My Favorite Bride (4 page)

“How many governesses have you had?”

“Eleven,” Agnes said.

“Eleven!” Samantha hated to sound impressed, but she was. If success could be measured by insolence, these children had a marvelous record. “What happened to the others?”

Mara stumbled on the fringe of the carpet. “They left.”

Samantha caught her arm and steadied her. “Why?”

In unison, all six girls spread their hands, palms up, and shrugged their shoulders.

“Well. Eleven.” Samantha took a breath. “But you needn't worry. Your papa will like me. Everyone likes me, especially children.” And if ever there were children who needed a governess, it was these. She stepped toward Agnes, the obvious instigator of this little rebellion. “And if he doesn't like me, it won't matter—because you will.”

Henrietta decided to insert herself into the situation. “No, we won't!”

“No!” Agnes's mouth firmed.

“I like her,” Emmeline said. “She'th funny.”

Samantha nodded at Emmeline, her newest ally. “I am, aren't I?”

Kyla pulled her head out of Agnes's skirt. “I like her, too.”

Emmeline's little body stiffened with indignation. “No, you don't. Thshe's mine!”

Taking Emmeline's hand, Samantha soothed her. “It's all right. I told you, everyone likes me.” She sat down on the wooden toy chest and gestured to Vivian. “That's why your papa won't fire me.”

Vivian sidled closer.

Emmeline leaned against her.

“Besides, I'm from London, and I don't know anything about living in the country.”

“Really?” Agnes asked.

Samantha could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she plotted mischief.

Too bad Samantha had different plans. “But I know heaps about fashion, and the uniforms you're wearing are dreadful.”

Agnes and Vivian looked at each other, then at their clothes.

Samantha continued, “I've got some trim we could stitch on them to make them prettier.”

“Oh, do you?” Vivian cried. “I'm sick of wearing this horrid old thing day after day.”

“Mayhap your papa could get us some material for new gowns. As a sewing project, of course.” She winked at Agnes.

Agnes glared.

Kyla hurried over, planted herself before Samantha, and asked, “Can I have a pretty gown, too?”

Agnes frowned and turned away.

She would have to fight for Agnes's loyalty, Samantha realized, as she smoothed Kyla's cheek. “Of course you can, pet.”

Without warning, the door slammed open and smacked the wall.

Eyes wide, Samantha came to her feet, clutching Emmeline's and Henrietta's hands.

A man stood in the doorway. He was tall, broad . . . familiar. He sported a healthy head of dark hair, cut neatly around his face and ears. Stark cheekbones with shadowy hollows beneath them.
A square jaw, thrust forward and tight with determination. A thin nose. A long nose. Some might say a big nose, and one that quivered with disdain.

He swept the room with his gaze, lingering on each of the girls in turn.

They stared back, mute and defiant.

“Greetings, Papa.” Agnes swaggered toward him.

Now Samantha realized why the girl's voice and manner was familiar. Agnes was just like her father. Imperious, determined . . . obnoxious.

The man from last night was none other than Samantha's new employer, Colonel William Gregory.

Chapter Four

In the daylight, Colonel Gregory looked even more appealing—and more dangerous—than in the dark. He wore black. Black wool suit. Black boots, polished to an eye-blinking shine. A white shirt, stiffly starched and ironed. And a black cravat, tied with military precision. All tailored to fit him like a glove . . . a very well-formed, masculine glove.

He was the kind of man who caught a woman's eye. He certainly caught Samantha's, and her response to him created a vague sense of discomfort. She wanted to rage at him for leaving her in the dark. She wanted to fade into the cream-colored wall and watch him until she understood this shaky feeling in her knees and the clutch in her abdomen.

Or rather . . . not her belly. The constriction was
lower, not painful, but . . . she didn't know what it was, she only knew she didn't like it.

The rage was easier to understand.

He stared at Kyla, who stood scratching her nose with her sleeve, and at Mara, who rubbed one foot against the back of her other leg. “Line up!” he ordered.

In a rush they formed a line, Agnes at one end, Kyla at the other. They stood at attention, like good little soldiers, shoulders back, chins up.

He strode to Agnes, made a right turn, and marched down the line. He stopped and indicated Emmeline should straighten her pinafore, and she did so at once. Then he marched back up and stopped in front of Mara. “Mara, what is that sucking sound?”

Mara looked around in confusion. “What sound, Father?”

“Oh, wait.” He leaned down until he was eye level. “I know what it is. It's your boots sucking polish off of my boots.”

Mara looked down at her boots, scuffed and dull. Then at her father's, with their shine that hurt the eyes.

As Mara's eyes filled up with tears, Samantha found herself saying, “Do you care for your own boots, Colonel Gregory?”

He looked around at her, his annoyance plain. “I am an officer. Of course I do not.”

“Well, neither does Mara,” Samantha said cheerfully. “It's something you have in common.”

Samantha heard several moist bursts of
laughter, smothered at once, and Mara drooped as if a weight had been removed from her shoulders.

Colonel Gregory was not amused. In his deep, irritated,
familiar
voice, he said, “Miss Prendregast, when I sent for you, I expected you to obey the summons with all due alacrity.”

“In the future, I'll remember that.”
You big bully.

“In the future, I do
not
expect to find you lingering with my children and bribing them with cloth which you think to procure from me.”

He'd heard that, had he? Looking him right in the eyes, Samantha asked, “To whom else should I apply for the cloth, Colonel?”

A harsh crimson rose to his cheeks and forehead, and he looked right back at her. “If cloth is to be had, it would come from me. Which it will not.”

Agnes stepped beside her father, allying herself with him. “I told Miss Prendregast to go to you at once, Father, but she insisted on visiting with us.”

Astonished and impressed with Agnes's ability to lie with a straight face, and in front of everyone, Samantha raised her eyebrows at the girl.

Agnes blushed fiercely.

Colonel Gregory watched the exchange. “I see.” He waved a hand at the other children. “At ease.”

The girls sighed and broke into three little groups, with Henrietta taking the opportunity to jab Agnes fiercely in the ribs.

Colonel Gregory turned his attention to Samantha, and Samantha wondered what she should say. What she should think.

Adorna would say he was like the mountains: magnificent, indomitable.

Samantha would agree, but she would add: hard, ruthless. His jaw was inflexible, his ears small and neatly set against his head, as if they'd been schooled to remain in their place. He held his full lips in a slight, smooth smile as he struggled to mask that scorn in which he held a woman who panicked at the onset of night.

She shivered. Night, in the wilds of the mountains. She was lucky to get here alive. Indignation flamed in her. Indignation that he, with a few well-chosen words, could have eased her terror. “Well.” She put her hands on her hips and looked him over. “At least I know why the coach arrived to pick me up.”

He made no excuse for his abominable behavior, but looked her over in return, his gaze lingering on the ruffles at the bosom and set into the sleeves at the wrists. “That gown is an unusual choice for a governess, Miss Prendregast.”

Last night, Samantha couldn't see his eyes, but she could now. They were blue. Beautiful, deep, cobalt blue, and as cold as ice in the depths of winter, with dark brows that winged straight upward without curve, giving him a saturnine appearance. This was no elderly curmudgeon. He was a man in his prime, a man who ruthlessly passed on his physical characteristics to his children. No froth of pink could soften his demeanor. No wonder Clarinda had suggested the plain, green serge.

Emmeline ran to him and hugged his knee. “Father?”

He put his hand on her head and looked down at her. “Emmeline?”

“Everyone likthes Miss Prendregast, Father. She told uth thso.”

“Did she?” Condescendingly, he stared down his noble nose at Samantha. “Then I'm sure you shall like her, too.”

“And you, Father! You like her, too.”

“I am certain I shall . . . provided she has the correct references, and provided she demonstrates she's capable of living in the country, and provided she teaches you children properly.”

Mouth puckered, Emmeline considered Samantha. “She'd better,” she said truculently.

For a moment, just a moment, Colonel Gregory's eyes widened, and Samantha thought he was going to laugh.

The moment passed, leaving Samantha wondering if she'd imagined it.

He gently removed Emmeline from his leg and sent her, with a pat, to Vivian. “Miss Prendregast, if you would follow me?”

She most certainly would. She trailed him out of the door, and she wanted to speak so badly she had to bite her tongue to contain the words. But glancing back, she could see the children peering out, and it took little to imagine how they strained to hear the next chorus.

She wouldn't sing for their pleasure.

The colonel descended the stairway ahead of her and past the double doors that led out to the back. They entered the grand foyer that rose two stories, past the second-floor corridors, above the marble floor. Built in the gallery style with large columns that supported the corridor above, the rectangular
foyer was painted in shades of pale blue and gold. A huge crystal chandelier sparkled above them. Samantha glanced through the open doors, seeing a library, a game room, a ballroom. Colonel Gregory led her to one door on the left and stepped back to allow her to precede him.

She thanked him while cynically wondering if he was always so courteous to his servants, or whether he simply seized this opportunity to observe her backside. But when she glanced at him, his face was impassive. Apparently this prickly feeling along her spine was not his gaze on her, but her imagination, and this discomfort she experienced at being alone with him was nothing but a spinster's overactive imagination.

Had she passed into the realm of desperate old maid, spinning imaginary liaisons in between planning lessons and cleaning up spilled milk?

Oh, now that disheartened her.

“Is there a problem, Miss Prendregast?” he asked.

“Not at all, sir, why?”

“You sighed.”

She supposed she had. “I was taking pleasure in the beauties of your home.” In its way, that was true. She expected his study to be stark and military. Instead, an ornate sense of India pervaded the room. Colors of burgundy and jade decorated the walls and drapes. An elaborate carpet in the same rich shades adorned the hardwood floor. Large, plush chairs invited her to sit before the large, mahogany desk carved in rope designs. “Last night. Why didn't you tell me who you were?”

He stood before her, the epitome of haughty mastery. “What purpose would have been served?”

“I wouldn't have been so alarmed if I had known.”

“I wanted you to be alarmed. I don't take lightly the occurrence of a strange young woman wandering about the district.”

“Do you often feel threatened by strange young women?”

“It depends on how strange they are.” He moved behind the desk. “Won't you take a seat?”

She had been insulted, and by a master. With a flounce, she seated herself in a cushioned chair directly opposite his.

He remained standing. “I must tell you, I was not impressed with your response to me when you thought me a robber. You are inexperienced in such matters—”

She couldn't contain a “Ha!”

Lifting a haughty brow, he said, “Beg pardon. I forgot. You're from London, a dangerous city indeed. Perhaps you do have experience with robbery.”

Not with being robbed.
“No, sir.”

He scrutinized her as if she were an oddity. “As you say.” He studied her yet more. “So I'll excuse you this one time, but in the future, if you're the victim of a bandit, do not fight. And of more importance in your case—restrain your impudence.”

“Do you mean that I should hand over my reticule to any male who wishes it?”

“In the case of a theft, yes.”

“No.” She didn't care that what he counseled was prudent, or that she would give the same advice to another victim. “I've worked hard for what I have. I will not give it up lightly.”

“Your possessions can be replaced. Your life can't.”

“
Your
possessions can be replaced.” And he would never be robbed. No self-serving thief would try their luck with someone so large. “
My
possessions must be earned.”

“My possessions were earned also, Miss Prendregast. Although my family has lived here for three hundred years, I was a younger son. My father bought my military commission for me, but I supported myself and my family with my work. Now, of course”—he gestured about him—“this is mine, but I mourn my father and brother.”

She couldn't blame him for having advantages she could scarcely imagine. At least he understood he lived a life of privilege, and took his responsibilities seriously. In fact—she considered his stern visage—a little too seriously. “My sympathies.”

“My daughters are my whole family, and very precious to me.”

“Your sentiments do you credit.” Although she'd observed little sign of affection upstairs. “Are you greatly troubled with thieves in the district?”

“The area is wild. Bandits have haunted the roads since before the Romans.”

With a flush of irritation, she said, “Then you shouldn't have left me there.”

He stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign
language, and again, he didn't answer her. “I assure you, I will flush them out and finish them off, but until I do, I request that you remain on the grounds at all times unless accompanied by my men.” He wrapped his fingers around the knobbed finial of his chair. “I make that request for your sake, but also for my children's.”

“Yes.”

Still he stared at her.

“Sir,” she added. What had she gotten herself into? If something dreadful happened—and in all her experience, something dreadful always happened—she would be trapped on his estate, unable to escape to London. “I think I can safely guarantee I won't be wandering about the wilderness without the assistance of a strong, capable footman.”

His mouth quivered once in what might have been amusement—in a less stern visage. “Because of the things that might eat you?”

So he
had
heard her as he rode away. “Do you consider large fanged creatures humorous, Colonel?”

“I consider them unlikely, Miss Prendregast, but if your belief in bears or wolves keeps you and my children safe, then I encourage you to imagine whatever you like.” He seated himself. “May I see your references?”