Regina Scott (7 page)

Before he could think of his next step, Samantha Everard stiffened. She had been contemplating her shoes, a dainty pair of green kid leather with rosettes on the toes, when her head jerked up as if she’d scented something on the breeze. Will glanced around, but could see nothing different in his neighbors. The only change was the sun pulling out from behind some clouds, bringing a glow to the stone church, the churchyard and the woods beyond.

She picked up her skirts as if she intended to run a race.

“It’s time!” she cried. “Come on, Jamie!” As if assuming his son would follow, she darted past Will, weaving through the headstones of the cemetery beside the church.

Will glanced between her rapidly disappearing form and his son. Jamie had been teasing one of the older Gileses’ boys and had completely failed to notice the departure of his lady love. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott was lecturing Mrs. Giles on the proper way to discipline children, even though Will was fairly certain she’d never applied those techniques herself. He could point out that the woman she was chaperoning now had just disappeared, alone, or he could hasten after Lady Everard himself.

He didn’t think further. He hastened.

He caught a fleeting glimpse of her ahead of him as she ran into the wood. Where was she going? She’d forsaken the path that wound toward Kendrick Hall, instead plunging through the trees toward the fells. The undergrowth was sparse here, so he couldn’t fear she’d take a fall or lose her way. In fact she seemed to know exactly where she was going.

He caught up to her in a clearing that ran against a draw in the hillside. Tree limbs dangled over a pool of water, surrounded by stone. Shadows danced across the green expanse, and the air was moist and loud with the sound of falling water.

He wasn’t sure she could hear him approach, so he cleared his throat. She kept her gaze on the cliff side, where a freshet tumbled down over black stones.

“I wasn’t quick enough,” she said, voice as heavy as the spray-dampened branches hanging over the water. “We missed the rainbow.”

So that’s what she was after. Will shook his head. What other woman would climb through a forest, dressed as she was for church, on the chance of finding a rainbow in the spray of a waterfall? She sounded so disappointed to have missed it that he wanted to find that rainbow for her, if only to see the matching glow on her face.

“Perhaps if you give it a moment,” he said, glancing up at the sun and noting its angle to the water.

“Oh!” She whirled to face him, cheeks darkening. “I thought you were Jamie.”

“My son has been detained,” Will said with a bow. As he straightened, he nodded toward the falls. “Take a few steps to the left and see what happens.”

She nodded happily, as if Will had granted a fervent wish. “Good idea.”

To his surprise, she seized his hand and pulled him to the left with her. She positively vibrated with anticipation. He found himself waiting with equal eagerness.

“Watch now,” she whispered as if afraid of scaring the rainbow away.

Across the stream, color began to sparkle in the air. Deep red, vibrant orange, bright yellow, vivid green, blue and purple. A rainbow more pure and clean than the one he’d seen in the chapel arched across the spray, framing the falls in splendor.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” she murmured, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

“I have,” Will said, watching her. He was glad she didn’t question him, or he’d have had to find a diplomatic way of evading an answer. For how could he admit that in all his travels, from the palaces along the Bosporus Sea near Constantinople to the pyramids of Egypt, the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld was her?

Chapter Seven

S
he’d found the rainbow. Samantha sighed with pleasure. Sunshine at precisely half past eleven was rare in the Evendale valley, where misty mornings were more often the norm even in the summer. Sighting the rainbow was just as rare.

“How did you know this was here?” Lord Kendrick asked, and she could hear a similar awe in his voice.

The memory was a mix of pain and joy. “I found it,” Samantha admitted. “I escaped from services one day at exactly the right time.”

“I’m surprised your mother let you out of her sight,” he said, but his voice held more humor than censor.

“She seldom attended services with Adele and Mrs. Dallsten Walcott and me,” Samantha replied, remembering. “I didn’t understand then, but now I think she didn’t like the whispers.”

“Whispers?”

His voice remained kind, interested, so she answered though she kept her gaze on the cool water.

“There were rumors, unfounded as it turned out, that my mother and father were not legally wed, that I was illegitimate. Even knowing the truth, my mother didn’t like hearing them.”

“I imagine you didn’t either.”

Now he sounded more censorious, but she hoped his frustration was aimed at the gossips.

“I am very thankful my governess Adele Walcott sheltered me from much of it,” Samantha told him. “But after Mother died, nothing could console me. I ran away from the manor several times. I wanted my father so desperately.”

“Fathers can be important to a child.”

The pain in his voice drew her gaze to his face. His muscles were still, chiseled. His gaze was fixed on the waterfall, as if he’d ceased to see its beauty and instead saw a boy who had been just as lonesome for his father.

“Yes, they can,” she agreed. “That’s why I’m glad you returned to Jamie. I wish I’d had more time with my father. I still miss him.”

The waterfall’s mist seemed to be thickening. She could feel dampness on her cheeks. Moving to wipe it away, she realized she still held Lord Kendrick’s hand. Letting go was more difficult than she’d expected.

As if he felt the loss of her touch as keenly, he turned from the water to eye her. “So you ran away from church and found this. Did it please you as much then?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Yes. I thought it was meant just for me, a gift from God. I never told anyone, until Jamie.”

He cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Why James?”

Did he still wonder at their friendship? “I guess I thought he needed it, too,” she said with a shrug, then turned her gaze back to the falling water. “Perhaps we all need to remember there is beauty in the world.”

“Do you doubt it?” He spread his hands. “Look around you—the fells, the springs, the lakes. There is no more beautiful spot in England.”

Her smile broke free, and she drew in a breath of the moist air. “I feel the same way. I’ve been to house parties near the Cliffs of Dover, hunting parties in the Scottish moors. There is no place like home.”

“And yet you seem to be leaving again,” he pointed out, hands falling to his sides.

She felt her smile slipping. She’d almost said too much. The waterfall, her memories, his uncondemning presence had conspired to make her forget herself.

“Only after the summer party,” she said and knew she sounded entirely too delighted with the prospect. “Goodness, but we seem to have stayed here overlong. Forgive me for detaining you. We should return to the churchyard.”

He leaned forward, met her gaze, his own probing. “Is there no one you confide in?” he challenged. “Your cousins, their wives?”

He was so intent, as if he wanted to exorcise her secrets. She backed away from him, felt a sapling sway from her touch. “There is no need, I assure you. Now, come along. I’m sure the others will wonder about our absence, my lord.”

He stood a second longer, watching her, and she felt the stories welling up inside her. How freeing it would be to lay them at someone else’s feet, to pour out her concerns and listen to his calm voice reason them away.

But reason was not the issue in this case, and no amount of sharing would change what must be.

Lord, please help him let it go!

As if Lord Kendrick had seen the struggle in her, he offered her his arm. “Of course, my dear. Forgive me for adding to your burdens. This way.”

As they started away from the falls, the sun went behind a cloud, and her rainbow vanished.

* * *

Jamie and Mrs. Dallsten Walcott were among the last in the churchyard when Samantha and Lord Kendrick returned. Of the two, Samantha thought Jamie looked the most concerned. He rushed forward, took both her hands in his.

“Are you all right?” he demanded. “Where have you been?”

“Lady Everard showed me a fine waterfall,” Lord Kendrick said as if to defend her. “I hadn’t even realized it existed.”

Jamie dropped her hands as if her touch had scalded him. “You took him to see our rainbow?”

He sounded as shocked as if she’d plotted the overthrow of the crown. “I invited you,” she informed him. “Either you failed to hear me, or you have better ways to spend your time these days.”

Immediately she felt as if she’d kicked a puppy, his look turned so forlorn. Even Lord Kendrick seemed concerned, for he took a step closer to his son.

“Please forgive me,” Jamie begged, gaze on Samantha’s. “I would have been delighted to join you.”

“Perhaps next Sunday,” Lord Kendrick said.

Always the diplomat. She appreciated that. She found it too easy to speak first and regret it afterward, as her reaction to Jamie had just proved.

She dropped a curtsey, including them both in the gesture. “Next Sunday to be sure. It was a pleasure seeing you both. If you’ll excuse me, I have kept my dear chaperone standing quite long enough.” She rose and turned purposefully toward Mrs. Dallsten Walcott. The lady’s thin lips were twitching as if she fought to keep words from tumbling out as well.

“But you’ll still come over tomorrow?” Jamie called, voice laced with a desperation that nearly made Samantha wince.

“Tomorrow,” she promised, taking her chaperone’s arm and all but dragging her to the carriage.

“Clever girl,” Mrs. Dallsten Walcott said as she settled into her seat across from Samantha.

Samantha had been peering out the window. Lord Kendrick had escorted his son to their carriage as well. Though Jamie kept turning his head to look her way, his father never did. She puffed out a sigh.

“And now what have I done?” she asked her chaperone, facing forward as the carriage started away from the church.

Mrs. Dallsten Walcott nodded sagely. “You made him jealous. It brings a fellow around every time.”

What nonsense! “I sincerely doubt Lord Kendrick has any reason to be jealous of his son,” she scolded.

Mrs. Dallsten Walcott tittered behind her gloved hand. “Of course not! I meant you were using the father to bring the son to the point of proposing. A promising approach.”

Samantha felt her shoulders bunching, her fists tightening as if some part of her longed to physically fight the accusation. “I am doing no such thing! I have no designs on anyone with the name of Wentworth.”

Mrs. Dallsten Walcott dropped her hand to reveal a pout. “The more fool you, then. They are both excellent catches.”

Samantha refused to dignify the comment with a response.

She let Mrs. Dallsten Walcott chatter the rest of the way home, but the happy sounds didn’t improve Samantha’s mood. The sunny summer day seemed darker somehow, and she knew it wasn’t from her chaperone’s intimation that Samantha was attempting to trap one of the Wentworth men into marriage.

So many things had happened in this valley, good and bad. She’d thought she’d faced them all over the years. But each memory seemed more painful here, where they’d been made. She supposed she should have been expecting these feelings of loss and sorrow. She’d come to make her peace, after all. But she didn’t want to wallow in her past!

So she attempted to focus on her other reason for coming ahead of the others—to ensure everything was ready for the summer party. She’d been planning for months, arranging for music, fireworks, flowers and food. Now she immersed herself in the work for the rest of the day, checking the rooms where her family was to stay to confirm all was in readiness, reviewing plans for laying out the various booths and events, even counting the sacks of flour and sugar that had been purchased to make pastries for the children.

By dinner she caught Mrs. Dallsten Walcott and their housekeeper Mrs. Linton casting her bemused glances. They had been holding the party for years without her. They surely didn’t need her help. But she wanted to help. This time, of all the years, she wanted everything to be perfect. Very likely this would be the last summer party at Dallsten Manor, for who knew if the next owner would continue the tradition?

On Monday, however, she was quite ready for a new challenge. She donned the outfit she used to practice her swordplay—white gown with stiffer skirts that wouldn’t get in her way while she moved, and a padded leather vest that protected her chest. She carried her foil, wire mask, leather gloves and flexible-soled shoes with her in the carriage.

At Kendrick Hall a helpful footman saw her up to the top floor and a room at the front of the house. All furnishings had been removed save a long padded bench against one wall. A rack of fencing foils rested near the door, and nearby hung several pairs of padded gloves used for pugilistic displays. She had a pair of those at home, too, specially made for her smaller hands.

Someone was in the room ahead of her. He was standing in the center of the space, feet positioned properly on the wood floor. He wore a muslin shirt, padded vest like hers and buckskin breeches, and his wire mask was already in place. From across the room, and with no furniture for perspective, she had a hard time telling his height.

“Jamie?” she asked, venturing into the room.

In answer, he saluted her with his foil.

Samantha smiled. “Give me a moment, and I’ll join you.”

She went to the bench and sat to remove her half-boots. He flexed his shoulders and tossed the blade from hand to hand. Bending to slip on her fencing shoes, she felt her smile growing.
Show off! Well, he’d find she gave as good as she got.

A moment later she joined him on the floor. She held out her foil for his inspection as she approached. “It’s baited. Is yours?”

He extended his arm, and she spotted the button of leather on the tip.

“Very good, then.” She lowered her blade and glanced at the door. “What about your father? I thought he was going to join us.”

Though she knew it was polite to wait for her host, she almost wished Jamie would agree to simply start fencing. From the moment Vaughn had handed her the blade, she had never had any trouble facing an opponent. But somehow fencing with Lord Kendrick watching made her tremble just the slightest.

“No need to wait,” said a warm voice.

She stiffened as she turned back to the man facing her. Now that she was focused on him instead of the blade she could see the twinkle of those green eyes inside the mask, as much humor as challenge. Lord Kendrick slipped off his mask and smiled at her.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I couldn’t resist.”

She could not be angry with him, not when he was so obviously contrite. “And what have you done with Jamie?” she asked.

“He’ll be along shortly,” he promised. “Until then, perhaps you’d like a sparring partner to help you warm up.”

Him? Excitement skittered along her skin, and gooseflesh pimpled her arms even under her heavy clothes. She should refuse. Fencing with Jamie was the same as fencing with her cousins. Fencing with Lord Kendrick felt different, like riding a racehorse instead of a dependable hunter, exhilarating and forbidden at the same time.

What was she thinking? It wasn’t forbidden! He’d made the offer; she hadn’t coerced him into it. There should be no difference between facing him and facing Jamie across the floor.

Or so she told herself as she took up her spot opposite him, set her mask in place and raised her foil.

* * *

Will slipped his mask back on, extended his foil and laid it against Samantha’s. She stood calm and composed, sure of herself and her skills. But the bout would tell just how formidable those skills were. He pushed against her blade; she pushed back. He smiled.

He disengaged and thrust toward her left shoulder. She parried but didn’t back away. The laugh that escaped her told him she knew what he was doing.

The next few minutes proved that she knew what she was doing as well. They moved about the room, foils clinking as they hit, breaths coming thickly through the masks. She darted and spun about him, quick and light as a dancer. But with each blow, Will saw that she was always on the defensive. Did she fear to offend him by attempting a strike, or had her cousins perhaps only taught her to defend herself? He thrust again, and she turned to avoid the blow.

And then he found her blade at his throat.

“You are beaten, my lord,” she said, triumph in her voice.

The minx! She’d been testing him, seeking a weak spot, and when she’d found it she hadn’t hesitated to use it to her advantage.

“I believe the rules call for a strike between the shoulders and hips,” he countered.

She pulled up her sword as if in surprise. “You play by the rules?”

“Spoken like an Everard,” Jamie said, striding into the room. His son had on a similar white shirt, padded vest, buckskin breeches and a mask tucked under his arm.

Samantha pulled off her mask and turned to face Jamie. “Oh, good. A fresh opponent. I’ve already beaten your father.”

“I was blinded by your beauty,” Will said with a bow that extended his blade to the side.

“I’ll have to remember that excuse,” Jamie said, taking up his favorite foil. “If I ever need it.”

Will gave him a bow as well as he surrendered the floor to his son.

He watched carefully as Jamie and Samantha took their places opposite each other. It had been a hard lesson for him to learn in the diplomatic corps—sometimes arriving at a solution to a difficult problem required not decisive action but careful observation. An incursion taken as an act of war might instead be only a desperate attempt to save a stricken outpost.