“Yes,” she said. “We were out for a stroll and I decided on a whim to call here.”
“We certainly will not send you away without any refreshments,” Ben said, beginning the slow descent of the stairs. “Will we, Rogers? Show Mrs. McKay into the small salon, if you please, and have a tray of tea brought there. And some brandy.”
“I—” She did not finish what she had started to say. “Thank you. I will just drink a cup of tea and be on my way. I am sorry for being a nuisance.”
She was over by the unlit fireplace, removing her bonnet, when Ben entered the room. Her dog ambled over to greet him, his tail wagging and his rear end wiggling. Ben eyed him with disfavor and scratched him beneath his chin.
“I am sorry…” she began.
“Yes,” he said, closing the door behind him. “You have already made that perfectly clear, Mrs. McKay. What has happened?”
He felt resentful. If she had left this until tomorrow, he would have been gone and known nothing about it. She would have been compelled to cope alone with whatever was troubling her.
“Nothing has happened.” She smiled, a sickly expression that reached no higher than her lips. “I did not know Lady Gramley was leaving for London so soon.”
“She is on her way to Berkshire,” he told her, “where Gramley’s sister is expecting to give birth any day. Her mother-in-law was supposed to attend her, but she has been detained by illness. Beatrice left here just after noon, only a few hours after receiving her sister-in-law’s letter. I am sure she is sitting in the carriage at this very moment thinking of all the people here to whom she ought to have dashed off notes of explanation. What is the matter?”
Something clearly was. She was making an effort to appear composed, but she looked as if she might shatter at any moment. And she was still standing.
“Nothing.”
The door opened behind Ben, and a footman set down a large tray. Ben bent over it and poured a little brandy into a glass. He carried it across the room to her, supporting himself with just one of his canes.
“Drink this,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Brandy,” he said. “Sit down and drink it. I daresay your walk has chilled you.”
“I did not notice,” she said as she half collapsed onto a sofa.
“Drink it.”
She took the glass, sipped the brandy, and made a face.
“Toss it back,” he told her.
She did so and coughed and sputtered. “Oh, that is vile.”
“Pay attention to the aftereffects, though,” he told her.
She closed her eyes briefly. Her cheeks gained some color.
“He is throwing me out of Bramble Hall,” she said, “and sending his son to live there.”
She had not made her meaning at all clear, but it did not take much effort to decipher it anyway. He took the empty glass from her hand and returned it to the tray. He poured a cup of tea and carried it across to her.
Hewas presumably the Earl of Heathmoor.
10
Samantha took the cup and saucer from him with hands she schooled to be steady. Tramp was seated beside her, at attention, his ears cocked, his eyes intent on hers. He knew there was something wrong, the poor dear.
“Thank you,” she said.
She was dreadfully upset that Lady Gramley had gone away. Although there were other ladies in the neighborhood to whom she supposed she might turn in her distress, none but Lady Gramley felt like a friend. Sometimes friendly acquaintances were simply not enough. Thoughhowshe had expected Lady Gramley to help her she did not know.
“Heathmoor is tossing you out without making any provision for you?” Sir Benedict Harper asked, seating himself across from her. “He is literally evicting you?”
