by Regina Scott
She’d dashed straight to Hatchard’s bookstore and purchased herself a Bible, poring through it even as she pored out her heart to God. Though she’d been born in privilege, she felt like one of the poor the Lord had helped—she had been blind; now she could see.
Because of that change of heart, she looked at the people around her differently. So she could not deny that what she saw in Richard was good. He hadn’t needed coaxing to attend service; he’d joined in the responses and sang readily. At times, she’d seen him nod in response to something the vicar had said, as if he were paying close attention. Never had she caught him glancing around as if it were more important to be seen here than to worship. Could it be that Richard’s eyes had been opened, too?
She didn’t have much time to ponder the matter, for Richard and Samantha seemed intent on making her feel a part of the congregation. Richard introduced her to the vicar, Mr. Ramsey, an older man with a kindly face. Toby Giles wished her good-day and used the greeting as an excuse to prolong his stay by Samantha’s side.
Samantha, in turn, was seldom still, darting about the tree-lined churchyard to bring several of their neighbors to meet Claire. Here in Evendale, the girl sparkled like a diamond. Why couldn’t Claire find a way to make her so comfortable in another setting?
One of the people Samantha dragged up to Claire was an elderly man with a craggy face and an outmoded, long-tailed coat. Beside him was a dark-haired boy who kept tugging at his cravat as if unused to it. Samantha introduced them as the Earl of Kendrick and his grandson James Wentworth.
“I believe I know your son, Lord Wentworth,” Claire told the slender fellow as he stood beside her, leaning on an ebony cane. “He’s already in London for the Season, is he not?”
“Indeed he is,” the silver-haired Kendrick replied with a fond smile. “And my other son, Lord William, is off trying to save Egyptian antiquities from the French.”
At the mention of his father, young James sighed.
Samantha nudged him with her elbow. “Egypt, eh? You never know, Jamie. He might bring you back a mummy!”
The eight-year-old boy brightened at that.
“I sense there’s more to the story of Lord William,” Claire said, after they’d left Mrs. Dallsten Walcott at the dower house and returned to the manor. She handed her bonnet to the dark-haired maid Daisy, who stood waiting.
“If there is, I’m not privy to it,” Richard said, with a glance to Samantha.
“I suppose I was nine or ten when it happened,” she replied with a frown as if trying to remember such a long time ago. “Lord William eloped with a local girl when they were seventeen. It was terribly romantic. Then she died birthing Jamie, and Lord William went off to have adventures.” She sighed. “Quite tragic, really. It makes me so glad I had Papa.”
Claire refused to glance at Richard. Would their lives have been similar had they married so young? Would she have been left to bear and perhaps raise their children alone while he sailed the world having adventures? The thoughts were enough to dampen her mood.
Samantha seemed similarly affected. She might have been saddened by the story or the memory of her father, but her attitude only worsened as the day went by. Packing and practicing to be presented to the queen held no interest. At last, Claire tried setting up a diversion.
She’d noticed some large pieces of parchment in the schoolroom and carried them downstairs to the withdrawing room, where Mr. Linton, the groundskeeper and man-of-all-work, helped her affix one to the wall. Positioning a lamp on a nearby table, Claire showed Samantha how her shadow could be cast onto the parchment. The girl went through the motions of sketching Claire’s silhouette, but her dispirited sighs had robbed Claire of any pleasure in the activity.
Lord, please help me to be patient. She’s facing changes everywhere, in her family and friends, in her place in the world. Help me lead her through, just as You led me.
She felt some peace after that, but the only time Samantha brightened was when they’d all adjourned to the withdrawing room after dinner that evening. To Claire’s surprise, the girl took Richard’s hand and tugged him toward the chair where Claire had been seated earlier. “Come along, Cousin Richard. We must have a silhouette of you.”
“Excellent idea,” Claire said, to encourage her. Richard suffered himself to sit, and the light threw his shadow up onto the suspended parchment.
Samantha pushed on his shoulders to position him properly. “A little to the left. Now raise your chin. Perfect!” She scurried back. “There, Lady Winthrop. He’s all ready for you.”
Claire raised her brows. “For me?”
Samantha was already halfway to the piano. “Certainly. This is too important to risk on an amateur like me. I’ll play to keep him in the mood. You draw.”
Richard’s smile said he was amused by his cousin’s behavior. Claire shook her head. If she didn’t know better, she’d think her charge was matchmaking. Samantha seemed to enjoy romantic stories as much as Claire did. Had she been told the tale of Claire and Richard’s courtship and found it terribly tragic as well? Was she trying to reunite them now?
Just the thought set her fingers to trembling, and she clenched her fists to still them. This was silly! She had no reason to be nervous. What harm was there in drawing Richard’s silhouette? Nothing much could happen while she was sketching.
She went to the wall and removed her gloves, laying them on the tray that held the charcoal Samantha had been using earlier.
“She means well,” Richard murmured behind her.
Claire smiled to herself. “I suppose she does. And I’m glad to see her spirits lift.”
“I thought she seemed too quiet at dinner. What is it?”
“Your cousin, I fear,” Claire admitted. “I told you she was too attached to him.” She reached up to follow the curve of his head with the charcoal, down to where his neck met the collar of his coat. Did he know that his hair in the back had a decided wave? Did it feel as soft as it looked? Goodness, but the fire was too warm!
Behind her, she heard him sigh. “Women like a man who can quote them poetry.”
Claire focused on penciling in the line of his brow. “Girls like poetry. Women know to look for more than pretty words.”
“And you deserved both.”
The charcoal slipped, giving him a long, pointed nose. She licked her thumb and hastily rubbed off the mistake. If only the other mistakes in her life were so easily dealt with.
“Every wife deserves both,” she said, and her voice came out entirely too husky. She cleared her throat. “You said he thinks of her as a sister. I would not be so certain. It’s possible he may even offer for her.”
His shadow bunched as he shrugged, and she tsked at the movement. He repositioned himself. “I suppose he might, but I’m not sure it would be from the kind of love necessary between a husband and wife. He’s grieving for Uncle, and it’s too easy to transfer that affection to Samantha.”
Claire sketched his nose again, a manly shape, long, straight, determined. “Since when were you such a student of human nature, sir?”
“Since I had to captain a ship. You learn to watch the skies, the waves, the denizens of the deep. They can tell you when a storm is coming. You learn to watch your crew for the same reason.”
Claire’s charcoal reached the curves of his lips, and her hand started shaking again. She set down the stick and rubbed her fingers with her other hand. “Then, this storm in Samantha—do you think it will pass?”
He shifted in his seat again, and she knew he was regarding his cousin, head bowed over her music. “Perhaps. But do we ever truly forget our first loves?”
“No,” Claire murmured, before she could think better of it.
His shadow turned, and she thought he was gazing at her. She didn’t dare look at him. Still, he said nothing, as if wa
iting for her to explain. How could she? If she admitted how often she’d thought of him, how she’d struggled over her choices, she would make herself sound unfaithful to her husband. She had done everything to honor her marriage, to make it a success. It was Winthrop who had dishonored her.
“I cannot finish unless you sit still,” Claire said.
He waited another few moments, then settled back in his seat. But his mouth was now set in an unforgiving line, his chin higher than it had been. Claire thought the silhouette looked far more like the commanding Captain Everard, and not the Richard Everard she’d known, and loved.
* * *
Richard could not understand Claire, and he had ample opportunity to observe her the next few days. Contrary to his earlier fears, she was the perfect sponsor for Samantha. She managed to teach the girl a number of lessons on how to succeed in London, yet all the while her instructions sounded like the advice of a good friend.
She also kept the girl busy with plans. The only time they settled was to take tea or visit with Toby Giles, who appeared at the manor with a regularity Richard found amusing. He remembered Vaughn’s prediction that the lad might have marriage in mind, but, when Richard joined them, he could see no more than teasing camaraderie between the pair.
Claire was equally calm and composed. She never lost her temper, even when Samantha was petulant. She never raised her voice, even when Samantha was loudly enthusiastic. She had a quiet confidence that, Richard was surprised to find, was even more attractive than the gaiety he remembered.
But Samantha wasn’t the only one she charmed. Mrs. Linton and the maids were obviously won over, as the housekeeper brought no more complaints to Richard. He even went so far as to check on her, but Mrs. Linton shooed him out of her kitchen with a wave of her plump hands.
“Lady Winthrop and I have an understanding,” the snowy-haired housekeeper told him. “She’s preparing Lady Everard for her future, and I am to take care of her present. And each of us knows exactly what’s to be done.”
Claire had given Richard the same impression. She and Samantha bustled about the manor most days, often with one of the maids or Mr. Linton in attendance. Richard was surprised to find them one day in the library, Samantha in an old-fashioned gown with hoops that spread her skirts far beyond her maidenly curves, and what looked like a bedsheet tied at her waist.
“Practicing for her presentation to the queen,” Claire explained, when he stood in the doorway, perplexed. “Slowly, Samantha. Those hoops can be unpredictable.”
As if to prove it, the front flipped up, and anyone standing in front of her, Richard thought, would have had to hurriedly look the other way to spare everyone’s dignity.
Samantha pushed the hoop down to the floor and turned to Claire, red-faced. “How does anyone manage this!”
“With practice,” Claire assured her. “And no young lady I have ever met has died of mortification if things went wrong.”
“Wonderful,” Samantha muttered, facing front again. “I’ll be the first.”
Richard watched as his cousin took a step back and nearly tripped over her train. Wincing, he lowered his voice to Claire. “You do intend to accompany her, I hope.”
“Of course. I only wish you could join us.”
Her comment seemed sincere, but it pointed out the differences between them. She was a lady, the daughter of an earl, the widow of a viscount. He was the second son of a second son, and one step away from trade in his role as merchant captain. She had been presented to the queen; he never would.
And neither would Samantha, he realized, if the College of Heralds didn’t uphold her right to the title. Mr. Caruthers, their solicitor, was supposed to be working with the august group to confirm Samantha’s right, but Richard had yet to hear the results.
“When is the presentation at court?” Richard murmured, as Samantha disentangled herself from her train and set her gown to rights again.
“Shortly after the Season starts,” Claire murmured back, gaze on her charge and not a little troubled, Richard thought. “I’ve written to Lord Morton, the chamberlain, to request that Samantha be included.”
“Are requests ever denied?”
“Gently!” she called in encouragement to Samantha. She clenched her fists at her side as if fighting the desire to rush in and help the girl. Richard had to fight his own desire to reach out and hold her hand, feel her fingers cradled in his own.
“Requests are only refused if the petitioner fails to meet the qualifications,” she said to Richard. “A lady must be the daughter or wife of a peer or related to a military officer.”
She made it sound as if Samantha’s qualifications were obvious, but Richard had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be so easy. He was beginning to see the impediments that could keep his cousin from fulfilling the requirements of her father’s will.
Perhaps that was why, when he found Samantha waiting for him in the stable yard as he went down for a ride one morning, his first thought was of disaster.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, striding toward her.
Her smile was bright. “Nothing.” A puff of steam rose from the single word into the cool spring air. Though she was bundled in her pelisse, her night rail peeked out from below the quilted fabric. “I just wanted to speak privately with you.”
Mindful of the groom leading Richard’s horse from the stables, Richard took Samantha’s elbow and drew her back toward the house. “What do you need?” he asked, voice lowered.
She dimpled up at him. “I merely wanted to say that if you intend to win Lady Winthrop’s heart, you’re going about it all wrong.”
Richard raised himself up to his full height. “I am not courting Lady Winthrop.”
Samantha shrugged. “Not very well, anyway.”
“Samantha—” Richard started in warning.
She held up one finger. “I’m only trying to help. She’s a very nice lady, and I would think you’d want her to be happy.”
Richard frowned. “Is she unhappy?”
“Well, of course she’s unhappy!” Samantha put both hands on her hips. “Left alone so young, miles away from home, not sure who to trust. Who could blame her for breaking under the strain!”
Was the girl talking about herself or Claire? Richard reached out to touch her arm. “You aren’t alone, Samantha. Jerome, Vaughn and I would do anything for you.”
Her smile was soft. “I know, and I love you for it. We are becoming a family. I just want you to extend that devotion to Lady Winthrop. She’s a member of the family now, too.”
Some part of him pulled away from the thought. “Your kindness is commendable, but she is merely doing us a service.”
“Is she?” She cocked her head, the morning light sparkling on her tousled curls. “And why would that be?”
He hadn’t intended to tell her about his bargain with Claire. Claire’s reputation would be damaged if the terms of her payment got out, and Samantha might lose some respect for her sponsor. But he could not have her thinking that there was more to Claire’s presence here.
“Lady Winthrop will be well compensated for her efforts,” he told Samantha. “You need have no concern for her.”
Samantha shook her head. “No compensation can make up for being bullied.”
“Bullied?” Richard felt his back stiffening again. “Who’s bullying her? Name the person, and I’ll see him discharged.”
Samantha giggled. “Little hard to discharge yourself.”
Richard deflated with a chuckle. “I don’t bully her. I couldn’t.”
“You try,” Samantha insisted. “You could be a great deal nicer to her. Come now, admit it.” She leaned closer and peered up at him. “You still care for her.”
His mouth felt dry, and his palms inside his riding gloves were sweating. “She’s an old
friend.”
“She could be more.”
Could she? Why did his heart beat faster at the thought? Nothing had changed. Even as the captain of his own ship, the pride of the Everard fleet, his position was less than Claire’s. And though he had a good amount invested in the ’Change and his ship, all that could evaporate in an instant now that England had returned to war with France.
“Perhaps,” he allowed to Samantha, “but Lady Winthrop will have plenty of suitors once it’s known she’s out of mourning.”
“No other suitor can hold a candle to you,” Samantha said.
Richard gave her a smile but turned away. Claire had refused him before. He saw no reason for her to accept him now. He’d do his best not to vex her in her work with Samantha, but he could promise nothing more. He only pitied the fools in London who’d bet on his behalf.
Chapter Fourteen
Richard tried to put Samantha’s suggestion from his mind as he took his ride. The sun had pushed through the usual morning mist, and the last drops of silver clung to the greening wood. He inhaled the crisp air and let it fill him as his horse’s hooves crunched against the gravel of the riding path. He had few opportunities to ride on his travels; it was one of the things he missed most about life at sea. Feeling the horse’s power beneath him, pounding across the fields and lanes, brought a joy to his heart and spirit.
Finding time to ride in London would be difficult. He could see only changes ahead. Samantha would have her Season, fulfill the requirements of her father’s will and go on to be the new baroness. Jerome and Adele would move to Four Oaks permanently. Vaughn, well, Richard could only hope he’d make some peace with their uncle’s untimely death and go back to his poetry. And Richard would sail off to Jamaica as planned.
Always before, he could feel the anticipation building for the journey. He’d study his course on maps, talk to captains who had recently made the trip to learn about any changes to shipping patterns or weather. He’d look for news in the papers about enemy nations preying on cargo ships. And each step would only make him more excited about the prospects of adventure.