Chapter Six

      The tea party over, Jamie insisted on accompanying their guests to the front door, so Will tagged along and watched while Jamie bent over Lady Everard’s hand and stammered his goodbyes. Will didn’t think it was his imagination that she uttered a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her and her chaperone.

      Perhaps she found it difficult to be the focus of Jamie’s attempts at courting. It was becoming increasingly clear to Will that any hope for a love match between her and Jamie lay entirely with his son. Lady Everard saw the lad for what he was—an untried colt with the potential to win races, but not today, and certainly not in the fortnight she planned to be in Evendale.

      He didn’t relish watching Jamie figure out as much.

      He supposed he could tell his son. He’d have to call on every ounce of the diplomatic skill he’d acquired in his nearly ten years of service. Convincing the Pasha of Egypt to free British sailors kidnapped by the very pirates he funded was child’s play next to telling Jamie he had to let Samantha Everard go.

      “An amazing woman,” Will said to Jamie’s back as his son rushed to the window to watch the ladies climb into their waiting coach. “Who would have thought she fenced?”

      Jamie glanced back at him and made a face. “And why would she think I still didn’t? I don’t need her to tutor me.”

      Will rubbed his hands together. “You’ll show her as much on Monday, I know.”

      Jamie nodded, but he stood at the window long after Will heard the Everard carriage depart.

      The matter of Samantha Everard remained on Will’s mind the rest of the day, but he could find no easy way to speak to his son about her. He could only hope Sunday might be a day of rest for him and Jamie. Sundays were generally reserved for worship and family in the Evendale valley.

      Will had participated in cathedral services, where voices echoed off stone arches that seemed as massive as one of the fells. He’d prayed in a tiny cave while a desert sandstorm howled at the entrance and grit closed his throat. Until he had returned to Kendrick Hall, he had almost forgotten the peace to be had in the little stone chapel at the edge of their estate.

      His great-great-great-great-grandfather had ordered the hewing of the reddish stones that made up the walls. His great-great-great-uncle had replaced the previous dark pews with ones of polished oak. His great-great-grandmother had endowed the stained-glass windows that cast jeweled reflections on the worshiping congregation. His contribution for the moment consisted of a stone monument in the churchyard, where Peg had been laid to rest seventeen years ago this week.

      No, that was unfair of him. He’d been involved in the parish since the day he’d returned. One of his first duties on becoming earl had been to install a new vicar when the previous man had left for a well-earned retirement. Mr. Pratt was a small man with a bare pate and trembling hands. Unfortunately even after several years in leadership, he consulted Will before making any decision.

      Today Will and Jamie had already taken their seats in the Kendrick pew near the front of the church when a murmur ran through the waiting congregation. Samantha, Lady Everard, was making her way up the center aisle, a green velvet spencer over her gray lustring gown, peacock feathers waving from her velvet cap. She smiled at everyone and took her place beside Mrs. Dallsten Walcott in the Dallsten pew directly in front of Will. The scent of roses drifted over him.

      It seemed a little peace was too much to ask.

      As services began, Will wasn’t surprised to find Jamie fidgeting. They had all heard the words many times before, though Will usually found something new to intrigue him.

      But it didn’t appear to be familiarity that bored his son. Jamie kept leaning forward, tilting his head, and Will was sure it wasn’t to better hear the sermon that followed the readings. No, Jamie was trying to catch a glimpse of Samantha Everard’s face, perhaps meet her gaze. To his sorrow Will had done the same thing when he’d been Jamie’s age—using any excuse to turn and look at Peggy several rows back.

      To Lady Everard’s credit, however, she did not look at Jamie. Her gaze was on the vicar or the Book of Common Prayer whenever Will glanced her way, and Jamie’s heavy sigh told Will that she hadn’t favored the lad with a look even when Will had been focused on the vicar. From what he could tell by her bowed head and sweet voice, she seemed to take her worship seriously.

      Normally so did Will. His father had raised him with a healthy respect for the church, and what he’d seen on his travels had only underscored the need to honor his Savior. But lately he felt his prayers laden with more questions than answers.

      Why couldn’t Peg have lived to see their son become a man?

      Why were they in danger of losing Kendrick Hall when he had worked hard to manage well?

      Why had his brother been killed eight years ago?

      Why couldn’t he get his mind off Samantha Everard?

      Forgive me, Lord. You’ve seen me through robbery and rebellion. I know You have a plan for me now. I just can’t see it at the moment.

      As if on cue the final hymn started, the congregation rose and voices swelled. Sunlight glittered through the stained-glass windows, casting a rainbow over the front pew, and Samantha Everard.

      Was she part of the Lord’s plan for Will’s future?

      He dropped his gaze to the flagstones at his feet. Even if he could convince himself to open his heart again, his place was here in Evendale. She had made it plain she wasn’t staying beyond a fortnight. And he could not hurt his son by evincing interest in the woman Jamie loved. Will needed to let go of these feelings she was raising in him.

      Unfortunately letting go was the hardest thing for him to do.

      * * *

      Samantha sighed contently as the service ended. She’d worshipped at St. George’s, Hanover Square, with most of the denizens of London’s wealthy West End. She’d even spent a few occasions at the grand Westminster Cathedral. But there was nothing quite so satisfying as this church where she’d been raised. The light from the stained-glass windows always made her feel as if God was sending a blessing just for her.

      Around her, the congregation was filing out, the murmur of their voices lapping at her like warm waves. The people of the valley would gather for a moment in the churchyard, she knew, to exchange greetings, pass messages about friends and family. She clung to the peace of the sanctuary a moment, closing her eyes.

      Lord, I’ve made so many mistakes the past few years. I’ve been impetuous, headstrong and obstinate. Each time, I’ve come to You, and You’ve forgiven me. Help me now to do what’s right, for all of us.

      She opened her eyes to find Mrs. Dallsten Walcott regarding her quizzically. “Is something wrong, dear girl?”

      Samantha smiled. “No. Just appreciating this place, our people.” She wrapped her arms around the lady and gave her a hug. She knew it was impetuous, but she was fairly sure God looked kindly on such acts of love.

      Mrs. Dallsten Walcott did so as well, it seemed, for she was smiling when Samantha released her.

      “Come along now,” she said as if to hide the lapse in her normally composed demeanor. “I want to introduce you to the new vicar. He hasn’t Mr. Ramsey’s presence, but he’s very good about knowing his place.”

      By that Samantha guessed the new vicar knew how to toady up to the lady. Though the Dallstens had once been one of the most prestigious families in the area, Samantha’s father, the former Lord Everard, had changed that when he’d purchased their impoverished estate and installed his wife and young daughter in the manor. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott had gone to live in the dower cottage at the foot of the drive, her provenance supplied by her daughter’s work as Samantha’s governess.

      In other places the change in her status might