Regina Scott (13 page)

She undressed with the help of her maid then dismissed the woman for the night. Putting her back to the bed, she knelt on the rug before the hearth and watched the colors shifting in the heated coal.

Adele knew what had happened in this room, the tragic way Lady Everard’s life had ended. Very likely she had shared the tale with Jerome. He could easily have told Richard and Vaughn. Samantha had been unaware of the secret until a few months ago, when Adele had come to visit her in London.

“I have something for you,” she had said when the two of them were seated in the Everard House withdrawing room. Samantha had had it redecorated in the Egyptian style but had been surprised to find she wasn’t overly fond of the gilded wall coverings and lion-footed furnishings.

Adele had held out the little wooden box that now rested in the wardrobe of this very room. “I probably should have given these to you years ago,” her former governess said with a shake of her dark head. “But I was never sure the time was right.”

Samantha accepted the box with fingers that seemed to be shaking. “What is it?”

“The last bits of your mother,” Adele had said. “Treat them kindly.”

She’d thought the advice a bit odd. How could she not treat anything her mother had left kindly? But going through the meager contents of the box after Adele left, Samantha could understand her hesitation. So little remained of a life that had brought joy to so many.

There was the miniature of her mother, very much the way Samantha remembered her. There were the ribbons her mother had worn in her hair the day she’d married. There was the marriage certificate linking her mother and father together forever. Cousin Richard said the signature of the officiating cleric must belong to one of the anvil priests, the men in Gretna Green who married English couples who had fled over the border to Scotland because their families protested their love. That paper was the only thing that proved Samantha was legitimately born and the rightful heir to the barony and the Everard legacy.

But as important as those fading lines were to her, the other document from her mother was more precious. Rosamunde Defaneuil had left a diary chronicling her married life. Samantha had stayed up one night reading it. What had started as eagerness to know more about the mother she’d lost had quickly turned to dismay and then sorrow. Marriage had transformed a vivacious, charming girl into a distraught, withdrawn woman who took the ultimate step to escape the prison she’d built for herself.

The pop and hiss of the coals was too loud in the bedchamber. Samantha drew her knees up under her nightgown and hugged them to her chest. Had her mother sat in that chair, stared at the glow? Had her tears wet this rug, the pillow on the great bed? Certainly her weight had bent the canopy as she’d hanged herself.

Samantha shuddered. Her mother’s tempestuous emotions had destroyed her, left Samantha an orphan but for Adele and occasional visits from her father. How was she to know she would be any more successful in a marriage built on such emotions? She was her mother’s daughter, finding joy easily, but falling into the dismals when left alone. Sometimes she thought her mother’s moods were what had driven her father to London, what had kept him from acknowledging her and her mother to his friends and family. Could any man deal with such moods without tarnishing the love he had thought he felt? Could she?

Only with You, Lord.

She’d seen nothing in her mother’s diary to indicate her mother had carried her worries and fears to the Lord in prayer. Samantha knew she had that source of help. But if she let her emotions rule her, could she make any kind of marriage? Sometimes she felt as if she had so many feelings inside they would gush out like water falling from the fells. Only it would not be a rainbow they formed but a flood to sweep away her future.

Surely self-control was the key, and that meant no hasty steps into marriage. Very likely it meant no marriage at all.

She rose and padded to the bed and pulled off the comforter. Then she wrapped it around her, huddled in her father’s chair and watched until the glow faded from the coals.

Chapter Thirteen

“W
hat do you think of the Everards, Father?” Jamie asked later that night in the Kendrick withdrawing room.

A part of Will had expected to dislike the Everard men on sight. From jumping fences to courting maidens, the stories of their antics were legendary in the valley. Instead he’d felt surprisingly at home.

“I like them,” he admitted, stretching his legs toward the fire from where he and Jamie sat. “Your uncle and I were far enough apart in age, and we were never close, so at times I felt like an only child. It strikes me I could have done worse than to have one of these men as a brother or cousin.”

Jamie nodded. “And Vaughn Everard isn’t nearly as terrifying as I remembered. I can’t see him killing Uncle.” He leaned forward, and the light from the fire gave his face lines he hadn’t yet earned. “You were next to Samantha all through dinner. Did you get a chance to ask?”

“One doesn’t ask about murder in front of friends and family,” Will cautioned, remembering the many years it had taken him to get the knack of move and countermove, all handled with velvet gloves. “And I’m not sure she trusts me enough to have that conversation yet.”

Jamie leaned back and slapped the knees of his evening trousers. “Well, I say they’re innocent. I’m sure you’ll convince her to clear up the matter. I’ll be off in the morning to help her. Will I see you there later?”

“Count on it,” Will replied. Jamie might not appreciate Will hanging about, but Samantha had invited him. And he had work to do if he was to convince her to share what she knew about Gregory’s death. Besides, just the thought of spending a day in the vibrant atmosphere he had experienced that evening raised his spirits.

Consequently he rose early and made sure there was no urgent estate business that needed his attention. His staff had never caught sight of the outrider Will had seen the other day, so he felt confident the fellow had moved on. He had Arrow saddled and rode across the fields to Dallsten Manor.

The day was clear and warm. The crisp scent Will attributed to the fells drifted on the breeze. The Everards had evidently decided to make the most of the good weather, for a number of them were out on the lawn in front of the manor. However two were conspicuously absent—Vaughn Everard and Prentice Haygood. Despite the marquess’s claims to civility last night, Will could only hope he wasn’t out somewhere challenging the unfortunate Mr. Haygood to a duel for daring to court his cousin.

Adele had her young daughter in her lap and was braiding buttercups into her hair. She waved to Will as a footman came up to take the reins so he could dismount. “Good morning, Lord Kendrick. I think we’re in for pleasant weather for the party.”

“And how could God send rain on such lovely ladies?” Will asked, bowing to them both. Her daughter giggled and snuggled closer to her mother. Adele offered him a smile.

Straightening, Will spotted Samantha, in a sprigged muslin gown as bright as the day. She had bent to help one of her cousin’s children aim his ball toward the nearest wicket in what appeared to be a game of croquet. Jamie was standing along one side, arms crossed over the chest of his navy coat.

“You don’t care to play?” Will asked, strolling up to his son.

Jamie snorted. “I was playing. She shot me down.”

“
I
shot you down!” proclaimed the boy beside Samantha. Then he glanced at her. “Didn’t I?”

“You certainly did, my lad,” Samantha assured him with a pat on his shoulder. Then she smiled at Jamie and Will. “Lord Wentworth can’t help that he’s been away at school so long he’s forgotten the very game he invented.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he gazed at Jamie with obvious awe. With his thick black hair and deep blue eyes, the boy was likely Jerome Everard’s son. “
You
invented smack ball?” he asked Jamie.

Jamie stood a little taller. “When I was younger than you.”

Will hid a smile at his son’s dismissive pride. “And how does one play this amazing game?” he asked.

“It’s simple, my lord,” Samantha offered, straightening. “It begins much like the game of croquet, only you earn points each time you smack your opponent’s ball away from the goal. The person who reaches the far stake with the most points wins.”

“And if your ball ends up in the water,” Jamie added, voice tinged with frustration, “you’re immediately out.” He nodded toward the Dallsten Manor pond, where Richard Everard was using a net to scoop out three dripping colored balls while his wife watched with ill-concealed amusement.

“I already smacked out my father, Uncle Vaughn and Lord Wentworth,” Jerome’s son said proudly. “Now I just have to reach the stake to win.” He swung his mallet, and the ball knocked against the colored stick with a whack. He beamed at Samantha.

She beamed back, all pride in him. Will remembered his mother showing a similar pride in her sons before illness had claimed her life while Will had been away at Eton. He liked the fact that, even though Samantha was obviously helping the boy, she let him take all the credit for the win.

Will offered him his hand. “A great victory, sir. May I request an introduction?”

“Justin Everard,” he said, taking Will’s hand.

“William Wentworth, Lord Kendrick,” Will returned, shaking the boy’s hand solemnly. “If you give me a moment to arm myself against you, I’d like to play this game my son invented.”

Samantha grinned. “What do you say, Justin? Are you willing to play against Lord Kendrick?”

“Certainly,” Justin said magnanimously. “It’s his son’s game, after all.”

“Thank you,” Will replied. “Perhaps if you’d be so good as to retrieve the other balls from your uncle the captain?”

Justin scampered off toward the pond.

“I’ll fetch you a mallet, Father,” Jamie offered, heading for the wheeled cart standing a few feet away.

“Busy already this morning,” Will murmured to Samantha, shrugging out of his coat to give himself ease of motion to play. “What have you done with your other cousins and the devoted Mr. Haygood?”

“Who?” Samantha said, tearing her gaze away from his shoulders. “Oh, Mr. Haygood. He insisted on finding my origins and holed himself up in the muniment room. In truth I think he feels safest there. My cousins seem to intimidate him. Jerome and Vaughn are inspecting the site we intend to use for the party, as if I hadn’t done so already.” Her annoyance at her cousins was evident as she bent to snatch up a yellow ball and mallet for her own use.

Then Justin came dashing back and handed Will a red ball. Richard Everard strolled up and tossed Jamie’s blue ball to him with a wink.

“Stay well ahead of her,” he advised Jamie before returning to his wife’s side where she’d sat next to Adele and her daughter to watch.

Justin, Jamie, Will and Samantha returned to the stake at one side of the lawn, and the boy invited the three of them to go first with such a generous air that Will had to stifle a smile. He quickly realized, however, that the gesture wasn’t all kindness. It was evident that the last player had the advantage, being able to sight his opponents’ balls much easier. When it came to Will’s turn again, he angled his shot to keep the next wicket between his ball and the boy’s.

Jamie, however, was clearly out for revenge. He managed to knock into either Will’s or Justin’s ball each round, racking up the points yet still ending up far enough away to make it difficult for them to retaliate. Will noticed he avoided hitting Samantha’s ball. Samantha, on the other hand, hit whoever was available, from Will to Justin. Justin, however, felt the sting of Jamie’s skill, his frustration evident as his plays became more erratic.

Samantha must have noticed as well, for she edged up to Will. “I think your son needs a lesson in civility.”

“Not every game is played civilly, my dear,” Will countered, watching as Justin’s ball missed Jamie’s by a scant inch.

“And not every boy needs to learn that lesson at seven,” she replied.

Will glanced at her. Her rosy lips were drawn in a tight line, and one booted foot tapped at the grass. She was clearly ready to defend Justin, no matter the cost.

“Or seventeen,” he reminded her.

Her look softened, and she glanced to where Jamie was down on his knees in the grass, trying to spy the perfect angle to knock Justin down to the pond. The little boy was watching him, both hands clasped around his mallet, tension evident in every part of his small body.

“Oh, to be that young again,” she murmured.

Will chuckled. “Said the aged crone.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Oh, I cannot claim
your
great number of years, my lord.”

“Just for that, madam,” he said, and smacked his ball up against hers, sending it careening across the lawn to land in front of the watching Everards.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Samantha cried with a laugh, hurrying after it even as her cousin’s daughter picked it up and clutched it close. “Oh, come now, Addy. Give Auntie the ball, please?”

Love shining in her eyes, Addy held out the ball to Samantha.

Will smiled as Samantha curtsied to the little girl. What had he thought the moment he’d seen her? Sunshine had come to his home. Yet while she was capable of bringing joy to everyone who came across her, her own joy seemed tempered, muted. He wished he understood why.

Justin agreed that Samantha could play her ball from the edge of the lawn closest to the spectators, and she gave it a smack calculated to make it reach Will’s. His ball cracked as hers hit it. “Well done,” he acknowledged as she strolled up to him, mallet swung up on her shoulder.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, then jerked to a stop as Justin cried out. Jamie had just smacked his ball away from the final stake.

Will eyed his ball. He could hit Samantha again or take a longer shot to hit Jamie. But he thought he knew exactly the right move. He angled his shot and drew back the mallet. His ball raced across the lawn to stop short between Justin and the stake. Jamie groaned.

“You’re mine, Lord Kendrick,” the boy cried, and Will watched as his ball was deflected to one side and tumbled down the lawn to land with an ignominious plop in the pond.

Justin tapped his ball against the stake. “I believe I beat you, Lord Wentworth,” he said to Jamie with great conviction.

Jamie bowed. “Indeed you did, sir. May I have your hand?”

The two shook hands. But Samantha’s gaze was all for Will.

“You,” she said, eyes as radiant as her smile, “are a rare find, William Wentworth, Earl of Kendrick. If you continue riding to the rescue, I shall owe you a very great favor indeed.”

Though he knew the favor he should ask, he found himself craving another one instead with her lips so sweetly curved. And that was enough to make him excuse himself from the next game to sit safely with the spectators.

* * *

The next three days proved to Samantha that Will was indeed a very handy fellow to have around. He and Jamie were at the manor from midmorning to late evening each day, lending a hand in whatever was happening. The activities at Dallsten Manor varied from games for the children to helping with preparations for the summer party, which was now only a few days away. Will consistently treated her cousins’ children with respect and kindness, he made sure to involve Jamie in any activity, and while he was never intrusive, she knew he could be counted on for support when she needed it.

And she needed that support more than she’d expected. After her months of preparation, she’d thought she was ready for the summer party.

She’d reckoned without her family.

She shouldn’t have been surprised that they each had an opinion. For as long as she’d known them, they’d never shirked in sharing their thoughts on anything she did.

“More flowers,” Claire insisted after reviewing Samantha’s plans to decorate the tree-ringed meadow where the party would be held.

“Kendrick Hall has a conservatory,” Adele mused beside her.

“I’m sure Lord Kendrick would be amenable to supplying our needs,” Mrs. Dallsten Walcott agreed.

Of course, Will was. And just when Samantha was ready to knock her former governess and sponsor’s heads together over their insistence on incompatible decorating schemes, he intervened. “Perhaps those around the ring and those near the booths,” he suggested.

The two women nodded sagely.

Will shot Samantha a conspiratorial grin that had her grinning back.

“We should have a horse race,” Jerome had told Samantha only that morning. “You know how the villagers love a good contest.”

She knew how much her cousins loved a good contest.

“I’ll put up the prize,” Imogene said with a wink to her husband.

“Allow me to suggest a course,” Will said and laid out one guaranteed to please her cousins and every horse-mad fellow for miles without endangering the crops, their horses or her sanity.

“More fireworks,” Vaughn had ordered a few moments ago, his twin sons bouncing up and down beside him.

“I believe,” Will had interjected before Samantha could explain the trouble she’d had in locating such a large supply to begin with, “that you’ll find the bonfire sufficiently interesting. I understand the flames frequently reach ten feet tall.”

The children’s eyes widened at that, and even Vaughn looked pleased.

The one person absent from the preparations was Prentice Haygood. While he occasionally took part in the games and was always present at meals, he continued to find her cousins daunting. Samantha noticed he went out of his way to avoid Vaughn in particular. Truth be told she was just as glad he did not attempt to seek her out. She truly didn’t want to hurt his feelings by refusing his suit.

He apparently had not given up, but had merely changed his tactics. He had vowed to research her lineage as a present for her upcoming birthday and kept himself sequestered in the muniment room to pore over the estate records. She didn’t argue, as it kept him safely occupied, but she feared he was doomed to disappointment. The manor’s muniment room held records of the Dallsten family for hundreds of years. There was very little on the Everards. The most important papers, like her mother’s marriage certificate, were safely upstairs.