My Favorite Bride

Cover

Title

One
   “It's not that you were a pickpocket, Samantha.

Two
   Slack-jawed, Samantha stood in the grass next to. . .

Three
   Samantha woke to the clatter of dishes at her bedside.

Four
   In the daylight, Colonel Gregory looked even more. . .

Five
   Miss Prendregast strode from the room and snapped. . .

Six
   “My gracious, young man, you certainly know. . .

Seven
   “Those children are monsters.”

Eight
   “We can't eat like this.”

Nine
   In the elegant dining room, at the head of a long. . .

Ten
   Duncan raced his stallion along the twilit road.

Eleven
   The next day, at the stroke of noon, Teresa. . .

Twelve
   A scratching at her bedroom door made Samantha. . .

Thirteen
   William threw his bedroom window open, leaned. . .

Fourteen
   As William expected, Teresa sat enthroned beneath. . .

Fifteen
   “Psst.”

Sixteen
   Lady Marchant sat at one of the tables beneath a. . .

Seventeen
   The guest cottage was very nice. Tiny, but nice.

Eighteen
   “See, William, darling? You were right.

Nineteen
   That evening, in the music room, as those horrible. . .

Twenty
   Teresa viewed her pièce de resistance.

Twenty-one
   The music floated out of the ballroom, the moonlight. . .

Twenty-two
   William strode up on the porch of the guest house.

Twenty-three
   Samantha woke to the sound of the kindling igniting. . .

Twenty-four
   “Are you going to untie me, or leave me like this all day long?”

Twenty-five
   It was almost finished, this horrible houseparty. . .

Twenty-six
   William stalked into his bedchamber and pointed to his valet.

Twenty-seven
   Samantha woke with the first light.

Twenty-eight
   As William slumbered, Samantha slipped from the bed.

Twenty-nine
   The coach careened down the mountain and with. . .

About the Author

Books by Christina Dodd

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“It's not that you were a pickpocket, Samantha. It's that you persist in exposing your employers' foibles to your employers themselves, and they don't care for it.” Adorna, Lady Bucknell, spoke in her soft and husky voice, and anyone listening would think she placidly accepted Samantha's most recent dismissal.

Samantha Prendregast didn't make that mistake. She stood before the desk with her chin up, shoulders back, just as Adorna had taught her. “No, ma'am.”

The study of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses had been decorated in shades of pale blue, and Adorna's lush blonde beauty shone like a diamond in a satin setting. “I warned you about Mr. Wordlaw. I told you he was a martinet who believes women should be seen and not heard, and
you assured me you would be able to handle him.”

Samantha resisted the desire to shift back and forth. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Yet in two short months you are back at the Distinguished Academy of Governesses without a job, without a reference, and with a guarantee that Mr. Wordlaw's vengefulness will spread your larcenous reputation among the few of the ton who don't yet know it.” Adorna folded her hands beneath her chin and fixed her large blue eyes on Samantha. “So what is your defense this time?”

Samantha thought of what she should say, how she could pacify Adorna, but she had given up lying at the same time she had given up stealing. “He bullies his son. The lad doesn't want to study the law. Little Norman stammers already, and when his father dragged him up in front of the entire family and mocked him, my heart ached for him, and I wanted to”—she grew warm as she thought about that day, or perhaps the heat of a summer day in the City affected her—“teach that man a lesson.”

“So you told his wife about his mistress and convinced his mistress to abandon him. How will that benefit young Norman?”

“Mrs. Wordlaw's father controls the money. She has taken her son and left Wordlaw, which she should have done years ago, but she was too proud to admit she'd made a mistake. Norman's grandfather will make sure Norman gets to follow his dream.” Samantha remembered how science fascinated the boy. “I think the lad is going to invent something wonderful.”

“And the mistress?”

Samantha grinned. “She's a friend of mine from my street days. She relished giving the old whoreson the heave-ho for a chance at young Lord Penwyn.”

“How did she get that chance?”

“I arranged it.”

Adorna's delicate sigh conveyed resignation. “I'll wager you did.”

“My lady, I'm sorry I lost the position and brought disgrace upon the Distinguished Academy of Governesses.” Samantha really was sorry, sorrier than she could say. “But I'm not sorry I helped Norman.”

“No, I'm not sorry, either. But there are always more discreet ways of maneuvering.”

Samantha hated that she had disappointed Adorna—again. “I know. I really, really do. I try to remember what you tell me, but sometimes I lose my temper, and I don't get it back for a long time. By then it's too late.”

“Sit down.” Adorna indicated the blue velvet chair beside Samantha.

Samantha slid into it gratefully. Adorna had rescued her from the streets six years before, and for the first three of those years Samantha had studied Adorna's every word and move in hopes of emulating her charm and beauty. Now, at the age of twenty-two, Samantha faced the fact that a tall blonde Viking with outspoken tendencies could never squeeze herself into Adorna's dainty, circumspect mold. But the time spent contemplating Adorna had given Samantha insight into the shrewd mind her patron hid beneath her breathy
voice and curvaceous body. The worst of the censure was over. Now she must face the consequences.

And she knew how to face consequences. She'd learned that, not from Adorna, but from a father who, from the time she could toddle, taught her to pick a pocket and smile charmingly all the while.

“Mr. Wordlaw had quite the black eye when he came here to complain,” Adorna said.

Samantha bunched up her skinny fist.

Adorna nodded. “That's what I thought. Did he attack you?”

“He tried. After his wife had moved out.” Their tussle had been brief and sharp, and Samantha's arm ached where he had wrenched it. She didn't allow herself to show the terror that struggle had engendered, nor would she admit how often she came awake, heart pounding, in the grips of a nightmare. “He really is a despicable little man.”

“He's over six foot. Most people would not call him little.”

“Not in stature. In character.”

“Hm. Yes. Be that as it may, he is a respected judge—”

“Respected?”

“For the moment. Until I can spread gossip to the contrary.”

“You are good, my lady.” Samantha folded her hands in her lap and tried to appear demure.

She obviously didn't succeed, for Adorna's voice sharpened. “Even then, my dear young crusader for justice, there are those who believe a
woman should honor her vows regardless of how corrupt her husband is.”

“Men, mostly.”

“Mostly.” Adorna tapped her nails on the open letter before her and stared beyond Samantha. “Part of the problem with placing you is that you're an attractive young woman.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Adorna had taught Samantha many things, among them how to make the most of her best features. Samantha braided her platinum blonde hair and wrapped it over her ears, and into a loose knot at the back of her neck. She used her large brown eyes to flirt and admire, and never did she allow them to reveal her intelligence. Her lips were generous—too generous, in her opinion, but Adorna had told her men would want to kiss them. That turned out to be true, although she hadn't cared for the experience.

She was too thin. She knew it. Adorna agreed. But something about her smooth, strong shoulders, her slender body, and the way she walked, brought her attention. More attention than she wanted, usually, for her early life had given her an unvarnished knowledge of men and women and how their bodies worked, and Samantha wanted none of it.

Nothing Adorna said to the contrary had changed Samantha's mind.

“The problem with placing you is your former profession. If you hadn't been such a famous—or shall I say infamous—pickpocket, things would be easier now.”

Samantha dropped into the street language of her youth. “Oi just gave them what they wanted, Miss. A little adventure, a little excitement. Oi can't ‘elp it if they bragged about ‘aving their purses nabbed by the likes o' me.”

Adorna did not smile. “That's the problem. You were well dressed. You were glamorous. You lured them into dark alleys and robbed them, and they liked it.”

Samantha abandoned the Cockney and returned to the pure upper class English accent Adorna had taught her. “The men did, anyway. The women were not so tolerant.”

“I thought myself quite tolerant. I didn't have you hanged.”

“I've never understood why not.” Nor had Samantha understood how Adorna realized her purse had been cut, but in the years since she'd learned that Adorna had a sixth sense about people and a frightening awareness of everything around her.

“I saw something in you that I liked.” Relenting, Adorna laughed. “You reminded me of me.”

“My lady, you've never had to steal in your life.”

“No, but I had a father who wished me to marry for his profit.” Adorna looked down at the letter open before her. “I have a solution to your problem. You must leave London.”

Samantha found herself on her feet. “Leave London?” she shouted.

“A lady always modulates her voice.”

Samantha tried to speak normally, but
discovered her modulator wasn't working. “Leave London?” she whispered.

“I have here a letter from Colonel William Gregory of Cumbria.”

“Cumbria?”

“In the Lake District.”

“The Lake District? But that's . . . in the country.”

“Fresh air,” Adorna agreed.

Samantha waved a feeble hand. “North . . . far north. And west. Mountains. Tall, menacing mountains.”

“Snow. Brisk, clean, white snow. Clear streams. Beautiful blue lakes. I envy you. Every day will be a holiday.”

Distraught, Samantha looked at Adorna, seeking any indication that the lady was jesting.

She was not. “Colonel Gregory is in desperate need of a governess for his children. You are a governess, and a very good one.”

“I know, but . . . the
country
.” A painting she had once viewed in the Royal Museum rose in Samantha's mind. A winding, country road. Lush, green trees. A deer half hidden in the forest. And off in the distance, an azure lake and rugged mountains shrouded in clouds. The most horribly bucolic scene Samantha had ever viewed.

Adorna did not relent.

“To work for a . . . colonel?” In Her Majesty's army?

“A younger son, sent into the military and serving in India with honors. He married an Englishwoman while abroad—Mrs. Gregory had a
reputation for beauty and kindness—and they were quite happy. Three years ago, his elder brother died, and Colonel Gregory inherited the family estate.

“Before Colonel Gregory could return home, his wife was killed in mysterious circumstances. It is said that he must have been deeply in love with her, for he hasn't looked at another woman since.”

Adorna waited, and finally Samantha realized she expected a suitable comment. “Tragic.”

“Indeed. When Colonel Gregory returned with his family, the story was the talk of London.” With a slight smile, Adorna played with her pen. “Because, of course, the matrons hoped he would reside in London, where he would find a new bride. Instead he went at once to his country home of Silvermere, near Devil's Fell, and there he has stayed.”

“Devil's Fell?” At once a picture formed in Samantha's head of a decrepit castle, perched on top of a stony crag, jagged and black against a stormy sky.

“It's reputed to be a lovely place.”

If you like bats.
Samantha asked, “Have you met Colonel Gregory?”

“No, but he is an officer and a gentleman, well thought of by his subordinates, and with a strict and sterling reputation.” Adorna viewed Samantha. “I feel sure he'll offer you no reason for another scandal.”

“I hope not, my lady.”

Adorna cleared her throat.

Samantha hastily amended, “I'm sure not, my lady.”

Adorna donned her glasses and read from Colonel Gregory's letter. “ ‘While my home is isolated—' ”

Samantha whimpered softly.

“ ‘—the governess need not worry about her safety. The roads are patrolled by the local militia, which I organize and which is enforced by my men.' “

Impervious to Samantha's revulsion, Adorna said, “And a few paragraphs down, Colonel Gregory says, ‘I offer a salary of four pounds a month, an allowance for tea and sugar and, with that, a half day off every week. I will also allow the governess a week off a year to visit her family.' “ She looked over her glasses. “Very generous. Much more generous than anything you can make here in London.”

“But my lady, the locomotive doesn't even go there.” If Samantha had to leave the City, she wanted to be assured she could return in a hurry.

“The train will get you close,” Adorna assured her. “Colonel Gregory writes, ‘She should take the train to York, and from there transfer to the coach, which will carry her on to Hawksmouth. At the inn she will tell the innkeeper who she is, and he will send her in a conveyance on to Silvermere, where her charges and I will be awaiting her.' “

“That's why he's paying four pounds a week.” Samantha could well imagine the rugged country to which Adorna wished to condemn her. “No one would ever want to live out in the wilderness.”

“Actually, that's not why.” Adorna examined the letter. “It's
the children.”