Adele remembered when the knocker had sounded for her, but that was long ago, another life, it seemed sometimes. “Most of my old friends live in Evendale, and we saw them at services just this morning,” she pointed out.
“Friends of Papa, then,” Samantha insisted.
Adele hurt at the wistful sound of her voice. She rose and moved toward the window at last. “Your father has never sent us visitors unless he accompanied them. He and the Marquess of Widmore aren’t expected until the summer recess of Parliament.”
“But what about Mr. Caruthers?” Samantha asked with a wrinkle of her nose that said what she thought of the solicitor. She pressed her forehead against the glass. “Wait, what are they doing?”
Adele had tried to set an example (a lady did not stare out the window at passersby, after all), but her curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned over the padded window seat to peer out, as well.
The men stood conferring at the foot of the steps. From three stories up, she could not distinguish their features. The tallest, a red-haired giant, took the reins of their riding horses and pack horse and pulled them around the north tower. Was he heading for the stables? The leanest fellow, whose hair was hidden by a wide-brimmed hat, headed past Adele and Samantha’s viewpoint to the south, and she caught a flash of light from his side. Had he just drawn a sword?
The last man climbed to the door again, disappearing from their sight, but Adele thought she could feel the force of his knock all the way up in the third-floor schoolroom.
Samantha sprang away from the window in a flurry of pale muslin. “They have come to visit!”
“Samantha.” Adele’s command brought the girl up short before she reached the schoolroom door. Though panic tickled the back of Adele’s mind, she kept her face pleasant from long practice. “I want you to stay in the schoolroom. Do you understand?”
Samantha’s pretty face scrunched up. “No. Why can’t I go down to meet them?”
How could she explain without frightening the girl? Samantha still found the world new and exciting, each day a revelation. Adele had learned far more caution in her twenty-seven years. The only child of a baron, so close to the Scottish border without her father in residence, could make for a kidnapping.
Please, Lord, not Samantha! Protect us!
“Let me meet them first,” Adele said. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for their appearance here. Once I know where things stand, I’ll send for you.”
“Promise?” Samantha begged, those deep brown eyes wide and imploring.
Adele tucked a golden curl behind the girl’s ear. “Promise.”
“All right, but don’t be long.” Samantha wandered back to take up her position at the window. Her sigh followed Adele down the curving stair.
Adele had hoped she might find Todd in the wide, parquet-tiled entryway, but of course the space stood empty. The footman was impossible! Why had Mr. Caruthers sent him to them a week ago? They did well enough with the staff they had: Mrs. Linton, their elderly housekeeper, and her husband, their groundskeeper; Maisy and Daisy, their maids of all work; and Nate Turner, their groom.
A strong fellow like Todd might have been some help, but he was lazy, incompetent and at times disrespectful, even if his reference said he’d previously worked for the mighty Marquess of Widmore, Lord Everard’s closest friend. Too bad that reference also said Todd had been chosen by Lord Everard. As he was the only servant with that honor, they couldn’t discharge the fellow without her employer’s approval.
Their mysterious caller certainly had more determination than the footman. His knocks continued, each one more forceful, as Adele hurried to the door. She paused only a moment to smooth her dark hair into the bun at the nape of her neck and pat down her gray lustring skirts, then pulled back the bolt and opened the door.
Their visitor looked as surprised to see her as she was to find such a gentleman at her door. He was tall and well formed, with shoulders made broader by the capes of his greatcoat and long legs, which stood firm on the stone step.
Up close, his hair was like polished mahogany, thick and wavy, cut short in the style shown in Samantha’s fashion plates, though several locks swept down across a wide brow as if caressed by the breeze. His eyes were shadowed, set deep in a square-jawed face, and his mouth was wide and warm. His gaze locked with hers, and she felt suddenly light-headed.
She thought he might be furious, having been kept standing so long, but his smile was pleasant.
“Forgive us for startling you, madam,” he said, sweeping her a graceful bow, “but we thought it best, given our news, to come north quickly. Allow me to introduce myself. Jerome Everard, at your service.”
His baritone dripped with genteel sophistication, and she could imagine its drawl in the glittering ballrooms of London. Still, the first name meant nothing to her, and he could easily have fabricated the last to match the name of her employer.
“Welcome to Dallsten Manor, Mr. Everard,” she replied with a quick dip that might pass for a curtsey. “You will not mind if I ask for some confirmation of your identity.”
His mouth held just the hint of a smile. “I regret that my uncle, Lord Everard, did not have the opportunity to introduce us properly. However, I have a letter from him I can share.” He stepped forward as if expecting her to move aside and let him in.
Adele held her ground and her smile, bracing one foot on the inside of the door, ready to slam it shut if needed. Could she reach Mr. Linton and his gun before this man and his companions breached the house? Did it matter? Somehow she didn’t think the elderly groundskeeper would scare any of them.
As if he knew her concerns, Jerome Everard held out his arm. It was a civilized gesture, a gentleman indicating his willingness to escort a lady into the house. It spoke of kindness, of protection.
“Let me in, please,” he murmured, clear blue gaze on hers. “I swear no harm will come to you.”
She wanted to believe him. His manners, his smile, his attitude all said he was a gentleman.
And if he wasn’t, she still had the upper hand. She knew Dallsten Manor better than anyone, every crooked passage, every family secret. If Jerome Everard wanted to cause trouble, she was ready for him.
She opened the door wider. “Certainly, Mr. Everard. Come in. Perhaps we can both find answers to our questions.”
Chapter Two
Jerome followed his hostess across the parquet floor of the entry hall. After his initial reception by the footman, he wasn’t sure why this lady had let him in or what he’d find.
But Dallsten Manor looked as respectable inside as it had out. The grand staircase rose to the upper story in polished oak magnificence, a brass chandelier with at least thirty candles gleamed overhead, and to their right, the white wall was draped with a massive tapestry of knights conquering a stag.
He could see his uncle here. A poet at heart, like Vaughn, his uncle would have delighted in the sweeping grandeur of the manor on a hill, the bold colors of the tapestry, the fine
