by Regina Scott
The woman beside her nodded as if making a decision and snatched the shepherdess from its pedestal. “I’ll just take this for safekeeping.”
Claire raised her brows. “Of course you’ll speak to Lady Everard first.”
The woman’s eyes flashed a warning. “And why should that be necessary? Do you know who I am?”
Claire smiled sweetly. “How remiss of me. We haven’t been properly introduced. Let the roof be our hostess. I am Claire Winthrop, daughter of the former Earl of Falbrooke and widow of the former Viscount Winthrop. I’m sponsoring Lady Everard on her Season.”
For a moment, doubt flickered behind the woman’s blue eyes. She clutched the statuette closer as if for self-defense. “I am Mrs. Dallsten Walcott. The Dallstens trace our lineage back to before the conquest. My family has owned this house for generations. And my daughter married Mr. Jerome Everard.”
The story just kept getting better. So, Jerome’s wife, who had been Samantha’s governess, was of a respected family that had fallen on hard times. While Claire was immediately in sympathy with her, she still could not see how her daughter’s plight gave her mother the right to rearrange the furnishings.
“Good evening, ladies.”
Richard’s warm voice, so close behind her, sent a shiver up her. Composing her face, she turned to greet him. As if he knew she had intended to start an argument, and was prepared to meet it, he’d dressed in black as well, from his tailored coat to his satin-striped waistcoat and black wool breeches. But was it merely the dark color that made the skin above his beard look paler? It couldn’t be that Mrs. Dallsten Walcott discomposed the captain.
Out of the corners of her eyes, Claire saw the lady in question set the shepherdess back in its place.
“Good evening, Captain Everard,” Mrs. Dallsten Walcott said with a sniff. “Will you tell this woman that I am welcome in the manor?”
Richard raised a russet brow. “I imagine you can tell her yourself, ma’am. She’s standing right beside you.”
As Mrs. Dallsten Walcott glared at her, Claire gazed back with a smile she knew had teeth. “Captain Everard, will you explain to Mrs. Dallsten Walcott why it is impolitic to carry off things that do not belong to one?”
“Belay that!” Richard barked in command.
Claire blinked, but Mrs. Dallsten Walcott jumped, lifting her old-fashioned gown right off the carpet.
He offered an arm to each of them with a charming smile. “Forgive me. Habit. The phrase means to hold off. We have more important matters to attend to. It’s time for dinner, ladies. Your navigator is leaving. I suggest you latch aboard or find yourselves scuttled.”
Claire accepted his arm, trying not to grin herself. “A shame my father never thought to teach me sailor’s cant. Another failing in my education, I fear.”
Mrs. Dallsten Walcott accepted his other arm without looking at Claire. The lady’s mouth was set in a firm line, and Claire thought she was struggling over whether to disagree with Claire and be thought less than a lady for knowing the vulgar language of sailors, or to agree with her and thus consort with the enemy.
Unfortunately, with the lady on Richard’s other side, Claire could hardly start the conversation she’d hoped to have with him. She still could not like the woman’s presumption, but Mrs. Dallsten Walcott was obviously considered family if Richard was escorting her to dinner with them. Her attitude remained formal, telling Claire she too felt the antipathy between them. But with Richard’s escort, they managed to reach the dining room with no more harsh words said.
At least the designer had used some imagination for this room, Claire thought as she entered. The walls were hung with ivory silk, and mahogany chairs stood around a damask-draped table set with fine china, clear crystal and silver candelabra.
Richard took the seat at the top of the table as the resident head of the household, with Claire on his left and Samantha, who hurried in too close behind Vaughn for Claire’s comfort, on his right. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott clearly dithered on which seat to take, finally settling on the chair next to Samantha’s, leaving Vaughn to sit beside Claire. The smile on his face said he was amused by all the posturing.
Claire was more amused by his announcement, after Richard had asked the blessing and they started the savory meal.
“I regret, Lady Winthrop, that I will not be able to assist you and my lovely cousin as you journey to London,” he said. “I will be leaving for the capital in a few days.”
Samantha’s silver fork clattered to her plate. “You’re leaving? Why?”
Vaughn and Richard exchanged glances. What was that about? Vaughn immediately turned his smile on his cousin. “Someone has to go prepare the house for you, infant.”
She stuck her nose in the air. “I’m not an infant, and Cousin Richard just spent the better part of a fortnight in London making arrangements. I don’t see why you must go.”
He picked up his own fork and gave it a twirl. “And I see no reason to tarry. You’ll join me soon enough, if Lady Winthrop is the social genius Richard claims.”
His look to Claire was challenging, and Claire put on her polite smile, ready to do battle. But, to her surprise, Richard spoke up first.
“Genius is the perfect word. Never you fear, Samantha. You could not ask for a smarter, more talented or more caring sponsor.”
Oh, my, was she blushing? How could he praise her like that? And was she so desperate for approval that such a little kindness could set her hopes to blooming? “You are too kind, Captain Everard,” she managed.
Samantha glanced between the two of them, smile slowly spreading, as if she liked what she saw. “Then we’ll be together in no time, cousin!”
Vaughn smiled at her as he might at a hound pup that had followed him from the kennel. Samantha’s mouth trembled, as did her hand as she returned to her meal. Richard grinned, but Claire could not feel so sanguine. The girl was clearly infatuated with her older cousin. It would bode none of them any good in the days ahead.
And that meant she had one more thing she must discuss with Richard, as soon as possible.
Chapter Eleven
Mrs. Dallsten Walcott excused herself right after dinner, hurrying off while Richard escorted Claire and Samantha to the withdrawing room. Claire made a mental note to check before retiring to see that the shepherdess still guarded the corridor upstairs and hadn’t wandered down to the dower house, where Richard had explained Mrs. Walcott normally resided.
While the dining room had been lovely, Claire took one step into the withdrawing room and decided she liked what she saw here even more. The walls were the palest pink, like the inside of a seashell; the ceiling was inlaid with classical paintings and cameos of blush and pearl. The fine wood of the chairs and settee was edged with gilt, the pieces refined. In such a feminine room, she was certain, things must be discussed civilly.
Claire perched on the settee by the white marble fireplace, waiting for Samantha to join her. But the girl went to the piano along the far wall and began playing something so low and mournful it sounded like a dirge.
“Not her usual style,” Richard remarked, taking a seat beside Claire. He looked out of place on the dainty furnishings, as if a bear had been invited to take tea. Vaughn seemed more at home, going to stand beside the girl and turn pages, and Claire noticed Samantha’s playing immediately improved.
“She has a tendre for your cousin, I fear,” Claire murmured.
Richard cocked a smile. “I’ve noticed he has that effect on the ladies.”
And he had no idea of the danger. “You wanted Lady Everard to have three offers for her hand. I doubt we’ll get one if it’s known the poor fellow may have to challenge Vaughn Everard.”
That won a laugh from him. “Not to worry. Vaughn is devoted, but he considers her a little sister.”
Claire di
dn’t think his voice had carried, but Samantha hit a false note and hastily corrected it. The girl’s face heated when her cousin reached past her to turn a page, and her gaze flickered over him as if hungry for any part of his attention.
Claire was more aware that she must capitalize on Richard’s attention. “I know you want her to be presented,” she said quietly, “but I’m not sure she’s ready for London just yet.”
Richard raised a brow. “You’ve known her a few hours and you can say that with confidence?”
Claire stiffened. The doubts came too easily. Had she been hasty? She used to be so sure of her decisions, but her inability to see her husband’s true character at times shook her faith in herself. “You yourself told me she seemed anxious,” she pointed out in defense. “I noticed that as well.”
“Every girl is a little anxious,” he replied, leaning back as if the matter were settled.
“I wasn’t,” Claire told him.
His smile proved his pride in her. “I imagine you weren’t. You walked through London as if you owned it. But there aren’t many like you, Claire.”
Again he was praising her, and again her cheeks were heating. But she wasn’t a green girl like Samantha, and she could not let him distract her from her purpose. “Be that as it may, your cousin’s anxiety seems deeper than usual. It concerns me.”
“Samantha will be fine,” he assured her, so cavalierly she wanted to shout at him. “Here, I’ll show you.” He straightened and raised his voice. “Ho, Samantha. Stop a moment and come here.”
Claire shook her head to warn him against it, but the girl had already hopped up from the bench and was scurrying to their sides.
As soon as she stood before them, Richard challenged, “Are you ready for London?”
“Tell him exactly how you feel,” Claire urged, watching the girl.
But Samantha’s gaze was all for Vaughn, who had followed her across the room and was standing by her side as if to protect her. “Oh, yes. I’m ready. I could leave with Cousin Vaughn if you’d prefer.”
Over Claire’s dead body. She could not like the way the girl’s belief in herself had blossomed since hearing her cousin was going on ahead. “We have entirely too much packing to do for you to be ready so soon,” Claire countered. “Though I’m delighted to hear you so eager. You must have decided you are ready to make conversation with complete strangers.”
She raised her chin. “I’ve never had trouble talking to people.”
Vaughn chuckled. “Not in the slightest.”
“And carry yourself with sublime confidence, in any situation,” Claire added.
Samantha lowered her head. “I think I can do that.”
“Like a true Everard,” Vaughn assured her.
“And dance with anyone who asks,” Claire said.
“I can dance,” she replied, smile growing. “I know the minuet and the gavotte.”
Claire was never more thankful that she’d insisted on hiring Monsieur Chevalier. The girl would be expected to be fluent in at least a dozen different dances, some just making their appearance in London.
As if he understood the problem as well, Vaughn raised his pale brows. “The minuet and the gavotte? Tragic, cousin. You were made for better.”
Samantha stared at him, clearly dismayed. “You mean those don’t count?”
“Perhaps not as much as you’d hoped,” Claire said, leaning back. “But never fear. We have the matter in hand. Monsieur Chevalier, the preeminent London dance master, will be joining us shortly.”
Richard frowned. “So you managed to tear the fellow away from his other pursuits, then.”
“Yes,” Claire replied, trying not to take pride in the fact. “Though I had to use the offices of the Marquess of Widmore to do it. I’m just thankful he’s so inclined to help Lady Everard.”
To her surprise, Richard and Vaughn exchanged glances again. “Widmore spoke to you about Samantha?” Richard said, and she heard something more than curiosity in his voice.
“The night before we left,” Claire replied. “At his wife’s ball.”
Vaughn’s hand strayed to his side as if he longed for his blade. “Odd. Why would he care?”
Claire gazed at the two men, trying to determine their concerns. “But I thought he and Lady Everard’s father were good friends.”
“Longtime friends,” Samantha said, bunching up her skirts to take a seat on a nearby chair. “I’ve known him my whole life.” She made it sound as if that had been centuries instead of a mere sixteen years.
“And he remembers you fondly as well,” Claire told her.
Vaughn smiled, a lifting of his lips that held no warmth. “I must thank him for his kindness. It will give me a reason to renew our acquaintance.”
“I predict a fine reunion,” Richard said, far too brightly. “For now, I think we’ve had enough of such concerns.” He turned to Claire. “As I recall, you play brilliantly. Would you favor us with a song? Samantha, go turn the pages for our guest.”
Claire would have preferred to stay where she was, trying to understand the reason for the undertones in the conversation. She also wasn’t willing to concede. Samantha, Lady Everard, wouldn’t be ready for London by Easter, even with Monsieur Chevalier’s instruction. The sooner Richard and Vaughn accepted that, the better.
But she was fairly certain Richard had commissioned her to play because he feared she’d ask questions he didn’t want to answer. And now did not seem the time to press him. So she rose and shook out her black lustring skirts. “Of course. Come along, Lady Everard.”
She thought the girl might protest; Samantha also looked eager to stay. But, as if remembering her promise to be guided by Claire in all things, her new protégée followed her to the piano with a dispirited sigh and stayed by Claire’s side while Claire played the Mozart sonata she found on the music rack. Richard and Vaughn stood, mouths murmuring, heads close together, russet and pale gold, until Claire had finished.
“That was beautiful,” Samantha said, closing the music. “I wish I could play like that.”
“Don’t wish it,” Claire said with a smile as she stood. “It requires far too much time to practice, and you have far more important things to do right now.”
And so do I, Lord. Help me to find the words.
Richard may have convinced himself that his cousin was ready, and Samantha certainly had convinced herself since this afternoon, but there was more here than met the eye. Claire had learned to her sorrow that subterfuge had no place among friends and family.
Even though Richard would only be in her life a short time, she saw no reason for him to keep secrets, especially if they could affect Samantha or her. Accordingly, when they all adjourned for the night, she lagged behind to speak with him.
He pulled up when he caught sight of her at the foot of the great stair. “Something wrong, Claire?”
“What issue do you have with the Marquess of Widmore?” she challenged.
He glanced up the stairs as if to determine the location of his cousin, but Samantha had already disappeared down the corridor for the bedchambers. “No issue,” he replied, returning his gaze to Claire. “As you said, he’s an old friend of the family.”
“A friend whose name brings tension. Why?”
“There is no reason for you to worry.”
The very fact that his gaze darted away from her as he said that made her concerns multiply. “Certainly I must worry if Lady Everard is at odds with one of the most notable men in London Society.”
He sighed. “She isn’t at odds.” He glanced up the stairs again, then took Claire’s elbow and drew her back behind them, where a corridor ran down to other rooms at the rear of the house. The lamps had already been extinguished, leaving the place in twilight. She could barely make out Richard standing beside he
r.
“I’d prefer you say nothing to Samantha,” he murmured, “but perhaps you should know. We have reason to believe Uncle’s death was no accident.”
In the shadows of the stairs, Claire felt chilled. “But I heard it was a duel.”
“So the story goes, yet no one will admit to being the challenger or even his second.”
She struggled not to see the evil he implied. “Your uncle was not known for honoring the rules. Perhaps he didn’t follow code duello.”
“Perhaps.” He shifted on his feet, bringing him closer to her. “But his valet, who supposedly made the arrangements, has also disappeared.”
“And you suspect foul play.”
She thought he nodded. “Samantha knows little of this. Jerome felt she should be protected.”
Claire had never been more in agreement with Richard’s brother. “I will say nothing, so long as Samantha is safe. I trust you have no reason to think that anyone wishes her harm.”
He hesitated, and cold pierced her bones. “What is it?” she demanded, ready to defend her charge. “Has someone threatened her here?”
“Not Samantha,” he explained. “Someone attempted to kill my brother two weeks ago here in Cumberland.”
Claire gasped. “What? Did you catch the villain?”
“No.” Frustration simmered in the single word. “A footman named Todd caused several accidents and finally held Jerome and Adele at gunpoint, all to possess a porcelain box. We have no idea why. He claimed to work at the behest of another, but we haven’t been able to discover his master. He got away with the box and disappeared.”
Claire refused to let him see the tremor that shook her. “What an untidy household you keep, sir, that everyone disappears on you.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “You can see why I need you.”
