My Favorite Bride (15 page)

“I think that's best.” Teresa smiled vaguely, no longer interested now that the matter had been settled to her satisfaction.

Standing, he bowed and start to move away. And stopped. “I have a thought. You yourself said Miss Prendregast has pretty manners.”

Teresa watched him warily. “Yes, so I did.”

“Then Miss Prendregast will fill one of the female slots for the party. She'll help even the numbers.” And what a test it would be, to see if Samantha moved with ease among his friends! “I'm glad I thought of it.”

“Oh, I, too.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Psst.”

Agnes raised her head off of her pillow and stared into the darkness. “Vivian?”

“Yes, it's me. Let me in with you.”

Agnes lifted her covers and Vivian crawled in. “What do you want?” She didn't really like having Vivian in bed with her now. She was still bleeding, and occasionally she wanted to cry, especially when she thought about Father hugging them all today. It reminded her of when Mama was alive, except Father had looked at Miss Prendregast in a way that made Agnes want to squirm.

In a singsong voice, Vivian said, “I know something you don't know.”

Agnes tensed. Had Vivian realized how Agnes's body had betrayed her?

“Father likes Miss Prendregast.”

Agnes sighed in relief. She didn't want to enlighten Vivian about the monthly bleeding. Bad enough she had to deal with it; she certainly didn't want to talk about it. “How do you know that?”

Vivian pulled her head under the covers.

Agnes joined her.

“Last night, when everyone was asleep, I got up to use the pot and guess what I saw in the corridor?”

“What?”

“Father was kissing Miss Prendregast.”

“No!” No, Miss Prendregast had been in bed with Agnes.

“Yes. I tell you, I saw it.”

Of course, Agnes had been asleep. Hard asleep until dawn, when Miss Prendregast had roused her and sent her to bed.

“He was kissing her like . . . I don't know . . . like . . .” Vivian was having trouble finding the words.

So with rising excitement, Agnes supplied them. “Like he liked her?”

“Yes! And she was in her nightgown!” Vivian sounded shocked. “What should we do?”

This was the way they always plotted to get rid of their governesses. In bed, together, heads under the covers. But this felt different. Different, and better. “Do you mean . . . to chase Miss Prendregast away?” Agnes asked uncertainly.

“No, dummy! To make sure Father marries her!”

Agnes relaxed into the mattress. “So we could be a family again.”

“That's what I want.”

“Oh, me, too.”

Firm footsteps sounded across the wooden floor. A single candle brought its feeble light, and the girls slid the covers down far enough to peer over them.

The housekeeper stood there in her nightcap and gown, looking cross. “That's enough plotting for one night, girls. Off to sleep with you, now. Tomorrow's a big day, I'll be tired if I don't get my beauty sleep.”

Both girls giggled, but neither one said what they were thinking—that a beauty sleep would do her no good. Mrs. Shelbourn was a kind soul, for all that she hated sleeping in the same room with them.

“Yes, ma'am.” Vivian climbed out of bed. “What's happening tomorrow?”

“Why, there's only two days before the party, of course!” Mrs. Shelbourn took Vivian back to bed, then returned to smooth Agnes's forehead. “All right, dear?”

She meant, did Agnes need help with her period? Miss Prendregast was right. All the women had been very nice and very understanding of Agnes's ordeal, and Agnes didn't mind Mrs. Shelbourn asking. She made everything seem so matter-of-fact. Agnes shook her head and shut her eyes. And planned how to make Father marry Miss Prendregast.

No one seemed to know what the purpose of the meeting was. Certainly Samantha didn't have a clue.

Servants lined the walls of the foyer. The
children stood in front of them, tallest to shortest. Samantha held Kyla's hand, and everyone watched Colonel Gregory.

He stood squarely in the middle of the foyer, clad in a conservative outfit cut from midnight blue cloth. His fists rested on his hips, and he gazed out at the household lined up before him through those remarkable blue eyes that sent a shiver down Samantha's spine—although she worried that it was no longer a cold shiver.

“I've brought you here for two reasons. One”—he held up a finger—“the guests will be arriving tomorrow, and I want everyone to know that if they see anything that gives them pause, anything at all, they should come to me.”

Samantha had had experience with house parties, and bored guests of privilege, and what they did from pure mischief, so she knew what he meant.

Mitten did, too, of course, but in his ponderous tone, he said, “Excuse me, colonel, but for the edification of the newer staff, could you tell us what that might be?”

“I would not be happy if a guest pilfered the silverware.” Colonel Gregory pulled a long face. “And unfortunately, occasionally . . .”

Mitten and the other servants nodded solemnly.

“Which brings me to my second point.” He lifted another finger. “The miniature of my wife that I keep on my desk is missing.”

Samantha's heart sank into her belly.

The servants gasped and looked from one to the other.

“I understand that sometimes accidents happen, and I surmise that while cleaning, perhaps an accident did happen.”

Everyone looked at the downstairs maid. She shook her head.

“If one of you—any one of you—broke the frame, or some other accident happened, and you don't want to admit it, I understand completely.” Colonel Gregory looked the role of the commander, his shoulders back, his feet braced, his blue eyes stern, but kind. “You can bring the miniature to me, and I promise there will be no repercussions. Or leave it on my desk, and I'll ask no questions. But please return it. It is precious to me.”

Samantha glanced at everyone in the crowd, searching for the culprit.

The servants were now silent and stoic, or silent and upset. The children were wide-eyed and tearful; Agnes glared at everyone, and Mara was biting her lip.

Colonel Gregory, too, considered them all, and his gaze rested briefly on Samantha. But he didn't seem to be looking for the thief in her. No, the warmth of his gaze spoke of something else entirely, and Samantha found herself shifting her feet like someone who wanted to run away—or run toward. And everyone was here. Surely everyone saw the way the color rose in her cheeks.

She looked down. But of course, if they did, they probably thought her the thief. Certainly Colonel Gregory had accused her in the matter of the drinking bag, and that when he knew nothing of her past.

She squared her shoulders. She had to remember who she was, and what she was, and not be seduced by one man's brief interest.

A clatter sounded on the stairs, bringing everyone's head around. Lady Marchant stood there, small and exquisite in a morning gown of dark blue dimity sprinkled with silver flowers and a matching silver ribbon around her waist. “I'm sorry.” She raised her silver-gloved hand to her mouth. “I'm interrupting a household meeting. I was coming down to breakfast.”

“A fine plan.” Colonel Gregory smiled at her as if she were his dearest friend.

Samantha set her jaw. She had to get over this irrational dislike of Lady Marchant. Lady Marchant barely knew she was alive, and there was a very good reason for that. She knew as well as Samantha—better than Samantha, apparently—that the governess was no threat to her position as Colonel Gregory's potential wife. Over the next week, Samantha would hardly see Lady Marchant, or Colonel Gregory, or any of the guests. Not unless she was accompanied by a bevy of children. And once Lady Marchant had assumed the position of William's wife, she would want to install her own servants here. Probably she would dismiss Samantha, and Adorna could not be disgruntled about Samantha's return to London for such a reason as that.

So Lady Marchant could become Samantha's liberator. Samantha should be grateful, and stop wanting to mockingly imitate her gliding walk and fluttering lashes.

Colonel Gregory continued, “Go on out to the veranda, Teresa. The footmen will be out with your meal soon.”

Lady Marchant glided down the stairs and out the door like a sprite spreading fairy dust behind her.

Colonel Gregory turned back to the assembled servants. “That's all. We're going to have to work as a team to make this gathering a success, and I know we can do it—together.” He clicked his heels. “Dismissed!”

Samantha was torn between being impressed at the dedication he inspired, and at the same time his military demeanor brought forth an irrepressible grin. They rapidly moved out. The most important last-minute work had yet to be done to prepare for the guests. Cook, especially, was beginning to wear a perpetually harried expression.

Samantha started to lead the children back to the classroom, when Colonel Gregory called, “Children, if you would please remain.”

The children swung about in military precision and waited for his command.

Stepping close to Samantha, he spoke so only she could hear him. “Miss Prendregast, do I amuse you?”

“Not at all, Colonel.”

“You were laughing at me.”

She didn't know whether to look at him, or past him, or at her feet. She still remembered the sensation of his mouth on hers, the way he leaned toward her, surrounding her with himself, and she could scarcely speak for embarrassment and
. . . oh, why not admit it? Delight. She wanted to stand beside him, to listen to his voice, to imagine he wanted to kiss her again. “I wasn't laughing. I was just . . . you're very much an officer.”

“Yes, I am. I served in India and in the mountains beyond for over ten years. Some habits are ingrained in me. Does that bother you?”

Amazed, she looked up at him. “Why would you care what I think?”

“I'm a very caring man.” A smile played around his mouth, and he seemed so pleased with himself he looked like a lad deep into mischief.

Or as if he was laughing at her.

Her mouth firmed. He'd better not, or she'd . . . at dinner, she'd help Kyla spill milk into his lap. She relaxed. The revenge available to a governess was small and petty, but certainly enjoyable.

Turning to the children, Colonel Gregory said, “We're going up to the playroom. After me.” He led them up the stairs.

Samantha stayed to the back, behind Agnes, and tried very hard not to notice the way his trousers clung to his thighs, or how his posterior swiveled with each step. The girls on the street had occasionally commented in ribald detail on the way a man's body looked and moved, but as Samantha had acerbically pointed out, so few men were worthy of notice, she had not made it a habit of looking.

Colonel Gregory proved the exception to the rule. Now she couldn't look away.

They climbed the second flight of stairs to the playroom. The children filed in. Samantha followed them.

And from the rocking chair in the corner, a tiny woman of about fifty rose. She had a round apple face, rosy cheeks, and a perpetual smile that gave Samantha a feeling of warmth.

The children smiled back, bewildered but somehow pleased.

Going to the sweet-faced lady, Colonel Gregory took her hand and led her to Samantha.

“Mrs. Chester, this is Miss Prendregast, our governess.”

“Ah, Miss Prendregast, ye're famous already in Hawksmouth.” Mrs. Chester beamed as she curtsied. “Fer taming these rascally hoydens.”

To Samantha's surprise, the children shuffled the feet and grinned as if abashed.

“Mrs. Chester, these are my rascals . . . er . . . daughters.” Colonel Gregory named each one, and while they curtsied they scrutinized Mrs. Chester.

Mrs. Chester's smile grew wider, and she clasped her hands together. “So ye're the dear children who I'll be tucking into bed at night.”

Samantha looked at Colonel Gregory and found him smiling. She grew warm again; she had to stop blushing when he smiled.

“I'm yer new nursemaid, and we'll have a wonderful time together, I promise.” Mrs. Chester's chirping voice vibrated with contentment. “I haven't had so many fine children to care fer since my own little dears grew up.”

As one, the children looked to their father.

He said, “Mrs. Chester has agreed to be your nursemaid for as long as you need one, to take care of anything you need, especially this week during
the party when we'll need Miss Prendregast to make up our numbers.”