The Rogue's Reform. Regina Scott
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reflected in them. Then he raised a finger to his lips in caution and closed the door.
Something inside Adele demanded that she follow. She needed to comfort him, to smooth the dark locks from his forehead and whisper hope into his ears.
How silly! He was a full-grown man, with every evidence of being a leader among men. He had no need for her comfort.
But Samantha did. As if she’d felt the change in Adele, she straightened away, scrubbing at her tear-stained cheeks. “What shall we do?” she asked plaintively.
Adele rubbed a hand down the girl’s arm, bare below the short sleeves of her muslin gown. “We shall carry on, my love. Your father expected you to be presented this Season. I see no reason for that to change.”
Samantha visibly swallowed. “Couldn’t we wait a year?” Adele’s dismay must have been evident, for the girl hurried on. “Out of respect for Papa? I’m not sure I’m up to a London Season just yet.”
Adele managed a smile of encouragement. “So you have said, even before this tragedy, and my answer remains the same. You are clever and capable and one of the prettiest girls I’ve yet to meet. I’ve taught you all you need to succeed. We merely have to find the appropriate sponsor, and you will take London by storm.”
Samantha’s face puckered. “But what if I don’t want to take London by storm? What if I just want to come out quietly, here in Evendale?”
Adele looked deep into those troubled brown eyes. Where did these fears come from? She had to make the girl understand. Samantha must be presented in London. Nothing less would do.
“There is no purpose in coming out in Evendale, Samantha,” she explained. “There isn’t an eligible young man in fifty miles, not for a lady like you.”
“But Toby Giles…” she started.
“Mr. Giles is a fine young man,” Adele agreed, “and I understand he has hopes for the army, but you could do far better.” Adele broke off, watching Samantha’s eyes narrow. Oh, that was a dangerous look. It usually heralded a full-blown tantrum, complete with theatrics and threats.
Lord, please give me the words.
“We needn’t decide anything now,” Adele suggested. “The most important thing is for you to meet your cousins and become acquainted. Do you feel up to joining them for dinner?”
Samantha nodded slowly, face and body relaxing at last. “Of course. I know what’s expected of the lady of the house.”
Adele beamed at her. “You certainly do, and I’m proud of you for remembering that. Now, let’s see which of your pretty gowns would be best suited for this solemn of an occasion.”
That focused the girl, and they spent a few minutes looking through her wardrobe and clothes press. A short time later, Adele left Samantha to Maisy’s care and hurried into the corridor. She wanted to change for dinner, as well, but she needed to make sure Todd or Daisy sent word to her mother. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott generally arrived in time for dinner, in high style despite her years of living in the dower house. But today was not the day to expose the Everards to her mother’s ways. She’d have to tell her not to come tonight. Adele could only hope she’d have time for a full explanation tomorrow.
Besides, she also had to confirm the time with Mrs. Linton. She doubted the hour had changed—their housekeeper was entirely too dedicated to tradition to allow such a major disruption to their schedule—but if anyone could convince her to try something new, it was likely Jerome Everard.
Who was standing just down the corridor, as if he’d been waiting for her.
Adele pulled up short, then took a deep breath. He had no reason to wait for her. He was the heir, after all. Very likely he just wanted to look over his holdings. Perhaps he had been admiring the corniced molding along the pale ceiling, the thick carpet that ran down the center of the corridor, the way the high windows let in light along the space, lifting the eyes, lifting the spirits.
At the moment, however, he was eyeing her grandfather’s portrait as if he could not quite place the resemblance.
“Lawrence?” he asked as she came up to him.
Adele nodded. “You have a good eye, Mr. Everard. This is one of Thomas Lawrence’s earlier portraits, about 1789. It is a cherished family possession.”
“And the sitter must be the previous owner,” he mused, gaze still on the portrait.
Here she must go carefully. She had no desire to explain her family situation to him. “So I’ve been told.”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I didn’t mean to intrude on my cousin, but I couldn’t help overhearing that she was crying. She took the news hard.”
Adele sighed. “That is no surprise. She loved her father dearly.”
His gaze traveled to hers at last, warm, kind. She wanted to lean into it, allow it to soothe her frazzled emotions. “My cousin seems to rely on you, as well,” he said, “and for that I am thankful. She will need a friend now. Have you been her governess long?”
So much for a moment of comfort. Was he still so determined to learn her qualifications? Did he think her unsuitable for the role after all? She raised her head, pride warring with the humility she knew she should affect in front of her employer. “I’ve been Samantha’s governess for ten years, ever since Lady Everard passed on.”
His gaze sharpened, though he smiled. “I take it you don’t remember the lady, then.”
Now she hesitated. She remembered Rosamunde Defaneuil all too well, but this was neither the time nor place to go into such details. In fact, she found the details disappearing from her thoughts as his smile warmed in encouragement. He had the most charming dimple at the side of his mouth, and she was suddenly aware of how close he stood to her in the wide corridor, how easy it would be to touch his hand, his face. As if he too realized it, desired it, he took a step closer.
Adele edged around him. “Forgive me, Mr. Everard, but I should check with Mrs. Linton about dinner.”
His gaze was so focused on her that she thought he might pursue her. Instead, he stepped back as if to distance himself. “Given the state of my cousin’s grief,” he said with obvious care, “perhaps she would prefer to take dinner alone. We could eat in our rooms.”
Adele frowned. “But you said you’d come to comfort her.”
He inclined his head. “I would not want to impose.”
“It is no imposition,” Adele assured him. “I think hearing your plans for her future would comfort her immensely.”
“It may be premature to discuss plans. After all, Mr. Caruthers has yet to formally read the will.”
“But surely you know its contents,” Adele protested.
His head came up, and his look speared her. “I’m not entirely certain what my uncle planned for Samantha. I would have thought he might confide in you.”
Never. He seemed to be one of those men, like her father, who danced through life with no thought that it might someday end. “His lordship knew she was to be presented this year. We were planning to go up after Easter.”
His words were slow and far too cautious. “We may have to reconsider.”
She felt as if she’d been struck. “Did he leave her nothing then?” She searched his face, hoping for some sign. As if he didn’t care for the scrutiny, he turned to gaze at her grandfather’s portrait again.
“I’m certain the girl will be cared for, but I wouldn’t want to make any decisions about going to London just yet.”
Adele held back a sigh with difficulty. Was Jerome Everard cut from the same cloth as his uncle? While she joined Samantha and the rest of the valley in applauding Lord Everard’s generous