My Favorite Bride (5 page)

Gorblimey, but he was irritating. He was proof positive that some handsome gents had faults that rendered them intolerable. Which was good, of course. Such faults kept a girl sharp. “I have the letter from Lady Bucknell.” Delving into the
pocket in her skirt, she brought forth the sealed document. “I had understood she informed you of my expertise.”

“She was rather vague about the specifics.”

With as much innocence as she could muster, Samantha widened her eyes. “I can't imagine why.”

Breaking the seal, Colonel Gregory perused Adorna's letter. “No. I suppose you can't.” As he reached the end, his eyebrows went up. All expression smoothed from his face.

Good heavens. What did that mean? “Is everything in order?”

He folded the letter precisely along the creases and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Indeed, yes. Lady Bucknell seems quite fulsome in her praise.”

Samantha was too good an actress to sag with relief, yet she wondered . . . what had Adorna said?

“I'll get right to the point. These are your duties. A schedule is posted in the schoolroom. Each child will conform to the times and studies listed.”

She should start as she meant to go on, or a man like him would run roughshod over the top of her—as he did everyone. “I must insist on making improvements as I see fit.”

“After you've demonstrated your competence, you may discuss improvements with me.”

“Who decides I have proven myself, sir?”

His eyes hardened. “I do, Miss Prendregast. Make no mistake about that.”

She nodded. At least he was interested in his children's progress, and in her experience such care was only too rare.

He continued, “The children go to bed promptly at nine o'clock. No exceptions. Each of my children has her own nursemaid, so after dinner you'll be released to your own devices. That time is not to be spent in frivolity and flirtation.”

Did the man deliberately offend her, or was he just oblivious to the social niceties? She hated to guess. On the other hand, he freed her to speak as she wished. “With whom? The groom from the Hawksmouth Inn?”

Colonel Gregory hesitated, perhaps weighing the desire to reprimand her for interrupting him. But no, he truly was oblivious to the social niceties, for he answered, “I have spoken to the innkeeper in Hawksmouth. The groom has been released from his duties.”

She clutched the arms of the chair. “What do you mean?”

“His duty was to bring you here. That he should abandon you, a fragile woman, in the road at the onset of darkness is criminal.”

“Then you're a criminal, too?”

“Miss Prendregast!” He rapped on his desk with his knuckles. “You were never in any danger!”

“Except from the wild animals.”

His lids swept down as if he needed a reprieve from looking at her. “Alert me if you're attacked by a rabbit.”

“I'm pointing out that the young man is no more guilty than you yourself. In London, when people
lose their jobs, the misfortune leads to the streets, to the workhouse, and all too frequently to death. I'm not particularly fragile.” She showed Colonel Gregory a capable hand. “Surely a reprimand would teach him a sound lesson.”

“Your charity speaks well for you, but no. You're a woman, you're a stranger, and what you said in ignorance could not be construed as an insult by anyone but a hot-tempered youth given to rash judgments.”

“But—”

“Be at rest, Miss Prendregast. It was not his first transgression, and he will return home to live with his parents on the farm. After a few months of backbreaking work, I'm sure he'll see his way clear to apologize and return to the inn.”

The depths of Colonel Gregory's ignorance took Samantha's breath away. In her experience, men such as the groom did not gratefully learn a lesson. They resented both the lesson and the teacher, and blamed anyone but themselves. But perhaps things were different here in the country.

The window rattled—but not from the wind. “What was that?” She stared out. Colonel Gregory's windows opened out onto a broad veranda, and beyond lay the park she'd viewed from her bedchamber.

“The breeze.” Colonel Gregory didn't bother to glance over his shoulder. “It's frequently breezy up here in the Lake District. Sew on your bonnet ribbons tightly.”

“But . . .”

He watched her with austere disdain. “Yes?”

“Nothing, sir.” The tree branches weren't waving, but she wasn't going to argue with him. Not about
this
. There were other, more important things to argue about.

“We were discussing your evenings.”

“So we were, sir.” She would be a fool to cavil at so much free time, yet like the four pounds a week and the half day off, so much liberty seemed like a bribe. And since she'd met the children, she had to think it was.

She smiled. She wouldn't rebuff Colonel Gregory's offer, nor would she tell him she had taught worse hellions and to grand results. “What do you expect of me?”

“I expect you to read, to improve your mind, to write letters, to plan lessons.” Colonel Gregory leaned back, his large hands at rest on the chair arms. “You will review those lessons with me once a week on Monday night.”

“As you wish, sir.” She'd found pleasure in saying that phrase, but so far, the interview had been . . . almost agreeable.

Of course, Colonel Gregory was insufferable. But then, according to a great many people, so was she. Either Colonel Gregory didn't notice or he didn't care—although that surprised her. In her experience, these stiff military types liked their due respect, and then some. Perhaps he was so desperate to keep a governess he was willing to put up with anything. Or . . . what
had
Adorna said about her in that letter?

“Very well. I have explained everything.” He picked up a paper off his desk and studied it. “I'll
expect to see you here at seven o'clock sharp on Monday next.”

That was concise. Now she would be equally concise. “About the cloth for the children's dresses—”

In painstaking motions, he put down the paper. “What about the word
no
do you not understand?”

“They're girls, not soldiers.”

“Those are serviceable clothes designed for the wear and tear of healthy children.”

“Healthy girls also require pretty gowns for dancing and parties,” she shot back.

“My children do not attend parties.”

“Are there no children's parties in the country?”

He glowered, his blue eyes heating with annoyance. “No.”

“If not, how do children learn how to behave?” Samantha shook her head reprovingly. “Colonel Gregory, you are—you must be—one of the foremost landowners in the district. It's up to you to set an example for the other parents. We should plan a party here at once.”

“I have no intention of—” He stopped speaking and stared at her as if he'd had a revelation. More slowly, he said, “I have no intention of hosting a children's party.”

“Then you may get me the cloth for the girls' gowns and once a week I will host a party, just for them, and teach them the intricacies of social encounters.”

“A point to be considered.” He stroked his chin.

Samantha could have sworn he was paying her no heed. She didn't know if that were good or bad, but she struggled on. “Agnes is not too many years
off from her debut, and Vivian right behind.” Rising, she walked toward the door, hoping to escape before his attention returned to her. “A different color for each girl, please. We want them to feel like individuals, important in their own right. No pattern, and for the material, jersey, I think, since you're correct—they are still children and likely to be hard on their clothes.” She could see she hadn't succeeded.

He rose, also, a slow motion that somehow gave the impression of threat and dominance. “Miss Prendregast.”

He was impressive. She
was
intimidated. She didn't show it. “Yes, Colonel Gregory?”

“Kyla is getting a cold. Please notify her nursemaid and have the child moved to a bedchamber separate from her sisters.”

Samantha blinked. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't this. “Indeed I will, sir. But if I might ask, how did you know—?”

“She was scratching her nose. Mara has outgrown her boots. I'll order new ones, but they won't be here for at least a week. In the meantime, have her try on Vivian's old boots to see if they will fit.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “In fact, check all the girls to see if they're in need of new footwear.”

“Yes, sir.” Samantha strained to remember what he'd seen that alerted him to Mara's problem. “Mara was . . . rubbing her foot against her leg.”

“And refusing to care for her boots as I require. I have told her—told them all—they are to notify me at once when they outgrow their boots, but Mara
refuses to speak to me more than the minimum.”

Samantha didn't even try to contain her sarcasm. “I wonder why?”

He moved around the edge of the desk, walked up to her, and stood so closely her skirts brushed his boots.

She wanted to back up, but she never backed up. Her heart beat more and more loudly. Or maybe it always beat like that, but she was aware of her heart, and her lungs as she breathed in the clean scent of this healthy man, and the fine hairs on her body, which rose in some visceral response that embarrassed and excited her.

“Will next week be soon enough for the material?”

He enunciated each word carefully, and watched her so shrewdly she knew he knew he'd been manipulated. And he allowed it, although she dared not wonder why.

“I would get it sooner,” he said, “but so few of our governesses last above a few days. A few hours, even.”

He had challenged her, and she responded. “Colonel Gregory, I will be here to make the girls' clothing. In fact, I will be here in a year. No child has ever gotten the better of me, and I vow your children will not.” Silently she added,
Nor will you.

Chapter Five

Miss Prendregast strode from the room and snapped the door shut behind her. Standing, Colonel William Gregory went to the window, pulled it open, and waited while Duncan Monroe, the officer he'd met in India—and his loyal friend—climbed through.

“What have you got?” William asked.

“Caught another Russian last night.” Duncan dusted off his rough wool trousers and straightened his brimmed peasant cap. “Robbed him of his wallet and sent him on his way.”

“Anything interesting?”

Duncan emptied his little pull-string bag on the desk. A crumpled wad of pound notes. A pipe. A bag of tobacco. A letter . . .

William fished out the letter and frowned at the intricate Russian. “I'll send this on to Throckmorton
and see what he can make of it.” He thought nothing of the peculiarity of the relationship between him and Duncan. He played the peacekeeper for the Lake District while Duncan played the role of highwayman, each carefully eluding the other to patrol for English spies, Russian agents, and even the occasional, genuine thief. It was a game they'd worked out between them, and while playing that game they'd managed to uncover a range of information for the Home Office. But they hadn't been able to uncover why the Lake District was the center of activity.

Until today. Which reminded him . . . “What in hell are you thinking, rattling the window when I had someone here?”

“Someone? That was not a someone. That was a beauty.” Duncan fluttered his eyelashes in mock flirtatiousness. “Colonel, I didn't know you imbibed.”

“Imbibed? One cannot imbibe a woman. One can only imbibe a—” William saw Duncan's grin, and stopped.

Duncan's sense of humor was legion, his bravery equally famous, and Mary had called Duncan handsome, but William knew he could wipe away that smirk. “That woman is my children's new governess.”

Duncan did a double take that almost snapped his neck and gratified William to no end. “Your children's governess?” Duncan hooted. “They didn't make governesses like that when I was a wee lad.”

“She came highly recommended from a reputable agency. The Distinguished Academy of
Governesses, in fact.” But William agreed with Duncan. What in the hell was Lady Bucknell thinking by sending such a governess to him? Or rather—to his children. Miss Prendregast had been sent to his children.

He poured two glasses full of whisky and handed one to Duncan.

Tall and lithe, Duncan took a drink, then rocked back on his heels. “All my governesses were old and cantankerous.”

“As you no doubt deserved. Most of ours have been young and easily intimidated.” Never had William thought he would look back on those silly girls with nostalgia. But never was one a woman like Miss Prendregast. Miss Prendregast, who walked like an Amazon, looked like an exotic priestess, and had a tongue like a . . . ah, but he mustn't think of her tongue. Her tongue made him think of kissing and other activities, so better to say she was insolent and leave it at that.

He took a sip and let the whisky burn all the way down. “That hair of hers . . . a wig, wouldn't you say?”

“A wig? Are you mad? No, it's not a wig.”

“It's too blonde.” Last night, strands had fallen about her cheeks, and in the dusk they had shone like moonlight. “It must be a wig.”

“We both agree you don't know a damned thing about women, and you certainly don't know about their hair.” Duncan slid into the chair vacated by the governess. “I couldn't see her eyes. What color are they?”

“Brown.” William lifted his glass. “About this color. Very odd.”

“You noticed her eye color.” Duncan looked too damned satisfied for William's comfort, and swirled the whisky. “I can't wait to gaze into this young lady's eyes.”

“You're not to seduce my governess,” William warned. “Not unless you are prepared to take her place and teach my children.”

“I wouldn't dream of seducing your governess.” Duncan placed his hand on his heart. “Did you see the way she walks? Like a great, stalking panther, all oiled grace and elegance.”

“She's too tall.” William was used to petite women who looked up at him and, when he waltzed with them, felt slight in his arms.

“Can you imagine having those legs wrapped around your neck?”

All too easily. Did Duncan never know when to stop? “She's too thin.”

“She's too tall, she's too thin,” Duncan imitated William. “
You're
too picky, as well as being a poor, desperate widower who needs a wife to care for his children, but I like you anyway. Maybe this Miss . . . Miss . . .”

“Prendregast,” William supplied.

“Maybe Miss Prendregast will fill the bill.”

“No.”

“No?” A lock of tawny hair dropped over Duncan's brow as he scrutinized his friend. “It's been three years since Mary's passed on.”

“Since Mary was killed,” William corrected.

As gently as he could, Duncan said, “Aye, but it wasn't your fault.”

Of course it was William's fault. “A wife's safety is her husband's responsibility.”

“We were off on a mission for the regiment. How could you know Mary would answer a call for help and step into a Russian ambush set for us?”

Guilt haunted William. “I should have sent her home. I should have sent them all home. We knew of the danger, so close to the mountains.”

Duncan stood and put his hand on William's shoulder. “I know you loved Mary and your heart's broken, but—”

William shrugged him off, strode to the window, and looked out at the park. That was the problem. He had loved Mary, but . . . she'd proven something he'd suspected for years. No woman was as interesting as a military campaign. No woman was as exhilarating as a ride across the moors. No woman could possibly capture his heart, for he was a cold man, given to hot passions, but never to love.

That was part of the reason why he was so determined to catch the traitors responsible for Mary's death. She had loved him so much, and he had never loved her back with all the fervor she deserved.

It was remorse that drove him, but he could hardly tell Duncan that, or any of the romantics who imagined him haunted by his lost love. “We will have justice.”

“We're achieving justice.” Duncan subsided
back into his chair. “But you should find a woman. A man's got needs.”

“You would know.” William faced Duncan. He didn't envy Duncan's freewheeling reputation in the district. “You're fulfilling yours often enough.”

“And I tell you that goes a long way to soothe a broken heart.” Certainly Duncan had had success up the length and breadth of India among the officers' daughters, until he'd been fool enough to fall for Lord Barret-Derwin's girl. His lordship had not been amused to have a Scottish ne'er-do-well courting his eldest, and the girl had been returned to England in a hurry. Duncan had resigned, but he'd arrived in London only to hear of his beloved's marriage to the earl of Colyer. He had reacted with rage and recklessness—a boon for William, who needed a compatriot for his mission.

“Miss Prendregast brought me a letter.” William dug Lady Bucknell's letter out of his jacket and tossed it at Duncan. “Ostensibly a letter of recommendation.”

Duncan picked it up. “Ostensibly?”

“Read it.”

Duncan scanned the first paragraph. “ ‘Miss Prendregast is well-trained, intelligent, resourceful . . . ‘ That's wonderful, Will, but—”

William saw when Duncan reached the pertinent information.

Duncan stiffened. Without looking up, he groped for the desk and set down his glass. “Lady Bucknell sent you this? Lady Bucknell works for
the Home Office? For Throckmorton? Lady Bucknell is a spy for England?”

“I believe Lady Bucknell serves Throckmorton when she can. To call her a spy might be an exaggeration.”

Duncan read quickly. “ ‘Throckmorton says . . . the Lake District is the center because . . . ‘ “ He dropped his hands, with the letter, into his lap. “Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh? That harmless old couple have been directing a spy network that covers England and most of the world?
Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh?
”

“I've never known Throckmorton to make a mistake. He certainly would never make a mistake about anything as important as this.”

“I'm not really questioning his information, but . . .” Duncan shook his head. “How?”

William had had a few more minutes to consider the matter. “They're welcome in every noble home in England. No one suspects them of anything more lethal than gossip. They could be caught with secret papers in their hands and be excused without misgiving.”

“I'm reeling.”

“This explains everything. The constant stream of strangers in the district—foreigners, women traveling alone.”

“Yes, and the Featherstonebaugh estate stretches clear to the coast. There's a harbor there. They've got an escape route.” Duncan read the letter again. “Throckmorton is herding Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh toward us. He wants us to secure as much information from them as possible before he
moves in to arrest them. How are we going to do that?”

“I have a plan.” But it was only his first, spur-of-the-moment plan. Surely he could do better.

Duncan rubbed his hands in glee. “Will we torture them? Break into their manor? Ride them down like the murderous dogs they are?”

“No.” William grimaced. “I'm giving a party.”

Taken aback, Duncan repeated, “A party?”

“A house party. Think, man! It's what Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh do. They visit the best homes in England. Lord Featherstonebaugh tries to kiss the debutantes. Lady Featherstonebaugh gossips. And apparently, all the while, they're eavesdropping. They're stealing information they can sell to the Russians. We would lure them here with promises of information, then catch them as they try to send it off.”

“A house party. It is brilliant.” Duncan sighed. “I suppose. But you don't give parties. Whatever made you think of this?”

“The governess.”

“Little Miss Prendregast?”

“She says I'm scion of one of the premiere families in the district, and I'm neglecting my daughters' social education.”

“I've been saying that for years. Why do you listen to her and not to me?”

“Because I'm doing it to catch Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh in the act of spying.”

“Oh. That's right.” Duncan raised his glass to William.

William knew what he thought. Duncan
thought that William would take his first steps to re-enter society, a female of unimaginable virtue would catch his interest, and he would marry again. That was what Duncan hoped, for Duncan disapproved of William's lack of
joie de vivre.

Duncan lolled in his chair. “But how . . . pardon me, my friend, but you have no experience in planning a party, nor has your staff, and Throckmorton hopes to have Lord and Lady Featherstonebaugh here by the first of September. How will you get ready in time?”

“I'll write the countess of Marchant and ask her to help me.” William waited.

Duncan froze, then produced a crooked grin. “Dreadful Lady Marchant. Must we?”

William had never understood Duncan's antipathy, nor did he have much patience with it. “Teresa was a friend of Mary's. Lord Marchant was a friend of mine. And Teresa has repeatedly offered her assistance in anything I desire.”

Duncan's restraint failed. “I'll wager she has. B'God, William, anyone but her! Don't you know what she hopes?”

“No.” Of course he did. “What?”

“That you'll fall desperately in love with her and she'll have snared another rich, handsome husband who'll make her the envy of all the ton.”

“You think I'm handsome?”

“I think you're—” Duncan leaped up and smacked William on the shoulder. “I think you're a jackass.”