ebony had arisen again. I didn't understand his reluctance. She was a viscount's daughter, a beauty, and seemed nice enough, although I'd only met her once, briefly. Samuel had told me she was politically ambitious and would be unhappy with him, but I couldn't quite see how. She already knew he didn't want a life in politics and she still wanted to marry him anyway. The poor girl was in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with her.

  Because of me? I couldn't be sure if I was his reason for rejecting her, or if he'd already made his stance clear before we met. I hoped the latter was the case. I didn't need the extra guilt on my shoulders.

  There was something else that struck me about Samuel's heated protest. I'd had no visions. In the past we'd had visions when one or both of us grew emotional, but this time there was nothing. We were cured. Thank goodness! I suspected the unblocking of my memories was responsible for that.

  A knock on my door had my heart leaping into my throat. "It's me," came Sylvia's voice.

  I opened the door and she breezed inside. "Are you all right?" I asked her. "You look pale."

  "I'm exhausted from the worry." She plopped down on my bed and lay back against the pillows. "The Gladstones are terribly hard work and Samuel isn't making matters easier. Did you hear him shout at them just now?"

  "Please don't tell me any more. I don't want to get involved in their squabbles."

  "You are involved, whether you want to be or not. Your name was mentioned."

  "Sylvia," I warned. "I know what they argued about, but I don't wish to know the details."

  She sighed. "Very well. But I will say this. Samuel used to be such a pleasant gentleman. He never snapped at anybody, and now all he does is bite everybody's head off when they speak to him."

  "Has he been rude to you?"

  "No-o," she hedged, sitting up. "Not rude, just short. He certainly didn't hold back with his parents, though. I can't say I like his father, but at least he seemed to be trying to control his temper, whereas Samuel didn't even care. Poor Bert had a devil of a time keeping him from saying anything that could irreparably damage their relationship, but in the end, he stood no chance. Samuel has become quite the force."

  "Amen," I muttered, sitting beside her. "Was his mother very upset at his storming off?"

  "She was in tears. His father looked like he would have an apoplexy, his face was so red. Bert didn't seem to know what to do or who to side with."

  "I'm sure he can see his parents' point."

  "And yet I think he sees Samuel's perspective too." She sighed and we fell into silence.

  A few minutes passed before I realized she was staring at me. "You want to ask me something," I said.

  "I know it's none of my affair, but…Charity, are you and Samuel…you know?"

  "No, we are not! I'm not like that anymore."

  She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you were, but there is certainly something going on between you."

  "The only thing going on between us is that he asked me to marry him."

  Her eyes widened so much I worried she might strain them. "He did?"

  "I said no."

  "Whatever for? Charity, your future would be secured if you married him."

  "Not quite. His father would disinherit him if he wed me."

  "There is that. He seems quite set on Samuel marrying that viscount's daughter. But…" She shook her head slowly. "He might have changed his mind in years to come and re-instated him."

  "There will never be enough years for Mr. Gladstone to come to terms with Samuel marrying me. Anyway, that is not why I rejected him."

  She heaved another sigh. "I know how you feel about marriage, Charity, but it doesn't have to be a trap. Not with the right man, one with your best interests at heart. Samuel cares for you deeply. He's willing to become estranged from his family for you."

  "I don't want that!" I shot to my feet and strode to the window. "I wish he'd see sense, but he seems to be growing more and more unreasonable of late."

  "Perhaps he's falling deeper and deeper in love with you."

  I looked out the window and spied Samuel striding down to the lake and ruins. His back was rigid, his fists closed at his sides. "It'll pass," I murmured.

  "I'm not so sure."

  There was another knock on the door and I went to answer it.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you," Bert said, hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips.

  "Not at all," I said. I couldn't invite him into my bedroom so I stood awkwardly at the door, waiting for him to say his piece.

  "Would you care to take a walk with me?" he asked. "I'd like to see those ruins. They look interesting."

  "Perhaps we should stay nearer the house," I suggested. For one thing, Samuel had ventured toward the ruins and, for another, we should remain in clear view. I wouldn't want his parents accusing me of corrupting their eldest son as well.

  Sylvia came up behind me, startling Bert. He bowed. "I'm sorry, Miss Langley, I didn't see you there."

  "It's quite all right." She slipped past us, her lashes lowered. "Enjoy your walk. Luncheon won't be long."

  "I'll be taking it in my room," I told her.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but caught herself with a glance in Bert's direction. "I'll have Maud bring up a tray."

  Fortunately we didn't run into Mr. or Mrs. Gladstone on our way out of the house. Bert and I set off on an amble around the formal part of the garden. The squares of clipped hedges only reached to knee height and roses in the center did not hide us from view. I wasn't taking any chances, particularly since I had the prickly sensation that we were being watched.

  "I suspect you know why we're here," Bert began.

  "I do. I heard Samuel's response, too."

  "Ah. Yes. My brother has quite the temper and doesn't hide it." He frowned. "It's most unlike him. He's usually so amiable. Do you know why he has become more argumentative and morose?"

  While he knew about Samuel's hypnotism, I didn't want him knowing that his brother had been affected by the dark memories I'd asked him to block. That would only lead to questions about the events from my past and I didn't want to talk about them with anyone, let alone a stranger.

  "No," I said.

  "The change has come as quite a shock. We haven't seen much of each other in recent years, you see. After he left for University College, we drifted apart."

  I lifted my face to the sunshine and drew strength from its warmth. "I want to assure you and your parents that Samuel's disinterest in Miss Carstairs has nothing to do with me."

  "Doesn't it?" he said, idly.


  "No, it does not. There is nothing between he and I except friendship. Indeed, I'm not sure there's even that."

  He stopped and stared at me. "Is that so?"

  "I'm not interested in securing Samuel for myself." I swallowed hard and hoped he hadn't noticed my hesitation.

  "Well. That's curious. My parents are adamant that you're the reason he won't marry Miss Carstairs."

  "Is that based on the time I met them at Claridge’s?"

  "No, it's based on the time he told us he was going to marry you, not her."

  My breath caught in my throat. My chest constricted. "When did he say that?"

  His eyes sparkled, but there was no tilt of his lips into a smile. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Just now, in the drawing room."

  "Oh."

  "You do know it's futile, don't you? A union between you and he isn't possible. It would ruin his life."

  I bit the inside of my cheek to stop my retort, but it didn't stop a flash of red exploding in front of my eyes. What a cruel thing to say! I wanted to shout at him and call him every crude name in my extensive cant vocabulary. It was either that or give in to tears of self-pity.

  I managed not to cry or show my anger. I fought to regain composure, on the outside at least. I told myself that my anger was unfounded. Of course, he was right; a reasonable woman couldn't argue with that. Yet I hated hearing it stated so baldly.

  I continued on at a leisurely pace, as if his words hadn't just slapped me across the face. "It would ruin mine, too." A little note of petulance escaped, but that was the only sign I gave that he'd hurt me. "I have a nice life at the school where I teach. I answer to no husband or father. I can choose what I do and when I do it."

  "Then you are indeed fortunate."

  "You know that I lived on the streets for many years," I said, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

  He clasped his hands behind his back. "I do."

  "Do you see that it would be difficult for me to go from the life of freedom that I had then to one where I was beholden to a husband?"

  "Samuel would be kind." He was testing me. I knew it, and he probably knew that I knew it, yet we danced the little dance because he wanted answers and I suddenly wanted to give them.