by Regina Scott
Now none of it held the appeal it once had. He was more likely to think about sitting by the fire with Claire, helping Jerome set up a more efficient system of identifying cargo, wondering if there was a better way to manage the Dallsten Manor estate. Was he getting old? Or was the Lord leading him somewhere else?
Show me Your way, Lord. Show me the path You want me to take.
That they had company was evident the moment he returned to the manor. Female voices echoed from the withdrawing room, followed by a gentleman’s reply and the sparkle of laughter. Richard ventured toward the sounds.
Neither Claire nor Samantha noticed him in the doorway. They were seated on the settee, Samantha in her pale muslin gown and Claire in an elegant black dress, and their attentions were fixed on the center of the room, where a slight man with a head of brown curls, purposely disheveled, Richard thought, was prancing about. The collar of his black coat was too high, in Richard’s opinion, his cravat tied in an overly complicated knot. In fact, the fellow looked a bit like a long-necked stork promenading about the room, each leg setting the step precisely.
“This room will not do,” he declared, turning to meet Claire’s and Samantha’s gazes. His voice held the hint of a French accent. “It is not the proper setting for a jewel of Lady Everard’s brilliance.”
Just what Richard needed, someone to rival Vaughn’s effusive praises. This could only be the famed dance master Claire had insisted they hire.
“The schoolroom might have enough space,” Samantha ventured with a glance to Claire. “If we moved the table to the wall.”
“Ah,” he said, shaking a slender finger at her, “but I understood that you had escaped the schoolroom, Lady Everard.”
Samantha giggled.
Richard snorted. The popinjay had to turn his whole body to face the door.
“Captain Everard,” Claire greeted Richard with a smile. “Our dance master has arrived. Come meet Monsieur Chevalier. Monsieur, this is Captain Richard Everard, Lady Everard’s cousin.”
The dance master took a mincing step forward and favored Richard with a deep bow. “Captain Everard, a pleasure.”
“Chevalier,” Richard acknowledged, moving into the room. “I take it you were determining which room to use for your lessons.”
The fellow tsked. “I do not call them lessons. It will be my pleasure to partner Lady Everard in the dance, and I am certain we will both learn a great deal from each other.”
Samantha blushed. “What do you think of the schoolroom, Cousin Richard?”
Richard went to stand at Claire’s side. “Good space, but I don’t relish trying to get the piano up the south tower stairs.”
Claire looked thoughtful, but Samantha’s face fell. “Oh, I didn’t think about that. Of course, we’ll need music.”
“I assure you we can glide to the music of the spheres,” Chevalier said, with a bow to Samantha.
“Yes, well, it would help the rest of us to hear more than a celestial choir,” Claire said. “I suppose this room will have to do.”
Her tone was polite, but Richard thought she seemed a bit annoyed with the notion. Every lady at Dallsten Manor gravitated to the feminine withdrawing room; he supposed she was loath to disturb it.
“We may have another choice,” he offered. “Mr. Linton and I should be able to move the piano to the receiving hall.”
Samantha clapped her hands. “Oh, perfect!”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of seeing that room,” Claire said with a slight frown.
“It’s huge!” Samantha exclaimed, waving her hands as if to give the impression of height and width. “Papa favored it.”
Richard could understand why. At times, he felt as though he was trying to fit into a dollhouse in this dainty room. The receiving hall at the back of the house was paneled in dark wood and floored in stone, and the ceiling was laced with intricately carved beams. Richard thought Uncle must have enjoyed playing King Arthur there.
“It will do,” he promised Claire. Then he turned to the dance master. “You can help us move the piano this afternoon, once you’re settled in.”
Chevalier raised a surprisingly delicate brow and held up his gloved hands. “I regret, Capitaine, that I must refuse. My hands must remain unburdened for the task ahead. You will understand, of course.”
Richard thought he understood all too well. He’d never tolerated an officer who was unwilling to dirty his hands when needed. He saw no reason to tolerate laziness in a gentleman under his employ now. He strode forward and clapped the dance master on his padded shoulder, nearly oversetting the fellow.
“I imagine you’ve lifted any number of ladies in the dance. A little piano should be no trouble.” He turned to Claire to find a smile tugging at her mouth. “What about some refreshments before our exertions?”
“Mrs. Linton is already on her way,” Claire assured him. “Lady Everard, why don’t you show Monsieur Chevalier the music we have available?”
Samantha rose eagerly and led the dance master to the piano. Richard took her place beside Claire on the settee.
“You don’t like him,” Claire murmured.
“Not in the slightest. What do you know about him?”
She glanced to where Samantha was giggling over something the dance master had said. “He came from France to England as a boy, I understand. He is well known among the ton. It seems any family with a daughter of marriageable age has enlisted his services the last few years, and I understand he’s tutored a few gentlemen as well. I’ve never heard the least complaint or whisper of scandal. Frankly, Richard, I think we were lucky to get him.”
Richard could not be so sure. “You said Widmore had a hand in it,” he mused.
Claire nodded. “He exerted some pressure, no doubt.”
Richard couldn’t help grinning. “You mean he bullied the man into helping us.”
Claire nudged him with her shoulder. “You needn’t make it sound so valiant, sir.”
“But you will admit the trait came in handy.”
She put her nose in the air. “I will admit only that the marquess seems to use the tactic with greater finesse. He even sent a letter of recommendation for our dance master.”
He ought to take some comfort in that, but they’d had another servant who’d come with such a recommendation, the footman Todd. That recommendation could have been forged. Certainly Widmore had disavowed all knowledge of the man.
“You’re certain the recommendation was legitimate?” Richard asked. “Did the letter bear Widmore’s seal?”
Claire frowned as if surprised by his question, but she nodded. “Yes. And I recognize the man. We’ve never been formally introduced, until today, but I’ve seen him with his lordship when I’ve gone to visit Lady Widmore and her daughter.” Her look softened. “I can understand why you might take him in dislike. He’s rather full of himself, he’s obviously too much of a flirt and he fancies himself a wit.”
“He’s half-right there,” Richard said.
Claire’s lips twitched as if she fought a smile. “Be that as it may, I see no harm in him. Now we merely have to discover whether his work lives up to his reputation.”
They had cause to find out that very afternoon. Richard had doffed his coat and helped the elderly groundskeeper and the dance master shove the piano down the corridor and under the stairs for the receiving hall at the back of the house.
Chevalier had proven stronger than Richard had expected, bearing his share of the weight with an exaggerated grimace that was all show, Richard thought. He also helped them clear the room, pushing the massive table that normally ran down the center to one side and setting the dozens of chairs it boasted along the paneled walls. Mrs. Linton and the maids rolled up the carpet and swept up the stone floor.
Chevalier eyed the roo
m. “Yes, I can see why you valued the room, Capitaine. This will be perfect for my work.”
Richard shrugged into his coat, which Claire had handed him as she entered the room. Samantha skipped into the space, obviously excited to start her lessons. Claire moved more slowly. Her usual glide was just as graceful, but Richard saw the tension underlying her smile. Concerned, he followed her to the piano.
“Is something wrong?”
She glanced to Samantha as if to make sure the girl and the dance master were out of earshot, then motioned Richard closer.
“You should see this,” she murmured, handing him a piece of parchment blackened around the edges as if it had been plucked from the fire. “Mrs. Linton found it under a corner of the carpet.”
Richard glanced down at the brittle sheet. It was obviously part of a larger composition—he could see the bottoms and tops of other letters on the lines above and below, and the words that remained were only part of a sentence. But those words chilled him: …how we can hasten the revolution.
“What does it mean?” Claire asked, gaze troubled.
Richard shook his head. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it bodes well, for any of us.”
* * *
Claire watched Richard take up sentinel beside the door of the receiving hall, as if to protect the rest of them from whatever lurked outside. Yet it seemed that something lay hidden inside Dallsten Manor, and she could not know exactly what.
Revolution? Why talk of revolution? So many conversations in London turned to the French fleet massing across the Channel. Napoleon had vowed to take England by autumn. Already reports talked of French spies landing to the south. But here, so far north and inland? What could a French spy want with the remote Evendale Valley? And no true Englishman would support a rising against the Crown, not again.
She could not focus on the music she was playing. Richard seemed just as distracted. He crossed his arms over his chest, but she didn’t think the gesture or his frown came from his cousin’s faltering steps. The words had concerned him, too, and he was puzzling over the note just as she was. It must be difficult for him to think that treason might have been plotted in this very room, perhaps by one of his own family.
“Oh, I’ll never get it right!” Samantha stopped to stamp her pink-slippered foot.
“Au contraire, Lady Everard,” Chevalier replied, taking her hand and cradling it in his. “You are as light as a butterfly skimming the meadow. You merely require a little more practice, and you will soar over the mountains!”
Richard grimaced, and Claire hid a smile. Samantha pulled away. “I think I need to see it done properly.” She turned to Claire. “Lady Winthrop, will you show me?”
Claire’s stomach tightened in protest. In truth, her leg hadn’t pained her as much since she’d come to Dallsten Manor, and she’d managed to take several strolls about the grounds with Samantha. Of course, she didn’t dare venture from the graveled paths onto the lawn, for fear the uneven ground would trip her up. She’d also taken her parasol each time to make sure she had something to lean upon if she needed it. No, a dance was much too much to expect.
She smiled politely at the girl. “Someone should play the music.”
“I’ll play,” Samantha insisted, hurrying toward her with a rustle of her muslin skirts.
Claire felt stiff all over. “I truly am not a good example in this, my dear. I’ve been in mourning the last year; I don’t know the latest dances.”
“Then it will be my honor to teach you, too,” Monsieur Chevalier declared. He held out his hands. “Come, Lady Winthrop, dance with me.”
Claire started to shake her head, but Richard pushed off the wall. “I will partner Lady Winthrop. She owes me a dance.”
The dance master opened his mouth as if to protest, but one look at Richard’s face and he bowed him past. “Of course, Capitaine. I will merely call the steps, shall I?”
Richard reached Claire’s side and held out his hand. She couldn’t accept it. She couldn’t dance with him. What if she fell? How could she answer the questions that would follow? She couldn’t let anyone know how badly she’d chosen in her husband.
She shook her head, but Richard bent closer. “Please, Claire?”
The tone was gentle, kind. She hadn’t seen such a look in his eyes for years—tender, yearning, hopeful. At this moment, dancing with her was the most important thing in his world. She understood the feeling. Nothing would have made her happier than to move beside him, turning to music meant for them alone.
One dance, Lord? One moment with Richard? Is that too much to ask? Will You keep me standing for one dance?
Her longing filled her to overflowing, forced her to her feet. Hanging on to hope, she put her hand on Richard’s arm and let him lead her onto the floor.
Chapter Fifteen
The movement that had so frustrated Samantha was merely a figure from one of the newer dances, so moving with another couple was not required. Claire took her place opposite Richard and curtsied to his bow. Though she hadn’t even started dancing, her heart was drumming in her chest. She could barely hear the music Samantha was playing, or the dance master’s instructions as he said, “Take right hands and circle left.”
Her fingers slid easily into the cup of Richard’s large hands, her arm supported effortlessly. The floor felt foreign beneath her as she turned with him, as if she was dancing on the warmth of his smile.
“Pass shoulder to shoulder,” Monsieur Chevalier called.
Richard released her to move past her, gaze on hers, body inches away. She caught the scent of bright spring air and cool water. Her shoulder only came to the center of his chest.
“And back.”
Here came the first test. Claire took a deep breath and stepped back. Her leg held. Thank You, Lord!
“Smile, Lady Winthrop,” Monsieur Chevalier suggested. “This is a joyous occasion. Two steps forward, two steps back.”
“Yes, Lady Winthrop,” Richard said with a grin as they met in the middle. “Smile. You are as light as a butterfly soaring up a mountain.”
Claire laughed as they parted.
On they went, moving with the music and the dance master’s instructions. Yet all Claire could feel was Richard, so close, like a lost part of her she’d longed to find again. For a moment, she was a girl once more, beautiful, strong, carefree. She’d been given a chance to partner the tall, handsome lad with the soulful brown eyes who’d been watching her across the ballroom all night, and she wasn’t about to waste it.
He was so much more now. He moved with a strength that spoke of confidence, of being at ease with his conscience. His smile broadened, deepened, as if being with her fulfilled every desire. Why had she been so afraid to take a chance on him years ago? If he should ask it, would she be any braver this time?
They turned, each with an arm behind the other’s back, gazes locked, and the world shrank further away. Those dark eyes were pools of admiration and something more, something she ached to hold to her heart. Richard must have seen the answer in her smile, for he leaned closer, and for a mad moment she thought he meant to kiss her.
With a protest that shot pain to her hip, her knee gave and she lurched to one side.
Richard caught her up. “Easy. Are you all right?”
Samantha must not have noticed Claire’s misstep, for the music continued. Monsieur Chevalier, however, was frowning at her as if wondering what she was doing. She knew her face must be flaming.
Still, she pasted on a smile and forced air into her lungs as she kept her weight on her good leg. “Don’t let go,” she whispered to Richard.
His grip tightened. “Never.”
Oh, how she wanted to believe that. But she could not afford the time to sort out her feelings for him. She had to get off this floor. “There, Lady Everard,”
she called. “I believe that is how it is done.”
As Samantha stopped playing, the dance master applauded. “Oh, well done, Lady Winthrop. You are an angel on the floor, granting mere mortals a glimpse of paradise.”
Beside her, Richard bent lower as if to praise her as well. He shifted his grip on her waist to take more of her weight. “Can you walk?” he murmured.
“I’m not sure,” she murmured back.
“Lean on my arm,” he said. Then, obviously for the others’ benefit, he added, “I quite agree, Chevalier. And I think we’ve had enough practicing for today. Go settle yourself in for the duration. Samantha, remind Mrs. Linton that we’ll be having one more to dinner.”
The dance master offered him a bow. “I am honored, Capitaine. Until then.” He traipsed from the room, each step delicate, as if he’d been the one to tire from the dancing. With a grin at Richard, Samantha followed him.
“She thinks we’re having an assignation,” Claire said, leg throbbing.
“She can think anything she likes,” Richard replied. “I’m more concerned about you. Try taking a step.”
She did, and pain speared up her leg. Despite her control, she sucked in a breath.
Richard shook his head. “Forgive me, Claire.”
“This isn’t your fault— Oh!” Before she could finish, he had picked her up in his arms and started for the door.
“This isn’t necessary,” Claire said, her breath now even more difficult to regulate. His face was so near she could see the red highlights in his beard, like flames licking through satinwood.
“Apparently it is, if you’re having trouble walking,” he said, starting down the corridor for the entryway. “What happened to your leg?”
“A fall,” she said, trying not to think of that awful night. “I broke my leg, and it never healed properly.”
“How did you fall?”
