The Balfour Hotel Series, page 33
She laughed merrily.
"It is what I call the pages," she explained, and a rush of titters passed over the tables. All were amused but three—Xavier Balfour, Elias Compton, and now, for reasons she could not understand, the Duke of Holden.
This is getting worse by the passing moment. How could I have ever thought I could do this?
She needed to get up and flee, to run far from the hotel, the plan be damned.
Or I might simply blurt out the truth here and now. Let us see how the table might react.
"I know Henry Hastings quite well," the duke growled, leaning over the table to eye her intensely. "You are Lorna Hastings?"
Oh…oh, he knows. I am certain he knows. Has he met Lorna in the past?
She reminded herself that she had been aware of all the risk before arriving in Luton. Over and over she had considered what might happen if her true reason for being there might be uncovered but in the end, Nora had decided that it was well worth the risk if she would learn the truth.
"I am his only daughter," Nora replied, holding her head high. She would cling to her tale until she was led to the barracks for holding if necessary.
"I see," the duke muttered, turning his eyes back toward his plate, a slow tinge touching his cheeks. "I had heard…"
He cleared his throat, and Nora's body began to relax as she realized what he was about to say. His suspicion had to do with what he had heard about Lorna Hastings.
He is aware of the real Lorna Hasting's affliction, she realized, but that was a matter with which she could contend. It meant that the Balfours had never laid eyes upon the real Lorna Hastings and that gave Nora great comfort. She was safe…for the time.
"You heard I was a terrible recluse?" she offered brashly. Lady Elizabeth gasped at the frankness of her words.
"I do not believe the duke meant anything so crude, Miss Hastings!" she protested, her face pale as fresh snow. Nora could almost read the thoughts in her head.
My husband calls her a courtesan and my brother, a liar!
"Forgive me, Miss Hastings," the duke mumbled, seeming hauntingly embarrassed. "I meant nothing by it."
"You need not balk, Your Grace. You are quite right—I spent many years afraid to leave the confines of my home. But as you can see, I am pleased to be here, surrounded by good, decent people."
She smiled becomingly and the tension about them seemed to lift slightly, even if Xavier continued to sulk angrily in disbelief.
"If you will forgive me for saying so, Miss Hastings, you do appear a great deal younger than I expected," Charlton offered, but it was yet another matter for which Nora was prepared.
"Perhaps it was all those terrible years spent inside that kept me from aging," she replied lightly. "I did not ruin my skin in the sunlight."
There was a soft, appreciative chuckle around the table, but Nora could see that Xavier was not moved by her explanation.
Perhaps that is because he has the most to hide, she reasoned, fixing her eyes upon him steadfastly. She would not relent because of one soul. The others were warming to her—she was certain.
"We are pleased to have you also," Emmeline said, returning her beam. Nora found herself dissolving some of her reservations until Elias Compton spoke again.
"You seem oddly familiar to me, Miss Hastings," he said, and Nora's back tensed to the point of snapping. It was a dizzying experience, being with this lot. One moment Nora was certain she had overcome, the next, she felt as though she were drowning in the Thames.
He could not remember me after all these years, could he? It seemed highly unlikely. She had not seen Elias since she was almost a child and only then, on passing occasion.
"Do I?" she replied sweetly.
"Indeed," he muttered. A trickle of sweat formed over Nora's brow, and she found herself looking about for means of escape. In her worst thoughts, she never imagined that Elias Compton would be the one to cause her the most concern.
"Forgive me, Mr. Balfour." Nora looked up and saw Samuel standing at her side. It was strangely comforting to have him there, even though he had made his sentiments towards her clear earlier. Still, Nora could not help but feel as though he was her only ally in the hotel.
"What is it, Samuel?" Charlton asked, sitting back in his chair to peer at the maître d'.
"There is a messenger for Miss Hastings."
No one was more confused by the words than Nora, who gazed at the maître d'. Samuel, however, did not meet her eyes.
"Do I?" she murmured.
"Yes, miss. He has asked to speak only with you. He will not speak with another."
"At this hour?" Xavier muttered, seeming unconvinced that any such messenger existed. "How queer."
"Excuse me," Nora said, rising, and the men quickly moved to stand also. "Perhaps it is word from my father."
"Perhaps," Elias agreed, and she did not miss the dubiousness in his word. She turned to follow Samuel from the dining room, her heart thudding tirelessly in her chest. Who could possibly be sending her a messenger? Certainly, no one she knew could afford such an extravagance, and Nora did not have the means to pay any such boy on sight. The sweat that had started against her forehead threatened to slip along her fair cheeks, and suddenly, Nora was finding it very difficult to breathe.
Yet when they retreated to the lobby, only the night concierge, an elderly man by the name of Byron sat. There was not another soul in sight.
"Where is this messenger?" she asked, her eyes darting about.
"This way, miss."
Samuel continued through the lobby and toward the ballroom. More bewilderment seized Nora, and she wondered if she was walking into a perilous scenario.
"Are you quite sure?" she questioned, stopping between the rooms and peering at Samuel with disconcerted eyes.
"Quite," he replied without pausing. She realized that she could either turn back and return to the inquisitive Balfours and their ilk or follow Samuel further into the hotel.
She chose Samuel. Gathering her dress, she hurried after him as he disappeared through the back exit of the ballroom onto the terrace.
Why would a messenger be on the terrace?
There was only one way to know for certain, and with a deep breath, Nora moved across the well-polished floor of the dark chamber until she, too, stood on the veranda where Samuel had finally stopped.
He was alone.
"What is the meaning of this?" Nora's face flushed with anxiety. She could not suppress the lingering nervousness and fear. Was this Samuel's retaliation for her bold words earlier?
"Would you prefer to be at that table?" he asked, turning to face her fully. Nora did not know what to say.
"I-I do not understand," she finally sputtered honestly. "Is there not a messenger?"
"Of course not," Samuel muttered. "You know fully that you are not whom you claim to be. Who would send you word through a page? The king?"
She ignored his sardonic words and stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"I-I do not know what you mean. I am Nora Hastings—" she abruptly stopped when she realized what she said. She begged for apoplexy at that moment, anything to take her away from the hole she continued to dig for herself.
Samuel's face twisted, and Nora attempted to recant her words, but she was far too flustered, knowing that her poor disguise had already been ruined.
"Nora Hastings?" he echoed. "Who are you truly?"
"You heard incorrectly!" she insisted. "I said Lorna Hastings."
"You did not!" Samuel snapped. "You need not lie any longer. I have been suspicious of you since the moment you arrived, and now I have good cause."
"You are mad," she huffed, spinning around to leave. "I need not hear this."
"If you do not tell me why you have come here and why you are lying to the Balfours, I will tell them of your deception."
"You will do nothing of the sort!" she retorted, pivoting to glare at him. "Or I will tell them of yours!"
"I have deceived no one," he growled but even as he spoke, Nora could see the shadow cross over his eyes.
I was correct! He does hide who he is, too!
"You have," she exclaimed ruefully. She had no wish to hurt this man who had just come to her rescue, yet she felt a bit like a caged animal at the moment. "I hear it in your accent. You are a foreigner."
"Lower your voice at once!" he snapped. "You know nothing about me."
"Nor do you of me," she retorted. "I will not stand here and be judged by a servant!"
"You may look down your nose at me, Miss Hastings," he snarled. "But your threadbare trunks tell a story you must not want heard. Henry Hastings is a wealthy merchant. He would not permit his daughter to be seen with such ragged baggage. You are no more an upperclassman than I."
Nora opened her mouth to protest his observation, but she knew her arguments were in vain. She had unwittingly let her cover slip, and now Samuel knew about her. Would this mean ruination for her?
I truly was not prepared for this.
Without a word, she spun to run off, but Samuel's strong hand seized her arm and she found herself staring into his dark eyes once more.
"You will tell me who you are," he insisted. "Or I will march you back to the dining hall, and you can explain yourself before the already suspicious men who wait for you."
"They are not suspicious…" she fumbled to say, even though she knew his words were correct. If Samuel did as he threatened, she would not be able to talk her way out of it again.
"They are. Why do you think I made up this laughable excuse and drew you away from them?"
Her eyes narrowed, partially in confusion but mostly in awe. She was nonplussed by the encounter. Was Samuel her friend or foe?
"You brought me here to give me reprieve?" she asked slowly, reluctant to believe him.
"I brought you here hoping you had the good sense to tell me the truth, therefore saving me from turning you in."
"What of your loyalty to the Balfours?" she wondered, unsure if she could trust him. She looked at his hand still encircling her arm. He did not release her, and Nora's eyes traveled up toward his penetrating gaze.
"You went through a great deal of trouble to come here. You are not a woman with means. Have you come here to steal from the Balfours?"
Her face twisted in shock.
"Goodness, no!" she gasped, aghast at the question. "Just because I am not wealthy does not mean I break the commandments!"
His face softened, and he released her arm.
"You obey the commandments," he murmured, almost inaudibly.
"I believe in God's message, of course," she retorted sincerely. Samuel seemed to realize the conversation had taken a twist and moved his thoughts back in the proper direction.
"Then, why? Why have you done this if not for uncouth reasons?"
Nora looked at the ground and blushed.
"I am looking for my father," she replied quietly.
"Your father?" he echoed. "Who might that be?"
Nora inhaled deeply, her eyes lowered in shame.
"I am unsure," she replied quickly. "My mother passed two years ago, and she told me that the man I had always believed was my father was not."
Nora wondered why she was speaking so freely to this skeptical stranger, knowing that all she said could haunt her later. Yet she could not suppress the idea that Samuel could be trusted. Was it the way he looked at her, with tenderness and an underlying protectiveness?
"What makes you think he is here?" Samuel insisted. "And who are you truly?"
"My name is Nora Chalmers," she sighed. "And I have reason to believe that my father is Charlton Balfour."
5
Samuel was unable to sleep that night and rightfully so. The cannon that Nora had fired was both nonsensical and disturbing, but he was unsure what to believe.
Over and over he told himself that he could not permit himself to be part of whatever it was Nora Chalmers hoped to accomplish. He was torn between his loyalty to the Balfours and wanting to help the beautiful, mysterious young woman.
Yet Samuel reminded himself he had much to lose by doing the latter. Nora had not been incorrect—he was not whom the Balfours believed him to be.
The circumstances of my arrival are much different than hers, he protested as though his own mind fought with him. I have not come here to disrupt the order of the hotel. On the contrary, in fact. I came here to ensure order.
But had Nora come to wreak havoc upon the very household he had grown to love? They had not spoken a great deal more on the matter at hand, their covert interview interrupted by the surprise arrival of Joshua, who stumbled upon them on the terrace. Samuel had not been concerned that the young lad would speak of what he had seen—a guest and servant in an intimate discussion. Yet being seen had done nothing but add to Samuel's unease.
He knew he would have to speak with Nora again, but he also realized that discretion was paramount.
Samuel was distracted as he dressed for his shift. There was much to process about what Nora had claimed. If she was indeed the daughter of Charlton Balfour, it would mean certain scandal for the hotel. The young lady was no more than one and twenty, if Samuel were to guess, and Charlton Balfour had been married to Anne for a quarter century at least. Lord knew, the Balfours had been the center of enough rumor and innuendo in the past years, starting with the arrival of Elias Compton. Could the hotel withstand another setback? Samuel could not imagine it would.
And then what would become of the Balfours? This hotel is their legacy!
Perhaps Xavier and Lady Elizabeth would fare well, the Duke of Holden likely to take them in, but the others?
He shuddered to consider what such a sordid secret might do to the family, even if it did not lead to financial ruin.
A gentle knock at his door caused Samuel to whirl in surprise.
"Enter," he called, and with great shock, he saw Nora appear.
"Miss Has—Chalmers, this is highly unusual!" he growled when she closed the door at her back. "You should not be here."
"I wanted to speak with you before you do something foolish," she replied without a modicum of shame. "Refer to me as Miss Chalmers in front of the others, for example."
Samuel exhaled in a breath of frustration.
"What will you have me do?" he demanded. "You have done poorly hiding your true identity as it stands. It is only a matter of time before the Balfours understand you are not whom you claim!"
In truth, Samuel could not believe they had not ousted her already. If he had so plainly seen through her lies, how had a man as seasoned as Charlton Balfour not?
"Not if you help me," Nora replied smoothly, clearly prepared for such an argument. As Samuel studied her face, he saw that she, too, had likely not slept well the previous night.
"How?" he demanded. "I know nothing about what Mr. Balfour may have done two decades past! How could I possibly assist you in this search of yours?"
Assuming you speak the truth at all.
Samuel was not certain she could be trusted. Nothing but lies had sprung from her lips since the morning he had first laid eyes upon her, after all.
"You must know more than you say," Nora insisted. "Why, you are the maître d'. It is not the proprietor who truly runs the hotel but the servants who work silently among the guests. You must have tales, know secrets."
Samuel eyed her, mildly disgusted.
"You have truly not planned this well, have you?" he demanded. "Your disguise is poor. Your story is thin. You have not a lick of evidence to pursue. I ask you again, what brings you here?"
He could not be certain which was more disdainful—the fact that she had come so brazenly to the hotel or that he was considering assisting her.
"I want the truth!" Nora barked back, unfalteringly, and Samuel's eyes widened in disbelief. She was so bold, so unafraid. It scared him in a small way. She was inviting trouble for herself and yet she did not seem to care in the least. He cared, he realized. He cared what happened to her and he was worried for her.
The Balfours will not take well to a woman nosing about their business.
Inexplicably, Samuel felt a rush of possessiveness for this mannerless beauty whom he had only just met. Perhaps she reminded him of someone, but at that moment, he could not say whom.
Surely, not my mother. Mother was meek and did as was expected of her.
Samuel quickly dismissed the memory of his childhood and refocused his attention on the woman before him.
"You will not find any truths if you continue as you have," Samuel insisted. "You have not given me good cause to believe a word you have uttered."
"I have spoken with many people, former servants and guests who had come here. They all have the same opinion of the hotel—that it is rife with secrets."
"Gossip," Samuel snapped. "Rumors."
"So many cannot be incorrect, Samuel, and I know you are loyal to your employers, but you must not lie. There are many scandals hidden inside these walls."
"I know nothing about scandals," Samuel interjected. "You should not be here. If anyone were to see you—"
"I will not leave until you agree to help me find the truth."
"Why me?" Samuel demanded in exasperation. "How have I come to be your accomplice?"
"You speak as though I have some treachery concocted. I only seek to learn the truth about what my mother told me," she muttered, seeming embarrassed for the first time. "Need I remind you that it was you who involved yourself in my affairs."
Samuel felt his cheeks flush with some humiliation and he grunted. It was not entirely so but nonetheless, he knew she was somewhat correct. If he had not stolen her away from the family's table the previous night, she would likely not be standing in his bedchambers in such an inappropriate manner at that moment. Samuel could not decide if he was agitated or thrilled to have her before him.
"You must leave," he growled, hearing footsteps pass by his quarters. "This is ludicrous."
"I will not leave until you agree, Samuel. If I have the tenacity to uncover the identity of my father, imagine what I might do if I also look into your past."
"That is blackmail!" Samuel snapped, unsure if he should feel compassion or fury toward this woman. One moment she seemed plaintive, almost vulnerable. The next, she was threatening his security within the hotel.
