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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.
