Regina Scott (12 page)

Imogene had no knowledge that Lady Everard had died in this very room. She cuddled into the elegant gold-trimmed armchair by the fire and wiggled her slippered toes before the heat warming the white marble hearth.

“You’re certain you didn’t invite Mr. Haygood?” she asked Samantha. “Things were a bit hectic before you headed north.”

Samantha knew Imogene referred to the break-ins at Everard House. It had been unsettling to find her things pawed through, her guest rooms ravaged. And yet nothing had been taken. The thief had obviously been looking for something specific, for he’d struck three times before she’d had to travel to Cumberland for the party. That she’d been unable to determine his identity still rankled.

“I’m certain I’d remember,” she said, pacing about the room, her green satin dressing gown whipping about her ankles. Sitting on the other chair facing the fire, the one meant for her father, felt wrong. And sleeping in the bed? She wasn’t sure she could force herself to do that.

Don’t let me make this more than I should, Father. It’s only a bed.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me.

At the remembered verse she felt the burden slipping off her shoulders. But Imogene was watching her, as if unsure of her emotions.

“Well,” she said, “I think showing up here was rather presumptuous of Mr. Haygood, to be sure.”

Samantha nodded. “Unfortunately I didn’t feel comfortable sending him away. He’s simply too...loyal.”

“I told you he would offer,” Imogene replied, arms crossed over her own frothy white dressing gown. “He’s followed you for much of the Season like a lost pup.”

Samantha made a face. “And why? There are any number of other young ladies willing to encourage his attentions.”

“Especially now it’s known he will inherit his uncle’s estates and titles,” Imogene predicted. “Even with this sudden appearance, he seems rather sweet. Are you certain you cannot care for him?”

Samantha shook her head. “Quite certain.”

Imogene rose to meet her in the center of the room, taking her hands and looking deep into her eyes. “Dearest, I adore you, and I’ll stand by you no matter what. But your birthday is just over a week away. You know what that means.”

Samantha pulled back her hands. “Everyone I care about knows what that means. But my mind is quite made up, Imogene. I won’t marry, not even to save Dallsten Manor.”

Imogene sighed. “I didn’t believe you when you said that eight years ago at Richard and Claire’s wedding. I suspect I must believe you now.”

Samantha sagged. “I wish someone would.”

“You cannot blame us for holding on to hope,” Imogene replied, releasing her hands. “Adele, Claire and I are deliriously happy in our marriages. We want the same for you.”

Samantha eyed her. “Can you tell me you and Vaughn never fight? That you are in complete accordance with everything he does?”

Imogene giggled, jade eyes sparkling. “Fight? Never. Disagree strongly? Less often than you might have thought when we first married. And of course there are moments I wish to find his old blade and make my point.” She took Samantha’s hand and led her back toward the hearth. “But I have never regretted my decision to marry him. I knew he was the one God intended for me, and that has been proven true again and again.”

Samantha’s heart ached. “That is part of the problem, Imogene,” she replied, stopping just short of the armchairs. “God seems to have another plan for me, for I’ve never felt that way about any of the men who pursued me. I’m sorry.”

Imogene hugged her then. It never failed to amaze her that someone Imogene’s size, still short and curvy even after having given birth to twins, could hug so fiercely. In the embrace Samantha felt her friend’s care, her belief and her faith. When they released each other, tears sparkled in Imogene’s eyes, and Samantha could feel answering tears in her own.

Imogene excused herself then and hurried off to change for dinner. Samantha’s maid arrived to help her change as well. Life went on, and she somehow thought it should pause a pace. She’d confided that God had never sent her a man she could love as husband, but she feared the lack was not in her Lord. Somewhere along the road she’d lost the ability to believe in love. At times she felt rather mature about the matter. She was no longer a dewy-eyed debutante, pining after this fellow one week and that fellow the next.

Yet at the moment she felt as if she’d taken a wrong turn, started down a crooked path. She could only hope the next few days would prove the truth of her plans, one way or the other.

Chapter Twelve

D
espite Samantha’s unsettled emotions, dinner proved to be a merry affair. Mrs. Linton prided herself on running an orderly household, and even though Samantha had encouraged her to keep things informal this first evening, the housekeeper had set the table with an embroidered damask cloth, the best china in pure white edged in gilt, and every piece of silver the house owned. The light from the candelabra glowed on the tureens of pea soup spiced with mint, the platters of dressed lamb and the bowls of steaming potatoes that made up the first course.

Even with all the children upstairs in the schoolroom, they sat down eleven to table, counting Mrs. Dallsten Walcott, Will, Jamie and Prentice Haygood. The gentlemen had dressed in tailored coats and cravats that ranged from elegant to austere, and the ladies were decked out in shiny lustring and soft lace.

The oddest thing about dinner was to have Vaughn at the head of the table as the highest-ranking member present. Two years ago, for services to the crown, he had been awarded the recreated Widmore marquessate, which had belonged to Imogene’s late father. Though he was now known as Widmore in many circles, none of his family called him by his new title. The name held too many unpleasant memories for them. Imogene said she knew he would return honor to her family’s former title.

As the second-highest ranking gentleman present, Will sat on his left across from Imogene. That put Samantha next to him and across from Jamie. She was just thankful Haygood ended up at the foot, across from Mrs. Dallsten Walcott, with Jerome, Adele, Richard and Claire in between.

Good thing Mrs. Linton’s insistence on maintaining the rules of society only extended to the seating arrangements, for Samantha’s family certainly didn’t feel obliged to comply. Her cousins called jests and challenges up and down the table, and their wives joined in. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott took their boisterous camaraderie in stride for the most part, but Jamie didn’t seem to know how to handle it, and Haygood, when Samantha managed to catch a glimpse of him, looked positively glassy eyed.

Not so Will. He dug into his food with gusto, laughed at all the jokes and joined the conversation freely.

“Planning to jump any fences while you’re here?” he asked Vaughn at one point.

“Ha!” Richard leveled his silver fork at Vaughn from farther down the table, grin evident above his russet beard. Her second-oldest cousin had been a privateer before he’d turned merchant captain. He’d been gone from England for years before reacquainting himself with her sponsor Lady Claire Winthrop and marrying her. Samantha admired his quiet strength. It wasn’t easy to upset Richard.

“You may have London fooled into thinking you’re the perfect marquess,” he told Vaughn, “but you’ll find it harder to live down your reputation here, my lad.”

“I cannot think what you mean,” Vaughn said archly, raising his chin so high the light caught on his platinum hair.

Will grinned. “I heard from my father you liked to jump your horse over any obstacle,” he explained, then he glanced across the table at Jamie. “What was the story?”

“Every fence between here and Carlisle,” Jamie said, obviously pleased to be included.

Vaughn picked up the crystal goblet before him, dark eyes scornful. “I am entirely beyond such things now.”

Jamie’s face fell.

Imogene nodded sagely, but Samantha saw the laughter in her friend’s eyes. “Oh, my yes. I can’t remember the last time he jumped a fence. But he set the record for curricle and pair to Brighton last month.”

“Ho!” Jerome raised a glass in toast. “To new challenges.”

“To new challenges,” they all chorused with raised glasses while Vaughn gave it up and grinned.

“And what of you, Cousin?” he asked Samantha when they had all set down their glasses. “Any new challenges you’ve taken up recently?”

Imogene looked away, but the others were all watching Samantha, and she knew they hoped she’d confess to an engagement. Though she and Haygood seemed miles apart down the long table, they had to wonder why he was here. Even he was leaning forward as if intent on gazing at her. Now would be the perfect time for a clever quip, a funny tale. Unfortunately she suddenly felt more like crying than laughing.

“Not much challenges Lady Everard,” Will said in the silence. “She beat me in a fencing match just the other day.”

Laughter returned to the table, and she could breathe again. “Only I lost to Jamie the very next match,” she confessed with a smile to her friend.

“What a swordsman you must be, Lord Wentworth,” Claire said on his right, her crystalline blue gaze warming with her praise.

“It was difficult facing a lady,” he admitted, blushing.

“Don’t be easy on her,” Richard advised. “She’ll take advantage of it.”

“Well I like that!” Samantha declared. “Do you impugn my honor, Captain Everard?”

Richard held up his hands. “Never! I’ve no wish to meet you at dawn.”

“A lady,” Claire said, honey-blond-haired head high, “never rises so early.” She nodded to Samantha. “Blades after tea, I think. Much more civilized.”

“Come now,” Haygood put in. “I heard this tale from Lord Wentworth earlier, and I still cannot credit it. Surely so delicate a flower as Lady Everard could not possibly wield a blade.”

If she’d ever entertained the least notion of agreeing to Haygood’s suit, that speech did it in. She had entirely too much experience dealing with people who wanted her to be something other than what she was. It never ended well.

“They are quizzing you, Mr. Haygood,” Mrs. Dallsten Walcott said with a sniff. “You will find it a family trait.”

Before Samantha could protest, Jerome, Adele, Claire and Richard all rushed to assure Mrs. Dallsten Walcott and Haygood with stories of Samantha’s prowess.

Will leaned closer. “Small wonder you beat me. I had no idea I was taking my life in my hands.”

He was teasing. She could see it in his smile, in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. She felt her own heart lightening.

“Be warned then, my lord,” she teased back. “Dealing too closely with me can be dangerous.”

He inclined his head. “Perhaps you should be warned as well, then.” His gaze met hers, and her cheeks heated at the warmth in it. “Like your cousin, I enjoy a challenge.”

* * *

Will could not remember such an entertaining meal. Too often on the diplomatic circuit, dinners were difficult voyages constantly fighting undercurrents. Conversations held innuendos, looks hid treachery. The Everards did not seem to have anything to hide, and that surprised him.

It was the same after dinner. They all repaired to the withdrawing room, and each lady took a turn either playing at the piano or singing. Their husbands watched, with pleasure evident in their eyes and smiles. And when Samantha played, Will thought every man in the room nearly popped the buttons from his waistcoat each was so puffed with pride over knowing her.

Both Haygood and Jamie attempted to approach her when she finished, but she managed to elude them as she surrendered the instrument to Captain Everard’s wife, who had already asked Will to call her Claire. Indeed all the Everards had insisted on a first-name basis, an unexpected honor. But Jamie and Haygood made quite the pair, staring soulfully after her until their gazes happened to collide. Then they hastily excused themselves and went to make conversation with others.

Will was tempted to rescue his son from what appeared to be a ringing lecture from Mrs. Dallsten Walcott, but Samantha had chosen to promenade, and she was drawing closer to his position by the windows overlooking the grounds. He could not give up the opportunity to talk to her.

“I fear your suitors have more determination than you have ways to avoid them,” Will said as she neared. “I doubt you can evade them for long.”

She stopped beside him. Up close he could see that she was not enjoying the evening as much as her family was. Though she smiled pleasantly enough, she held herself stiffly, as if every muscle had tightened in protest.

“And to whom are you referring, exactly?” she asked Will, golden brows arched.

Will lifted his chin to point to Haygood across the room. “Our poetic friend Mr. Haygood, for one. Am I right in assuming you’d prefer he not propose to you?”

She nodded, far too eagerly, then immediately dropped her gaze. “Forgive me. That was unkind. He’s a dear friend, but I have no interest in marrying him.”

That seemed a common refrain. Though he had expected as much, he was surprised at the relief that coursed through him.

“And what of Jamie and me?” Will asked. “Do you find us equally troublesome to your plans?”

She smiled, warmth softening the tension in her face. “No. In truth you both have been more help than you know. I hope you’ll feel free to visit the manor often between now and the summer party.”

It seemed his tactics were working. But he knew better than to press his advantage now. She wasn’t ready to confide in him yet, and any attempt to openly encourage her was likely to be met by loyal opposition from her family. He merely had to wait. Surely over the course of the next few days he’d find an opportunity to question her again about his brother’s death. And the more she saw him as a helpmate, the easier the questioning would go.

“It would be my pleasure to assist,” Will assured her. “For now I’ll gather up my son and Mrs. Dallsten Walcott and leave you with a few less heads to worry about tonight.” He took her hand and bowed over it. He’d used the courtly gesture countless times to honor a lady. Yet the strength in her grip, the confidence in her touch was like nothing he’d ever felt. He only hoped his efforts to win her trust would be successful soon, so he could get the lovely Samantha Everard off his mind.

* * *

Thank God for good friends like Will! He at least noticed she was growing fatigued and acted to reduce the burden. She smiled after him as he took his leave from the others, collected Jamie and Mrs. Dallsten Walcott and withdrew. The room did not feel nearly as warm in his absence.

Prentice Haygood was another matter. No sooner had the Wentworths and her chaperone quit the room than her unwelcome houseguest headed in her direction. She tensed, trying to think of a way to fend him off, but Vaughn intercepted him.

“Mr. Haygood,” he drawled, raising a quizzing glass to his eye and using it to effect. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting this Season. I find myself quite curious. Do share your background.”

Haygood visibly squirmed, shoulders rolling in his brown coat, and immediately excused himself, pleading fatigue from his journey. Vaughn watched him hurry from the room. Behind her husband’s back, Imogene winked at Samantha. Her friend had evidently told Vaughn about Samantha’s feelings toward the fellow, and for once Samantha could not mind her cousin’s interference.

Shortly after, Jerome and Adele headed off to the schoolroom to check on their children, and Richard declared that he and Claire were retiring. Vaughn also bid Samantha good-night with a bow.

Imogene, however, lagged behind, trailing Samantha toward the great stair.

“You sly goose!” she cried with a giggle. “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re in love with Lord Kendrick!”

“Hush!” Samantha grabbed her arm and drew her back behind the stairs to make sure none of the others heard them. “I am no such thing.”

Imogene cocked her head, chestnut curls bouncing. “So you claim you have no feelings for the fellow.”

Samantha dropped her hold. “I didn’t say that.”

“There seems to be a great deal you’re not saying,” Imogene pointed out. “But I noticed the looks flashing between the two of you at dinner, I heard snatches of your conversation. You cannot deny he held his own tonight, and that’s saying a very great deal with our family.”

Samantha couldn’t deny it. Some of her suitors had held up well compared against Jerome or Richard. Few could match Vaughn. Will had gone toe-to-toe with her formidable cousins and had looked as if he’d enjoyed it. But she could not leave Imogene with the impression she cared for him. Samantha would never hear the end of it.

“What you saw was the beginnings of a friendship,” she explained.

“Friendship?”
From her tone to the curve of her coral-colored lips, Imogene put doubt into the word.

“Friendship,” Samantha insisted. “It isn’t surprising. I’ve been friends with his son for years. Why shouldn’t I enjoy his company, too?”

“No reason at all,” Imogene agreed, threading her arm through Samantha’s and drawing her back to the stairs. “He’s utterly charming and handsome, and he seems to share a number of interests with you.”

Samantha was surprised her friend hadn’t pushed the matter further, but she smiled and nodded as they started up the stairs, skirts rustling.

“He’s kind as well,” she told Imogene. “I feel as if he’s looking out for me.”

“And you wouldn’t have to leave your beloved Dallsten Manor,” Imogene reminded her as they reached the top of the stairs. “You could even combine the estates.”

Samantha pushed out her lower lip in thought. “I suppose we could. Though I’m not sure I like Kendrick Hall nearly as much as the manor.”

“You could remodel,” Imogene temporized as they turned the corner for the bedchambers. “You have more than enough in the legacy, once you marry.”

Samantha pulled up short, suddenly realizing where the conversation had led her. “Wait...”

“Now, now,” Imogene soothed, backing away from her as if she saw trouble coming. “I merely wish to point out how easily you consider a future with Lord Kendrick. All you need do is bring him around before your birthday and elope to Gretna Green, and all will be well.”

“Imogene,” Samantha started, but her friend had already turned her back and was hurrying off for her bedchamber with an airy wave.

Samantha shook her head. Marriage to Will? Ridiculous! Eloping to Gretna Green? Never! Wasn’t that what had started her family’s troubles to begin with?

Samantha turned to face the door to her mother’s bedchamber. A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it. Raising her chin, she opened the door and marched in. Her maid had a lovely fire glowing in the grate, and the velvet curtains had been drawn over the night. Even the covers on the great bed had been turned down, beckoning her with the promise of restful slumber. She found the promise impossible to believe.