A Rival Heir

Jerome Everard expected to inherit his wayward uncle’s estate. Instead, all has gone to a secret daughter. Only by disproving his young cousin’s claim can Jerome regain his rightful property. But instead, he finds himself drawn to her lovely governess, Adele Walcott—a woman who holds the key to all of his uncle’s secrets.

Adele’s fortune is gone, along with her marriage prospects. Now she is devoted to securing her charge’s happiness. When she meets Jerome, she dares to dream of love again. But after learning his true motives, that love comes to a test. Can she forgive his past and reform his heart…to make it hers forever?

The Rogue’s Reform

Regina Scott

House of Secrets

Marta Perry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Rogue’s Reform

Regina Scott

She drew herself up, brows gathering in a thundercloud, eyes flashing like the lightning inside. “I find this highly unusual, Mr. Everard. Exactly what did you expect to find in Cumberland?”

A little girl with designs on their legacy, an aging governess willing to help her, the secret that would prove the end to them both. “Frankly, madam,” Jerome said, “I’m no longer sure. I thought you were my cousin.”

Instead of taking the wind from her sails, the statement only caused her to raise her chin higher, as if she prided herself on her position. “I’m her governess, Miss Walcott.”

The governess. The woman to whom Uncle had entrusted his precious daughter. The woman who might know all his secrets. Unfortunately, she was also the one who, if Jerome didn’t manage to prove the girl a fraud, would stand as judge over him, Richard and Vaughn to grant or deny them their inheritances.

She held their future in her hands.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing The Rogue’s Reform, the first book in the Everard Legacy miniseries. Jerome, Richard and Vaughn Everard have been in my head for some time, and I’m so thankful for the opportunity to share their stories with you.

I’m also thankful that Love Inspired Books has been sharing stories with readers for fifteen years. This month marks the anniversary of the first Love Inspired Historical book. I’m honored to be part of that tradition and delighted to join the celebration.

I love to welcome visitors to my website, too. Please feel free to contact me via www.reginascott.com, where you can also read about my upcoming books and learn more about life in early nineteenth-century England.

Blessings!

Regina Scott

To William, for putting up with a lot, and to

my Lord, who puts up with more and still loves me.

* * *

Instead, speaking the truth in love,

we will in all things grow up into Him

who is the Head, that is Christ.

—Ephesians 4:15

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Bonus Story HOUSE OF SECRETS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

Evendale Valley, Cumberland, England

Spring 1805

So that was the enemy’s lair.

Jerome Everard reined in at the foot of the graveled drive. Just ahead, Dallsten Manor sat proudly on a rise, the afternoon sun warming the red sandstone towers at either end and glinting off the multipaned windows of the central block. Fields rolled away all around to meet woods still bare from winter. Beside him, the iron gates of the estate lay open, with a stone cottage standing silent guard.

“It looks innocent enough,” his brother Richard said on his left, patting the weary horse on the neck.

“Looks can be deceiving,” their cousin Vaughn replied on Jerome’s right. His hand strayed to the hilt of the sword sheathed along his saddle.

Jerome almost hoped his so-called cousin’s governess was peering out a window at that moment. The three of them could look intimidating on the best of days, and their grueling ride from London hadn’t helped. Their greatcoats were dusty, their boots splashed with mud. Though Richard was the captain of their prize merchant vessel, his short russet hair, beard and mustache made him resemble nothing so much as a dashing pirate. Under that broad-brimmed hat, Vaughn’s white-gold hair, held back in a queue, contrasted with the fathomless dark brown eyes that had made their Everard forebears feared and respected for generations.

And then there was Jerome, with his dark brown hair and icy blue eyes. The thinker, the planner. The schemer, his late uncle would have said. Had said, a few too many times for Jerome’s taste.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “Remember our purpose—we discover the girl’s origins and unmask her. I will not have a fraud taking over the Everard legacy.”

“Or give her power over our inheritances,” Richard agreed.

A smile played around the corners of Vaughn’s mobile mouth. “This could be interesting.”

In answer, Jerome urged his horse forward.

No groom came running as they approached the house, but then they hadn’t been expected. In fact, Jerome was fairly sure everyone in that fine stone manor had assumed he’d stay in London, take his case to the courts. Certainly his uncle’s solicitor had thought as much. Benjamin Caruthers had positively gloated when he’d delivered the news four days ago.

“Though I cannot as yet provide a formal reading of the will, I can relay the last wishes of your uncle, Arthur, Lord Everard,” the solicitor had said as Jerome, Richard and Vaughn had gathered in his private office in London. Like everything else about the solicitor, the room was meant to impress. Tall, black bookcases lined the walls, boasting heavy, leather volumes lettered in gold. The squat, claw-footed desk in the center of the room was backed by a massive oil painting of a ship in full sail.

Caruthers was just as overblown, once muscular body grown round with indulgence, mouth wreathed in jowls a bulldog would envy. His old-fashioned powdered wig and lavishly embroidered coat proclaimed him a man of tradition, a man used to dealing with money. Grandfather Everard had insisted that the fellow be retained to handle their affairs, going so far as to include Caruthers and Associates in his will as managers of the Everard legacy. Uncle had found him insufferable. On that one thing, at least, he and Jerome had agreed.

“My dear sirs,” Caruthers said with that arrogant smirk, “I shall not attempt to wrap this in clean linen. I am aware of the promises your uncle made to you. You each stand to inherit a considerable sum, and you—” He paused to contemplate Jerome for a moment. “You, my dear Mr. Everard, were expecting to receive the title, lands and considerable fortune associated with the Everard barony.”

Heat pulsed through Jerome’s body. For seventeen years, since being orphaned and given into his uncle’s dubious care at thirteen, he’d been forced to do his uncle’s bidding. Today, he became his own man at last.

“I don’t much like your use of the word expecting,” Vaughn interrupted, crossing his arms over the chest of his black coat. “I am expecting that you will be forthcoming, or perhaps you should not expect to leave this room intact.”

“Vaughn,” Jerome warned.

Caruthers was nonplussed. “I had heard that you share your uncle’s impulsiveness, Mr. Everard. I would have thought you’d learn a lesson from his untimely death. Hasty words have been the downfall of many a gentleman.”

Jerome fought down the angry retort, just as he’d fought being saddled with his uncle’s care-for-nothing reputation. “Your opinion of our uncle is immaterial. He is dead, killed in a duel, despite what the authorities think. We are his family, with responsibilities to the name Everard. That is the matter under discussion.”

“Indeed it is,” Caruthers said, leaning back in his chair and squeezing a creak from the leather. “And your expectations will be met, as soon as you fulfill one requirement of the will.”

Jerome braced both hands on the hard, wooden arms of the chair where he’d seated himself. “Requirement? My uncle never spoke of requirements.”

“Particularly with my brother, here,” Richard put in, his own hands clenched at his sides. “There should be no impediments to his taking the title.”

Caruthers’s smile only grew. “I fear that is not exactly true. According to Lord Everard’s will, the three of you have a task to perform before you inherit anything.”

Jerome took a deep breath. Trust Uncle to make it difficult. He had never wanted to accept responsibility for his role as baron, and he’d chafed at being reminded of his duties. This, it would seem, was his revenge for all the times Jerome had struggled to keep him in line.

“It is possible my uncle devised some scheme to put Richard and Vaughn to the test for the unentailed property,” Jerome told Caruthers, “but he had no control over a sizeable portion of the Everard fortune and the title itself. Those items cannot be put under stipulation.”

Caruthers eyed him. “You are quite right, Mr. Everard. Those items have already passed to Lord Everard’s heir.”

Vaughn leaped to his feet, and Richard stiffened. Jerome raised his head. “I, sir, am Lord Everard’s heir.”

“And to that we can attest,” Vaughn declared.

Caruthers kept his gaze on Jerome, and Jerome felt it like a blade to the heart. “You may attest all you like. The Everard barony can pass along the female line. The title and entailed lands belong to the former Lord Everard’s daughter.”

The heat Jerome had felt earlier vanished, to be replaced by a coldness that went to his soul.

Richard rose, towering over the solicitor. “What nonsense is this? Uncle never married—he has no daughter.”

“I am afraid you are mistaken, Captain Everard,” Caruthers replied. “Lord Everard has a daughter, the issuance of a completely legal marriage. I have seen the proof.”

Jerome stared at him. “What proof? Why weren’t we told?”

Caruthers shuffled the papers in front of him. “Your uncle insisted on my silence, and I felt it necessary to comply. But all is not lost. The three of you can still inherit something. As the girl’s guardians, you are charged with bringing the new Lady Everard out in style.”

“Bringing her out in style?” Richard’s scowl deepened. “Just how old is she?”

Caruthers glanced down at the parchment. “Sixteen, if memory serves.”

“Sixteen?” Vaughn protested. “That cannot be right—Uncle could never have hidden a daughter so long. And now you expect us to play chaperone like some doddering dowagers?”

The solicitor seemed only too happy to elaborate. “Your uncle expected it, sir. His will stipulates that the girl must be presented at court, accepted in all the households who refused to receive your uncle and garner no less than three offers of marriage before the Season is out.”

Richard shrugged. “Easy enough. We’ll all offer for her.”

Caruthers eyed him, mouth twitching as he unsuccessfully tried to cover his sneer. “I do not believe you are considered suitable, Captain Everard, but that will be up to the girl’s governess, Miss Adele Walcott, to determine. She is charged with monitoring the success of Lady Everard’s Season.”

Jerome shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Uncle loved his games. Take this proof to Doctor’s Commons for probate, and you’ll find he’s played you for a fool.”

The solicitor’s grin blossomed once more. “No, Mr. Everard, I fear in this case you are the fool. Your uncle offers you a small bequest and the estate on which you and your brother were born, if you help your new cousin take her place in Society. Otherwise, sir, even your horse is forfeit.”

Jerome rose then, even as Vaughn and Richard moved closer to him in front of the solicitor. “My uncle may have preferred secrecy,” Jerome said, “but the College of Heralds will insist on the truth, and so will I. Show me this proof.”

“All in good time,” the solicitor had replied with maddening calm. “I intend to journey to Dallsten Manor in Cumberland in a few days to meet with her ladyship, retrieve the necessary papers and hold a formal reading of the will. I expect you three will want to join me.”

Jerome’s fist tightened on the reins now, remembering. Join Caruthers? Never. If anything, they must discover the truth first. The solicitor’s story had to be a lie, a fiction designed to keep Jerome from taking control of his inheritance.

Uncle had never understood the importance of the Everard legacy, its various estates across England, the fleet of ships that plied the waters of the world. Hundreds of people—tenants, servants, staff, sailors, merchants and villagers—relied on the Everards. Uncle had delayed important decisions, shrugged off responsibility for improvements, always too busy with pursuits Jerome found purely trivial. From Jerome’s point of view, his uncle had wanted only to reap what his ancestors had sown with no thought of working for the future. And he had resented Jerome’s insistence on doing otherwise.

Well, Jerome had protected their dependents from his uncle’s capricious moods; he would protect them from a cozening female now. If this girl and her governess wanted a fight, he was ready to give it to them.

He swung down from the saddle, a cold wind brushing his face and threatening to whip the hat from Vaughn’s head.

“Watch the horses,” Jerome instructed Richard as Vaughn leapt down beside him.

Richard cocked a smile but dismounted as well. “Do you expect them to be stolen out from under us?”

“At this point, nothing would surprise me,” Jerome replied. With a nod to Vaughn, who adjusted his black hat to a rakish angle and fell into step beside him, he mounted the stairs to the stout oak door. Each bang of the brass knocker against the solid panel seemed to resound inside Jerome’s chest.

“Are they deaf?” Vaughn asked. He reached out and tugged at the door, but it held firm. Who locked a door in the light of day in the country? Did they expect to be attacked? Or did they have something to hide?

From within came the sound of a bolt being drawn. Jerome stiffened and saw Vaughn had done the same. The massive door swung open to reveal a tall, gangly footman with hair the color and texture of a newly thatched roof and gray livery nearly as rumpled. He eyed Jerome and Vaughn as if discovering something distasteful on the bottom of his shoe.

“May I help you?”

Jerome drew himself up, making him a few inches taller than the fellow. “Jerome Everard and company to see Miss Everard. We are her cousins.”

The footman’s eyes tightened in his narrow face. “Mr. Jerome Everard is not allowed entrance to this house. Good day, sirs.”

And he slammed shut the door.

“They’re leaving!” Samantha Everard sighed as she slumped against the frame of the schoolroom’s west window.

Adele Dallsten Walcott shook her head. Most days she loved the way the wide windows that circled the tower room brought in light. The glow brightened the dark worktable where she and her charge had sat for lessons for the last ten years and she had sat as the student for years before that. The light sparkled on the creamy walls, warmed the polished wood floor and gilded the pages of the history tomes and French language books that were their texts.

Today, unfortunately, the view had proven nothing but a distraction for her sixteen-year-old charge. Samantha had run to the window the moment the first knock echoed up the stairs, and nothing Adele said could budge her.

“Of course they’re leaving,” she told Samantha, laying aside the improving novel they had been reading this Sunday afternoon. “I told you it had to be a mistake. There is no reason for three gentlemen to visit Dallsten Manor.”

“Perhaps they’re old friends of yours,” Samantha said, craning her neck to see out the tower window.

Adele remembered when the knocker had sounded for her, but that was long ago, another life, it seemed sometimes. “Most of my old friends live in Evendale, and we saw them at services just this morning,” she pointed out.

“Friends of Papa, then,” Samantha insisted.

Adele hurt at the wistful sound of her voice. She rose and moved toward the window at last. “Your father has never sent us visitors unless he accompanied them. He and the Marquess of Widmore aren’t expected until the summer recess of Parliament.”

“But what about Mr. Caruthers?” Samantha asked with a wrinkle of her nose that said what she thought of the solicitor. She pressed her forehead against the glass. “Wait, what are they doing?”

Adele had tried to set an example (a lady did not stare out the window at passersby, after all), but her curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned over the padded window seat to peer out, as well.

The men stood conferring at the foot of the steps. From three stories up, she could not distinguish their features. The tallest, a red-haired giant, took the reins of their riding horses and pack horse and pulled them around the north tower. Was he heading for the stables? The leanest fellow, whose hair was hidden by a wide-brimmed hat, headed past Adele and Samantha’s viewpoint to the south, and she caught a flash of light from his side. Had he just drawn a sword?

The last man climbed to the door again, disappearing from their sight, but Adele thought she could feel the force of his knock all the way up in the third-floor schoolroom.

Samantha sprang away from the window in a flurry of pale muslin. “They have come to visit!”

“Samantha.” Adele’s command brought the girl up short before she reached the schoolroom door. Though panic tickled the back of Adele’s mind, she kept her face pleasant from long practice. “I want you to stay in the schoolroom. Do you understand?”

Samantha’s pretty face scrunched up. “No. Why can’t I go down to meet them?”

How could she explain without frightening the girl? Samantha still found the world new and exciting, each day a revelation. Adele had learned far more caution in her twenty-seven years. The only child of a baron, so close to the Scottish border without her father in residence, could make for a kidnapping.

Please, Lord, not Samantha! Protect us!

“Let me meet them first,” Adele said. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for their appearance here. Once I know where things stand, I’ll send for you.”

“Promise?” Samantha begged, those deep brown eyes wide and imploring.

Adele tucked a golden curl behind the girl’s ear. “Promise.”

“All right, but don’t be long.” Samantha wandered back to take up her position at the window. Her sigh followed Adele down the curving stair.

Adele had hoped she might find Todd in the wide, parquet-tiled entryway, but of course the space stood empty. The footman was impossible! Why had Mr. Caruthers sent him to them a week ago? They did well enough with the staff they had: Mrs. Linton, their elderly housekeeper, and her husband, their groundskeeper; Maisy and Daisy, their maids of all work; and Nate Turner, their groom.

A strong fellow like Todd might have been some help, but he was lazy, incompetent and at times disrespectful, even if his reference said he’d previously worked for the mighty Marquess of Widmore, Lord Everard’s closest friend. Too bad that reference also said Todd had been chosen by Lord Everard. As he was the only servant with that honor, they couldn’t discharge the fellow without her employer’s approval.

Their mysterious caller certainly had more determination than the footman. His knocks continued, each one more forceful, as Adele hurried to the door. She paused only a moment to smooth her dark hair into the bun at the nape of her neck and pat down her gray lustring skirts, then pulled back the bolt and opened the door.

Their visitor looked as surprised to see her as she was to find such a gentleman at her door. He was tall and well formed, with shoulders made broader by the capes of his greatcoat and long legs, which stood firm on the stone step.

Up close, his hair was like polished mahogany, thick and wavy, cut short in the style shown in Samantha’s fashion plates, though several locks swept down across a wide brow as if caressed by the breeze. His eyes were shadowed, set deep in a square-jawed face, and his mouth was wide and warm. His gaze locked with hers, and she felt suddenly light-headed.

She thought he might be furious, having been kept standing so long, but his smile was pleasant.

“Forgive us for startling you, madam,” he said, sweeping her a graceful bow, “but we thought it best, given our news, to come north quickly. Allow me to introduce myself. Jerome Everard, at your service.”

His baritone dripped with genteel sophistication, and she could imagine its drawl in the glittering ballrooms of London. Still, the first name meant nothing to her, and he could easily have fabricated the last to match the name of her employer.

“Welcome to Dallsten Manor, Mr. Everard,” she replied with a quick dip that might pass for a curtsey. “You will not mind if I ask for some confirmation of your identity.”

His mouth held just the hint of a smile. “I regret that my uncle, Lord Everard, did not have the opportunity to introduce us properly. However, I have a letter from him I can share.” He stepped forward as if expecting her to move aside and let him in.

Adele held her ground and her smile, bracing one foot on the inside of the door, ready to slam it shut if needed. Could she reach Mr. Linton and his gun before this man and his companions breached the house? Did it matter? Somehow she didn’t think the elderly groundskeeper would scare any of them.

As if he knew her concerns, Jerome Everard held out his arm. It was a civilized gesture, a gentleman indicating his willingness to escort a lady into the house. It spoke of kindness, of protection.

“Let me in, please,” he murmured, clear blue gaze on hers. “I swear no harm will come to you.”

She wanted to believe him. His manners, his smile, his attitude all said he was a gentleman.

And if he wasn’t, she still had the upper hand. She knew Dallsten Manor better than anyone, every crooked passage, every family secret. If Jerome Everard wanted to cause trouble, she was ready for him.

She opened the door wider. “Certainly, Mr. Everard. Come in. Perhaps we can both find answers to our questions.”

Chapter Two

Jerome followed his hostess across the parquet floor of the entry hall. After his initial reception by the footman, he wasn’t sure why this lady had let him in or what he’d find.

But Dallsten Manor looked as respectable inside as it had out. The grand staircase rose to the upper story in polished oak magnificence, a brass chandelier with at least thirty candles gleamed overhead, and to their right, the white wall was draped with a massive tapestry of knights conquering a stag.

He could see his uncle here. A poet at heart, like Vaughn, his uncle would have delighted in the sweeping grandeur of the manor on a hill, the bold colors of the tapestry, the fine workmanship of the carved posts on the stair. Jerome had a more practical bent. He saw the dust dimming the rich fabric, the cracks marring the tall walls. He calculated to the last penny the cost of refurbishing and wondered how far the owner would go to see Dallsten Manor restored. Was that motive enough to steal another man’s legacy?

The footman came out of a corridor behind the stairs just then and pulled up short. “You let him in.”

The words were frankly accusatory. Jerome lifted a brow.

His hostess raised her dark head. “Yes, Todd. I let him in. That is what one generally does with guests.”

His eyes narrowed again, giving him a decidedly feral look. “His lordship never mentioned guests.”

Had he spoken with Uncle? Had Uncle tried to protect his secret kingdom from Jerome, even at the end?

His hostess’s rosy lips tightened in an unforgiving line. “He never mentioned the Prince Regent, either,” she said, eyes flashing, “but if His Royal Highness showed up at the door, I assure you I’d let him in, too.” She tugged down the long sleeves of her gown so that the soft lace at the cuffs brushed her wrists. “Now, I believe Mr. Everard had two companions?”

How did she know? Had she been watching? She glanced at him for confirmation, and Jerome kept a polite smile in place.

“My brother Richard Everard and cousin Vaughn Everard,” he supplied. He’d sent one to the stables and the other to reconnoiter.

She nodded and returned her gaze to the recalcitrant footman. “I suggest you find them and bring them to the library. And send Mrs. Linton to me there, as well. Now take Mr. Everard’s coat.”

Even the brazen footman, it seemed, would not argue with this woman. He inclined his head and strode up to Jerome. Jerome turned and felt the fellow lift the greatcoat from his shoulders. Before Jerome could question him, the footman had thrown the garment over one arm and stormed off down the corridor.

Ignoring the rudesby, his hostess motioned to a doorway at their left. “If you’d be so good as to attend me in the library, sir.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He bowed her ahead of him.

Who was she? he wondered as he followed her. She was too young to be the housekeeper or the mother of a girl ready to embark on a London Season, and too old to be his supposed cousin. And he couldn’t see her as a governess. He hadn’t met very many women in that position, but somehow he didn’t remember any of them as being this pretty and poised. She moved with the assurance of the lady of the house, and certainly the staff obeyed her.

She was equally as comfortable in the venerable library. Oak bookcases with leaded-glass fronts lined one wall; crimson drapes hung on either side of a window facing the drive, the afternoon sun spearing through to warm the room and touch the Oriental carpet with fire. A landscape painting of a brook and willows graced the space over the wood-wrapped fireplace, elegant, calming. Another time he’d have been delighted to study it further. What drew his attention now were the papers that littered the surface of the desk. What he would have given for a look at them.

She didn’t offer him the opportunity. She slipped behind the desk and opened a drawer, and he thought he saw her palm something. The knife used to slice apart the pages of new books, perhaps? Did she think him so dangerous? With a quick glance his way, she settled herself near the empty grate on a blue velvet-backed chair, which looked suspiciously like a throne, then held out her hand. “The letter?”

Jerome gave her his most charming smile as he approached. “Of course.” From his coat, he pulled the letter his uncle had left each of them. Caruthers had indicated it extended to a line of credit to allow them to meet expenses until probate was finished.

He handed it to her and watched as she opened and bent over it. She looked nothing like his uncle, shadow to the Everard light. Her dark brown hair shone red in the light, pulled back from a heart-shaped face into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were nearly as dark as her hair as they moved back and forth in her reading. And her gray gown was of fine material, which gleamed along the curves of her figure.

Could she be his supposed cousin? Caruthers had said the girl was sixteen, but he might have been mistaken. This woman looked only a little younger than Jerome’s thirty years. Yet if she was his cousin and nearly his age, she would have been born when Grandfather was still alive. Was that the explanation for her being kept in secrecy? The old man had all but disowned Vaughn’s father for a misalliance. Perhaps Uncle had wanted to avoid a confrontation with his father. But if Uncle had somehow kept the marriage quiet, why hadn’t he revealed it when Grandfather had died? Uncle had been the heir then—he hadn’t shirked in making his desires known anywhere else.

The woman before him lowered the letter slowly and glanced up. Tears sparkled like diamonds on her thick, sable lashes. “Is he truly dead?”

Her voice was no more than a throaty whisper, and Jerome felt the clear pain inside himself as well. Though he had not meant to touch her, he found himself reaching out to press a hand to her shoulder. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

She nodded, sucking in a breath. The urge to gather her in his arms, comfort her, was strong, but he tamped down the feeling. He could not afford to be attracted to her. At best, she was his cousin; at worst, a schemer out to steal his future. He forced himself to release her.

She bent her head back over the page, this time with a frown. “This letter is quite brief.”

Which made it as easily misunderstood as he’d hoped.

To Whom It May Concern, it stated. The letter you are reading is testament that I have shuffled off this mortal coil. The bearer of the letter, Jerome Everard, is an heir to my estate and should be accorded the courtesies thereby due. It was signed merely Arthur, Lord Everard.

“I’m certain my uncle hoped he’d have time to explain further before it was read,” Jerome replied.

Her frown deepened. “Did he leave no other instructions?”

Interesting. Could his cousin be ignorant of the contents of his uncle’s will? Jerome had intended to use every weapon in his arsenal—reason, charm, even intimidation if necessary to convince the household to give up the truth about this girl. How could they be the enemy if they knew nothing of the war?

“My uncle’s solicitor will follow in a few days for a formal reading of the will,” Jerome told her. “I’m sure he can further enlighten you. In the meantime, we wanted to come meet my uncle’s daughter, comfort you in your grief.”

She glanced up at him, lovely face still troubled. “How kind, but you must realize that comfort will take some doing. He was much admired here in the valley.” She paused as if expecting him to admit how much he had admired his uncle.

She would have a long wait. Only Vaughn admired Uncle in the way she seemed to mean, with a keen devotion and unbridled respect. Jerome could find no common ground on which to build such admiration.

His uncle had been an ungrateful son, driving Grandfather to an early grave. Uncle had been no help in guiding Jerome, in teaching him what it meant to be the heir to such vast holdings, from sailing ships to lands in six counties. In fact, the man had ever tried to be playmate, never parent, another reason Jerome found it impossible to believe his uncle had wed, much less been a devoted father.

Still, he could see why his uncle would want to show the most flattering sides of his nature to this woman. Hers was a soul-deep beauty, from the hollows under her high cheekbones to the graceful way she handed back the paper to him. After only a few moments in her presence, he found himself wondering what dragon he might slay for her.

As if she weren’t the dragon he needed to slay.

“Were you close?” she asked him as the silence stretched.

Not close enough, apparently. “He had charge of me and my brother after our parents died,” Jerome replied.

Her dark brows drew downward again. “Odd. He never mentioned you.”

Better and better. He decided to dribble out a little information of his own. “Equally odd he never mentioned you.”

She blinked. “He told you nothing?”

“Not a word. Mr. Caruthers revealed your existence after my uncle died.” He cocked his head, watching her. “Do you know Mr. Caruthers?”

“The solicitor? Certainly. He’s been to see us several times, and we correspond on a regular basis. He has been very helpful about seeing that the bills are paid.”

Her face was impassive, but he thought he detected annoyance in her straight spine and could even guess at the reason. “My uncle was easily distracted from mundane matters like finance. I’m sure you noticed.”

Her lips tightened. “Indeed.”

“It must have been difficult for you,” he pressed, “with so little contact with Lord Everard.”

She let out the smallest of sighs. “Well, he did visit several times a year, whenever Parliament was out of session. Most would commend him for taking his duties so seriously.”

Jerome nearly choked. Uncle had gone to Parliament once, the day he took his seat, then denounced it as the pastime of fools and indigents. “Commendable indeed,” he managed.

She rose. “You must be tired from your journey, Lord Everard, but…”

Lord Everard? She truly didn’t know! By dashing off to the northern wilds, they’d beaten Caruthers far more than Jerome had planned. Finding this so-called proof would be child’s play. He kept the triumph from his face. For once, his uncle’s love of secrecy was going to go in Jerome’s favor.

He held up a hand. “Mr. Everard. I have not yet ascended to the title.”

She inclined her head. “Of course. I merely wanted to say how kind it was for you all to come tell us the news. You must have ridden far today, with a great deal on your mind, but have you considered Samantha’s future? She was going to be presented this year, you know. Will you honor that, what with mourning her father?”

He felt suddenly at sea. “Samantha?”

“Your cousin. You didn’t even know her name?” She drew herself up, brows gathering in a thundercloud, eyes flashing like the lightning inside. “I find this highly unusual, Mr. Everard. Exactly what did you expect to find in Cumberland?”

A little girl with designs on their legacy, an aging governess conniving to help her, the secret that would prove the end to them both. “Frankly, madam,” Jerome said, “I’m no longer sure. I thought you were my cousin.”

Instead of taking the wind from her sails, the statement only caused her to raise her chin higher, as if she prided herself on her position. “I’m her governess, Miss Walcott.”

The governess. The woman to whom Uncle had entrusted his precious daughter. The woman who might know all his secrets. Unfortunately, she was also the one who, if Jerome didn’t manage to prove the girl a fraud, would stand as judge over him, Richard and Vaughn to grant or deny them their inheritances.

She held their future in her hands.

“Miss Walcott,” he said with a sweeping bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Tell me everything about how you came to be my cousin’s governess. Leave nothing out.”

Adele blinked. Leave nothing out? After a long journey, after admitting that their entire world had been thrown in disorder, he wanted a discourse on her qualifications?

He was smiling encouragement, all charm. She could not feel so easy about the situation. Why hadn’t he known about Samantha? Was Lord Everard ashamed of his daughter? Was that why he hid her here in the wilds of Cumberland instead of bringing her to London with him? Or was Samantha’s father so unsure of his nephews?

She began to suspect the latter. That red-haired fellow looked as if he should be hiding along hedgerows, waiting to ambush the next coach. The other one seemed used to relying on his sword. And as for their leader, Jerome, one moment he was nothing but soft charm, the next all hard decisiveness. And he seemed adept at giving answers that were no answers at all.

But she could play that game, if that’s what it took to reach her goal. For the last ten years, her life had been spent planning for one moment: when Samantha Everard took her rightful place in Society. It hadn’t been easy. Samantha was a rare handful. One moment, she poured over fashion plates, and the next, played catch-me-who-can with little Jamie Kendrick on the estate next to theirs. Still, she was a dear girl, full of warmth and generosity. She was every part of what had been bright and good in her mother and nothing, nothing of the bad. Adele had made sure of that.

And unlike her mother, Samantha was destined for a wonderful life: one or two marvelous Seasons in London, a sweet courtship, marriage to a proper gentleman and a life of happily ever after. They were so close to achieving that dream, Adele could almost smell the wedding cake baking.

She was not about to let Lord Everard’s untimely death hinder Samantha’s future. As negligent as he’d been about seeing to the management of Dallsten Manor, she was almost afraid to hear what he might have left Samantha as a dowry or independence. She must convince these men to honor the girl’s right to a Season, for only by being properly introduced to Society did Samantha stand a chance of making a good match.

Adele would have to go carefully. Some things were best left unsaid, family secrets she dared not share with anyone. Already Jerome Everard doubted her. Why else ask how she’d come to be Samantha’s governess? She’d been worried about Samantha’s future, but perhaps she should have worried for her own. If Mr. Everard took her in dislike, she could very well be sent packing.

“Pardon me, Miss Walcott.”

Mrs. Linton’s strident voice had never been more welcome. Adele rose and hurried to where her housekeeper stood in the doorway. Mrs. Linton had been caring for Dallstens and Dallsten Manor since before Adele was born. Her figure might be motherly and her braided hair nearly white, but her gray eyes were sharp, and her rosebud mouth was tightened in protest that her normal routine had been disturbed without appropriate notice.

“Mrs. Linton,” Adele said, keeping her tone calm, though her palms were starting to sweat, “we have been given bad news. Lord Everard has passed on.”

The housekeeper clutched the chest of her gray gown. “No!”

“I fear so. This is Mr. Jerome Everard, the heir. He and his brother and cousin will be staying with us. They will need rooms.” She glanced at Jerome. “Perhaps you could provide the details. I should go to Samantha.”

She was afraid he’d argue, but he merely inclined his head. “Of course. I look forward to meeting my cousin soon.” He offered her a bow, as if she were a great lady instead of his cousin’s governess. Well, perhaps all was not lost. He certainly didn’t act as if he were considering sacking her.

She curtsied with all the grace her mother insisted upon, and the folio knife she’d taken earlier for protection slid from the sleeve of her gown to fall to the carpet with a soft thud. It lay there, pearly handle gleaming in the light.

Adele stared at it. Jerome stared at it. Mrs. Linton washed as white as her hair.

“Ah,” Adele said, word ending in a squeak despite her best efforts. “I’d wondered where that had gotten to.” Without another look at Jerome, she retrieved it, handed it to her housekeeper and fled from the room.

She heard a step behind her, and her heart beat faster. Don’t look, don’t look. She had to look. He was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her climb the stairs. Her breath caught once more. Why was he watching? Did he doubt her so much?

Did he admire her so much?

Unseemly thought! Yet it raised gooseflesh along her entire body. Ridiculous! He was her employer. He would admire her no more than a soft chair, a polished floor. Certainly that’s all she’d been to Lord Everard. Even Gregory Wentworth had rejected her when she’d been forced into service, and she’d been certain he loved her.

But if her new employer thought so little of her, why was he watching her every movement as if she were an eagle soaring up a mountain and not a very confused governess plodding up the well-worn staircase?

Catching her gaze on him, he grinned, and she stumbled on the last step at the landing. Cheeks heating once more, she hurried up the stairs to the schoolroom.

Chapter Three

Jerome smiled as he turned from the doorway. An interesting woman, this governess. She was elegant, she was refined, yet one glance from him flustered her. He did not think it was an act. Could it be she was merely a pawn in his uncle’s game? Or was Caruthers more of a liar than Jerome had suspected?

Next to him, the little housekeeper bobbed a curtsey. “How long will you be staying, then, Mr. Everard, you and your family?”

Now here was a determined female if he’d ever met one. Her silvery eyes were narrowed, her snowy head cocked, and he’d have guessed she had already taken his measure and found him lacking. Still he smiled at her. “I’m not certain, Mrs. Linton. A week at the least. I hope that won’t be too much trouble.”

Her annoyance was evident in the way she tightly clasped her plump hands. “Certainly not, sir. We generally have dinner at six. Will that suit you?” Her look pinned him in place as if daring him to countermand a sacred tradition.

He generally ate much later in town, but he saw no need to enforce his requirements here so soon. Besides, eating at six would still give him a few hours for some reconnaissance of his own. “Perfectly. Thank you. In the meantime, perhaps you’d be so good as to point me to the estate records.”

With those thick, white brows, her frown was nearly as fierce as her gaze. “Records, sir?”

“Yes. Someone must keep track of the goings on here at Dallsten Manor. Where does the steward keep his information?”

She snorted. “Dallsten Manor has no steward. If it’s facts you want about the estate, you’d best speak with Miss Walcott. Now, I’d better see to those rooms you’ll need. Will there be anything else, sir?”

So Miss Walcott kept the records. An odd role for a governess, but then maybe everyone here at Dallsten Manor performed more than one function. Still, records had to be kept somewhere. Perhaps he could find them while Miss Walcott was busy.

He thanked the housekeeper again, and she hurried from the room as if she couldn’t wait to do his bidding or leave his presence. She passed Richard and Vaughn in the entry hall, pausing long enough to eye them and then move on, shaking her head. The footman trailed just behind them, for all the world as if he’d been herding them like a sheep dog.

“Thank you, Todd,” Jerome said as his brother and cousin crossed into the library. “That will be all.” He had the satisfaction of shutting the library door in the fellow’s face.

“Not very welcoming, are they?” Richard drawled before going to seat himself in the chair Adele Walcott had vacated. “The horses are stabled. The groom seems competent enough.”

“There’s a kitchen door and a side door from the south tower,” Vaughn reported. “Both were locked. The footman caught up with me in the back garden.” He fingered the hilt of his blade as if wishing he’d made better use of it.

“Well done,” Jerome said, glad Vaughn hadn’t been granted that wish. He returned to the desk. At least he could start with these papers. Rifling through them, he saw they were loose pages from the most recent estate book, the income and expenditures marching down the page in neat rows. He bent closer.

An orderly hand had written these, nothing like his uncle’s ungainly scrawl. The notes chronicled wool sheared from sheep and sold at profit, tithes received from tenants, costs for candles, for food. And what was this? New gowns for the governess? Didn’t the cost to gown a governess generally come out of the governess’s wages? And since when did governesses require silk and fine wool?

“How long do we plan to rusticate here?” Richard asked. Jerome looked up to find his brother watching him with a frown.

“Until we learn the truth,” Vaughn reminded Richard, prowling around the room like a lion on display in the Tower Zoo. “You know I’ll only stay until we can see the estate secured in the proper hands. Then I can go after whoever killed Uncle.”

“We do not know anyone killed Uncle,” Jerome said with what he hoped was a mix of determination and compassion.

Vaughn shook his head, causing several strands of pale blond hair to come loose from his queue and hang on either side of his narrow face like moonbeams. “It was murder, Jerome. He told no one where he was going. We have only the word of the doctor who returned the body that he’d been in a duel. And if it was a duel, don’t you think he would have had me second him?”

Richard stretched his legs closer to the fireplace as if finding even the throne too small. “Uncle made some enemies over the years. That’s hard to deny.”

Vaughn paced from shadow to light and back again. “So many that his valet fled in fear the night of his death, and I have yet to find the fellow. I should be in town, hunting him down.”

“But your family needs you here,” Jerome reminded him. Vaughn’s temper had been running hot since Uncle’s death. While Jerome hoped to be able to wrap up matters quickly, he still intended to see to it that they stayed away from town long enough for that temper to cool.

“Have you learned anything yet?” Richard asked.

“Very little,” Jerome replied, leaning a hip against the corner of the mahogany desk. “I’ve met the governess, Miss Walcott. She seems oblivious to the requirements of Uncle’s will.”

“She can’t be,” Vaughn put in. “She must have a part in this. Why name her in the will otherwise?”

Jerome shrugged. “I agree with you that she should seem more pleased by uncle’s demise if she was behind the change in the will, but she seemed sincere in her grief. She says he was much admired. According to her, Uncle was a doting father who visited several times a year.”

Richard’s frown deepened. “Impossible. He was never away long enough to get to Cumberland and back.”

They had cause to know. The three of them had ridden hard for over three full days, changing horses as they went, to reach Carlisle and make enquiries, a good part of another day along rutted country roads to find the manor. Jerome had no doubt that when Benjamin Caruthers realized they’d headed north without him, he’d be right behind, but he wasn’t a young man, and couldn’t maintain the same pace of travel. Besides, he’d come in a heavy traveling coach that was slower than a man on horseback.

“We weren’t with Uncle every minute,” Jerome reminded his brother. “He could have sired an entire family of daughters while we were away at school. And the last few years, he tended to keep to himself more and more.”

“You mean you avoided him more and more,” Vaughn said. He stopped in the sunlight, a dark figure against the brightness. “You never could appreciate his habits.”

Richard exchanged glances with Jerome before turning to eye their cousin. “His habits included every possible indulgence, with little regard for legality or even decency. You’ll pardon me for wanting better.”

Vaughn stepped out of the light, but his eyes narrowed. “He could practice virtue just as well. You might give him credit for that.”

Jerome found that impossible, particularly under the current circumstances. “Sinner or saint,” he told Vaughn, “we know one thing for certain. He managed to change his will with none of us being the wiser.”

“I still say it’s Caruthers,” Vaughn answered. “Uncle would never have cut you out this way, Jerome.”

Jerome wished he could believe it was as easy as a lying solicitor, but these changes smacked of something more. And it was too like his uncle to want to put Jerome in his place.

Richard, however, seemed to agree with Vaughn. “You may be right. It sounds as if Caruthers knew about this house and that will the entire time, the old fox.”

“Well, the fox will need to outrun the hounds this time,” Vaughn replied, returning to his pacing with a sudden grin that softened his sharp features. “It took us days to get here, but it may take Caruthers a fortnight to reach the manor, thanks to the reception I so graciously arranged along the way.”

Jerome could only hope. Vaughn had left gold and instructions all along the coaching route, but whether the solicitor’s journey was slowed even further depended on where he chose to stop and with whom he chose to speak.

“I’d say we have, at most, a week to learn the truth before Caruthers arrives,” Jerome told them. “Somewhere in this house is the proof he thinks will show that Samantha is Uncle’s legitimate daughter.”

“What exactly are we looking for?” Richard asked.

“A marriage certificate, most likely,” Jerome replied. “But it may be something more nebulous—a letter from Uncle to her mother, the written testimony of the attending physician or midwife, the notation of a vicar before her baptism. It’s probably kept somewhere secure—a safe, a strongbox, or with the older estate documents in the muniment room, if this place has that sort of archives.”

Vaughn paused expectantly. “And when we find it, what then? Do we destroy it to prevent the lie from spreading?”

“If necessary,” Jerome agreed.

“And if she is Uncle’s daughter?” Vaughn pressed.

How could he answer? A part of him wanted to hurl the proof into the nearest fire and be done with it. Was this why his grandfather had set up his own will to hem in his oldest son? He’d feared Arthur Everard’s recklessness, so he had insisted on an entail that put the control of most of the property and fortune with Caruthers. How he’d forced Uncle to sign the entail agreement, Jerome couldn’t imagine.

But Grandfather’s will had tied Jerome’s hands as well, and Uncle and Caruthers had fought every improvement he’d proposed. For years he’d worked, studying farming so he could convince the solicitor to institute the best practices on their estates, learning the shipping trade with Richard so they could make optimum use of the share the Everards owned in various ships, scrutinizing every movement on the Exchange to ensure their investments grew. Despite the restrictions placed on him, he had managed to increase the fortune by over one hundred thousand pounds at last estimate, while their estates flourished and their ships sailed loaded with rich cargo.

And Uncle valued Jerome’s skills so little that he offered a girl fresh from the schoolroom to replace him? Unthinkable!

“She isn’t Uncle’s daughter,” he told Vaughn. “And we’re going to prove it.” He turned to his brother. “When the news of Uncle’s death is told, people are likely to dredge up memories about his life. You have a talent for getting people to talk to you. Strike up a friendly conversation at that inn we passed on our way into the valley. See what you can learn.”

Richard nodded, gathering himself and rising.

“And me?” Vaughn asked.

Vaughn was the wobbly wheel on Jerome’s plan, the one most likely to roll off in another direction entirely. His unending need for action could prove a problem if not harnessed.

“For now,” Jerome said, “keep the staff out of my way. Then I want you to befriend our new cousin. I’d like your impression of the girl.”

Eyes lighting, Vaughn swept him a bow. “It would be my pleasure. I’ll know whether she’s an Everard. Count on it.”

Jerome wanted to feel as certain, but he could only hope he had made the right decision about coming to Dallsten Manor and about bringing his volatile cousin with him.

Adele hurried along the chamber story, passing paneled doors closed on seldom-used rooms, alcoves that held rare statues and fine works of art. Where was Samantha? Why hadn’t she waited in the schoolroom as ordered? She had to be found before she bumped into their guests. The girl deserved better than to hear the news of her father’s death from a stranger, albeit a handsome, charming one.

Just the thought of Jerome’s wide, warm grin sent a tingle through Adele. How silly! Surely it was the drama—his sudden arrival, the news of Lord Everard’s death. If Adele had met Jerome Everard on a country road on the way to church, she probably wouldn’t even have noticed him.

And perhaps pigs might fly.

On Adele’s right, even her grandfather looked skeptical, standing tall and stern in his gilt-framed portrait. He had the same pinched-nose look as her mother, as if he were just as aghast that his descendant had fallen to such an end.

A Dallsten, governess in her own home!

Adele ignored him. The exalted Dallstens could toss and turn all they liked. Because she’d agreed to serve as governess, she had a home and she could be near her mother, who lived in the dower house at the foot of the drive. Because Adele was the governess, she was allowed a certain freedom, and she’d been able to keep the house generally intact. Thanks to Lord Everard’s capricious generosity, she had fine clothes to wear and good food to eat, even at the family table. Most days, she was truly grateful. Lord Everard had not been the most conscientious of men, but he had done very well by her family, going so far as to trust her with virtually all of the upbringing of his only daughter.

Yet how could she tell Samantha the awful news? Adele hesitated at the door of the girl’s bedchamber. She remembered the feelings of loss all too well. She’d been about Samantha’s age when her father had died: thrown from a horse, and him a man who rode like the wind. And, like tossed by a blowing wind, her future, her hopes, had all tumbled away.

She sighed. Life had turned out differently than she’d been taught to expect. In rare moments, she felt cheated, but most of the time, she simply did what must be done. And what must be done right now was to make sure Samantha wasn’t cheated in the same way. She squared her shoulders and opened the door.

Samantha was seated at her cluttered dressing table, bare elbows shoving aside the jars of creams, the boxes of hair ribbons. Her brows were drawn over her pert nose as she regarded her reflection in the looking glass. Once her feet had swung high above the floor as Adele brushed out her golden curls. Now the table seemed too small for her in her pale muslin gown. But she still didn’t look old enough to be wearing her mother’s pearl bobs, which dangled from her ears.

“Those are for special occasions, if you please,” Adele reminded her, venturing into the room.

Samantha turned to her with a smile. “I thought three handsome visitors might be occasion enough.”

Some of what Adele was feeling must have shown on her face, for Samantha’s grin faded. “What is it? Did they leave after all?”

“No, they’ll be staying with us for some time,” Adele said. “I’m sorry I took so long. We must talk.”

Samantha’s dark eyes widened. “Oh, no, you heard about Toby Giles, didn’t you? I swear I didn’t know he was going to steal the vicar’s wig.”

Adele raised a brow. “You can be sure we will discuss your friend Mr. Giles another time. I have something far more important to tell you.”

Samantha eyed her expectantly, and Adele’s courage nearly failed her. She took the girl’s hands in her own and gave them a squeeze.

“You must try to be brave, love. Your father is dead.”

Samantha stared at her, skin washing ashen. “No.” The word was no more than a whisper, as if saying it louder would make her father’s death true.

Adele squeezed her hands again. “I’m afraid so. Those three men are your cousins. They came to bring us the news. I am so sorry.”

Samantha just sat there. Adele wasn’t even sure she was breathing. A single tear slid down one cheek. Then she threw herself into Adele’s arms and sobbed.

Jerome wasn’t about to waste the time he’d been given. With Richard on his way to meet the locals and Vaughn keeping an eye on the staff, Jerome set about looking for the rest of the estate records.

Dallsten Manor was shaped like an L, short in the front and long at the back. The main block was two stories, but a three- or four-story tower anchored each corner. The house had obviously been expanded over the years, as corridors ran into other corridors or blank walls, and nothing seemed to be where he expected it. He got lost twice just trying to reach the south tower.

He needed a guide. Surely as the heir, he would be expected to ask for a tour and a formal inventory. At least then he could decide the most likely places Caruthers’s proof might be stored.

He was wandering down the long chamber story when a sound rose to greet him. The great gulping sobs ended in wails. It hurt just listening. He could think of only one person who might have cause for such pain.

He stopped, letting the sobs wash over him, feeling them weigh him down. Why did it always have to be lies and secrecy, Uncle? Can you hear that girl cry for you?

He raised his head and straightened. He would spare no tears for his uncle; that decision had been made long ago. It remained to be seen whether he should spare any for the girl who was supposed to be his cousin. For now, he ought to turn and walk away, leave her to her grief. Yet something made him open the door and peer inside.

The room was all he would have imagined a young girl could want—pink and chintz and scallops and bows. Adele Walcott’s trim figure in the gray gown stood out in cool contrast, elegance defined. She had her arms around a young woman with a riot of golden curls, holding her gently, murmuring words of solace.

An ache rose up inside him, so strong he nearly gasped. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond remembering how it felt to lose someone held dear. He’d been an overconfident thirteen, sure of who God intended him to be, when his parents had been killed and his world upended. He could still remember his uncle’s words of solace at the funeral.

“So it’s just you and Richard and me, boy,” his uncle had said, gazing down at him with those nearly black eyes. “I’m not entirely sure what to do with you, but we’ll get along well enough if you remember one thing—I mean to cram more enjoyment into this life than one man might reasonably lay claim to. I’d advise you to do the same.”

Unfortunately, not only had he been unable to accept that advice, but it had seemed his lot to put a damper on his uncle’s pleasures. From the first day, they’d fought over every decision, and he’d learned how to smile through the frustration, appear humble though he hurt. As he had matured, he’d found ways to go over, under and around his uncle to do what he believed was best for the family legacy. Yet never had he heard anything but disdain from his uncle for daring to take life so seriously.

The wounds felt raw, even years later. He refused to give in to the pain. But as he tucked it away and started to pull the door shut, Adele Walcott’s head came up. Her gaze met his.

For a moment, he saw compassion, as if she knew what he felt was every bit as deep as the grief of the girl she held in her arms. When was the last time he’d seen such a look directed his way? He wanted to latch on to the promise, let it warm him.

Was this a scheming woman who intended to cheat him of his fortune? Or was he mad to think he could find an ally in Dallsten Manor of all places?

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?

Chapter Five

Luckily, dinner proved to be enlightening, for Adele learned things about Samantha’s family she’d never known. Jerome was adept at keeping the conversation flowing, inquiring about Samantha’s pastimes, her acquaintances and her preferences in literature and fashion, and somehow managing to make Adele feel like an honored guest instead of the governess. He also took the opportunity to express his condolences.

“I wish we could have met under happier circumstances.” His long fingers toyed with his silver fork. “I’m sure I speak for all of us, dear cousin, when I say we share your sorrow.”

Compassion echoed in his warm voice, and Adele nodded her support across the table to her charge.

Samantha smiled bravely, her own dinner long forgotten. “You knew my father well?”

“Well?” Vaughn shook his head, light from the silver candelabra in the center of the table glinting on his platinum hair. “Can the acorn know the oak? The husk of wheat the rippling field?”

Adele raised a brow.

“Cousin Vaughn was particularly close to your father,” Jerome drawled, although Adele thought she saw him flash the fellow a look of warning. “Uncle helped raise all of us.”

“Don’t you have parents of your own?” Samantha asked.

“We did, or do in Vaughn’s case,” Jerome replied easily enough, as Adele tried not to look too eager to hear more. “But if you are interested in your family history, perhaps I should start with the first Lord Everard, our grandfather.”

Vaughn set down the crystal goblet from which he’d been drinking. “You have no sense of the dramatic,” he told Jerome, then leaned closer to Samantha. “Once, in the Grand Age before we were born, our grandfather was master of the seas.”

“He was a privateer,” Jerome explained to Adele.

That certainly made sense. She found it all too easy to imagine the three of them swinging from lines and grappling with pirates.

Vaughn ignored Jerome, obviously intent on his tale. “Legend has it he braved death to rescue a certain lady who’d been held for ransom on the high seas. His Majesty the King was so grateful, he graciously granted the old fellow a barony and an estate to support it.”

So that was how Samantha’s father came to be titled, through his own father. Adele had often wondered. Like his swordsman nephew, the former Lord Everard had seemed more dashing rogue than polished courtier.

“Regardless,” Jerome continued, brow raised as if annoyed to find himself upstaged by his colorful cousin, “he parlayed his riches into a considerable fortune, for which we can all be grateful. He also had three sons. Arthur, Samantha’s father, was the oldest. My father, Lancelot, was second.”

Samantha giggled. “Lancelot?”

Adele held back her own smile. “A great many gentlemen have romantic names,” she advised Samantha. “None appreciate being snickered at.”

Samantha wrinkled her nose, but Vaughn obviously didn’t mind laughing at the name, for he grinned at Samantha. “You think that’s tiresome? My father’s named Galahad.”

Samantha snorted and picked up her napkin to hide her grin, but her dark eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Grandfather named all his children after one knight or other from the days of King Arthur,” Vaughn explained. “And like the knights of old, they all distinguished themselves. Your father was our leader.”

“When it pleased him,” Jerome said, taking back control of the conversation with a wink to Adele. “My father managed the estates, even after Grandfather died and Uncle inherited the title. My parents were on a tour of the estates when they were killed in a carriage accident. I was thirteen, Richard ten. At that time, we all thought Uncle had sworn off marriage, making me the heir presumptive, so everyone agreed Richard and I should go live with him.”

Adele frowned. Then he’d known he was the heir before Samantha was even born. He would have been groomed for the role. Small wonder he looked pensive at times.

Across from her, Samantha sobered. “I’m sorry for your loss. My mother died when I was young, as well.”

Oh, no. They would not discuss Samantha’s mother if Adele had anything to say in the matter. She smiled at Jerome. “And did you and your brother take after your father, Mr. Everard, in managing the estates?”

“I did,” he replied with a smile that could only be called proud. “Richard preferred to look after our ships.”

“We have ships?” Samantha asked eagerly.

“A veritable fleet,” Vaughn assured her. “Cousin Richard took command immediately.”

“My brother rose to the rank of captain quickly,” Jerome agreed with far more humility in his voice.

“Tragically, he lost his one true love along the way,” Vaughn continued. “Lady Claire promised to wait until he returned, fortune made, but she proved fickle and gave her heart to another. It nearly destroyed him.”

“How sad,” Adele murmured. Even dashing privateers, it seemed, were prone to sorrow, just like far less dashing governesses.

“My brother prefers not to dwell on the past,” Jerome said to Adele, then he turned to his cousin and tipped up his chin. “However, I’m certain you’d prefer to take up the rest of the story.”

Vaughn shook back his white-gold hair and straightened in his seat. As if to be sure of his audience, his dark gaze traveled from Adele to Jerome to Samantha, who sat spellbound.

“My father was the youngest,” he said, voice low as if moved by emotion. “He was a dreamy lad, head always in the clouds. No one was surprised when he ran away from home to join a traveling caravan, journeying to the farthest parts of the world and partaking of all its riches. There he fell passionately in love with a gypsy princess. When she bore me, she begged him to return to his family so that I might be raised with the rights and privileges due an Everard.”

My word. That explained a great deal. Samantha blinked, obviously just as fascinated.

Jerome slowly clapped. “Well done. That story gets better each time you tell it. But I suggest you offer her the truth.”

Vaughn’s dark eyes glittered. “My father married an actress against Grandfather’s wishes. She dropped me in his arms, took Grandfather’s settlement offer and sailed for the Continent. My father became a scholar at Oxford. When I was expelled from Eton for dueling, he sent me to live with Uncle.”

“I like your first story better,” Samantha said.

Vaughn cocked a smile. “So do I.”

Adele glanced between the two men. Mouths curled fondly, muscular bodies leaned in repose, but she could not believe they were so unmoved by their stories. Each of the Everards had borne the pain of abandonment and loss of one sort or another. Small wonder they cleaved to each other.

Do they expect Samantha to join them, Lord? Do they have any idea what it means to shepherd a young girl through her first Season? Are they ready to accept the responsibility?

“Your pasts have been difficult,” she ventured into the companionable silence. “And I applaud your tenacity. But perhaps we should talk of the future. We have a number of questions about the upcoming Season.”

Samantha waved her hand. “We can talk about my Season later. Right now, I want to know how my father died.”

Jerome’s gaze dropped to the fine china before him. Vaughn’s fingers wrapped around his fork as if taking comfort from the cool metal. Adele met Samantha’s gaze, sure more bad news was coming.

“A tragic accident,” Jerome said at last, picking up his own fork again and spearing the last of the mutton. “No need to go into details.”

Adele let out a breath. That he refused to answer could only mean Samantha’s father had died in some horrid fashion. Samantha must have thought so, as well, for she frowned.

So did Vaughn. “You’re mollycoddling her,” he said to Jerome. “If I can’t make up stories, why should you?”

The room seemed to have darkened. Adele glanced between them again and knew Samantha was doing the same. Jerome sat stiffly, eyes narrowed at Vaughn. A tic was working in the swordsman’s lean jaw. This was no time for such posturing. Couldn’t they see that?

“Your cousin is sixteen years old,” Adele reminded them, “and in mourning for her father. Perhaps that is sufficient reality for now.”

Vaughn returned to his food and said no more. Adele thought Jerome agreed with her, because his mouth turned up at one corner.

“I imagine we’ve given our new cousin quite enough to think about,” he said.

“Well, yes,” Samantha admitted with a dispirited sigh. “But I do hope you’ll be more forthcoming soon.”

“I’ll do all I can,” he promised. “And Miss Walcott, I have not forgotten about that tour you promised me.”

That charming smile was back, dimple and all, raising butterflies in her stomach. But she thought it was panic rather than delight that moved her. “I believe I provided you with an alternative, Mr. Everard.”

Samantha was watching her and even Vaughn seemed interested in his reply. Jerome’s smile only deepened. “And I believe I refused that alternative. As far as I can see, only your services will do for this task.”

Adele smiled with what she hoped was just as much charm. “Nonsense, Mr. Everard. No one is indispensable.”

“Miss Walcott is,” Samantha piped up, and now she, too, was smiling. “She’s the best governess any girl could wish.”

Adele felt her cheeks heating. “Thank you, Samantha.”

Samantha turned to Jerome. “So, if you need help, Cousin, she’s just the person to ask.”

“I’m delighted you concur,” Jerome said with a chuckle. “Then you won’t mind if I borrow her for a short time.”

“Not at all,” Samantha assured him with a wave of her hand. “I’m so glad that the two of you are getting on so well.”

Adele stared at her. Her charge cocked her head and fluttered her lashes, looking every bit the demure miss. A shame Adele could see the thoughts stirring feverishly behind those big, brown eyes.

“Then we are agreed,” Jerome said, spreading his hands. “Perhaps we could start after dinner, Miss Walcott.”

Adele smiled politely at him. “But Samantha will want to show you her skills on the pianoforte this evening, like a good hostess. She’s practiced for years. I’m certain she wouldn’t want you to do more than relax and listen tonight after journeying so far to meet her. Isn’t that right, Samantha?”

Her look was so pointed even Samantha could not gainsay her. The girl straightened dutifully in her chair. “Of course, Miss Walcott. I can play that new piece Lord Kendrick brought back from London.”

“Kendrick?” Jerome asked. His tone was polite, but Adele could see that his look had sharpened again.

“The Earl of Kendrick,” Samantha supplied. “He has the estate next to ours. You must meet his grandson, Jamie.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I vow he is the sweetest thing! He will break hearts some day, you mark my words.”

Just as his uncle broke mine.

Adele shoved away the memory, but, against all odds, she felt tears pricking. Deaths, worries, memories—suddenly she’d had enough of them all. She bowed her head and focused on her food while Samantha nattered on about riding with Jamie and the local assemblies and any manner of diversions her new cousins might enjoy while they visited. The girl was so enthralled, she’d obviously forgotten that her father’s death could put a hold on such activities. If Jerome insisted on strictest mourning, Samantha would soon be gowned in black and constrained from doing more than attending church services for months.

Oh, Lord, why now? It was time for her to start her life, to find a proper husband. Those things were denied me. Please don’t let Samantha suffer the same fate!

“You cannot hide so easily,” Jerome murmured, bending closer to offer her the last of the mutton.

Could he see the worries that flocked about her tonight like ravens intent on a dying swallow? He certainly had the power to banish those concerns. “I’m not hiding, Mr. Everard. Just thoughtful. You must agree that’s reasonable, given the circumstances.”

“Certainly,” he said as she shook her head to refuse the savory meat. “And you must agree that my request is reasonable, too, given the circumstances. I will concede the battle but not the war. Be in the library at ten tomorrow for our tour.”

“And if I should find myself too busy?” Adele said, daring to glance up at him.

“Then I would of course be forced to come fetch you. I am told I can be charming when I put my mind to it.” His smile said he knew just how charming.

“I doubt you need to overly exert yourself, Mr. Everard,” Adele replied. “I will see if I can find time among my other duties.”

She was thankful he let it go at that.

Not long after, they all retired to the withdrawing room for the evening. This was the most feminine room in the manor outside of Samantha’s. Here the fair Rosamunde had held court, surrounded by the pale pink walls, the dainty gilt-edged furniture and the gauzy fabric that draped the windows. It was a room for sipping the finest tea, for chatting about the latest fashions. Adele sometimes thought she caught the scent of the lady’s signature rose perfume still lingering.

Tonight, however, the memory of Samantha’s mother seemed farther away than usual. As promised, Samantha played the pianoforte with her usual passion, and Adele couldn’t help noticing that the girl’s cousin Vaughn watched her the entire time. She’d once seen a falcon with such a fixed look, hunting for food.

Lord, help me keep an eye on this fellow.

On the other hand, Adele was all too aware that Jerome kept an eye on her. He sat in the chair nearest hers, tapping a finger along the gilded arm in time to the music, and murmured praise for Samantha’s accomplishments and Adele’s instruction. He even picked up Adele’s paisley wool shawl when it slipped from her shoulders, tucking it back in place with the gentlest of touches and setting her to trembling.

Why was he being so attentive? She ought to see only kindness, but it felt like so much more. Yet how could it be more when she was only the governess?

Her feelings remained conflicted as the Everard gentlemen bid her and Samantha good-night, and she and the girl climbed the grand staircase for the chamber story. Samantha’s steps were just as light as they’d been that morning before she’d heard of her father’s death, and she hummed the last tune she had played.

“What do you think of my cousins?” she asked suddenly as they turned the corner for the longer corridor and her bedchamber.

Adele felt hot again, but she kept her tone polite. “They seem to be presentable gentlemen.”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “That response is not very helpful.”

“And are you grading my responses now, miss?” Adele challenged with a smile as she opened the door and ushered the girl into the room.

Samantha went to sit in front of her dressing table with a rustle of her emerald skirts. “Of course not, but I was hoping for more. Do you think they’re handsome? Do you find them charming?”

“Neither of which a governess should answer about her employer,” Adele replied, trying to keep her face appropriately stern as she joined her charge.

“Well, I like them,” Samantha said, facing her reflection. “Cousin Vaughn is a lot like Papa, very free with his feelings.” Her brows drew down as if she didn’t like the picture she saw in the looking glass. “It’s a little strange, in fact, how much he resembles Papa.”

The sorrow trembled in her voice. Adele laid a hand on her shoulder. “You will likely miss him for some time, dear.”

Samantha nodded, face puckering further. “And Cousin Jerome won’t even tell me how he died.” She swiveled on the stool to meet Adele’s gaze. “Maybe you could ask him. He likes you. I could tell.”

It was on the tip of Adele’s tongue to ask how Samantha could be so certain, but she pulled the words back before they were spoken. She could not encourage the girl to discuss the chance of an attraction that served no one. “Does it truly matter how your father died? He is gone, my love, and you must consider your future.”

Instead of looking comforted, as most young women might have done in remembering that the future might be brighter, Samantha put her back to Adele and bowed her head. “How can I? What point is there to having a Season? Papa won’t even be there to see me. I might as well stay in Cumberland and marry an old farmer.”

Adele raised her brows at the petulant tone. “I suspect we might be able to find a sufficiently aged one to meet your qualifications.”

That won a smile from the girl. “Well,” she acknowledged, “maybe a young farmer. A young, handsome farmer with a sporty barouche and four matched horses to pull it.”

Adele laughed as she reached for the brush. “That’s more like it. Oh, Samantha, you’ll have such a marvelous time in London, meeting girls your own age, going to balls and parties. It’s the very best I could hope for you, a chance to meet the perfect gentleman, to have a life of your own beyond this house. Surely your father wished that, too. Now we just need to convince your new cousins to see about the arrangements, and we can be off.”

“You convince them,” Samantha said, wincing as Adele began to pull the brush through her tousled curls. “Start with Cousin Jerome. In fact, I think you should spend as much time as you like with him.”

The light was shining in those dark eyes again. Little matchmaker!

“How very thoughtful of you,” Adele said, giving the brush an extra tug, “but, as I told your cousin earlier, my first thought is for you. Mr. Jerome Everard will simply have to wait.”

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