Regina Scott (11 page)

Instead she rounded up the last few items Mrs. Dallsten Walcott wanted to be sure were saved from sale, delivered them personally to the dower cottage and cringed when she saw how crowded the place had become in the past few days. She had just reached the top of the drive and the manor when she heard the crunch of carriage wheels behind her.

Turning, she saw a sturdy brown travel coach with yellow wheels passing her. It was large enough to hold six passengers, and already another coach trundled up the drive strapped with luggage and undoubtedly carrying additional servants.

She smiled as she took up her place before the door to welcome her first guests. She was certain she knew which cousin was about to poke his head out the door. It wouldn’t be Vaughn. He always traveled in something more sporty, and half the time he was at the reins. And not Richard and Claire either. They might need as large a coach for Claire’s wardrobe, for she was never in less than the first state of fashion, but they tended to arrive with more fanfare.

Her suspicions proved true as the door opened and the footman lowered the steps. The first passenger to disembark didn’t even use them, leaping from the coach to throw himself into her arms.

“Auntie Lady Sam!” Justin Everard, her cousin Jerome’s oldest son, hugged her tightly, and she patted the back of the seven-year-old’s navy coat.

“Good catch,” his father said to Samantha, climbing down after him before turning to offer his hand to his wife. Samantha had always thought Jerome was the most distinguished looking of her cousins with his raven hair and sharp blue eyes. The silver sprinkling his temples had only made him more so. Dressed in a navy coat and fawn trousers like his son, he cut a fine figure.

Samantha felt her smile growing as his wife descended to the drive in a whisper of emerald wool. Adele always looked the same to her, every dark hair in place, movements elegant and refined. She had been Samantha’s beautiful governess growing up and was her dear friend now that Samantha was grown. She returned Samantha’s smile and glanced up at the house, heart in her dark brown eyes.

Guilt shadowed Samantha’s joy. Dallsten Manor was Adele’s home. Samantha’s refusal to marry would force them to sell it. The proceeds would go to charity, but that would be small consolation for losing a house that had meant so much to them both.

Before Samantha could do more than call a welcome, Adele was turning to take the baby from their nurse while Jerome helped their other two children to alight. With one hand holding onto their five-year-old son and the other their three-year-old daughter, he led his family toward the house, Justin keeping up a constant spate of questions about the visit, the stables and the upcoming party.

A longing tugged at Samantha’s heart even as Justin’s hand tugged on hers. If she never married, she’d never know the delight of holding little hands, guiding her children as they grew.

“Auntie Lady Sam?” Justin asked, peering up at her when she paused in the entryway. “Is something wrong?”

Adele and Jerome were regarding her as well. Samantha forced her lips to turn upward and ruffled his dark hair with her free hand. “How could anything be wrong when my family is here? We’re going to have so much fun!”

The boy brightened at that, but by the looks they exchanged, Adele and Jerome were not fooled.

Samantha had far too much on her hands the next few hours to worry about what they might do with their concerns. Coach after coach arrived, bearing family and their servants and luggage. Samantha greeted each of her guests with a laugh and words of welcome, helped direct them to the rooms assigned to them for their stay and promised to talk more over dinner. She answered Mrs. Linton’s questions about seniority in the servant’s hall, mediated a squabble between two of the oldest children as to which bedchamber was “best” and sent up reminders to her cousins’ wives that dinner that night was to be informal.

She was in the entry hall, sorting through a last-minute problem concerning dinner with Mrs. Linton when the footman let Jamie in.

“I saw the coaches,” he explained. “I thought you might need some help. But if I’m in the way, just say so.”

Samantha could have hugged him. She’d planned a number of parties over the years, but never one of this duration or number of people. She’d seriously underestimated the amount of work. The event hadn’t even officially started, and already she felt stretched!

“You are most welcome,” Samantha assured him with a nod of thanks to Mrs. Linton, who hurried off. “Two of my cousins’ wives are settling their children and the third is helping to settle the extra staff. I expect my cousins to come thundering down the stairs shortly, complaining of nothing to do. Can you set up a game of billiards or some such?”

“On my way,” Jamie promised.

“Thank you!” Samantha called as he hurried toward the south stair.

“And have you a task for me as well?”

A shiver of pleasure ran through her at the warm voice. Oh, how she’d missed Will, and it had been less than a day since she’d told him she wasn’t sure they could even be friends. Obviously he bore her no ill will or he wouldn’t be here offering his help now. How could she possibly refuse him again?

She turned with a smile for the door, ready to accept his offer of help this time. But another man stood just behind Will on the parquet floor of the entry hall, and her smile froze on her face.

Oh, no! Not him!

Chapter Eleven

W
ill saw Samantha’s smile of welcome tighten into a polite mask. Had she made up her mind about him then? He had been hoping his help would be more welcome today and offer him another chance to prove himself to her.

Jamie had reported the number of coaches pulling up at her door. She might have plenty of staff to see to her family’s basic needs, but someone was going to have to come up with entertainments to keep all her guests busy until the summer party next week. And anything he could do to assist her would in turn help to build trust between them, trust he badly needed to establish if she was to tell him anything about his brother’s death and any other secrets.

He started to ask her pardon, but a discrete cough made him realize they had an audience. Turning, he saw that another gentleman had joined them.

He could not be an Everard. Instead of the lean, muscled bodies Will had expected in Samantha’s cousins, this man was amply padded, from his beard-covered cheeks to the round belly straining his paisley waistcoat. His hair was a nondescript brown, his eyes a questionable gray. But the smile he bestowed on Samantha could only be called besotted.

“Lady Everard,” he proclaimed, hurrying past as if Will was no more than a piece of furniture. “Dear lady, I am so very privileged to be invited to your home.” He bowed over her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. Will had to stifle an urge to yank the fellow back.

“Mr. Haygood,” she said, and only the slight hitch in her voice betrayed her surprise as she pulled from his fervent grip. “How nice of you to join us.”

Haygood warbled on, rhapsodizing about the journey from London (“worth every inconvenience to be with you”), the fells surrounding the valley (“like the cusp of God’s hands”), the house (“an entirely enchanting enclave”) and the daisies embroidered on Samantha’s day dress (“smelling of the very depth of dew”). Will didn’t think she heard a word of it. He could almost see the thoughts flying behind her dark eyes. Unless he missed his guess, she was in trouble.

He’d visited Dallsten Manor many times as a youth. The main corridor upstairs held five bedchambers, with a solarium in the south tower. He knew the Everards had repaired the north tower, so it was possible there was a bedchamber or two in it as well. Depending on the number of rooms needed for Samantha and her family, including their oldest children, the house was very likely full. She was no doubt calculating schemes as to which family member she would inconvenience to make room for this unexpected guest.

While he couldn’t add another room to the manor, he could at least give her time to see her scheme through.

“Pardon me,” Will interjected, causing Haygood to stutter to a stop in the middle of praising the laces on her half boots. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Of course,” Samantha said with evident relief at the change in subject. “Forgive me. William Wentworth, Earl of Kendrick, may I present Mr. Prentice Haygood.”

Haygood stuck out his hand. “Pleasure, my lord. Any friend of Lady Everard’s is a friend of mine.”

Will shook his hand, surprised by the firm grip in an otherwise inoffensive countenance.

“Mr. Haygood was a frequent visitor at Everard House this Season,” Samantha seemed compelled to explain. “He is something of an historian and knows a great deal about the families of the ton.”

Haygood waved the hand he had retrieved from Will’s. “Just a hobby of mine. I find genealogy to be a fascinating subject. I hope to delve into yours while I’m here, Lady Everard. There’s nothing like knowing one’s origins to put life into perspective.”

“I know quite enough about my origins,” she countered. Her tone was so adamant that Will could only wonder at her vehemence.

Haygood took a step back. “I didn’t mean to pry, my dear, I assure you! I have only your best interests at heart.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the open door facing the drive. “Where shall I have my valet direct my things?”

Samantha’s smile was clearly forced. “If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll make sure your room is ready. We’re a bit at sixes and sevens today with so many arrivals.”

“I’d be delighted to entertain Mr. Haygood for you,” Will put in.

Her whole demeanor lightened. “Oh, Will, that’s famous!”

Was he blushing again? Why did her pleasure so move him? “It’s no trouble, I assure you. I believe my son is setting up a game of billiards, Haygood. You can join us.”

It wasn’t often he used his prestige as earl to his advantage, but this time he felt it was warranted to all but order the fellow about. To his surprise, Haygood hesitated.

“But I was hoping for some time alone with you, Lady Everard,” he protested, blinking his gray eyes as if fighting emotions. “I have something very important I must ask you.”

Samantha appeared entirely immune to his theatrics. “Oh, I’m certain there will be ample time later,” she assured him, but Will heard her murmur “much later,” under her breath.

She wanted to avoid the fellow. He had no trouble with that. But if she meant to include him in her efforts, she was fair and far off.

“Never fear, Haygood,” he said, clapping the man on the padded shoulder of his coat. “We’ll have you in your room with plenty of time to change for dinner. Which reminds me.” He turned his look on Samantha. “What time did you want my son and me to return for dinner, Samantha?”

Haygood frowned, but Will wasn’t sure whether it was his collusion with their hostess or his use of her given name that had concerned the man. Will thought Samantha might frown as well, but her eyes positively twinkled as if she knew his game and appreciated it.

“Six, Will,” she said, emphasizing his given name as well. “We keep country hours here at Dallsten Manor. I shall see you all then.”

* * *

So Will found himself in the game room of Dallsten Manor, standing beside the billiard table with Jamie and Prentice Haygood. The space must have been constructed while he had been abroad, for Will could not remember him and Gregory being shown such a room when they had visited the manor as children.

And they would certainly have enjoyed it. Small tables along the wainscoted walls were inlaid with chessboards and cribbage trails, the pieces, Will was sure, tucked away in little drawers built into the edge of each tabletop. A game of nine pins stood in the corner, the mahogany ball hanging from a brass chain, the lacquered pins gleaming in readiness.

In the center, surrounded by high padded benches for a rapt audience, stood a carved walnut billiard table, its verdant baize calling like a greening field. A long scoring board was affixed to one wall beside it. Jamie had already set the three balls into their proper positions and was examining a cue from the rack behind the table. Will introduced him to Haygood and offered to allow the gentleman to play with Jamie first.

Haygood demurred, chubby hands raised in front of his paisley waistcoat. “No, no! I wouldn’t dream of intruding. Never was too terribly good at games and such. I’ll be delighted to watch.”

Jamie exchanged glances with Will, and he was fairly certain his son was unimpressed with Haygood. Will was more willing to give the fellow the benefit of the doubt.

“Perhaps you’d be so kind as to keep score, then,” he said, going to choose a cue for himself. “What say, Jamie? Shall we keep it short and go to twenty-five points?”

“As you wish,” Jamie agreed, positioning himself at the top of the table. “So long as you let me go first.”

As Will grinned back at him, Haygood obligingly seated himself on one of the high benches, within easy reach of the scoring rack. But he had no sooner settled the tails of his brown coat than he renewed his rhapsodizing about their hostess.

“Lady Everard is the most marvelous woman of my acquaintance,” he enthused as Jamie took his first shot, putting his ball neatly in the pocket after glancing it off the red ball in the center of the field. “How fortunate we are to be here in the very place of her birth.”

Jamie hit his second shot and racked up another five points before straightening. “She wasn’t born here. She was born in Carlisle. Her father bought Dallsten Manor when she was six.”

Haygood did not bristle to have his mistake pointed out. He positively beamed at Jamie. “Ah, you know her so well. I envy you that.”

“I consider her my closest friend.” Jamie bent for his next shot and bounced his ball off the cushion to roll within inches of Will’s. With a sigh, he stepped aside for his father.

“And why not?” Haygood agreed. “A woman of rare beauty and insight. Spirited, certainly, and eminently talented. Have you heard her play the pianoforte, Lord Kendrick?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Will admitted, bending to take his shot as well. His son had left a scattered field, but he managed to put his ball into a pocket several times before having to surrender the table once more.

“I’ve heard her play,” Jamie said. “She’s brilliant.”

“Oh, indeed, indeed,” Haygood warbled as Jamie leveled his cue for his turn. “Perhaps she’ll favor us tonight. And dance? There isn’t a lady lighter on her feet.”

“That I can believe,” Will replied, wishing yet again that he’d asked her to dance at Jamie’s birthday party, before he’d known who she was or suspected she knew more about his brother’s death.

“And ride,” Haygood continued, gaze following Jamie has he positioned himself for a shot. “Well, I tell you, few gentlemen can match her.”

“Now, that’s the truth,” Jamie agreed, sending his ball into a pocket for the third time. Will retrieved it and handed it to him. “She fences, too, did you know?” Jamie asked Haygood as he accepted the ball. “I beat her this week.”

Will nearly cringed at the pride in his son’s tone.

Haygood took it harder. His back stiffened, and his chin thrust out. “A tall tale to be sure, sir,” he said, shaking a finger at Jamie.

Jamie hit his next shot cleanly. “It’s not a Banbury tale. It’s the truth. She fences well, but I fence better.”

Haygood still looked unconvinced. “I am quite certain that if I were so fortunate as to join the lady for a match I would neither have the gall to defeat her nor the pride to brag about it afterwards.”

Jamie straightened, fingers tightening on his cue.

Will stepped between them. “I think, gentlemen,” he said, eying them each in turn, “that we are all in agreement that Lady Everard is a paragon.”

Jamie relaxed with a nod and bent to take his next shot.

Haygood positively beamed. “Well said, Lord Kendrick, well said. I am the most fortunate of men, I know. It will be an excellent match.”

Jamie’s shot went wide, and the ball jumped across the green baize table to roll to a stop against the opposite cushion.

Will felt as if his heart had taken a similar leap. So Haygood meant to offer for Samantha. He seemed confident of her response. Was this why she’d refused Jamie, pushed Will aside?

Immediately he dismissed the idea. Surely if she’d been intent on capturing Haygood’s regard, she would have been far more welcoming on his arrival. And she would definitely have remembered inviting the fellow to her home in the first place!

Another possibility presented itself, and he tossed it aside as well. She did not seem the kind of woman who sought to engage the affections of every man who approached her, only to abandon them when they no longer amused her. He’d seen no sign of flirting with Jamie, or Haygood for that matter. She hadn’t attracted undue attention at Jamie’s party, where more than one gentleman would have looked her way had she beckoned, he was sure. And she’d showed no more than affection for her former suitor Toby Giles. In fact, the only man she’d showed the least partiality toward was Will.

He thought he must be grinning again, for Haygood went so far as to hop off his bench and wring Will’s hand. “I can see you agree with me, my lord,” he chattered. “Thank you for your encouragement. I intend to ask her at the first opportunity.”

Will didn’t have it in him to wish him luck as the fellow went to fetch a cue for himself to play against Jamie. Will was finding himself with another wish entirely, that he had the courage to ask the lady the same question. What was wrong with him? He never intended to marry. The flash of golden hair, the whiff of rose-scented perfume, and he was all aflutter? Ridiculous!

Jamie, however, obviously had a much harder time hearing that another man intended to marry Samantha. “She won’t have you,” he predicted. “I doubt she’ll ever wed.”

Something crossed behind Haygood’s gray eyes, so fleeting it might have been a shadow from the lamp. “Sometimes all a lady requires is the right persuasion,” he said. Then he bent to take his shot and put his ball neatly in the pocket.

* * *

Upstairs, Samantha also had no illusions as to why Prentice Haygood had followed her to Cumberland.

“What can he be thinking to show up like that?” she demanded as she and Imogene, Vaughn’s wife, stole a few moments alone together before dinner. Of all her cousins’ wives, Samantha liked Imogene the best with her chestnut curls worn close to her face and creamy jade-colored eyes. Adele would always be dear to her as the governess who’d raised her after her mother had died, and Claire held a special place in Samantha’s affections for her efforts to guide her through Society. But Imogene was the closest in age, being merely three years older, and she was closer in temperament as well. The two had become good friends over the years.

Perhaps that’s why Samantha had insisted that Imogene join her before dinner. She wasn’t yet up to being alone in the room she had taken upon Mr. Haygood’s unfortunate arrival. She hadn’t wanted to inconvenience her cousins after they’d just arrived and unpacked, so she’d done the only thing possible. She’d given Haygood her own bedchamber and moved to her mother’s.

The former Lady Everard’s bedchamber hadn’t been used since her untimely demise nearly twenty years ago. While the maids dusted and cleaned as needed, holland covers had still draped the canopied bed, wardrobe and pianoforte in the corner until now. Mrs. Linton hadn’t questioned Samantha’s decision, but the moisture pooling in the housekeeper’s quicksilver eyes told Samantha she knew what that move meant to her mistress.