The Rogue's Reform. Regina Scott
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.”
Chapter Six
Jerome waited only until he was certain that Adele and Samantha were safely on their way up the tall, oak staircase before rounding on Vaughn where they had retired to the library. “What precisely do you think you’re doing?”
Standing near the fire, the glow reflecting in the velvet of his lapels, Vaughn raised his chin. “Keeping an eye on our new cousin, just as you asked.”
“And pushing the boundaries of acceptability at every turn.”
Vaughn spread his hands. “Would you have me play the diplomat? That’s your role. I’m the ne’er-do-well. Ask my father.”
Jerome shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that. You questioned me in front of the girl, courted her attentions all evening. Explain yourself.”
Vaughn dropped his hands and closed the distance between them. “You first. You told Samantha most of the truth, yet you drew the line at Uncle’s death. Why?”
How could Jerome respond? He hadn’t planned on lying to the girl. In fact, he hadn’t planned on dealing with her more than was absolutely necessary. Besides, if she truly was the heir and went to London for her Season, she’d learn about her father’s other life soon enough.
But two things had frozen his tongue. One was Samantha herself. That gamin grin, those saucy questions. How could he douse the light inside her by telling her the father she loved was a scoundrel who had died in armed combat with another?
But the other bridle on his conversation was more problematic. When he’d started his explanation, he’d felt the change in Adele Walcott. Worry crouched on those tense shoulders, in that gathering frown. She feared what the circumstances of Uncle’s death might mean for Samantha. He didn’t want to see disappointment in those dark eyes. Better to soothe, to calm. Limiting what he said had seemed only right. Yet how could he tell Vaughn that he had changed his mind to please Adele?
“The girl remembers our uncle as a devoted father and a good man,” he said instead. “I saw no need to tarnish that image.”
Vaughn stiffened. “I don’t see his life as tarnished.”
“You’re a poet,” Jerome said. “You deal with pretty words. The truth, I fear, is far uglier.”
Vaughn narrowed his eyes. “Poetry is truth, Jerome, just better put. But if you insist on keeping our cousin in the dark, I bow to your authority.” He suited word to action, peering up at Jerome from under his brows, then added, “For now.”
“Good,” Jerome replied. “Then I can trust you to do your duty and keep her out of my way tomorrow.”
Vaughn inclined his head. “Certainly. I shall nose about the chamber story more thoroughly than a pack of bloodhounds after a fox to make sure she doesn’t take a step from her room without our knowledge. But I must ask. What are your plans for the governess? Why insist on a tour?”
Jerome shrugged. “I realized that I’ll never find what we’re seeking in this fortress without help.”
“Interesting that you chose the governess rather than the housekeeper or the girl,” Vaughn said, crossing his arms over his embroidered waistcoat. “I thought you considered Miss Walcott the enemy.”
“I find it less likely by the hour. However, if she is the enemy, it is in our best interest to keep her close, to learn her secrets. And if, as I suspect, she had no part in creating this mess of a will, she’d make an excellent ally.”
“Perhaps,” Vaughn allowed. “But it was obvious tonight that our cousin has no guile in her. You’d be more likely to learn the truth from her with greater ease.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Samantha is obviously too innocent to know anything useful. And the staff might have taken exception to my questions. Miss Walcott, as a governess, will be used to questions, and our uncle may very well have confided in her. Besides, she implied earlier that she came to this position from somewhere more impressive. Perhaps she knows more about Samantha’s mother.”
Vaughn shook his head, but he let the matter drop. However, the way his cousin looked at him told Jerome that Vaughn knew exactly how feeble Jerome’s excuses sounded.
Adele woke early the next morning. Normally she’d have spent an hour in the library dealing with business before waking her charge. An estate the size of Dallsten Manor generally boasted a steward to manage things, but Lord Everard had never found time to hire one. In fact, Adele wondered at moments whether he preferred that fewer people knew about the manor. Regardless, like so many other things, the duty of management had fallen to Adele. Yet surely that duty was Jerome Everard’s now, and she doubted he’d need her help. Besides, she didn’t particularly want to remind him about that tour.
So, Adele asked Maisy to bring breakfast to her and Samantha in the schoolroom. Then she woke her charge early, helped her dress and marched her straight down the corridor, intent on reaching the safety of the schoolroom before anyone else