Читать книгу The Rogue's Reform - Regina Scott - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Samantha lay trembling in her arms, but a noise in the doorway made Adele look up. Jerome Everard stood frozen in the opening, blue eyes wide. For one moment, she thought she saw a pain as deep as Samantha’s reflected in them. Then he raised a finger to his lips in caution and closed the door.

Something inside Adele demanded that she follow. She needed to comfort him, to smooth the dark locks from his forehead and whisper hope into his ears.

How silly! He was a full-grown man, with every evidence of being a leader among men. He had no need for her comfort.

But Samantha did. As if she’d felt the change in Adele, she straightened away, scrubbing at her tear-stained cheeks. “What shall we do?” she asked plaintively.

Adele rubbed a hand down the girl’s arm, bare below the short sleeves of her muslin gown. “We shall carry on, my love. Your father expected you to be presented this Season. I see no reason for that to change.”

Samantha visibly swallowed. “Couldn’t we wait a year?” Adele’s dismay must have been evident, for the girl hurried on. “Out of respect for Papa? I’m not sure I’m up to a London Season just yet.”

Adele managed a smile of encouragement. “So you have said, even before this tragedy, and my answer remains the same. You are clever and capable and one of the prettiest girls I’ve yet to meet. I’ve taught you all you need to succeed. We merely have to find the appropriate sponsor, and you will take London by storm.”

Samantha’s face puckered. “But what if I don’t want to take London by storm? What if I just want to come out quietly, here in Evendale?”

Adele looked deep into those troubled brown eyes. Where did these fears come from? She had to make the girl understand. Samantha must be presented in London. Nothing less would do.

“There is no purpose in coming out in Evendale, Samantha,” she explained. “There isn’t an eligible young man in fifty miles, not for a lady like you.”

“But Toby Giles…” she started.

“Mr. Giles is a fine young man,” Adele agreed, “and I understand he has hopes for the army, but you could do far better.” Adele broke off, watching Samantha’s eyes narrow. Oh, that was a dangerous look. It usually heralded a full-blown tantrum, complete with theatrics and threats.

Lord, please give me the words.

“We needn’t decide anything now,” Adele suggested. “The most important thing is for you to meet your cousins and become acquainted. Do you feel up to joining them for dinner?”

Samantha nodded slowly, face and body relaxing at last. “Of course. I know what’s expected of the lady of the house.”

Adele beamed at her. “You certainly do, and I’m proud of you for remembering that. Now, let’s see which of your pretty gowns would be best suited for this solemn of an occasion.”

That focused the girl, and they spent a few minutes looking through her wardrobe and clothes press. A short time later, Adele left Samantha to Maisy’s care and hurried into the corridor. She wanted to change for dinner, as well, but she needed to make sure Todd or Daisy sent word to her mother. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott generally arrived in time for dinner, in high style despite her years of living in the dower house. But today was not the day to expose the Everards to her mother’s ways. She’d have to tell her not to come tonight. Adele could only hope she’d have time for a full explanation tomorrow.

Besides, she also had to confirm the time with Mrs. Linton. She doubted the hour had changed—their housekeeper was entirely too dedicated to tradition to allow such a major disruption to their schedule—but if anyone could convince her to try something new, it was likely Jerome Everard.

Who was standing just down the corridor, as if he’d been waiting for her.

Adele pulled up short, then took a deep breath. He had no reason to wait for her. He was the heir, after all. Very likely he just wanted to look over his holdings. Perhaps he had been admiring the corniced molding along the pale ceiling, the thick carpet that ran down the center of the corridor, the way the high windows let in light along the space, lifting the eyes, lifting the spirits.

At the moment, however, he was eyeing her grandfather’s portrait as if he could not quite place the resemblance.

“Lawrence?” he asked as she came up to him.

Adele nodded. “You have a good eye, Mr. Everard. This is one of Thomas Lawrence’s earlier portraits, about 1789. It is a cherished family possession.”

“And the sitter must be the previous owner,” he mused, gaze still on the portrait.

Here she must go carefully. She had no desire to explain her family situation to him. “So I’ve been told.”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I didn’t mean to intrude on my cousin, but I couldn’t help overhearing that she was crying. She took the news hard.”

Adele sighed. “That is no surprise. She loved her father dearly.”

His gaze traveled to hers at last, warm, kind. She wanted to lean into it, allow it to soothe her frazzled emotions. “My cousin seems to rely on you, as well,” he said, “and for that I am thankful. She will need a friend now. Have you been her governess long?”

So much for a moment of comfort. Was he still so determined to learn her qualifications? Did he think her unsuitable for the role after all? She raised her head, pride warring with the humility she knew she should affect in front of her employer. “I’ve been Samantha’s governess for ten years, ever since Lady Everard passed on.”

His gaze sharpened, though he smiled. “I take it you don’t remember the lady, then.”

Now she hesitated. She remembered Rosamunde Defaneuil all too well, but this was neither the time nor place to go into such details. In fact, she found the details disappearing from her thoughts as his smile warmed in encouragement. He had the most charming dimple at the side of his mouth, and she was suddenly aware of how close he stood to her in the wide corridor, how easy it would be to touch his hand, his face. As if he too realized it, desired it, he took a step closer.

Adele edged around him. “Forgive me, Mr. Everard, but I should check with Mrs. Linton about dinner.”

His gaze was so focused on her that she thought he might pursue her. Instead, he stepped back as if to distance himself. “Given the state of my cousin’s grief,” he said with obvious care, “perhaps she would prefer to take dinner alone. We could eat in our rooms.”

Adele frowned. “But you said you’d come to comfort her.”

He inclined his head. “I would not want to impose.”

“It is no imposition,” Adele assured him. “I think hearing your plans for her future would comfort her immensely.”

“It may be premature to discuss plans. After all, Mr. Caruthers has yet to formally read the will.”

“But surely you know its contents,” Adele protested.

His head came up, and his look speared her. “I’m not entirely certain what my uncle planned for Samantha. I would have thought he might confide in you.”

Never. He seemed to be one of those men, like her father, who danced through life with no thought that it might someday end. “His lordship knew she was to be presented this year. We were planning to go up after Easter.”

His words were slow and far too cautious. “We may have to reconsider.”

She felt as if she’d been struck. “Did he leave her nothing then?” She searched his face, hoping for some sign. As if he didn’t care for the scrutiny, he turned to gaze at her grandfather’s portrait again.

“I’m certain the girl will be cared for, but I wouldn’t want to make any decisions about going to London just yet.”

Adele held back a sigh with difficulty. Was Jerome Everard cut from the same cloth as his uncle? While she joined Samantha and the rest of the valley in applauding Lord Everard’s generous spirit and loving nature, the girl’s father had been entirely too indecisive when it came to matters of the estate or his daughter’s future. Adele had pleaded when he was in residence, written letters to the solicitor when he was not, to no avail. He uttered vague promises of a Season, of presentation to the queen, and he did nothing to make those promises reality, apparently not even in death.

Well, she was not going to let his heir off so easily. The Season would start in just a few weeks. Was Samantha to be a part of it or not? Either way, decisions must be made about the estate and about Samantha. At times, Adele had made some decisions herself, letting the solicitor know after the fact and presenting him with the bill. With Jerome Everard in residence, she could hardly take that tack now. He would simply have to be brought to understand.

“Perhaps we can discuss this further over dinner,” she said with what she hoped was good grace. “You must meet Samantha. Besides, Mrs. Linton prides herself on her table. I’m sure she’d be dismayed if you didn’t join us.”

He turned to her, grin popping into view. “Probably evict me from the premises for treason, eh?”

Adele couldn’t help smiling, as well. “She is a bit fastidious about mealtimes.”

“Then I will be prompt and appreciative,” he said, inclining his dark head. “And dare I hope you eat at the family table as well?”

She nodded, trying not to show how much the fact pleased her. “Your uncle did not stand on ceremony. But of course I can eat in the schoolroom if you prefer.”

“And risk Mrs. Linton’s wrath? No, indeed. Might I impose on you for help in another area?”

She could not imagine what he meant, but her heart starting beating faster. “Certainly, Mr. Everard. How might I be of assistance?”

“I would like a tour of the house.”

A tour? Oh, she couldn’t. Surely the memories of Rosa would prove too potent, and she’d give everything away. Samantha’s future, her future, depended on her silence. She kept her smile polite. “I’m certain the Lintons would be better suited to the task.”

“But I’d prefer your company.”

Pleasure shot through her, but she refused to let it show. He was only being polite. As if he knew she meant to argue, he bent his head to meet her gaze, his look sweetly imploring. Good thing she’d long ago made herself immune to similar looks from Samantha.

“I believe you could give me a perspective the Lintons could not,” he continued in a perfectly reasonable tone. “You are a governess, after all, a teacher. Surely you’re used to explaining things. A house as old as this must have a rich history.”

Perhaps too rich. He couldn’t know the position in which he’d placed her. She had to refuse. “Your cousin Samantha knows the history of the house as well as I do.”

He leaned closer still, until she could see the thick lashes shielding his crystal gaze, the faint stubble beginning to show on his firm chin. A hint of spicy cologne drifted over her. “She may know the history, but you know all the secrets, don’t you?”

Adele’s breath caught. He’d heard the gossip about her family already. She could feel her color draining, watched his dark brows gather.

“Please know that I’m quite content as Samantha’s governess,” she said. “I do not spend my days longing for that life.”

He cocked his head and spoke slowly as if feeling his way. “I’m delighted to hear it. Perhaps it would reassure us both if you were to accompany me.”

She swallowed. “I wish you would not insist.”

“I wish you’d cease protesting.”

A reluctant smile teased her lips, but she could not give in. “Perhaps we can discuss this, too, another time,” she said, carefully backing away. “I shall see you at dinner, Mr. Everard.”

For the second time that afternoon, Jerome watched Adele Walcott run away. What had he done to concern her this time? What life did she no longer long for? Had she held some other position before she’d become a governess?

But she’d said she’d served his uncle for ten years. Unless he’d misjudged her age, she would have started into service at Dallsten Manor between age sixteen and twenty. He knew many women began working long before then, but he found it hard to imagine her cleaning the nursery or scrubbing pots in the kitchen. Those hands were long-fingered and refined, her carriage unbowed by hard labor. And she certainly spoke in cultured tones seldom found below stairs.

Whatever way he looked at it, Adele Walcott was a puzzle, and one he looked forward to solving. As if disagreeing, the older gentleman in the portrait along the wall glared at him. Jerome could not shake the feeling of familiarity, but he was certain that hawkish nose had never belonged to an Everard.

He started down the corridor for what he thought was the front of the house. With any luck, he might find his way back to the entryway and a servant more helpful than the footman. They seemed to run short staffed. Perhaps their income was limited. The house had to have belonged to Samantha’s mother and come to his uncle as dowry. Jerome had certainly never seen a bill for this place in Caruthers’s books, or he’d have wondered at the source.

Yet another question at Dallsten Manor. Perhaps he could get answers over dinner.

Adele had Samantha at the dining room door promptly at six, gowned in the darkest evening dress the girl owned, an emerald silk with blond lace along the gentle neckline and cap sleeves. Adele had barely found time to change, as well. She’d managed to send a short note via Daisy to her mother and received an elaborately worded response, which still managed to convey her mother’s extreme displeasure at being left out.

Mrs. Linton had been similarly displeased, grumbling through the discussion with Adele while banging spoons against the pots she stirred before agreeing that dinner would be served as usual.

To top things off, none of Adele’s old mourning clothes still fit, so she’d donned the brown velvet gown she generally reserved for more formal occasions. It was embroidered with royal blue medallions along the hem and modest neck, and the skirts brushed the carpet when she moved. With her paisley shawl draped about her shoulders, she felt poised and elegant and nothing like the stern governess others insisted on seeing when they looked at her.

After her encounters with Jerome Everard, she wasn’t sure what to expect from this meeting. She was tempted to put him down as nothing but a flirt, yet there seemed to be more to him, something deeper, that called to her. Perhaps it was the intelligence in his voice. Perhaps it was the smile of private humor she caught from time to time. All she knew was when she’d found him looking into Samantha’s room, eyes shadowed, face tight, she’d seen someone far more complex, even vulnerable, than his façade indicated.

He and a platinum-haired fellow, whom Mrs. Linton had confirmed was his cousin, were standing near the ivory silk-papered walls, just inside the door of the dining room, when Adele and Samantha entered, and both offered them bows.

Samantha curtsied. “I thought there were three of you,” she said as she rose.

Adele grimaced at the blunt comment, but Jerome merely motioned them into the room. Rather presumptuous. Immediately Adele chided herself. He wasn’t a guest; he now owned their home. And he certainly looked the part of lord of the manor, dressed all in black, with a coat of fine wool, satin-striped waistcoat and breeches tied at the knees.

“Alas, my brother Richard was detained,” he explained. “You’ll meet him shortly. May I introduce our cousin, Mr. Vaughn Everard? Vaughn, our new cousin Samantha Everard and her governess, Miss Adele Walcott.”

In a black, double-breasted coat with velvet lapels and large, gold buttons, Vaughn Everard looked only slightly less flamboyant than he had with a sword in his hand. He swept them both a deep bow, as if meeting royalty. “A pleasure, dear cousin, Miss Walcott.”

Samantha frowned as he straightened, but she went to sit on one of the cherry-wood chairs at Jerome’s right as he claimed the chair at the head of the damask-draped table. Vaughn took his place beside Samantha, leaving Adele to sit on Jerome’s left.

She was thankful to be spared conversation for the next few minutes as Todd carried in silver tureens of steaming curry soup thick with veal, and fricassee of turnips in a cream sauce, followed by a joint of mutton and boiled potatoes. As soon as he had placed the dishes on the table alongside the gilt-edged best china, Adele folded her hands and bowed her head, waiting for Jerome to say the blessing.

“Cousin?” she heard Vaughn say with a frown in his voice. She glanced up to find Samantha’s head bowed and hands folded as well. The girl cast her new cousin a quick glance before closing her eyes in expectation.

Jerome, at least, knew what to do. “Heavenly Father,” he began in his rich baritone, “thank You for this opportunity to come together in Your name and partake of Your bounty. May it be a blessing to all here. Amen.”

“Amen,” Adele chorused with Samantha, raising her head. Vaughn Everard’s mouth was cocked to one side as if the entire process amused him. Jerome, however, looked more pensive and offered Adele a smile before turning toward the food.

But no sooner had he begun slicing into the meat than Samantha raised her voice again. “My father never spoke of you.”

Tomorrow they would have to practice table conversation. Adele eyed the girl sternly. “I’m sure what Miss Everard meant to say was that she was delighted to learn she had three cousins.”

Across the table, Samantha had the good grace to look abashed. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant.”

Vaughn peered at her from under ivory brows. “So your father never told you about your family?” His gaze darted to Jerome, and Adele was certain he received the barest of nods in return. They seemed to have expected Samantha to know nothing about them. Why?

Disappointment bit sharply. She’d feared Jerome Everard might be too much like his uncle, but she was surprised to find how very much she wanted him to be a reliable gentleman, someone she and Samantha could count on. For how could she protect Samantha and herself if he turned out to be a rogue?