My Favorite Bride (16 page)

The silence was profound as the children turned to stare at Samantha.

Henrietta's eyes were wide with awe. “Oo, Miss Prendregast, you get to go to the party.”

“Yes, Miss Prendregast, you get to go to the party”—Agnes looked significantly at Vivian—“with Father.”

Vivian's eyes got round. “That's right! You'll get to dance . . . with Father.”

“You'll be the belle of the ball.” Agnes rested her hand on her father's arm. “Don't you think she'll be the prettiest lady there, Father?”

“All the ladies will be pretty.” William answered diplomatically enough, but he gazed at Samantha with such an expression of keen anticipation, she suffered a palpitation.

This attraction between her and the colonel could not be good for her heart. As good sense returned, she swallowed in profound dismay. She was a well-known pickpocket, the daughter of a thief, a woman with a hair-trigger temper that went off at the first sign of injustice. Gorblimey! She didn't want to go to this celebration. “Colonel, you don't mean that. Your guests will hardly be happy to know they're associating with a governess.”

“My guests are too well bred to complain about my other guests,” he said.

“Miss Prendregast, you'll be the prettiest lady there,” Mara said.

“Thank you, dear. But . . . I'm a governess.” A
pickpocket
. But she couldn't admit that. She'd
promised Adorna, and besides, she didn't want William to know. Not now. Not ever.

Mara hugged herself. “You'll be like Cinderella. You'll go to the ball, and you'll marry the prince.”

“Yes, Miss Prendregast, you'll find your
true love
,” Vivian said.

“I would hope not,” Samantha snapped. “I am too busy for true love.”

Agnes and Vivian exchanged sly grins.

With a brisk impatience, Colonel Gregory said, “Most of the people at the party will be my friends from the military. There'll be a great many younger sons of noble families, and even some men who have earned their rank the hard way. The only thing they'll complain about is a lack of feminine companionship, and you're the cure for that.”

“Sir, my background is not such that even younger sons or common officers would relish my company.”

Colonel Gregory's annoyed gaze sent a shiver down her back, and this time it
did
feel like a trickle of ice. “Miss Prendregast, set your mind at ease. You're simply a warm body at the dinner table.”

“All right,” she muttered. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

“What?” he snapped. “I didn't hear you.”

“Nothing, sir.”

He scrutinized her with an irritation that scraped at her skin. “I'm going to leave you children here, with Mrs. Chester, so you can get to know each other.” He took Samantha's arm in a firm grip. “Miss Prendregast will go with me and discover the extent of her new duties.”

He pushed her ahead of him.

“Wait!” Samantha said.

He didn't.

Calling back over her shoulder, she said, “The children are due for a dress fitting at three o'clock.”

“I'll take care of it,” Mrs. Chester answered.

“They need to practice the piano and their singing.”

“I'll make sure they do.”

“Kyla's new shoes are the wrong size. The new ones are coming in on the mail coach—”

“Don't ye worry, Miss Prendregast. Between the children and I, we'll take care of everything.”

Colonel Gregory pulled her into the corridor and shut the door between Samantha and the children.

She shook him off. “It is unnecessary to treat me like a recalcitrant child.”

“It is when you act like one.”

“I'm responsible for the children.”

“I've relieved you of the immediate responsibility—”

She started to speak.

He stopped her with a gesture. “—and left a schedule with Mrs. Chester. Did you think I wouldn't?”

Of course. She needed to remember. This family wasn't hers to keep. The children were only hers to teach, and then she would move on.

Stalking ahead of him, she said, “It would be better if I remained in charge at least until after . . .”

“After what? The party was over?”

“Yes. My background—”

“No matter what your background, Lady
Bucknell has taught you how to behave with courtesy and grace.” He followed her down the stairs to the second story. “Do you think I would have tapped you for such a role if I hadn't already observed you at meals? During lessons? While you speak?”

Had he really been scrutinizing her so closely? “No, but you don't understand.” She tried to explain without actually giving the details. “I have lost positions because of my past.”

“And you have gained the position of chair filler because of your presence.” He looked pleased with his pun. “I'm also moving you out of the manor and into a cottage.”

“What?” She looked toward her room, and saw servants removing her trunk. “You can't do that. Who will the children come to if they're ill?” She knew the response as soon as she asked.

He answered anyway. “That is why I hired Mrs. Chester. Lady Marchant pointed out, and rightly, that with the children visiting you night and day, you have no time to yourself.”

“Lady Marchant—” She couldn't say that Lady Marchant was a scheming Jezebel. “Lady Marchant is very thoughtful,” Samantha ended lamely.

“In addition, we need the bedroom in the house for one of the single ladies we have coming to the celebration.”

“A cottage seems so . . . isolated.” And she wanted to stay here, close to him, although why she should was a mystery even to her.

“I wish you wouldn't question matters you don't understand,” he said crisply.

“I understand. You're kicking me out of my bedchamber.”

“Yes. Because you can't stay here and test my moral fiber. It's not as strong as I would like it to be, especially where you're concerned.” He sounded emotionless, but his words made her recall the kiss. The passion. The great, devouring sense of togetherness that fed on itself and called for more.

“Oh.” She moved her lips, but the sound scarcely escaped.

“Clarinda will stay in the guest house with you. None of the guests will bother you. You'll be well chaperoned.” He stroked her jaw, a brief caress that brought goose bumps to her skin, and his gaze on her was heated, liquid, so filled with blue she wanted to float away.

Instead she pushed at him. “Don't.”

Drawing his hand away, he looked at his fingers with what looked like profound misgivings. Then he transferred those misgivings to her. “So you see, Miss Prendregast, this move is for both of our sakes, so you'll accept graciously and without argument.”

Clearly, he didn't trust her. And why not? Because she was not of his social class, and he feared she would use her wiles to trap him into a compromising situation. She had told him she wasn't interested in a man; like every man, he believed himself irresistible.

Very well. By her actions, she would make her feelings obvious. “I am grateful for your
thoughtfulness, and glad to move. You're going to marry Lady Marchant.” Then her temper took hold of her. “And I wouldn't want to be caught with my fingers in her biscuit tin.”

With profound irritation, he said, “I am hardly a biscuit.”

“Exactly.”

“Come.” He took her arm again, and marched her down the stairs and out the door.

Chapter Sixteen

Lady Marchant sat at one of the tables beneath a canopy on the veranda. Her pale skin was without mar. Her brown hair was perfectly arranged with ringlets at the sides and a knot at the back. As she sipped her cup of tea, her little finger was perfectly curved. With the faintest of clinks, she set her cup on its saucer and smiled at Samantha. “So, here's our little governess who will fill in our numbers. I certainly hope you appreciate the privilege Colonel Gregory has extended to you.”

As William held her chair, Samantha seated herself. “I can't begin to express my appreciation.”

At Samantha's tart tone, Lady Marchant blinked.

Samantha wanted to ask if she had something in her eye.

“She's afraid that our guests will be disgusted
by her background.” William seated himself also.

“You are a sensible young woman!” Lady Marchant complimented her. “I did express that concern to you, William.”

William filled the chair with stolid proportions, a large man who should have looked out of place in the delicate metal fancywork of the chair. Instead his body was perfectly erect and balanced, a compliment to the military and his heritage. “I know these men. They're both sensible and ordinary. They'll want to relax with the company of a beautiful, charming woman.” He transferred his gaze to Samantha and watched her as if weighing her in his mind.

Against what, she had no idea.

He continued, “As you yourself said, Teresa, Miss Prendregast is both.”

“Quite right,” Lady Marchant said. “My concern is for Miss Prendregast herself. I don't wish her to feel . . . awkward. Out of place.”

Crikey! Who did Lady Marchant think she was fooling? She would
love
for Samantha to feel awkward and out of place. Samantha said, “I've associated with men of good character before”—when she picked their pockets—“and I find they're much the same as men of bad character.” She widened her eyes at William. “Easily manipulated.”

Leaned forward, he projected an unexpected menace. “Have you found me easy to manipulate, Miss Prendregast?”

She met his gaze without flinching. “I haven't been interested enough to try, Colonel Gregory.”

Seemingly unaware of the tension that simmered between Samantha and William, Lady Marchant laughed throatily. “Not all women are as intrigued by you as I am, William. And Miss Prendregast, the trick with manipulating men is to do so without their realizing.”

“We allow you to think you've succeeded,” William snapped.

Samantha could scarcely contain her irritation with Lady Marchant and her silly philosophy. “The trick is not to put oneself in a position where one has to bother with a man at all. A woman of independence is in the perfect position to please herself.”

Lady Marchant blinked again. “How marvelously refreshing you are, Miss Prendregast. I applaud your autonomy. So befitting a servant. Don't you applaud her, too, William?”

“Indeed.” He had the audacity to sound skeptical. “It's a rare woman who truly wishes to face the cold, cruel world alone.”

Samantha answered him directly. “Only one who has seen how much more alone a woman is when faced with an indifferent mate.”

Lady Marchant perked up. “You've been married, Miss Prendregast?”

“No.” Samantha clipped the word. “Nor do I intend to be.”

“Refreshing, indeed.” Lady Marchant withered back into her chair. “Now, I think—”

William interrupted without appearing to notice. “A woman who declares herself free of any
aspiration for union with a proper mate must be declared without sentiment or femininity.”

What an exasperating man! “Are you calling me unwomanly?” Samantha asked.

“You're fond of children,” William said. “Do you never wish to have one of your own?”

Which was no answer at all, but Samantha couldn't resist reacting to his taunt. “I'd love to have a child of my own, Colonel Gregory, but that would involve a husband, and that's a poor start for a family.”

“William, let me pour you a glass of water.” Lady Marchant picked up the pitcher and, in the first ungainly act Samantha had seen from her, slopped the first drops into William's lap.

Samantha almost laughed to see William's astonishment and indignation. Without a doubt, he knew, as Samantha did, that Lady Marchant had done it on purpose. Yet he could scarcely accuse his hostess of such clumsiness. So as she apologized, he brushed the water off and declared there to be no problem.

In truth, Samantha was glad of the interruption. She'd been so involved in quarreling with William, her heart beat faster, her breath whistled in her lungs. And why? He was nothing but a man. A man who attracted her, yes, she would admit it. But also a man who might wish to use her as her father had used her mother, and she was too proud to allow any man liberties with her person or her dignity. Taking the glass Lady Marchant now poured her, she toasted William's hostess.
“Thank you, my lady. The water was just what I needed.”

“Good.” Lady Marchant settled back into her chair. “Now, I must think. Prendregast. Prendregast. I feel I know that name.”

Samantha curled her hands in her lap. If Lady Marchant did know the name, her time as a houseguest was over before it started, as well as her time as the governess in the Gregory household.

“Are you one of the Somerset Prendregasts?” Lady Marchant examined Samantha. “I thought I knew them all, but I don't recognize your person.”

The interrogation had started, the one that would stretch all the way through the party. “I'm from London, my lady.”

As Samantha knew, Lady Marchant was not to be satisfied with that. “Only from London?”

“She is such a city girl, she fears everything about the country. She fears the mountains will fall on her”—William swept a hand toward Devil's Fell—“that a snake will bite her, or that a lake monster will swallow her whole.”

Samantha's fingers fluttered to her throat. “How did you know about the lake mon—?”

He threw back his head and laughed, and Samantha realized he hadn't known. He had guessed, and guessed well.

“A lake monster?” Lady Marchant questioned. “Dear, you must be teasing.”

“I am. I'm definitely teasing.” Samantha wanted to smack him for making fun of her fears, but at the same time his foot was nudging hers beneath the
table, a less-than-subtle caress right in front of the lady she thought, the children thought, the servants thought, he wanted to marry.

Samantha liked to know where she belonged. She liked to know the rules, because she'd discovered the penalty for breaking the rules was humiliation and exile. Now Colonel Gregory was breaking the rules. Except she could scarcely believe a man of such rigid values would break any rules. Perhaps he knew of different rules. Perhaps he was changing the rules. No matter what, she didn't know if she were on her head or her toes. Glaring at him, she tucked her feet tightly beneath her chair. “It's a frightening place here, Colonel.”

“We'll teach you to love it.” He sounded absolutely confident, a repulsive trait in a man.

Gesturing toward the peaks, Samantha said, “Everything's too big. The lakes are blue instead of brown. The air's so fresh I can't even see it.”

“That's because there's no coal dust here,” Lady Marchant explained.

Colonel Gregory allowed his eyes to twinkle at Samantha, and they shared a moment of . . . oh, what to call it? . . . camaraderie, perhaps.

Then Lady Marchant realized what Samantha had said, and gave an artificial laugh. “Oh. That's a jest. How funny. Now where do I know you from?” The lady was like a trained dog after a bone, relentless and politely savage.

“I've lived nowhere but in London, which is why this place is dreadfully odd, and I've been a governess for the past four years. Perhaps you saw me at one of my posts.”
And perhaps you saw me at
Newmarket picking pockets, but I'll not admit to that unless I'm forced.

Colonel Gregory watched the two of them, listening, weighing their conversation.

“I do know London very well. You could tell me who employed you and I—” Lady Marchant frowned and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Who's that young man coming from the stables?”

Samantha didn't know, but she already liked him, for he had rescued her.

A tall, handsome gentleman strode, dressed in a brown wool tailcoat, brown trousers, and a black top hat. As he climbed the stairs onto the veranda, the dimples in his tanned cheeks flashed. He removed his hat, and Samantha saw he sported two black eyes and a swollen nose. In a merry tone, the stranger announced, “William, I have arrived. Let the party begin.”

Colonel Gregory laughed, rose and shook his hand. “Monroe, we've been waiting for you to start the festivities.”

So Mr. Monroe was a friend of Colonel Gregory's.

“Oh,” Lady Marchant said in a bored tone, and she barely glanced at him. “Duncan Monroe. It's you.”

Apparently, Lady Marchant didn't care for him.

Colonel Gregory introduced Samantha. Mr. Monroe raised her hand to his lips, bowed, and scrutinized her in one all-encompassing glance. “I'm so glad to meet you at last. You've already gained a wide reputation for charm.”

Samantha saw at once the kind of man he was.
Light-hearted, laughing, hiding a profound soul and a sharp mind beneath the façade of rake. “I do have that reputation, I admit—among the nursery crowd.”

Even Lady Marchant laughed in genuine amusement.

Keeping Samantha's hand in his, Mr. Monroe said, “Has anyone ever told you you have the most unusual eyes? The color of whisky, I believe I've heard them called.”

Frowning fiercely, Colonel Gregory said, “That will do, Monroe.”

Samantha took her hand back. “Thank you, Mr. Monroe.” From his tone, from Colonel Gregory's rejoinder, she knew who had said that. Everyone at the table knew who had said that, and Lady Marchant was not pleased. But for all that Samantha knew she was foolish, she couldn't hold back her happiness at knowing Colonel Gregory had spoken of her.

In a repressive tone, Colonel Gregory continued, “Apparently, Monroe, you've already met the countess.”

Duncan bowed so elaborately, with such a sweep of his arm, that his hat swept the floor. “Lady Marchant. The pleasure is all mine.”

Lady Marchant's expression resembled that of a woman who had bit into a insect. “Mr. Monroe. I hardly think that our party's success depends on you.”

“Our party?” Duncan looked between Lady Marchant and Colonel Gregory. “It's our party
now? Should we be expecting an announcement of betrothal soon?”

Samantha caught her breath. Lady Marchant and Colonel Gregory were well suited—him so tall and dark, she so petite and brunette. But two nights ago, he had kissed Samantha, and for some reason, she felt that gave her some right to him. To his body. To his mind.

This had to stop at once. She glanced at him.

He was watching her. He wasn't fondly gazing at Lady Marchant. Neither was he correcting Duncan. He watched her as if gauging her reaction.

So she summoned her most polite, social smile, directed it toward him, then turned it on Duncan.

“I am the hostess.” Lady Marchant batted her eyelashes at Duncan. “So yes, it is my party, too.”

“That's right.” With an insouciant smile, Duncan seated himself at the table. “You are always the hostess. I remember in India, you gave the finest parties. I met the most interesting people at your parties.”

Lady Marchant replied with an open hostility that made Samantha raise her eyebrows. “You made a fool of yourself at my parties.”

“So I did.” Duncan tilted his chair back on two legs. “How kind of you to point that out.”

Samantha didn't understand the relationship between these two people. They obviously detested each other, yet . . . they almost seemed to enjoy fighting like cats in a bag.