My Favorite Bride

by Christina Dodd

It sounded much the same as any other house party, except for the tents, but he wasn’t fool enough to say that. “Very unique.”

  “Thank you. The second day we’ll set up tables and chairs and have a meal. I hope the weather’s warm.”

  “If you command it so, I’m sure it will be.” Not even God dared thwart Teresa in the matter of entertaining.

  “Thank you! What a lovely thought.” She scarcely paid him heed. “We’ll serve jellied salmon, cheeses, cold venison pie, and ices . . . I’m so glad you have an ice house, darling.”

  “Very fortuitous in these circumstances. Don’t forget my children will wish to entertain.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  She didn’t sound as enthused as he might like. She hadn’t yet learned their names with any success, and she seemed inept at making conversation with any of the girls. Did Teresa not like children? For that would pose a great setback in his plans to wed her.

  She consulted her schedule. “I don’t have time for them then. Rather . . . let’s work that in late that afternoon, right before the tea. Then we’ll send the guests up to change. That night we’ll have the ball.”

  He thought perhaps he was supposed to express enthusiasm. Instead he scarcely restrained a sigh. Having fun was an ungodly amount of work, and his men would be patrolling the roads without him.

  “I’ve ordered the orchestra already,” Teresa said. “They’ll be coming in from York.”

  He hoped Queen Victoria appreciated his efforts to keep her realm safe, for this was costing him a fortune.

  Teresa must have read his mind, for she said, “Now, darling, you’ve got that economy expression on your face. Remember, you haven’t given a party for three years, so you must consider this one will make up for the rest.”

  “Yes, and ever after each party will have to be bigger.”

  Plucking a carnation from the vase, she broke off the stem and threaded it into his lapel. She laid her hand flat on his chest, and looked into his eyes. “Most men don’t realize that.”

  She touched him. She gazed at him. She spoke to him in her melodious voice. And he experienced not one smidgin of the excitement he enjoyed with a single word from Samantha. Samantha, with her snappy repartee and her tart observations . . . and her sweet mouth and long, slender body. “Right,” he said gruffly, although he didn’t quite remember what he agreed to.

  “Don’t worry about the ball. It will be grand and wonderful.”

  “I’m not worried about the ball.” He was worried that Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh wouldn’t come into the snare laid for them.

  “That’s the way!” She patted his lapel once, firmly. “We’ll have a midnight supper. The last day . . . another repast in the tents, I think, or maybe on the veranda, and then they’ll be on their way.”

  She was done. At last. “That sounds marvelous. I look forward to seeing it come to fruition.” Although he didn’t look forward to more parties, and more discussions like this one . . . if he made her his wife, as he was resolved to do. “Make sure there are lots of places for private conversation, where these men can relax and talk about business or pleasure.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. But there won’t be much pleasure with this gathering. William, there are more men than there are women.” She tapped her long nails on the table in a sharp, rapid rhythm. “Many more men than women.”

  “Yes. Yes, I know.” But only men were officials in the Home Office and in the military. Only men would attract important spies like Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh. And frequently career soldiers were not married. “I don’t know that many women. I’ve invited all of the neighbors with daughters.”

  “Which is why it would have been better if you’d waited until I got here to make out your guest list.” Teresa made a visible effort to shake off her irritation. “But the damage is done. The few single ladies will be very pleased with the marked attentions.”

  It was odd. Teresa appeared to love his home, his lands, and be fond of himself. Yet she seemed out of place at Silvermere. She glittered like a diamond, showing different facets every way she turned, but he didn’t know which ones were real. He had to wonder—what secrets did she hide that she so carefully concealed herself?

  And why, he wondered, did he even care? All of the reasons for deeming her a suitable mate still applied. She was of his own class, she was gracious, a good hostess, dressed well, and could present his daughters into society. He was wasting his time trying to comprehend a woman. No man ever could. Yet that was the problem. Since he’d met Samantha, sometimes it seemed he did understand her. And the two of them had nothing in common.

  He had to stop thinking such madness. He signaled the footman, then asked Teresa, “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Yes, but you can order if you wish.” She glanced at him piercingly. “Although I never knew you to be a slugabed. Were you out again last night?”

  She’d given him permission to carouse, so he supposed there was no harm in admitting, “I left around eleven.”

  “Not until eleven, eh?” Picking up her pen, she dipped it in the ink, dipped it again, then threw it down. It landed with a splat on one of her lists, but she paid it no heed. “William! I must speak!”

  He finished ordering his breakfast from the footman, then said, “Of course, my dear. What is it?”

  Straightening her narrow shoulders, she said, “I know how much military people value confidentiality, and I feel speaking will violate that, but this concerns your children.”

  She had his full attention. “What is it?”

  “Last night, late, I was wakeful. I heard voices in the corridor. I stepped out and I saw your Miss Prendregast—talking to a man.”

  He had spent years in the military, negotiating with distrustful natives, dealing with arrogant, ignorant officers. He’d learned to hide his thoughts, and never had he needed the skill as much as now. Talking? Had she seen Samantha talking to a man? To him? Or had she seen Samantha kissing a man? Him?

  But if Teresa had seen them kissing, she would say so. There would no advantage to her in avoiding the issue.

  And he would not repeat the experience, regardless of how pleasurable it had been. He respected Miss Prendregast. She might be stubborn, opinionated, and outspoken, but she was dedicated to his children. She deserved an award for being so outspoken last night, and he couldn’t believe how shortsighted he’d been. “I was that man. Agnes was ill, and she’d gone to Miss Prendregast. I was angry and we had words.” And more, but even if Teresa knew that, she wouldn’t judge him. She had assured him of that.

  “My goodness! You mean Miss Prendregast does not even have the evenings to herself?”

  Teresa surprised him. He thought she would flay Miss Prendregast for immorality. Instead, she thought about Miss Prendregast’s inconvenience. “My rules are that the children are to go to bed at nine and stay in bed.”

  “Obviously, Miss Prendregast has charmed them so much they feel free to intrude on her free time.”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t argue with that.

  “Poor Miss Prendregast!” Teresa shook her head and sighed. “Anytime one of the children want her, they’ll go to her bedchamber in the house. Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose her? She says she’s from the Distinguished Academy of Governesses. Those ladies are much in demand. She doesn’t need to remain in a place where she gets so little solitude.”

  He frowned. Teresa had a point, a good one. He didn’t want Samantha to become dissatisfied and possibly leave . . . only because, of course, a suitable governess was a prize above all others. “Unfortunately, Miss Prendregast is so convivial I fear she’ll welcome the children no matter what I say.”

  “She has such pretty manners, and is so well-spoken. She is a lovely woman. Lovely. Absolutely charming.” Teresa tapped her cheek as she thought. “Perhaps a better plan would be to house her in one of the cottages where she could have time to herself.”

  He retorted without thinking. “No.”

  “
Why not?”

  Because he wanted Samantha under his own roof.

  Clasping both of his hands in hers, Teresa looked into his eyes. “I know it’s more convenient for you if Miss Prendregast is nearby in case one of the children takes ill, but darling, you must be fair to the poor girl. She’s already so thin, if she loses sleep I fear for her health.”

  Alarmed, he asked, “Do you think she’s ill?”

  “No, I’m sure she’s . . . well, she seems sturdy enough when she marches the children off to practice their singing. And as you said, she eats an incredible amount.” Teresa pressed her fingers to her stomach. “One might almost worry she has a tapeworm. So no, don’t trouble yourself about her health. Think about her well-being, and I know you’ll make the right decision.”

  He hated to admit it, but Teresa was right, and this visceral reaction of his was wrong. All wrong.

  In addition, this would get Samantha away from him at night, and much as he hated to admit it, while in his bed, he did think of her. That was wrong, for he was courting Teresa. Samantha distracted him, and while he had confidence he could overcome this ridiculous attraction to his governess, it would be easier if he saw her as little as possible. After all, he’d heard of a lord who, only last year, had gone half mad and married his housekeeper, but William could never lose his head over a woman. Especially not a woman who was most likely unable to fit into his society. “Thank you, Teresa. Miss Prendregast will move tomorrow.”

  “I think that’s best.” Teresa smiled vaguely, no longer interested now that the matter had been settled to her satisfaction.

  Standing, he bowed and start to move away. And stopped. “I have a thought. You yourself said Miss Prendregast has pretty manners.”

  Teresa watched him warily. “Yes, so I did.”

  “Then Miss Prendregast will fill one of the female slots for the party. She’ll help even the numbers.” And what a test it would be, to see if Samantha moved with ease among his friends! “I’m glad I thought of it.”

  “Oh, I, too.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Psst.”

  Agnes raised her head off of her pillow and stared into the darkness. “Vivian?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Let me in with you.”

  Agnes lifted her covers and Vivian crawled in. “What do you want?” She didn’t really like having Vivian in bed with her now. She was still bleeding, and occasionally she wanted to cry, especially when she thought about Father hugging them all today. It reminded her of when Mama was alive, except Father had looked at Miss Prendregast in a way that made Agnes want to squirm.

  In a singsong voice, Vivian said, “I know something you don’t know.”

  Agnes tensed. Had Vivian realized how Agnes’s body had betrayed her?

  “Father likes Miss Prendregast.”

  Agnes sighed in relief. She didn’t want to enlighten Vivian about the monthly bleeding. Bad enough she had to deal with it; she certainly didn’t want to talk about it. “How do you know that?”

  Vivian pulled her head under the covers.

  Agnes joined her.

  “Last night, when everyone was asleep, I got up to use the pot and guess what I saw in the corridor?”

  “What?”

  “Father was kissing Miss Prendregast.”

  “No!” No, Miss Prendregast had been in bed with Agnes.

  “Yes. I tell you, I saw it.”

  Of course, Agnes had been asleep. Hard asleep until dawn, when Miss Prendregast had roused her and sent her to bed.

  “He was kissing her like . . . I don’t know . . . like . . .” Vivian was having trouble finding the words.

  So with rising excitement, Agnes supplied them. “Like he liked her?”

  “Yes! And she was in her nightgown!” Vivian sounded shocked. “What should we do?”

  This was the way they always plotted to get rid of their governesses. In bed, together, heads under the covers. But this felt different. Different, and better. “Do you mean . . . to chase Miss Prendregast away?” Agnes asked uncertainly.

  “No, dummy! To make sure Father marries her!”

  Agnes relaxed into the mattress. “So we could be a family again.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “Oh, me, too.”

  Firm footsteps sounded across the wooden floor. A single candle brought its feeble light, and the girls slid the covers down far enough to peer over them.

  The housekeeper stood there in her nightcap and gown, looking cross. “That’s enough plotting for one night, girls. Off to sleep with you, now. Tomorrow’s a big day, I’ll be tired if I don’t get my beauty sleep.”

  Both girls giggled, but neither one said what they were thinking—that a beauty sleep would do her no good. Mrs. Shelbourn was a kind soul, for all that she hated sleeping in the same room with them.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Vivian climbed out of bed. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

  “Why, there’s only two days before the party, of course!” Mrs. Shelbourn took Vivian back to bed, then returned to smooth Agnes’s forehead. “All right, dear?”

  She meant, did Agnes need help with her period? Miss Prendregast was right. All the women had been very nice and very understanding of Agnes’s ordeal, and Agnes didn’t mind Mrs. Shelbourn asking. She made everything seem so matter-of-fact. Agnes shook her head and shut her eyes. And planned how to make Father marry Miss Prendregast.

  No one seemed to know what the purpose of the meeting was. Certainly Samantha didn’t have a clue.

  Servants lined the walls of the foyer. The children stood in front of them, tallest to shortest. Samantha held Kyla’s hand, and everyone watched Colonel Gregory.

  He stood squarely in the middle of the foyer, clad in a conservative outfit cut from midnight blue cloth. His fists rested on his hips, and he gazed out at the household lined up before him through those remarkable blue eyes that sent a shiver down Samantha’s spine—although she worried that it was no longer a cold shiver.

  “I’ve brought you here for two reasons. One”—he held up a finger—“the guests will be arriving tomorrow, and I want everyone to know that if they see anything that gives them pause, anything at all, they should come to me.”

  Samantha had had experience with house parties, and bored guests of privilege, and what they did from pure mischief, so she knew what he meant.

  Mitten did, too, of course, but in his ponderous tone, he said, “Excuse me, colonel, but for the edification of the newer staff, could you tell us what that might be?”

  “I would not be happy if a guest pilfered the silverware.” Colonel Gregory pulled a long face. “And unfortunately, occasionally . . .”

  Mitten and the other servants nodded solemnly.

  “Which brings me to my second point.” He lifted another finger. “The miniature of my wife that I keep on my desk is missing.”

  Samantha’s heart sank into her belly.

  The servants gasped and looked from one to the other.

  “I understand that sometimes accidents happen, and I surmise that while cleaning, perhaps an accident did happen.”

  Everyone looked at the downstairs maid. She shook her head.

  “If one of you—any one of you—broke the frame, or some other accident happened, and you don’t want to admit it, I understand completely.” Colonel Gregory looked the role of the commander, his shoulders back, his feet braced, his blue eyes stern, but kind. “You can bring the miniature to me, and I promise there will be no repercussions. Or leave it on my desk, and I’ll ask no questions. But please return it. It is precious to me.”

  Samantha glanced at everyone in the crowd, searching for the culprit.

  The servants were now silent and stoic, or silent and upset. The children were wide-eyed and tearful; Agnes glared at everyone, and Mara was biting her lip.

  Colonel Gregory, too, considered them all, and his gaze rested briefly on Samantha. But he didn’t seem to be looking for the thief in her. No, the warmth of his gaz
e spoke of something else entirely, and Samantha found herself shifting her feet like someone who wanted to run away—or run toward. And everyone was here. Surely everyone saw the way the color rose in her cheeks.

  She looked down. But of course, if they did, they probably thought her the thief. Certainly Colonel Gregory had accused her in the matter of the drinking bag, and that when he knew nothing of her past.

  She squared her shoulders. She had to remember who she was, and what she was, and not be seduced by one man’s brief interest.

  A clatter sounded on the stairs, bringing everyone’s head around. Lady Marchant stood there, small and exquisite in a morning gown of dark blue dimity sprinkled with silver flowers and a matching silver ribbon around her waist. “I’m sorry.” She raised her silver-gloved hand to her mouth. “I’m interrupting a household meeting. I was coming down to breakfast.”

  “A fine plan.” Colonel Gregory smiled at her as if she were his dearest friend.

  Samantha set her jaw. She had to get over this irrational dislike of Lady Marchant. Lady Marchant barely knew she was alive, and there was a very good reason for that. She knew as well as Samantha—better than Samantha, apparently—that the governess was no threat to her position as Colonel Gregory’s potential wife. Over the next week, Samantha would hardly see Lady Marchant, or Colonel Gregory, or any of the guests. Not unless she was accompanied by a bevy of children. And once Lady Marchant had assumed the position of William’s wife, she would want to install her own servants here. Probably she would dismiss Samantha, and Adorna could not be disgruntled about Samantha’s return to London for such a reason as that.

  So Lady Marchant could become Samantha’s liberator. Samantha should be grateful, and stop wanting to mockingly imitate her gliding walk and fluttering lashes.

  Colonel Gregory continued, “Go on out to the veranda, Teresa. The footmen will be out with your meal soon.”

  Lady Marchant glided down the stairs and out the door like a sprite spreading fairy dust behind her.

  Colonel Gregory turned back to the assembled servants. “That’s all. We’re going to have to work as a team to make this gathering a success, and I know we can do it—together.” He clicked his heels. “Dismissed!”