by Regina Scott
As Samantha turned to stare at the maid, Mercier waved a hand. “Oh, quel dommage! I was made for a greater challenge, non?”
Samantha scrambled to her feet. “Did you really bring me a French maid?”
“This is Josette Mercier,” Claire said. “She is French, and she is a maid. She is also versed in all the latest fashions, from gowns to hair.” Claire patted her own hairstyle, which had been crushed a bit by her bonnet. “Whether I allow her to help you, however, is entirely up to you.”
Samantha hurried forward. “I’ll just go change. Perhaps Mercier could come with me?”
“You go,” Claire said. “I’ll send her to you shortly.”
Samantha bobbed a curtsy and dashed out the door.
Mercier shook her dark head. “We will have our hands full with that one, oui?”
“Oui,” Claire said. “Go after her, slowly, and look over her closet. I want to know what she’ll need when we get to London.”
Mercier dropped a more graceful curtsy. “Oui, madame.”
As the maid left, Claire set her bonnet on a table by the door and went to look out the window, parting the damask of the aubergine drapes. Green fields stretched away, dotted with the white of sheep. Clouds just as white and fluffy drifted across the sky. Despite her tumultuous introduction to Dallsten Manor, she felt as if her cares were slipping off her shoulders.
Thank You, Lord. I needed this.
As if in warning, her leg spasmed. Claire limped to one of the armchairs and sat rubbing at her knee through her skirts. I suppose this keeps me humble, Lord, but I’ll need all my strength if I’m to do Your will here. Help me, please.
The pain eased under her fingers, and she could breathe again. She only hoped the peace would last.
Samantha and Mercier returned in remarkably short time. Mercier merely rolled her eyes at Claire before returning to the dressing room to finish unpacking Claire’s clothes. Claire took the gesture to mean that Samantha’s closet wouldn’t bear saving.
The girl was now gowned in a navy wool dress with a white collar and cuffs. Last year’s fashion, certainly, but Mercier had managed to tame the girl’s curls back from her face in a pink satin band. Claire motioned Samantha to the armchair opposite hers.
“Perhaps we could take a moment to become better acquainted,” Claire said.
Samantha nodded eagerly. “I’d like that. I understand you’ve known Cousin Richard for years.”
Claire had said she valued plain speaking, but she wasn’t ready to discuss her past. “Since my own first Season, yes,” she replied. “And you were born here?”
One of Samantha’s slippered feet was tapping on the green carpet as if the girl couldn’t bear to sit still with so much happening. “Actually, I was born in Carlisle. Papa bought Dallsten Manor for Mama when I was little. It’s the only home I remember.”
She sounded almost wistful. Claire didn’t want to encourage her to look backward too often, either. “And soon London will be your home. Tell me, what do you wish to accomplish in your Season?”
Samantha rubbed her hands down her skirts. “I want to be presented to the queen, be welcomed by all the hostesses who refused Papa and garner no less than three offers for my hand.”
The words came out clipped, as if she were reciting something from memory. And the list exactly matched Richard’s. Surely he hadn’t bullied the girl into this.
Claire smiled to hide her rising concern. “Then you don’t care to see the sights of London—the Tower, the Parthenon marbles, the British Museum and Horse Guards.”
She scooted forward in her chair. “Those sound marvelous, actually. Do we really have things that came from ancient Greece?”
“A few,” Claire replied. “Others, as I understand, are in transit. Who knows how many more will arrive before we do? You might also enjoy the theater, the opera.”
She nodded eagerly, threatening her grown-up coiffure. “Yes, certainly.”
“And I suspect you might like to make friends with girls your own age.”
The sigh was clearly heartfelt. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”
“Well,” Claire said, smile broadening, “we shall certainly see what we can do. First we must make sure you are prepared.”
Samantha sat back. “Miss Walcott, I mean Mrs. Everard, taught me about deportment and being presented to the queen.”
Claire leaned back as well. “Ah, then you did have female companionship.”
She blushed and lowered her gaze. “Yes. Forgive me. I just wanted you to stay.”
Claire had thought as much. “And Mrs. Everard is your cousin Jerome Everard’s wife, your former governess.”
Samantha nodded, absently twirling her finger in her hair beside one ear. Mercier would have fainted had she known.
“That’s right,” the girl said. “She understands all about coming out, but she’s never actually been to London. I’m not sure I know everything I should.”
“We’ll find out over the next few days,” Claire promised. “I won’t let you step from this house until you’re confident you’re ready.”
Her smile was breathtaking, but it quickly faded. “Well, we are set to go up right after Easter. How I feel has nothing to do with it. The plans have been made.”
So she was being forced. Why? Had they no understanding of the importance of a Season? Claire felt herself bristling anew. “Plans can be changed. You have asked me to be your sponsor, Lady Everard. From now on, things will be managed to my satisfaction.”
“My cousins may have other ideas,” the girl warned.
Claire’s grip on the arm of the chair was as firm as her convictions. “You leave your cousins to me. I’ll have a thing or two to say to Captain Everard if he tries commanding us.”
She only hoped her determination wouldn’t fail her when she and Richard had to face off over the matter.
Chapter Ten
“I don’t much care for your Lady Winthrop,” Vaughn said, as he followed Richard into the library. Of all the rooms in Dallsten Manor, Richard liked this one the best. The tall bookcases, dark wood paneling and massive desk reminded him of his cabin aboard his ship, the Siren’s Gold. He went to the large, high-backed chair by the fire and nodded to his platinum-haired cousin to join him. But Vaughn went instead to stand by the mantel and crossed his lean arms over his chest.
“You don’t have to like her,” Richard pointed out. “She’s here for Samantha, remember?”
“I see little benefit to her crushing Samantha’s spirit.”
Richard chuckled. “It would take more than a hurricane to crush Samantha’s spirit.”
Vaughn let his arms fall, a reluctant smile lifting his lips. “You may be right there. I had my hands full the last two days, with Jerome and Adele gone.”
“Where are my brother and his new bride?” Richard asked, leaning back against the upholstery. After four days in the little chaise, stretching his legs was a luxury. “I thought they planned to take their wedding trip after Samantha was finished with her Season.”
“They did. But we received word that Four Oaks was in danger of flooding from the spring rains. Jerome was concerned.”
Richard could understand that. His brother would inherit Four Oaks from their uncle once Samantha navigated her Season. The small estate was to be home for him and his new wife. Jerome would have wanted to make sure it was protected.
Vaughn raised his chin. “You know how he is when he has a problem to solve, like a dog with a fresh bone. I couldn’t stand his muttering another moment. I insisted that he go secure the place.”
“And Adele went with him?” Richard raised a brow. “Don’t tell me you’ve been here with Samantha for…”
“Two days,” Vaughn said. “But don’t concern yourself. We weren’t alone. Mrs.
Dallsten Walcott installed herself in Uncle’s old room. She’s been serving as chaperone.”
Richard was surprised there was a house left in which to chaperone. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott, the mother of Jerome’s bride, lived in the dower house at the foot of the drive. Her family had once owned Dallsten Manor before her husband’s death had impoverished her and Adele. Though Mrs. Dallsten Walcott had sold the house to Uncle, she had a difficult time remembering she was no longer the lady of the manor. In fact, she had a habit of making off with whatever struck her fancy in the house. She’d obviously been preoccupied that afternoon, or she’d never have allowed Samantha to take up the blade.
“Dare I ask how you passed the time, besides teaching Samantha to fence?” Richard said.
Vaughn dropped into a nearby chair at last. “She has her father’s gift for picking things up quickly, Richard. You should have seen her take Lord Kendrick’s fence on my gray.”
“Swordplay and jumping fences.” Richard shook his head. “Remember our purpose—to see Samantha safely through her Season. You do her no favors by encouraging these kinds of pursuits.”
Vaughn shrugged. “Very well, but if you make her into a pattern card of virtue I shall be forced to take action.”
Even with Claire’s guidance, Richard couldn’t see Samantha in danger of conforming to Society’s dictates. Of course, he’d once thought Claire that strong, and she’d proven him wrong.
“Don’t concern yourself on that score,” Richard said. “I’ll find Mrs. Walcott and convey our thanks. She can retire to the dower house now. Claire will see to Samantha.”
“Then I can focus on hunting Uncle’s killer.” He stood as if wishing to start the process immediately. “What did you learn from Widmore?”
“Not enough,” Richard said, and went on to explain his meeting with the powerful lord and the report of the Bow Street Runner.
When he’d finished, Vaughn shook his head, pale hair turning gold in the firelight. “Then we still know nothing.”
“Very little,” Richard agreed. “I have more questions than facts. For instance, why did Uncle go alone, without asking one of us to second him?”
“Perhaps it wasn’t a duel,” Vaughn said, his look darkening.
“Uncle called it as much in the letter he left outlining his last wishes,” Richard reminded him.
“But there’s the code duello,” Vaughn insisted, “with rules requiring seconds, agreements on weapons and meeting places.” He began his restless pacing, threatening to wear a path across the Oriental carpet between the hearth and the door.
“And we both know Uncle disregarded rules when it pleased him.” Richard leaned forward so he could keep an eye on his cousin. “Besides, Widmore implied that Uncle didn’t trust us, that he hid the duel and Samantha from us for a reason.”
“He trusted me.” Vaughn’s voice held both pride and pain. “He would never have kept me out unless he was protecting me.”
Richard could not be so sure. His uncle’s moods had swung from wildly optimistic to fatally pessimistic. And he seemed to have a different relationship with each of his nephews. Jerome had been the heir presumptive who thrashed at not having enough control of the legacy he could see their uncle eroding. Vaughn had been the son that Uncle had never had—so like him in looks and temperament.
Richard had always had one dream—to one day take command of the fleet of ships their family owned. When his parents had been killed and he’d been sent with Jerome to live with their uncle, Lord Everard had taken one look at the ten-year-old Richard and ordered him packed off to school.
“But Father wanted me to apprentice under Captain Carver,” Richard had protested. “I was to go this very year!”
“You’re not ready for the sea, boy,” Uncle had said, not unkindly. Still, the words had dashed Richard’s hopes all the same. “You go off to school until you’re old enough to be entertaining at least. Then we’ll talk.”
It had made no sense, then or now. Boys joined the navy as young as six, merchant ships by eight or nine. Only his mother’s pleas had kept him home until ten. Though he’d been raised inland, he felt as if the sea was in his blood, and every moment away from it was painful.
Still, he’d tried. He’d done well in school, looked at every subject as a way to excel when he was finally allowed to go to sea. A captain needed mathematics to calculate tides and navigate difficult waters. He needed a good command of the English language to write his log and order his men to good advantage. He needed to be healthy and strong to withstand the blasts of nature, the vagaries of politics that dominated world shipping. Richard had tried to be the man his father, grandfather and uncle had wanted of him.
A shame I didn’t realize what You wanted, Lord, until it was almost too late.
When he had returned to London seven years later, his uncle had had to look up at him.
“Well,” he’d said with a grin, “now we’re getting somewhere.” He’d taken Richard down to the Thames that very afternoon, filling his head with tales from before Grandfather had been elevated to baron, when both he and Uncle had sailed. Richard had been ready to sign aboard the first ship they saw, but Uncle advised caution. Together, they’d made plans for Richard’s future—a few voyages as a junior officer to learn the ropes and then a captainship.
But that night, Richard had seen Claire across a crowded ballroom, and everything had changed.
“If Uncle was going to confide in any of us,” Richard told Vaughn now, “it would have been you. The fact that he said nothing concerns me greatly.”
“Agreed,” Vaughn said, and his voice sounded lighter, as if Richard had lifted a burden by acknowledging his place in their uncle’s affections. “And none of the servants knew anything about Uncle’s valet, Repton?”
Richard shook his head. “He’s disappeared.”
Vaughn paused. “He can’t have gone far. He didn’t even collect his pay last quarter day. He must still be in London. He was the last person to see Uncle alive—he must know something of use. Let me return to London, find him and discover the truth.”
The request was familiar; Jerome had been refusing it for weeks. Ever since Uncle’s death, Vaughn’s temper had rested just below the surface, ready to explode. Richard knew his brother feared the form Vaughn’s vengeance would take. Yet Jerome’s diplomacy and Richard’s investigation had led them nowhere. Like Vaughn, Richard wanted the mystery of his uncle’s death solved.
“Give me a day or two to get settled,” Richard said, rising. “Then you have my blessing to head for London.” He met his cousin in the middle of the room. “But if you find Uncle was murdered, as we suspect, go to the authorities. Promise me that.”
His cousin hesitated, and for a moment Richard thought he would refuse. Then he held out his fist. “I swear it.”
Richard met the fist with one of his own. “And I swear to bring Samantha to you right after Easter to start her Season.”
Vaughn grinned as he lowered his hand. “The sooner, the better. There’s been a local pup sniffing at her heels since Jerome and Adele left—that Toby Giles fellow.”
Pup was the right word. Jerome had told Richard how Toby had recently teamed with Samantha to steal the vicar’s wig as a prank. “I wouldn’t worry. He’s just a lad.”
“He’s seventeen,” Vaughn countered. “The same age you were when you first courted Lady Winthrop. I’ll do my best to scare him off before I go, but he may be brash enough to offer for her.”
The words were a solid punch to his abdomen, and Richard exhaled. Somehow he’d never seen himself having to refuse a suitor’s request. He was too familiar with the pain. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”
Vaughn clapped him on the shoulder. “Easy as jumping a fence on a spirited horse. Besides, as you said, you have Lady Winthrop to help now. That frown of hers could
put the fear into Napoleon himself. Giles will be child’s play.”
Richard could only hope he was right, but he was certain Claire had an entirely different opinion on what constituted a proper suitor, and he didn’t relish going toe-to-toe with her on the matter.
* * *
Claire knew she had to discuss Samantha’s situation with Richard at the first opportunity. Her own future was also at stake. How could Claire keep her bargain with Richard if the girl didn’t have her Season? Once Claire would have ignored her misgivings, plunged ahead to what she thought she wanted. Now she knew the Lord expected better of her. She expected better as well. Even if she was forced to return to her original plan of a rain-cracked cottage in Nether Crawley, she would not force Samantha to London unless the young baroness was ready.
Lord, I’ll just have to rely on Your grace. He hadn’t left her through her tumultuous marriage. She was confident He wouldn’t desert her now. So she dressed with care for her first dinner with the Everards, choosing a black high-waisted gown of lustring that gave back a shine as she moved. It was both elegant and no-nonsense. She wanted to set an example for Samantha, and she wanted to make sure both Richard and Vaughn realized she was a woman of her word. But she didn’t expect to have to prove herself the moment she walked out her door.
Another lady stood in the corridor. She was dressed in a fine green gown of the last decade, with its lower waist and wider skirts. Her carriage was regal, her look haughty. Only the gray of her hair, piled high, spoke of her age. Claire could not imagine who she might be or why she was fingering the marble statuette of a shepherdess that stood in an alcove along the pale blue wall.
“A lovely piece,” Claire ventured, moving closer.
The lady started, then drew herself up and looked down her hawklike nose. “Indeed. It belonged to my grandmother. I cannot imagine why it was moved to this remote location where no one can appreciate it.”
As every member of the household had to traverse this corridor a number of times a day, Claire could not see the area as so far removed. And how could that statuette have belonged to the woman’s grandmother? Was this woman an Everard? She certainly didn’t have the dark brown eyes or platinum hair that generally marked the family. And the last female Everard that Claire knew of, besides Samantha, had died thirty years ago.