My Favorite Bride

by Christina Dodd

  Tucking her hand in his arm, she smiled up at him. “I know you are, darling.”

  And he realized how pompous he sounded. If he’d said that to Samantha, she would have snorted. Teresa soothed his masculinity so slickly, he wondered what she thought of him. Did she think him easily demoralized, uncertain of himself, in need of reassurance?

  Yes. Of course she did. Teresa thought that of all men, and she liberally applied her flattery to ease her own way, and told lies to make herself look more vulnerable. He knew that; before, he’d never thought anything was wrong with it. Now, as every day he faced Miss Prendregast’s straightforward candor, Teresa’s cajolery seemed almost immoral.

  “What’s the matter, darling? You look quite odd.” Teresa stared into his face.

  He shook off his peculiar musings. “It’s your news. I’m shocked.” Or perhaps it was the successful evening spent breaking into Pashenka’s room at the inn. Pashenka hadn’t been easy prey—he had held Ewan at gunpoint until William had taken him down from behind. The pistol had gone off, grazing Duncan’s arm.

  Rotten luck for poor old Duncan.

  They tied up Pashenka, searched his belongings, and stole a variety of things, including the money and letters he had sewn into his greatcoat. Even now the letters were on their way to Throckmorton, and with the help of the innkeeper, Pashenka was on his way to Maitland, where hopefully he would hide until Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh arrived.

  William didn’t need Teresa’s reassurances. He would, at last, have revenge for Mary’s death.

  “So we’re going to give a party?” Teresa looked around the tall foyer, then hugged his arm, pressing it against her breast with such ingenuousness he almost believed she didn’t realize what she was doing. “I’m so glad that you called on me!”

  “Who else could I call but Mary’s best friend?” Leading her toward the door, he said, “I’ve ordered our meal served on the veranda.”

  “You’re so forceful, darling.” She hugged his arm again.

  He freed himself to let her proceed him. He smiled to hear her gasp as the whole vista of the mountains rose before her.

  “This is magnificent!” Hurrying toward the rail, she leaned against it and stared. “How could you bear to go to India?”

  “You know. Younger son, army commission, no choice.” He stared, too, allowing the crags and valleys to soothe his weary soul. “But you notice I managed to hie myself to the mountains of Kashmir. It was only after Mary was killed that I knew I had to come back to my home. I don’t know that I could have healed without the sights and scents of Silvermere. I need this place.”

  She placed her hand over his on the railing. “Forgive me, my friend . . . I can call you a friend, can’t I?”

  “You can.” He had thought he knew her so well, but now she seemed alien. I should never have brought her here.

  “Thank you.” Oblivious to his uneasiness, she lavished another smile on him. “We all loved Mary, and the circumstances of her death were loathsome, but she has been gone for three years. It’s time you came out of mourning.”

  He smiled tightly. It rubbed him raw to hear her give such advice. She might be the primary candidate to be his wife, but she would have to learn her station.

  Rubbing her hands together in a workmanlike manner, she asked, “How many people will we have at this party?”

  “I’ve invited about thirty.”

  “Thirty?” She blinked her wide hazel eyes. “You’ve already invited them? I thought I would look over the list and let you know who—” At last she realized she had overstepped the mark, for she said, “But of course, it’s your party. I’m sure whomever you invite is perfect.” She saw the footmen standing at attention beside a table set with a white cloth and fine china, and lavished that calculated smile on him again. “Oh, William, how beautiful your breakfast chamber is! I believe I shall make this my study while I plan this party.”

  “As you wish, my dear.” Leading her to the table, he pulled out her chair. “We’ll have their children and their servants, too.”

  She paused in the process of sitting. “Children? You want to invite . . . children?”

  “One of the reasons I’m giving a party, of course, is to teach my own children the fine art of entertaining.” That was an absolute untruth, but he wouldn’t dream of telling her his plan to flush out Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh with the promise of a last, juicy, sweet capture of information that would set them up for life.

  “Oh. Yes. What a quaint idea.” She watched him sit, and her one cocked eyebrow managed to convey both confusion and condescension. “But your eldest is what? Eight?”

  “Agnes is twelve.” A most difficult twelve.

  “Already! How time flies. I remember when Agnes was born. What an exciting time that was, when all of us were in India and you and Byron were in uniform, and so handsome. I miss him very much.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye with her handkerchief. “And what was that other young man’s name? The one who so disgraced himself with Lord Barret-Derwin’s daughter?”

  William looked at her sideways. Odd, to have her ask about Duncan the night after Duncan had held her up—and she had got the better of him. “Duncan Monroe, and he is a friend of mine still. You’ll no doubt meet him during your visit here.”

  “Will I?” She smiled, a lopsided smile of catlike delight. “Darling, your loyalty is to be commended. Now. Have I told you how beautiful it is out here on your delightful veranda with its fabulous view of the mountains?”

  Leaning back in his chair, he took a deep breath of fresh air. “I’m always willing to listen.”

  She, too, took a long breath. “I could stay here forever.”

  “Some people wouldn’t. Some people don’t like the country at all.” Some people were named Miss Prendregast.

  “La! I have trouble believing anyone wouldn’t find pleasure in such surroundings.”

  He could have laughed when he remembered Samantha’s conviction that bears prowled the forests and meadows. And how she minced through the grass as if fearing something would grab her by the foot. And he would have given a crown to see the look on her face when she saw those snakes in her desk.

  Teresa watched him quite oddly. “Why are you smiling like that?”

  He shook out his napkin and signaled to the footmen. “No reason. I’m just hungry.”

  He ate a hearty meal.

  Teresa ate like a bird, pecking at her food and producing little chirps of conversation until he was finished. Then she leaned her elbows on the table and asked, “Shall we map out our party strategy?”

  From inside the house, he heard a door slam. Boots clattered on the stairs, and Teresa jumped and put her hand to her chest. “What is that cacophony?”

  “It’s the children. I suppose they are taking a moment away from their lessons.”

  “A man like you shouldn’t have to deal with such matters.” Teresa pulled a long face. “You don’t even know to set up a schedule.”

  “I have set up a schedule.”

  “Don’t they follow it?”

  He refrained from snorting, but barely. “We have a new governess. She is unique in her ability to disregard schedules and make it appear she is doing as she ought.”

  “I’m surprised at you!” Teresa tapped his hand reprovingly. “She must be an impressive old crone to have you so cowed.”

  He didn’t even want to examine his own dark satisfaction when he said, “You’ll see. Miss Prendregast and the children are coming down now.”

  One by one, the girls came through the door onto the veranda. Their chatter made him frown, yet they were lined up in the proper order, their clothing appeared neat and tidy, and all of them were smiling. All except Agnes, who looked as if that sour expression had taken permanent residence on her face.

  He didn’t understand the child. He used to; when had she ceased to sit on his knee and confide her joys and her woes? He eyed her height. For that matter—when had she gotten too ta
ll to sit on his knee?

  Kyla saw them first and stopped, her expressive little face screwed up in dismay. Emmeline bumped into her, Henrietta bumped into her, and the line staggered to a halt.

  Miss Prendregast came around the corner, clapping her hands. “Girls, girls, don’t stop now! We’re going out so Mara can practice her performance for the mountains and nothing can stop—” She halted at the sight of Teresa and him, and for one moment her face wore the exact expression of Kyla’s. Then her features smoothed, she moved forward to take Kyla’s hand, and she led the children out to face their father and Teresa.

  Miss Prendregast curtsied.

  Agnes’s lip was trembling again.

  What was wrong with the child? She grew more and more emotional every day.

  He glared at Agnes and at the same time, stood and performed the courtesies. “Children, you of course remember Lady Marchant?”

  “Yes, Father,” they replied in a chorus, and in unison they bobbed miniature curtsies. “How do you do, Lady Marchant?”

  “Very well, thank you.” Teresa relaxed back into her seat and spoke to Vivian. “So you’re going to sing, are you, Mara?”

  “I’m not Mara.” Vivian pointed to her sister. “She’s Mara. She sings like Mama did.”

  Teresa’s mouth twisted in chagrin, and she didn’t attempt another individual comment. “That’s wonderful. I’m sure you’re all very talented.”

  “Yes, Lady Marchant,” they chorused.

  Still on his feet, he said, “Lady Marchant, may I introduce our governess, Miss Samantha Prendregast.”

  Miss Prendregast bobbed another curtsy. “It’s an honor, my lady.”

  Teresa swept Miss Prendregast a comprehensive look, and her smile chilled William’s blood. “You’re not quite in the usual manner of governesses, are you?”

  Miss Prendregast didn’t smile, didn’t frown; her ready, expressive face showed no expression. “Lady Bucknell is my patron, my lady.” As if that explained everything, she curtsied yet again. “If you would excuse us? We have so little time before we must be back in the classroom and learning our . . .”

  “Mathematics, Miss Prendregast,” Henrietta told her.

  “Our mathematics,” Miss Prendregast agreed. At a nod from him, she led the children off the veranda, through the topiary, and out of sight.

  Teresa sat, arms straight at her side, fists clenched. “She’s insolent.”

  “Really?” You think that’s insolent? You should have heard her the day she arrived.

  As if realizing how shrewish she sounded, Teresa relaxed and put her hand over his. “But it’s so difficult to get good help these days, and at least she’s young and pretty. The children must like that.”

  No man was accomplished in handling women, but William certainly knew better than to agree with any fervor. “Yes, I suppose they must.”

  “But so . . . sickly-looking.”

  “I thought she was rather tanned.”

  “Yes, her poor complexion.” Teresa sighed pityingly. “A natural result of having to march the children about the grounds. She is a working girl, after all. We can’t expect her to look like a lady. But I was referring to her hair. I wonder how she gets it that color.”

  “It’s artificial?”

  Teresa’s laughter trilled out. “You didn’t think it was natural?”

  “I had wondered.” Damn that Duncan. He’d said it was real.

  “And I wonder what color it is that she thinks she should change it. Probably that infernal red that looks so dreadful. Well, some women aren’t confident enough to handle the trials God gave them.” Teresa shook her head. “I thought she was thin. Are you feeding her enough, William?”

  “No doubt of that.” He remembered very well the amount of food Miss Prendregast could put away. “She eats quite heartily at supper.”

  “She eats supper with you?” Teresa’s voice took on a shrill note.

  “As do the children.” He smiled into her eyes. “Tonight you’ll be with us, gracing us with your presence.”

  “Why, yes. Of course I will.” She blinked, not that sexy flutter of lashes, but a startled blink. “The children? I always said you were an original, darling.”

  He wondered what she meant by that.

  She smiled graciously. “Perhaps I could help next time you hire a governess.”

  “I thank you, Teresa, but Miss Prendregast has guaranteed she’ll stay for at least a year, and I know I can depend on her.” He raised Teresa’s hand to his lips. “Wait until you get to know her. You’ll see what I mean.”

  “I can’t wait, darling. I just can’t wait.”

  Rupert, Lord Featherstonebaugh, complained about the old-fashioned coach and the dust and the horses until Valda, Lady Featherstonebaugh, was ready to shriek, but shrieking wasn’t her style. Instead, she turned to him in smooth savagery. “Would you rather have taken the train, dear?”

  “It would have made sense!”

  “It would have made sense to do exactly what the Home Office expects us to do? To take the fastest, most luxurious mode of travel? I heard them. They’re on to us!”

  “Pshaw.” He waved a blue-veined hand. “Why should they be on to us after all these years?”

  “Because we’ve been lucky beyond belief.” With a considerable lowering of spirits, she added, “It was bound to happen.”

  “The coach is jarring my bones, and these roads!” Rupert peeked out of the curtained window. “They’re filled with holes. The next time I speak to the prime minister I’m going to make it clear—”

  “If you ever speak to the prime minister again, it’ll be so he can pronounce your sentence. He wants to imprison us. They want to kill us.” She was talking too fast, trying to convince him from sheer strength of will. Will had never worked with Rupert, so she slowed down and carefully enunciated, “And if the English don’t kill us, the Russians will.”

  “Now, dear, you’re overreacting.” He patted her gloved hand. “Have you been suffering from those heat flashes again? Ladies of your age do suffer delusions.”

  Still she paced her words. “I do not suffer from delusions. I heard them talking. I heard young Throckmorton. We’re finished in the business. I’ve been planning for this moment ever since we started. We’re escaping England and if all goes well—and it will—in less than a month we’ll be living in a palazzo in Italy under false names.”

  “Well, you could have planned better. I don’t like the coach.” He folded his arms over his chest, his long wrinkled face drooping in a pout. “It’s unfashionable.”

  Maybe shrieking was her style.

  Chapter Twelve

  A scratching at her bedroom door made Samantha lift her head from her lesson plans. Who would be out in the corridor at this hour? Darkness had fallen outside, the fire in her grate couldn’t completely vanquish the chill of a mountain evening, and she was tucked up in her bed with the feather mattress below and the down comforter above. Her white cotton nightgown was buttoned up to her neck, her blonde hair was braided down her back, and she was loathe to crawl out and let whoever it was in. So in a none-too-gracious voice, she called, “Come in, if you must.”

  A long moment of hesitation followed, then the door slowly squeaked open.

  Agnes. Agnes stood in the doorway, looking like a miniature version of Samantha in a plain white nightgown, her feet bare, her hair pulled back in a braid. She shivered convulsively, and her eyes were huge and frightened.

  Samantha came out of the bed in a rush, her feet hitting the chilly floor. Then she stood there, not sure if she should hurry toward the child, who looked as if she were torn between bolting and staying, or wait until the girl came to her. In the end, she slipped the shawl off her shoulders and held it out to Agnes. “Come in, my dear, and get warm.”

  Agnes’s face contorted. Giving a sob, she rushed into Samantha’s arms and clung as if Samantha were the last port in the storm.

  Samantha smoothed the hair away from Agnes’s f
ace. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  In between sobs, Agnes said, “It’s . . . awful. I don’t know . . . who to tell. It . . . hurts. I’m . . . dying.”

  Startled, Samantha asked, “Dying? Why do you think you’re dying?”

  “Because I . . . because I . . .” Agnes dug her head into Samantha’s shoulder. “It’s . . . so . . . disgusting.”

  An awful suspicion bloomed in Samantha’s mind. She took a breath. “You’re dying, and it’s disgusting?”

  “I’m . . . I’m . . .”

  The child couldn’t bring herself to say it, and why should she have to? Someone should have already told her. “Are you bleeding?”

  Agnes looked up with astonished, tear-damp eyes. “How did you know?”

  Samantha calmed her own burgeoning anger, and in a soothing tone, said, “Because that is what women do.”

  Sucking back a sob, Agnes asked, “All of them?”

  “All of them.”

  “When?”

  “Once a month.”

  Agnes thought for a moment, then burst into a fresh frenzy of tears. “That’s . . . horrid.”

  “Yes, it is.” By the time Samantha got Agnes calmed down, explained the facts, and helped her deal with her problem, she was both furious and comprehending. No wonder Agnes had been so emotional. The child had been suffering from the buildup to her first menstrual period, alone with her fears and her feelings and without understanding what was happening to her own body.

  “Can I sleep with you?” Agnes asked in a tiny voice.

  The children go to bed at promptly nine o’clock. There is no exception to that rule. Well, Colonel Gregory could go hang. He thought he was so incredibly efficient, and look what he’d done to his own daughter through sheer neglect and ignorance. Holding up the blankets, Samantha said, “Of course you can sleep with me. We’re the big girls now.”

  Agnes clambered in. “Thank you, Miss Prendregast. I didn’t want to go back to that bed.” She shuddered. “Everyone’s going to know in the morning.”