скачать книгу бесплатно
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.
