My Favorite Bride (11 page)

With the pistol still pointed at Duncan, she stepped into the coach and swung the door closed. The coach rumbled away toward Silvermere.

On the road, Duncan staggered to his feet. He held his hand over his nose, and he stared after the coach with killing fury. In silence, William caught Duncan's horse for him and held it while Duncan mounted. “Broken?” he asked.

“I don't think so.” Duncan blotted his face with his handkerchief. “But I'll have two black eyes in the morning. You'd better ride hard to beat your guest home—and if that's the woman you've decided to take as your wife, be careful when you kneel before her to propose. That knee is wicked.”

“Sir!” The vicar, Mr. Webber, rode toward them from Hawksmouth, waving his arm. “There's a foreigner at the inn, apparently quite a wealthy gentleman. Before he went to bed, he asked for directions to the Featherstonebaugh estate. Should we detain him?”

“Indeed we should.” William turned his horse toward the village. “He's about to receive a visit from the most audacious robbers ever to hold up an inn.”

Duncan blotted his nose. “And if we don't find anything?”

“We'll let him go onto the Featherstonebaugh estate, and while he's there we'll see that he gets the most secret of information about the English government it is possible to have.” William smiled
coldly. “It's too bad that when he returns to Russia with it, it will all eventually prove false.”

In a falsely surprised voice, Duncan said, “That would be the death of him.”

Chapter Eleven

The next day, at the stroke of noon, Teresa descended the stairs. In the daylight, she looked completely different, smiling, with wisps of dark hair curling about her thin cheeks, sparkling hazel eyes, and wide skirts of striking rose satin that rustled as she walked. “William, how good to see you once again.” Extending her hands, she smiled with a carefully crafted combination of reservation and winsome pleasure.

Not at all like the wide, gamin grin which signaled Miss Prendregast's merriment.

Taking Teresa's extended hands, he said, “Thank you for coming at my request. I'm sorry I was out last night when you arrived.”

“And I needed you so.” She pouted with reproach. “You won't believe, darling. Robbers attacked me!”

Never had he been so aware that acting was not his forte, yet he hoped he managed to look surprised and appalled. “What? Where?”

“On the road not far from here.”

“How dreadfully bold. You're not hurt, I pray?”

She clutched his arm. “My servants bravely chased them off, but I was terrified!”

Now he hoped he
didn't
look surprised. “Poor dear. Could you . . . identify any of them?”

“I knew you would ask me, but no. They wore masks, and anyway, darling, you mustn't risk your life for me. They stole nothing.” Putting the back of her hand against her forehead, she pretended a faint. “Except . . . my peace of mind.”

Was she jesting? Or lying? He'd seldom seen a female acquit herself as Teresa had. “I do apologize. The safety of the roads are my responsibility, and I fear I've failed you.”

“You positively reek with conscientiousness, darling, but you're a landowner, not a thief taker. No one expects you to ride the highways at night searching for villains.”

“Nevertheless—”

“Although I do wonder where you were last night. No! Never mind.” She gave a throaty laugh and waved a dismissive hand. “Don't explain. Boys will be boys, and if you had a less than noble reason to be out at one in the morning, I don't want to know it.”

He bowed slightly. Amazing. She'd accused him of being worthless, unable to ensure the safety of his district, and given him permission to be a
libertine. How dared she presume so? “I am a noble man,” he answered with stiff indignation.

Tucking her hand in his arm, she smiled up at him. “I know you are, darling.”

And he realized how pompous he sounded. If he'd said that to Samantha, she would have snorted. Teresa soothed his masculinity so slickly, he wondered what she thought of him. Did she think him easily demoralized, uncertain of himself, in need of reassurance?

Yes. Of course she did. Teresa thought that of all men, and she liberally applied her flattery to ease her own way, and told lies to make herself look more vulnerable. He knew that; before, he'd never thought anything was wrong with it. Now, as every day he faced Miss Prendregast's straightforward candor, Teresa's cajolery seemed almost immoral.

“What's the matter, darling? You look quite odd.” Teresa stared into his face.

He shook off his peculiar musings. “It's your news. I'm shocked.” Or perhaps it was the successful evening spent breaking into Pashenka's room at the inn. Pashenka hadn't been easy prey—he had held Ewan at gunpoint until William had taken him down from behind. The pistol had gone off, grazing Duncan's arm.

Rotten luck for poor old Duncan.

They tied up Pashenka, searched his belongings, and stole a variety of things, including the money and letters he had sewn into his greatcoat. Even now the letters were on their way to
Throckmorton, and with the help of the innkeeper, Pashenka was on his way to Maitland, where hopefully he would hide until Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh arrived.

William didn't need Teresa's reassurances. He would, at last, have revenge for Mary's death.

“So we're going to give a party?” Teresa looked around the tall foyer, then hugged his arm, pressing it against her breast with such ingenuousness he almost believed she didn't realize what she was doing. “I'm so glad that you called on me!”

“Who else could I call but Mary's best friend?” Leading her toward the door, he said, “I've ordered our meal served on the veranda.”

“You're so forceful, darling.” She hugged his arm again.

He freed himself to let her proceed him. He smiled to hear her gasp as the whole vista of the mountains rose before her.

“This is magnificent!” Hurrying toward the rail, she leaned against it and stared. “How could you bear to go to India?”

“You know. Younger son, army commission, no choice.” He stared, too, allowing the crags and valleys to soothe his weary soul. “But you notice I managed to hie myself to the mountains of Kashmir. It was only after Mary was killed that I knew I had to come back to my home. I don't know that I could have healed without the sights and scents of Silvermere. I need this place.”

She placed her hand over his on the railing. “Forgive me, my friend . . . I can call you a friend, can't I?”

“You can.” He had thought he knew her so well, but now she seemed alien.
I should never have brought her here.

“Thank you.” Oblivious to his uneasiness, she lavished another smile on him. “We all loved Mary, and the circumstances of her death were loathsome, but she has been gone for three years. It's time you came out of mourning.”

He smiled tightly. It rubbed him raw to hear her give such advice. She might be the primary candidate to be his wife, but she would have to learn her station.

Rubbing her hands together in a workmanlike manner, she asked, “How many people will we have at this party?”

“I've invited about thirty.”

“Thirty?” She blinked her wide hazel eyes. “You've already invited them? I thought I would look over the list and let you know who—” At last she realized she had overstepped the mark, for she said, “But of course, it's your party. I'm sure whomever you invite is perfect.” She saw the footmen standing at attention beside a table set with a white cloth and fine china, and lavished that calculated smile on him again. “Oh, William, how beautiful your breakfast chamber is! I believe I shall make this my study while I plan this party.”

“As you wish, my dear.” Leading her to the table, he pulled out her chair. “We'll have their children and their servants, too.”

She paused in the process of sitting. “Children? You want to invite . . . children?”

“One of the reasons I'm giving a party, of course, is to teach my own children the fine art of entertaining.” That was an absolute untruth, but he wouldn't dream of telling her his plan to flush out Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh with the promise of a last, juicy, sweet capture of information that would set them up for life.

“Oh. Yes. What a quaint idea.” She watched him sit, and her one cocked eyebrow managed to convey both confusion and condescension. “But your eldest is what? Eight?”

“Agnes is twelve.” A most difficult twelve.

“Already! How time flies. I remember when Agnes was born. What an exciting time that was, when all of us were in India and you and Byron were in uniform, and so handsome. I miss him very much.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye with her handkerchief. “And what was that other young man's name? The one who so disgraced himself with Lord Barret-Derwin's daughter?”

William looked at her sideways. Odd, to have her ask about Duncan the night after Duncan had held her up—and she had got the better of him. “Duncan Monroe, and he is a friend of mine still. You'll no doubt meet him during your visit here.”

“Will I?” She smiled, a lopsided smile of catlike delight. “Darling, your loyalty is to be commended. Now. Have I told you how beautiful it is out here on your delightful veranda with its fabulous view of the mountains?”

Leaning back in his chair, he took a deep breath of fresh air. “I'm always willing to listen.”

She, too, took a long breath. “I could stay here forever.”

“Some people wouldn't. Some people don't like the country at all.” Some people were named Miss Prendregast.

“La! I have trouble believing anyone wouldn't find pleasure in such surroundings.”

He could have laughed when he remembered Samantha's conviction that bears prowled the forests and meadows. And how she minced through the grass as if fearing something would grab her by the foot. And he would have given a crown to see the look on her face when she saw those snakes in her desk.

Teresa watched him quite oddly. “Why are you smiling like that?”

He shook out his napkin and signaled to the footmen. “No reason. I'm just hungry.”

He ate a hearty meal.

Teresa ate like a bird, pecking at her food and producing little chirps of conversation until he was finished. Then she leaned her elbows on the table and asked, “Shall we map out our party strategy?”

From inside the house, he heard a door slam. Boots clattered on the stairs, and Teresa jumped and put her hand to her chest. “What is that cacophony?”

“It's the children. I suppose they are taking a moment away from their lessons.”

“A man like you shouldn't have to deal with such matters.” Teresa pulled a long face. “You don't even know to set up a schedule.”

“I have set up a schedule.”

“Don't they follow it?”

He refrained from snorting, but barely. “We have a new governess. She is unique in her ability to disregard schedules and make it appear she is doing as she ought.”

“I'm surprised at you!” Teresa tapped his hand reprovingly. “She must be an impressive old crone to have you so cowed.”

He didn't even want to examine his own dark satisfaction when he said, “You'll see. Miss Prendregast and the children are coming down now.”

One by one, the girls came through the door onto the veranda. Their chatter made him frown, yet they were lined up in the proper order, their clothing appeared neat and tidy, and all of them were smiling. All except Agnes, who looked as if that sour expression had taken permanent residence on her face.

He didn't understand the child. He used to; when had she ceased to sit on his knee and confide her joys and her woes? He eyed her height. For that matter—when had she gotten too tall to sit on his knee?

Kyla saw them first and stopped, her expressive little face screwed up in dismay. Emmeline bumped into her, Henrietta bumped into her, and the line staggered to a halt.

Miss Prendregast came around the corner, clapping her hands. “Girls, girls, don't stop now! We're going out so Mara can practice her performance for the mountains and nothing can stop—” She halted at the sight of Teresa and him, and for one moment
her face wore the exact expression of Kyla's. Then her features smoothed, she moved forward to take Kyla's hand, and she led the children out to face their father and Teresa.

Miss Prendregast curtsied.

Agnes's lip was trembling again.

What was wrong with the child? She grew more and more emotional every day.

He glared at Agnes and at the same time, stood and performed the courtesies. “Children, you of course remember Lady Marchant?”

“Yes, Father,” they replied in a chorus, and in unison they bobbed miniature curtsies. “How do you do, Lady Marchant?”

“Very well, thank you.” Teresa relaxed back into her seat and spoke to Vivian. “So you're going to sing, are you, Mara?”

“I'm not Mara.” Vivian pointed to her sister. “She's Mara. She sings like Mama did.”

Teresa's mouth twisted in chagrin, and she didn't attempt another individual comment. “That's wonderful. I'm sure you're all very talented.”

“Yes, Lady Marchant,” they chorused.

Still on his feet, he said, “Lady Marchant, may I introduce our governess, Miss Samantha Prendregast.”

Miss Prendregast bobbed another curtsy. “It's an honor, my lady.”

Teresa swept Miss Prendregast a comprehensive look, and her smile chilled William's blood. “You're not quite in the usual manner of governesses, are you?”