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
