Starlight & Promises (34 page)

When Steven called at Talmadge House two days later, Delia was expecting him. Earlier, Samantha explained that Mister Landry was a friend and schoolmate of Richard’s whom she met at Madame Louella’s. Appalled that her niece should speak to a strange man without an introduction, Delia read her a lecture on wifely duty and proper etiquette until Samantha convinced her naught was improper in Landry’s interest.

Delia tapped a finger against the dimple in her plump chin. “Landry? I have no recollection of a Landry, but then Richard and I were not as close once he left for Oxford, so I knew few of his school friends. I must admit my memory is less sharp than it used to be. What is Mister Landry’s Christian name?”

“Steven. He is a merchant.”

“I recall just one Steven. Of course, I was younger and had my own circle of friends, so I saw him only once or twice. I cannot even bring to mind his appearance. I do recall he was a scientist, like Richard, and the eldest son of the Marquis of Lansdowne. His family estate adjoined ours when we were children. However, his family name was Burdett or Burnett, I believe. Certainly not Landry. Details become so foggy when you reach my age. I do remember some awful scandal ensuing when his father disinherited him and pensioned him off to America. My parents never discussed the details in my presence, of course, but servants gossip, and children listen. Shortly thereafter, some dastardly housebreaker murdered the marquis. The papers laid the motive to robbery. Can you imagine?” She paused and fanned herself with a handkerchief she drew from her sleeve. “What can the world be coming to when even peers are at risk in their own homes? I believe the younger son took up the title after his father died. No one ever heard from Steven again. I imagine he is still living in America.”

“This man could not be the same Steven. Mister Landry attended Oxford on scholarship and owns an importing and exporting business. He told me he has never even visited America. You will take a liking to him. He is quite gentlemanly—harmless, quiet, and unassuming.”

“I’m certain I shall, dear. Nevertheless, bear in mind what Christian told you. You are to go nowhere unescorted, even with a harmless man.” Delia bustled off to her sewing.

Samantha glowered at Delia’s back. Christian’s orders still had her on a leash. However, if she and Steven were to ride in a closed carriage with Jasper outside on the driver’s perch, they could talk privately. After much reflection, she decided to trust Steven. With his shipping connections, he could research information on the
Manta Ray
.

When Steven arrived, the butler answered the door, and he chafed at the servant’s inspection as he took his hat and swept a disdainful gaze over his attire. Seemingly satisfied Steven was suitably dressed for calling and respectably sober, the staid man led him to the drawing room and announced him in a nasal voice.

“We shall take tea, Pettibone,” Lady Delia said from her position on the couch. She stretched out her arm.

Steven bowed, pressing her hand.

Delia simpered. “Mister Landry, would you care for something stronger than tea? Brandy or sherry, perhaps?”

He allowed his mouth to form his most polite smile. “Tea will be fine, Lady Delia. I’m not a drinking man.” He greeted Samantha, careful to address her as Mistress Badia in her aunt’s presence, and bent over her extended hand in the same graceful gesture. He grew hard as a pike inside his trousers and went through hell to suppress his reaction. A shame she had married. His revenge would have been sweeter had she remained a virgin.

“I understand you export and import, Mister Landry,” Delia said after Steven settled into a chair, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable. “What sorts of goods do you trade?”

“Many items, Lady Delia. You may not be aware that Tasmania is the center for trade with the Far East. Through my contacts in Asia, I import jade and other jewels, spices, and silk, then sell them to merchants in London, Paris, and Milan. I operate a fleet of ships for importation to Tasmania and export my acquisitions on vessels operated by other firms.”

“My, my, should you not mind me being blunt, your business sounds highly lucrative and adventuresome.” Delia poured the tea Pettibone provided and handed a cup to Steven. “It must occupy a great deal of your time. Do you often travel on your own ships to such exotic locales?”

Smiling, he shook his head. “I used to enjoy the adventure of voyaging. As I grow more mature, I find the comforts of home suit my bones better than a swaying deck in a high sea. My most recent trip was to Australia last year.”

“I suppose your wife is content now that you are at home.”

He grinned. “Lady Delia, I fear I’m unwed. My business, with its frequent absences, left little time for a wife and family.”

Delia’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, my,” she said on a breath.

The visit ended after two hours, during which Samantha said little. Steven asked whether he could call again in a few days and take the two women for a carriage ride around Hobart. Delia accepted with enthusiasm, while Samantha gave Steven a strained smile. He responded with a conspiratorial look and took his leave, confident he had managed to charm both Samantha and her aunt, drawing himself closer to his goal.

S
teven, Delia, and Samantha took carriage rides, picnicked along the Derwent, and attended socials at the settlers’ homes. Samantha found no opportunity to question Steven alone, and as the days raced by, her desperation rose.

Chloe, who had fallen into a short-lived depression over Garrett’s departure, soon had a veritable regiment of young military officers knocking on the door of Talmadge House. Few eligible young women of good family and reputation resided in Hobart, even fewer as well-favored as Chloe. She preened under the attention, flirting and toying unmercifully with the callers. Hardly a day passed when Samantha had no reason to push her way through the crush of Chloe’s suitors in the drawing room.

When Gilly had other duties, the responsibility for chaperoning Chloe fell to Aunt Delia. ‘Twas not long before the afternoon arrived when Steven showed up for a carriage ride and Delia and Chloe found themselves swamped with eager swains.

Delia wrung her hands. “I dare not leave Chloe un-chaperoned. Gilly has taken herself off to bed with the sniffles. Though I know ‘tis not entirely proper, I must allow you to go along without me. After all, Samantha is married now and has no real need for a
dueña.”

Steven offered his condolences for Gilly’s condition, features expressing his disappointment at missing Delia’s scintillating company. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he suggested.

“No,” Samantha blurted, drawing a puzzled look from Delia. “I-I mean, that is hardly necessary. Steven is already here, and you are overwhelmed with Chloe’s beaus, Aunt Delia. I was looking forward to an invigorating ride.”

Delia looked frazzled but smiled nonetheless. “Samantha is quite right, Steven. Why should we confine her to the house simply because I have other commitments? You two run along and enjoy yourselves.”

Goose bumps rippled along Samantha’s arms. At last she would have the opportunity to confer alone with Steven. Four weeks had passed since Christian’s sailing with no word of his whereabouts or when he would return. Samantha burned to pursue Miggs and the
Manta Ray
. The colder the trail became, the more difficultly she would have in finding him.

When Steven handed Samantha into the carriage and followed her, sinking into the facing seat, Jasper loomed in the doorway, clearly intent on joining them. Samantha sent him a thunderous look. He scowled, closed the door, and climbed up on top with Pettibone.

Alone at last
was the foremost thought on Samantha’s mind; however, Steven had retreated to the past.

Lansdowne, England

1872

As was his habit, the marquis dismissed the servants for the night. He allowed no witnesses, no interference in the ritual chastisement of his son. ‘Twas not the first time they had played out the dance this way.

The old man sat behind his desk, his white, winglike brows crouching over censorious hazel eyes, brittle with anger and disappointment. He showed no inclination to extend an invitation to sit, and Steven braced himself, legs apart and hands clasped behind his back. Though he was now nineteen, on uncounted occasions since the age of ten, he had stood exactly this way, in this same room, while facing his father’s wrath.

Edward Burnett, 7th Marquis of Lansdowne, got to his feet. “Steven, I am forced to a difficult decision. You’ve allowed your indiscretion to taint the family name. I find I cannot tolerate or forgive this outrage. We’ve held the Royal esteem for six hundred years, fought honorably in England’s wars, and imparted favors to kings and queens. Before your precipitate action, no scandal dared touch our name, nor will it ever again.”

Steven set his jaw and flattened his mouth. His fingers wove tighter together, every muscle growing tense. “What are your intentions?” he asked, vocal cords as taut as cello strings.

Lansdowne walked to the walnut sideboard, where he poured a glass of brandy and motioned with the decanter.

Steven stiffly declined with a shake of his head.

“I have decided,” Lansdowne said with clear remorse, an emotion he seldom expressed, “that your brother, John, will succeed me.”

Steven erupted, hands fisting at his sides. “You cannot mean that! The title rightfully belongs to me. Is it not entailed?”

A door of dispassion closed across his father’s face. “Indeed, I can and already have. Her Majesty and the House of Lords agreed to approve the change, precipitated, I daresay, by your dishonest actions.”

“And what in bloody hell do you expect of me?” Steven shouted.

“I
expect
you to leave England—forever. You inherited funds from your mother. In addition, I’ll add a yearly remittance that will ensure you live comfortably.”

“You must be mad!”

His father sighed. “Steven, a young man such as you, intelligent and with a talent for scientific inquiry, should have no difficulties coping. I see no reason why you should not live a productive life in a place such as America. The Americans tend to be more forgiving of scandal than your peers. You will have the opportunity to make a fresh start.”

“I’ll not go.”

Lansdowne picked up the brandy glass and gave his back to Steven. “Martin packed your baggage and booked your passage on a ship leaving England tomorrow morning for Boston. Be on it.”

Tears stung Steven’s eyes. He strode sharply from one side of the room to the other, halted, and turned to his father. “Can I say naught to change your mind?”

“You cannot.”

“So be it,” Steven said bitterly. His father’s antique dueling pistol lay on a bookshelf at his right elbow. As though in a dream, he picked it up, pointed it, and fired.

Who knew the old fool had kept it loaded all these years?

Richard Colchester!

The name stabbed like a saber thrust. If not for Richard Colchester, Steven would have covered every contingency, destroyed the evidence, ensured his colleagues’ silence, and weathered the storm with a dignified air and affronted attitude, as befitted a peer of the realm. It didn’t have to come to this … this travesty.