“My brother prefers not to dwell on the past,” Jerome said to Adele, then he turned to his cousin and tipped up his chin. “However, I’m certain you’d prefer to take up the rest of the story.”
Vaughn shook back his white-gold hair and straightened in his seat. As if to be sure of his audience, his dark gaze traveled from Adele to Jerome to Samantha, who sat spellbound.
“My father was the youngest,” he said, voice low as if moved by emotion. “He was a dreamy lad, head always in the clouds. No one was surprised when he ran away from home to join a traveling caravan, journeying to the farthest parts of the world and partaking of all its riches. There he fell passionately in love with a gypsy princess. When she bore me, she begged him to return to his family so that I might be raised with the rights and privileges due an Everard.”
My word. That explained a great deal. Samantha blinked, obviously just as fascinated.
Jerome slowly clapped. “Well done. That story gets better each time you tell it. But I suggest you offer her the truth.”
Vaughn’s dark eyes glittered. “My father married an actress against Grandfather’s wishes. She dropped me in his arms, took Grandfather’s settlement offer and sailed for the Continent. My father became a scholar at Oxford. When I was expelled from Eton for dueling, he sent me to live with Uncle.”
“I like your first story better,” Samantha said.
Vaughn cocked a smile. “So do I.”
Adele glanced between the two men. Mouths curled fondly, muscular bodies leaned in repose, but she could not believe they were so unmoved by their stories. Each of the Everards had borne the pain of abandonment and loss of one sort or another. Small wonder they cleaved to each other.
Do they expect Samantha to join them, Lord? Do they have any idea what it means to shepherd a young girl through her first Season? Are they ready to accept the responsibility?
“Your pasts have been difficult,” she ventured into the companionable silence. “And I applaud your tenacity. But perhaps we should talk of the future. We have a number of questions about the upcoming Season.”
Samantha waved her hand. “We can talk about my Season later. Right now, I want to know how my father died.”
Jerome’s gaze dropped to the fine china before him. Vaughn’s fingers wrapped around his fork as if taking comfort from the cool metal. Adele met Samantha’s gaze, sure more bad news was coming.
“A tragic accident,” Jerome said at last, picking up his own fork again and spearing the last of the mutton. “No need to go into details.”
Adele let out a breath. That he refused to answer could only mean Samantha’s father had died in some horrid fashion. Samantha must have thought so, as well, for she frowned.
So did Vaughn. “You’re mollycoddling her,” he said to Jerome. “If I can’t make up stories, why should you?”
The room seemed to have darkened. Adele glanced between them again and knew Samantha was doing the same. Jerome sat stiffly, eyes narrowed at Vaughn. A tic was working in the swordsman’s lean jaw. This was no time for such posturing. Couldn’t they see that?
“Your cousin is sixteen years old,” Adele reminded them, “and in mourning for her father. Perhaps that is sufficient reality for now.”
Vaughn returned to his food and said no more. Adele thought Jerome agreed with her, because his mouth turned up at one corner.
“I imagine we’ve given our new cousin quite enough to think about,” he said.
“Well, yes,” Samantha admitted with a dispirited sigh. “But I do hope you’ll be more forthcoming soon.”
“I’ll do all I can,” he promised. “And Miss Walcott, I have not forgotten about that tour you promised me.”
That charming smile was back, dimple and all, raising butterflies in her stomach. But she thought it was panic rather than delight that moved her. “I believe I provided you with an alternative, Mr. Everard.”
Samantha was watching her and even Vaughn seemed interested in his reply. Jerome’s smile only deepened. “And I believe I refused that alternative. As far as I can see, only your services will do for this task.”
Adele smiled with what she hoped was just as much charm. “Nonsense, Mr. Everard. No one is indispensable.”
“Miss Walcott is,” Samantha piped up, and now she, too, was smiling. “She’s the best governess any girl could wish.”
Adele felt her cheeks heating. “Thank you, Samantha.”
Samantha turned to Jerome. “So, if you need help, Cousin, she’s just the person to ask.”
“I’m delighted you concur,” Jerome said with a chuckle. “Then you won’t mind if I borrow her for a short time.”
“Not at all,” Samantha assured him with a wave of her hand. “I’m so glad that the two of you are getting on so well.”
Adele stared at her. Her charge cocked her head and fluttered her lashes, looking every bit the demure miss. A shame Adele could see the thoughts stirring feverishly behind those big, brown eyes.
“Then we are agreed,” Jerome said, spreading his hands. “Perhaps we could start after dinner, Miss Walcott.”
Adele smiled politely at him. “But Samantha will want to show you her skills on the pianoforte this evening, like a good hostess. She’s practiced for years. I’m certain she wouldn’t want you to do more than relax and listen tonight after journeying so far to meet her. Isn’t that right, Samantha?”
Her look was so pointed even Samantha could not gainsay her. The girl straightened dutifully in her chair. “Of course, Miss Walcott. I can play that new piece Lord Kendrick brought back from London.”
“Kendrick?” Jerome asked. His tone was polite, but Adele could see that his look had sharpened again.
“The Earl of Kendrick,” Samantha supplied. “He has the estate next to ours. You must meet his grandson, Jamie.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I vow he is the sweetest thing! He will break hearts some day, you mark my words.”
Just as his uncle broke mine.
Adele shoved away the memory, but, against all odds, she felt tears pricking. Deaths, worries, memories—suddenly she’d had enough of them all. She bowed her head and focused on her food while Samantha nattered on about riding with Jamie and the local assemblies and any manner of diversions her new cousins might enjoy while they visited. The girl was so enthralled, she’d obviously forgotten that her father’s death could put a hold on such activities. If Jerome insisted on strictest mourning, Samantha would soon be gowned in black and constrained from doing more than attending church services for months.
Oh, Lord, why now? It was time for her to start her life, to find a proper husband. Those things were denied me. Please don’t let Samantha suffer the same fate!
“You cannot hide so easily,” Jerome murmured, bending closer to offer her the last of the mutton.
