by Regina Scott
“I’m delighted you’re prepared,” Claire said beside him. She was too proper to show her triumph at his apparent capitulation, but he thought he heard it in her voice. She had a siren’s voice, warm, low, compelling. He’d found it hard not to heed ten years ago, and it wasn’t any easier to ignore now.
She eyed him speculatively, as if calculating just what it would take to break him. “Very likely, your cousin will need an entirely new wardrobe, and that will be pricey.”
“Fripperies,” Richard scoffed.
Her smile grew. “You’d be surprised at the cost of fripperies, sir. You’ll need to refurbish the Everard town house as well.”
Richard frowned. “Why? It’s good enough for the rest of us.”
She sniffed, a mere tightening of her nostrils. “I’m sure it was quite sufficient for your uncle and the three of you, who rarely entertained among your class. For a young girl with a score of suitors and acquaintances coming to call, no.”
She had a point there. He wasn’t sure when a fresh coat of paint had been slapped on the light green walls. And Uncle’s tastes in decor might give some people pause. Some years ago, he had purchased a fifteen-foot-tall marble statue of a naked woman holding out a golden apple. It currently resided in the entry hall. Samantha would no doubt be intrigued by the piece, but he could imagine how any other lady entering the house might take it.
“We can redecorate,” he agreed.
“And increase the staff,” she insisted. “Your uncle was rather famous for plaguing the help. What was the record, four valets in one year?”
She was right there as well. The fourth, Repton, had disappeared the night Uncle had died in what the authorities persisted in calling a duel, even though his opponent was unknown. The other servants had found Uncle’s whimsical approach to life, forever haring off after a new interest, equally frustrating.
“I’ll see that the town house is adequately staffed,” Richard promised.
She picked up her teacup. “If you require a footman or cook, I can give you recommendations.”
Mrs. Corday paused in washing her hands to gaze at her mistress with worshipful eyes. Did the woman need a position, then? The current cook at Everard House had given notice just last week, saying his skills were wasted on men who were so seldom in residence. On the other hand, Claire’s cook seemed competent, and the biscuit had been nicely done.
Richard nodded in her direction. “Consider yourself hired, Mrs. Corday.”
Eyes widening, she bobbed a curtsy. “Oh, God bless you, sir, your ladyship!”
But Claire wasn’t finished. “You’ll need a town carriage, too, I think,” she said, gazing off in the middle distance. “You all go on horseback far too often. And a matched set of horses in black or white. Nothing looks more slovenly than to arrive at a ball with a ragtag set of nags.”
Samantha would be through her inheritance in hours. “And I suppose you’d like several teams to match her gowns.”
She gave him one of her elegant waves. “We needn’t go so far as all that. Though I will expect a respectable coachman and a groom. And a decent riding horse.” She paused to frown. “She does ride, does she not?”
“Like the wind, I’m told,” Richard said with a grin. “She’s an Everard.”
“A matter of considerable concern,” she replied, then continued before he could take umbrage. “Tell me about her other skills. Does she play an instrument?”
“The piano, with enthusiasm.” Richard knew he sounded defensive. Samantha was a darling, no matter what anyone thought of her family name. Any man would be lucky to claim her heart and her hand in marriage.
“Sing?” Claire persisted.
“I haven’t heard her, but her speaking voice is pleasant enough.”
“Paint?”
He raised a brow. “Paint?”
She pursed her lips, and he had to look away as memories flooded in like a high tide. What was wrong with him? Even after ten years, he found it far too easy to remember how soft those lips had felt against his, how easily they could form words that cut him to the quick.
“Well,” she said, blithely unaware, as usual, of the turmoil she was causing inside him. “I suppose painting is optional. She is versed in the latest dances?”
Richard struggled to focus on her questions. “I wouldn’t know.”
Her frown was back. “Has she ever attended a local assembly?”
He hadn’t realized such things would be important. “Not to my knowledge.”
“A party at her own home, then.”
The party his uncle had held every year came to mind. Samantha and her governess, Adele Walcott, who had married his brother Jerome last week, spoke of an event each summer, when his uncle entertained all his neighbors, great and small, on the grounds of Dallsten Manor in Cumberland. While the locals toasted his health, he’d met with other men inside the manor, and no one knew what they had discussed or who had been invited, except for his uncle’s closest friend, the Marquess of Widmore. But Adele had made it sound as if Samantha had always been sent inside in the evening, when the locals held a dance.
“I suspect she’s never danced with a partner,” Richard told Claire.
She shook her head at such a ramshackle upbringing, and one of her curls came free from her bun. It hung between her ear and cheek, a strand of silky sunlight in the dark kitchen. He grabbed his cup of tea and made himself take a sip of the cooling brew rather than reach out to touch the gleaming gold.
“Then she must have a dance master, before she reaches London,” she declared. “I’ll write to Monsieur Chevalier immediately.”
“Chevalier?” Richard asked, setting down the cup but keeping his fingers anchored to the handle.
“Henri Chevalier, a dance master of some note. He’s trained any number of young ladies the last few years, including a foreign princess.”
Just what he needed, a swell-headed fop teaching Samantha to take on airs. “We can put an ad in the Carlisle paper and find someone in Cumberland.”
She raised a delicate brow. “Certainly we could do that, if Lady Everard was coming out in the wilds of Cumberland. As she is making her debut in London, under my tutelage, only a London master will do. Chevalier is the best, the son of a deposed French count. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your cousin to make do with less.”
And how was he to answer that? Of course he wanted the best for Samantha. That was one of the reasons he hoped Claire would sponsor her. “Very well,” he conceded. “See if your fancy London fellow is available to come with me to Cumberland. I planned to leave tomorrow morning.”
“That,” she said, “we shall discuss in a moment.”
“So you even intend to dictate my travel, madam?” Richard challenged.
She tsked. “Come now, sir. If you wish to bargain, you must be willing to put everything on the counter.”
“Bargain, madam?” What more did she want? Ready for the worst, he braced his hands on the hard wood of the table.
“A turn of phrase, sir,” she assured him, but she straightened in her ladder-back chair as if making a decision. “Allow me to sum up our discussion for you. You wish me to sponsor an untried girl of indeterminate skills, a girl I have never met, and shepherd her through her first Season, including being presented to Her Royal Majesty.”
“And be welcomed everywhere,” Richard added, remembering the requirements of his uncle’s will, which his cousin Samantha was trying so hard to fulfill. “And garner at least three offers of marriage from suitable gentlemen.”
She trilled a laugh. “Why stop at three, sir? Why not a dozen?”
Richard gritted his teeth. “Three will be sufficient. Then you’ll do it?”
She held up a hand. “Perhaps you should hear my requirements first.”
“I heard
them—a new wardrobe for Samantha; a carriage and team with coachman, groom and riding horse; the town house refurbished and staffed; and the services of a dance master.”
“The services of Monsieur Chevalier,” she corrected him. “And all that you will need for your cousin regardless of who sponsors her. I’m sure you’ll agree that I deserve something for my struggles.”
So she truly would bargain with him, just as she’d done with the tradesman. He wasn’t sure why that so disappointed him. She was right. He was asking her to change her plans, risk her reputation. Yet he couldn’t help thinking that Claire was the one who had gone back on her word ten years ago. It seemed only fair she do him this favor now.
“What struggles?” he protested. “Samantha is a beauty. Your work will not be onerous.”
“You, sir, have never been a girl on her first London Season. Besides, beauties often require the most effort from their sponsors. I will need a new wardrobe.”
Richard eyed her black dress. “What you’re wearing ought to scare off obnoxious suitors.”
Her smile remained polite, though he thought he saw her eyes narrow just the slightest. “Doubtless. But I’m certain you’d like me to reflect well on Lady Everard in public. You did say I was to be an example. Or do you intend to gown her in black as well?”
Neither his uncle nor his cousin would have stood for it. “My uncle insisted that she enjoy her Season,” he told Claire.
She inclined her head. “And I shall see that she enjoys it thoroughly. I will also require a maid. French, I think.”
Richard gaped. “What possible good can that do?”
She tapped her finger on the table by his cup. “Think, Captain Everard. Your cousin has been raised in the wilderness. Her personal maid cannot possibly be versed in the latest styles.”
“As far as I know, she doesn’t even require a maid!”
She shook her head. “Every lady requires a maid. You, sir, have never had to pull on a ball gown alone. Having a maid to serve your cousin and me will solve that problem, won’t it?”
He hated it when she sounded so reasonable about such a triviality. “Very well.”
She nodded as if pleased by his answer. “And when the Season is over, you will set me up in a house, anywhere I want to go.”
A house? She had to know what she asked. Any lady who took such an offer from a gentleman would no longer be welcomed by the ton. Besides, he couldn’t believe she truly wanted to leave London, or that she lacked the funds to do so herself.
“That’s a tall order,” he returned. “Who knows where you’ll wish to settle? Shipping a household to Italy can cost a fortune.”
“Which you claim to have,” she pointed out.
More than he’d ever dreamed, if Samantha managed her Season as planned. But he was no longer so willing to lay that fortune at Claire’s feet. “My cousin inherited a great deal of the legacy,” he said. “I can’t in good conscience make promises against it without her approval.”
She gazed at him in obvious wonder. “An Everard taking orders from a slip of a girl. That must have cost you a great deal to admit.”
“Not as much as once.” He pushed the tea away. “If it’s a new house you fancy, I’ll agree to setting you up somewhere in England, Claire. No more. And your reputation will take a beating if our agreement ever becomes public knowledge.”
“Then we will keep it private,” she said. “I’m a longtime friend of the family, who is delighted to sponsor the new Lady Everard. That is all anyone need know.”
He hoped it would be so easy. “So, we’re agreed. A new wardrobe, a French maid and relocation in England at the end. Anything else?”
Her smile broadened. “Yes. If you’d be so good as to deliver the mirror in the sitting room to Mr. Devizes, I think I might be ready to journey to Cumberland to meet your cousin by this time tomorrow.”
Richard blinked. “Cumberland? Why would you go to Cumberland?”
“To meet your cousin, of course. To make sure she’s ready.”
“I planned to bring her to you after Easter.”
Claire’s smile was kind. “Nonsense. I’ve already sold the town house, and you just hired my cook. Where did you expect me to live until Easter, sir?”
He could only stare at her as she rose and collected the cup. “Now, then, go about your business. I shall see you on the morrow, and we will have several days to discuss matters on our way north.”
Several days with Claire? Some part of him brightened at the thought, and he immediately squashed it. What was wrong with him? Lady Claire Winthrop was entirely too good at manipulating his feelings. If she could get him to agree to a new wardrobe, a French maid and a new house in the space of a quarter hour, what more would he end up conceding after several days in Claire’s company?
And he still couldn’t entirely believe she had agreed to help him, constrained circumstances or not. Besides, how had her circumstances become so constrained? Her father had been wealthy; he’d been the one to insist that Richard find a way to care for Claire in style. Richard had always assumed her late husband was wealthy, otherwise, why not fulfill her promise to marry Richard? Surely her father and husband had provided for her in their wills or arranged some marriage portion. Had she gone through the money in a year’s time? Given their conversation, he could almost believe it.
But worse was the idea of what she might do to his purpose and plans. Over the last ten years, he’d navigated through waves as high as mountains, defended his cargo from bloodthirsty pirates and steered a convoy of merchant ships safely through treacherous passages. Yet, thrilling as those adventures had been, the idea of being with Claire the next few days thrilled him more.
And that fact concerned him greatly.
Chapter Four
Richard had little time to consider his feelings as he left Claire’s town house. He stopped at Everard House only long enough to leave his greatcoat and issue instructions about their plans to journey to Cumberland. He’d have to deal with Claire’s requirements later. Right now, he had another commission to complete before he left London.
His older brother Jerome and younger cousin Vaughn, who with him stood to inherit a fortune from their late uncle once Samantha successfully navigated her first Season, had pressed him to contact the Marquess of Widmore.
“The last note from Uncle said the marquess would know why he fought that duel the night he died,” Vaughn had insisted when the three met in the library of Dallsten Manor before Richard headed south. “Widmore can help us track Uncle’s killer.”
“And determine who else knows our secrets,” Jerome had reminded Richard. There was a new light in his brother’s blue eyes, a new surety in his step, now that he’d married his Adele. Richard envied him that.
“I cannot feel comfortable sending Samantha to London,” Jerome had added, “until I know what she’s facing.”
Richard had agreed. Ever since their uncle’s death, when the three of them had learned about Samantha’s existence, more and more secrets had come to light, like a flotilla of ships appearing out of a fog, and he didn’t think they had faced the last.
His uncle, Arthur, Lord Everard, had lived by his own rules and only late in life had realized the importance of family and faith. He had attempted to make up for his previous misdeeds by leaving the considerable Everard legacy—which included lands in six counties, sizeable investments in the Exchange and a fleet of sailing ships—to his daughter Samantha, with generous bequests to Jerome, Richard and Vaughn, which they could receive only when they had helped their new cousin enter Society.
Launching a lass wouldn’t be so daunting in other circumstances, Richard was sure. But the rumors surrounding Samantha’s birth and upbringing would be enough to set tongues wagging. The way his uncle had hidden her and her mother away, in the north of Eng
land, would raise questions about Samantha’s legitimacy. Yet Jerome had found a marriage certificate from Gretna Green in Scotland that indicated that her mother and Uncle had legally wed.
Still, questions remained. Why had his uncle kept his daughter a secret from the rest of the family and Society until his death? Why had he fought a duel the last night of his life without having one of his nephews act as his second, as was customary as well as his habit? And why had one of Samantha’s servants recently endangered Jerome’s life to steal a porcelain box that had been emptied of its contents?
All roads of inquiry had eventually led back to the Marquess of Widmore. But Richard wasn’t even sure the powerful lord would see him. Though the marquess had been a good friend of the family, he and Lord Everard had seen little of each other of late, according to Vaughn, as if their uncle had distanced himself from the fellow in the last months of his life. And Richard hadn’t seen the man since starting on his most recent sea voyage two years ago.
Besides, the marquess’s schedule would be full of appointments and social events. He wasn’t likely to find time for a sea captain he hadn’t seen for years. But at least Richard could leave his card.
He glanced at the pearly rectangle as he climbed to the door of the ornate stone house set off from the street. Captain Richard Everard, the card read, the letters embossed. Like the marquess, Richard was the ruler of all he surveyed, but his power extended only to his ship. There, he was used to relaying orders, having them followed without question. Funny how one look from Claire made him feel like a schoolboy again, staring across a crowded ballroom at the most beautiful girl in all of London and hoping she might notice him.
“Sir?” the footman asked, brows drawn down under his powdered wig. Richard hadn’t even heard the door open, much less remembered knocking.
He straightened to his full height, looking down at the black-clad fellow, and boomed in his most commanding tone, “Captain Richard Everard to see the Marquess of Widmore.”
