The Captain's Courtship

She nearly sighed aloud when she peered into the satinwood tea caddy. This was the last of her bohea. Funny how little things had come to mean so much now. Would she be able to get the mellow tea in the little town where she hoped to retire? For, regardless of what she’d told Richard and a few close friends, her funds would never extend to Bath or Italy. She was considering a two-room cottage in the tiny village of Nether Crawley, a day’s ride from London. Of course, with no carriage or horse, the distance was immaterial. Very likely, she would never see London again.

Help me remember why I made that choice, Lord. It does no good to wish it otherwise now.

She returned with Richard’s tea and set it in front of him. Lifting the cup to his mouth, he took a cautious sip. Now, why did that smile please her so much? She’d have thought she’d played a complicated Mozart sonata in front of the king.

“Are you certain you want to leave London?” he asked as he lowered the cup.

“Quite,” she replied. She turned her back on his frown and went to pour for herself.

“What if I could give you another Season, all expenses paid?”

She could not even reach for the teapot. Stay in London? Enjoy the balls, the parties; reacquaint herself with her friends, with no thought of tomorrow?

Ah, but she’d learned there always came the time to pay the piper. Tomorrow, however much she wished otherwise, would come. He only offered a reprieve. She would have to leave London regardless, before the Season, after the Season, for the same small house at the back of beyond. In the meantime, she would have to continue to pretend that her life was perfect, that she was perfect. No, not that. Lord, You know I am so tired of that.

She poured the last of the brew, the steam curling up to her face. “I fear my mind is made up, sir.”

“Then it’s my duty to change it.”

She turned to find him regarding her, his cup sitting in front of him, his hands braced on either side of it as if he meant to keep it captive.

“Sit down, Claire,” he ordered.

Mrs. Corday’s hands were moving so fast Claire thought the potato might fly across the table and embed itself in Richard Everard’s waistcoat. She left her cup on the sideboard and went to lay a hand on her cook’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Corday. Our guest is a sea captain. He’s no doubt forgotten that it isn’t polite to give orders to people who are not his subordinates.”

Mrs. Corday cast Richard a quick glance. “As you say, your ladyship.”

He had the good grace to incline his head, and the light from the lamps overhead made a halo on the crown of his auburn hair. “Forgive me, Mrs. Corday. You are the captain of your kitchen. I should have asked permission to come aboard.”

The older woman’s rosy lips quirked as if she were fighting a smile. “It’s no trouble, sir. Would you care for a biscuit to go with your tea?”

“If you made it,” he said with a smile, “I’m sure I’d enjoy it.”

She set down the potato and hurried to the pantry.

So, he could be perfectly charming to the staff, but not to Claire. Well, she wasn’t going to allow him to order her about, either. She swept back to the sideboard and busied herself adding sugar to the tea. Normally she preferred three teaspoons, but she had to economize. She took a sip of the flavorful brew, even as she heard Mrs. Corday murmuring to their guest and the clink of porcelain on oak as she set the plate of the last biscuits on the table.

“Please sit down, Lady Winthrop,” Richard Everard said quietly. “I have a great deal to explain.”

Claire steeled herself, picked up her cup and turned. His smile was contrite, his face composed. She couldn’t trust what lay beneath that fair surface, but she went to join him at the table. Her cook began cutting the potatoes into a copper pot.

“I should probably start with expressing my condolences on your loss,” he continued in that gentle tone.

“And mine on yours,” she acknowledged. “Though, as I recall, you and your uncle were no longer close.”

He rubbed a long finger along the wood grain of the table. She’d always thought he should play the piano with those hands. Certainly he could have managed the octave-and-a-half reach that still eluded her. And he’d definitely had the fire to play with enthusiasm, once.

“Uncle had changed recently,” he said. “Tried to make amends, to me, my brother and cousin, as well as his daughter.”

“So he really has a daughter?” Claire could not see the pleasure-loving Lord Everard as a doting father. His exploits—from duels at daybreak to wagers at one in the morning—were legendary. “Where has she been all these years?”

“Cumberland, in an old manor house. She was raised to be a lady, Claire. You need have no worries on that score.”

She should protest the way her first name kept coming so easily to his lips, but the sound of it was sweet. With her father and husband dead, no one called her Claire anymore. “You intend to bring her out this year?”

“Right after Easter. She’ll need a coming-out ball or some such, I suppose—clothes, of course—oh, and presentation to the queen.”

So that was why he needed her. He could have found someone to cater an event, issue invitations, and certainly any dressmaker could have gowned the girl. But to be presented to the queen, Richard’s cousin needed someone who had already been presented, a lady of some social standing, a lady like Claire.

Which meant that Richard Everard needed her help, almost as badly as she needed his. Was it possible she could parlay his request into more?

Is this a door You want me to walk through, Lord?

Aloud, she murmured, “I imagine she has her heart set on this Season.”

“She’s actually a bit intimidated by the prospect,” he confessed with a fond smile. “She needs a good example.”

Now, that would be pleasant, serving as an example to a young girl, helping her avoid Claire’s mistakes. But did she really want to relive those mistakes any more than she already had?

“Perhaps you should wait a year, then,” Claire replied. “She’s only sixteen, you said. Plenty of time.”

He shifted on the chair, spine straightening, chin lifting. Sitting beside him, she could see the physical influences of his profession—the golden tan of his skin where the sun had caressed him, the lines at the corners of his eyes where he’d gazed across the horizon.

“It must be this year,” he said.

Interesting. Why was he so insistent? She’d been pushed to do her duty too many times to force it on another, particularly a girl fresh from the schoolroom. “Nonsense, sir. I assure you a maiden needs a certain level of maturity to do well in London. Would you pluck a peach before it had ripened?”

“Lady Everard is hardly a fruit.”

Claire sat taller. “Lady Everard? Then she has the title. Oh, your brother must be beside himself.”

Even with his close beard, she could see the tension in that square jaw. “My brother Jerome is delighted with the turn of events. He was married four days ago and is busy setting up his household.”

“Indeed. I must send him a note in congratulations. Who is the lucky bride?”

He leaned back from the table. Oh, but he didn’t want to give her the information. Claire kept her smile polite. A lady did not gloat in triumph at discomfiting a troublesome guest, however sorely she was tempted.

“Her name is Adele Walcott,” he said.

Claire tapped her chin with one finger. “Adele Walcott. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Is she related to Admiral Walcott?”

“Not that I know of.”

“The Walcotts of Gloucester, then.”

“No.”

“Daniel Walcott, the Parliamentarian from Dover?”

“No. She’s from Cumberland. Until recently she was Lady Everard’s governess.”

The story improved by the moment. But it would do his cousin no good. One could only dine on gossip for so long. Claire took a sip of her tea. “So, your brother married the girl’s governess, and you need another suitable female willing to play tagalong so your cousin can join Society. Naturally you’d think of me.”

“I thought of you,” he gritted out, “because you are the only lady known to the queen and perhaps willing to help my family.”

“My dear Captain Everard,” Claire replied, “I have no idea what gave you that impression.”

As if she’d pushed him too far, he rose, dwarfing the table, dwarfing her. “Oh, you’ll help us, Claire, and I’ll tell you why. You want to stay in London, and I can give you that.”

“Indeed.” Did he truly think it that easy? Richard Everard wanted her in London, therefore in London he expected her to be. Well, London, she had learned to her sorrow, exacted a price from its residents. She wasn’t sure she was willing to pay it any longer. But if she was going to stay, it would be on her terms.

She glared up at him. “Staying in London does not come cheap, sir, and neither do I. I have any number of requirements that must be met before I would even consider changing my plans. And I would need to know that your intentions are serious this time. Just how much are you willing to invest to guarantee your cousin’s success and my goodwill?”

Chapter Three

Why was it only money that made the rose bloom in those fair cheeks? Once Richard would have given anything to be the one who made Claire smile. Now he was tempted to wring her neck.

As if she could see trouble brewing, she raised her chin. “Sit down, Captain Everard,” she said. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

He wasn’t so frustrated that he didn’t recognize she was turning his own words against him. Perhaps he had been too demanding. But the subject was a difficult one, with so many aspects that he could not confide in anyone outside the family, especially not a woman who’d proven particularly unfaithful in the past.

Still, Claire was their only hope. He had a duty to his cousin Samantha, a promise to keep.

Funny. He’d only known of the girl’s existence for a month, after the family solicitor, Benjamin Caruthers, had informed Richard, his brother Jerome and their cousin Vaughn of the contents of their uncle’s will and the fact that his daughter would inherit the bulk of the estate. Jerome had been certain it was all a lie, some game of Uncle’s, even from the grave. But after riding to Cumberland and spending a fortnight in the girl’s company, they were in agreement. Samantha was an Everard through and through.

Richard had never come to care for anyone so quickly, except for Claire. His new cousin deserved his loyalty and his best effort as she embarked on this Season, which would mark the triumph or doom of his family. If humbling himself in front of Claire would help, he’d simply have to do it. They had nowhere else to turn.

Samantha must be presented at court, and only a lady like Claire could sponsor her. Given his uncle’s wild ways, few ladies were willing to risk their reputations by associating themselves with the Everards. But Claire posed an opportunity, and he’d be mad not to take it.

He returned to his seat and made himself pick up the fragile teacup like the polished gentleman he was. “We’re not lacking in funds,” he assured Claire, with a quick glance at Mrs. Corday. The woman had moved to the hearth and was arranging her pot on the fire, her broad back to him, but he had no doubt she could still hear every word that was said across the room. He couldn’t risk any hint of scandal, for Samantha’s sake.

“I’m delighted you’re prepared,” Claire said beside him. She was too proper to show her triumph at his apparent capitulation, but he thought he heard it in her voice. She had a siren’s voice, warm, low, compelling. He’d found it hard not to heed ten years ago, and it wasn’t any easier to ignore now.

She eyed him speculatively, as if calculating just what it would take to break him. “Very likely, your cousin will need an entirely new wardrobe, and that will be pricey.”

“Fripperies,” Richard scoffed.

Her smile grew. “You’d be surprised at the cost of fripperies, sir. You’ll need to refurbish the Everard town house as well.”

Richard frowned. “Why? It’s good enough for the rest of us.”

She sniffed, a mere tightening of her nostrils. “I’m sure it was quite sufficient for your uncle and the three of you, who rarely entertained among your class. For a young girl with a score of suitors and acquaintances coming to call, no.”

She had a point there. He wasn’t sure when a fresh coat of paint had been slapped on the light green walls. And Uncle’s tastes in decor might give some people pause. Some years ago, he had purchased a fifteen-foot-tall marble statue of a naked woman holding out a golden apple. It currently resided in the entry hall. Samantha would no doubt be intrigued by the piece, but he could imagine how any other lady entering the house might take it.

“We can redecorate,” he agreed.

“And increase the staff,” she insisted. “Your uncle was rather famous for plaguing the help. What was the record, four valets in one year?”

She was right there as well. The fourth, Repton, had disappeared the night Uncle had died in what the authorities persisted in calling a duel, even though his opponent was unknown. The other servants had found Uncle’s whimsical approach to life, forever haring off after a new interest, equally frustrating.

“I’ll see that the town house is adequately staffed,” Richard promised.

She picked up her teacup. “If you require a footman or cook, I can give you recommendations.”

Mrs. Corday paused in washing her hands to gaze at her mistress with worshipful eyes. Did the woman need a position, then? The current cook at Everard House had given notice just last week, saying his skills were wasted on men who were so seldom in residence. On the other hand, Claire’s cook seemed competent, and the biscuit had been nicely done.

Richard nodded in her direction. “Consider yourself hired, Mrs. Corday.”

Eyes widening, she bobbed a curtsy. “Oh, God bless you, sir, your ladyship!”

But Claire wasn’t finished. “You’ll need a town carriage, too, I think,” she said, gazing off in the middle distance. “You all go on horseback far too often. And a matched set of horses in black or white. Nothing looks more slovenly than to arrive at a ball with a ragtag set of nags.”

Samantha would be through her inheritance in hours. “And I suppose you’d like several teams to match her gowns.”

She gave him one of her elegant waves. “We needn’t go so far as all that. Though I will expect a respectable coachman and a groom. And a decent riding horse.” She paused to frown. “She does ride, does she not?”

“Like the wind, I’m told,” Richard said with a grin. “She’s an Everard.”

“A matter of considerable concern,” she replied, then continued before he could take umbrage. “Tell me about her other skills. Does she play an instrument?”

“The piano, with enthusiasm.” Richard knew he sounded defensive. Samantha was a darling, no matter what anyone thought of her family name. Any man would be lucky to claim her heart and her hand in marriage.

“Sing?” Claire persisted.

“I haven’t heard her, but her speaking voice is pleasant enough.”

“Paint?”

He raised a brow. “Paint?”

She pursed her lips, and he had to look away as memories flooded in like a high tide. What was wrong with him? Even after ten years, he found it far too easy to remember how soft those lips had felt against his, how easily they could form words that cut him to the quick.

“Well,” she said, blithely unaware, as usual, of the turmoil she was causing inside him. “I suppose painting is optional. She is versed in the latest dances?”

Richard struggled to focus on her questions. “I wouldn’t know.”

Her frown was back. “Has she ever attended a local assembly?”

He hadn’t realized such things would be important. “Not to my knowledge.”

“A party at her own home, then.”

The party his uncle had held every year came to mind. Samantha and her governess, Adele Walcott, who had married his brother Jerome last week, spoke of an event each summer, when his uncle entertained all his neighbors, great and small, on the grounds of Dallsten Manor in Cumberland. While the locals toasted his health, he’d met with other men inside the manor, and no one knew what they had discussed or who had been invited, except for his uncle’s closest friend, the Marquess of Widmore. But Adele had made it sound as if Samantha had always been sent inside in the evening, when the locals held a dance.

“I suspect she’s never danced with a partner,” Richard told Claire.

She shook her head at such a ramshackle upbringing, and one of her curls came free from her bun. It hung between her ear and cheek, a strand of silky sunlight in the dark kitchen. He grabbed his cup of tea and made himself take a sip of the cooling brew rather than reach out to touch the gleaming gold.

“Then she must have a dance master, before she reaches London,” she declared. “I’ll write to Monsieur Chevalier immediately.”

“Chevalier?” Richard asked, setting down the cup but keeping his fingers anchored to the handle.

“Henri Chevalier, a dance master of some note. He’s trained any number of young ladies the last few years, including a foreign princess.”

Just what he needed, a swell-headed fop teaching Samantha to take on airs. “We can put an ad in the Carlisle paper and find someone in Cumberland.”

She raised a delicate brow. “Certainly we could do that, if Lady Everard was coming out in the wilds of Cumberland. As she is making her debut in London, under my tutelage, only a London master will do. Chevalier is the best, the son of a deposed French count. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your cousin to make do with less.”

And how was he to answer that? Of course he wanted the best for Samantha. That was one of the reasons he hoped Claire would sponsor her. “Very well,” he conceded. “See if your fancy London fellow is available to come with me to Cumberland. I planned to leave tomorrow morning.”

“That,” she said, “we shall discuss in a moment.”

“So you even intend to dictate my travel, madam?” Richard challenged.

She tsked. “Come now, sir. If you wish to bargain, you must be willing to put everything on the counter.”

“Bargain, madam?” What more did she want? Ready for the worst, he braced his hands on the hard wood of the table.

“A turn of phrase, sir,” she assured him, but she straightened in her ladder-back chair as if making a decision. “Allow me to sum up our discussion for you. You wish me to sponsor an untried girl of indeterminate skills, a girl I have never met, and shepherd her through her first Season, including being presented to Her Royal Majesty.”

“And be welcomed everywhere,” Richard added, remembering the requirements of his uncle’s will, which his cousin Samantha was trying so hard to fulfill. “And garner at least three offers of marriage from suitable gentlemen.”

She trilled a laugh. “Why stop at three, sir? Why not a dozen?”

Richard gritted his teeth. “Three will be sufficient. Then you’ll do it?”

She held up a hand. “Perhaps you should hear my requirements first.”

“I heard them—a new wardrobe for Samantha; a carriage and team with coachman, groom and riding horse; the town house refurbished and staffed; and the services of a dance master.”

“The services of Monsieur Chevalier,” she corrected him. “And all that you will need for your cousin regardless of who sponsors her. I’m sure you’ll agree that I deserve something for my struggles.”

So she truly would bargain with him, just as she’d done with the tradesman. He wasn’t sure why that so disappointed him. She was right. He was asking her to change her plans, risk her reputation. Yet he couldn’t help thinking that Claire was the one who had gone back on her word ten years ago. It seemed only fair she do him this favor now.

“What struggles?” he protested. “Samantha is a beauty. Your work will not be onerous.”

“You, sir, have never been a girl on her first London Season. Besides, beauties often require the most effort from their sponsors. I will need a new wardrobe.”

Richard eyed her black dress. “What you’re wearing ought to scare off obnoxious suitors.”

Her smile remained polite, though he thought he saw her eyes narrow just the slightest. “Doubtless. But I’m certain you’d like me to reflect well on Lady Everard in public. You did say I was to be an example. Or do you intend to gown her in black as well?”

Neither his uncle nor his cousin would have stood for it. “My uncle insisted that she enjoy her Season,” he told Claire.

She inclined her head. “And I shall see that she enjoys it thoroughly. I will also require a maid. French, I think.”

Richard gaped. “What possible good can that do?”

She tapped her finger on the table by his cup. “Think, Captain Everard. Your cousin has been raised in the wilderness. Her personal maid cannot possibly be versed in the latest styles.”

“As far as I know, she doesn’t even require a maid!”

She shook her head. “Every lady requires a maid. You, sir, have never had to pull on a ball gown alone. Having a maid to serve your cousin and me will solve that problem, won’t it?”

He hated it when she sounded so reasonable about such a triviality. “Very well.”

She nodded as if pleased by his answer. “And when the Season is over, you will set me up in a house, anywhere I want to go.”

A house? She had to know what she asked. Any lady who took such an offer from a gentleman would no longer be welcomed by the ton. Besides, he couldn’t believe she truly wanted to leave London, or that she lacked the funds to do so herself.

“That’s a tall order,” he returned. “Who knows where you’ll wish to settle? Shipping a household to Italy can cost a fortune.”

“Which you claim to have,” she pointed out.

More than he’d ever dreamed, if Samantha managed her Season as planned. But he was no longer so willing to lay that fortune at Claire’s feet. “My cousin inherited a great deal of the legacy,” he said. “I can’t in good conscience make promises against it without her approval.”

She gazed at him in obvious wonder. “An Everard taking orders from a slip of a girl. That must have cost you a great deal to admit.”

“Not as much as once.” He pushed the tea away. “If it’s a new house you fancy, I’ll agree to setting you up somewhere in England, Claire. No more. And your reputation will take a beating if our agreement ever becomes public knowledge.”

“Then we will keep it private,” she said. “I’m a longtime friend of the family, who is delighted to sponsor the new Lady Everard. That is all anyone need know.”

He hoped it would be so easy. “So, we’re agreed. A new wardrobe, a French maid and relocation in England at the end. Anything else?”

Her smile broadened. “Yes. If you’d be so good as to deliver the mirror in the sitting room to Mr. Devizes, I think I might be ready to journey to Cumberland to meet your cousin by this time tomorrow.”

Richard blinked. “Cumberland? Why would you go to Cumberland?”

“To meet your cousin, of course. To make sure she’s ready.”

“I planned to bring her to you after Easter.”

Claire’s smile was kind. “Nonsense. I’ve already sold the town house, and you just hired my cook. Where did you expect me to live until Easter, sir?”

He could only stare at her as she rose and collected the cup. “Now, then, go about your business. I shall see you on the morrow, and we will have several days to discuss matters on our way north.”

Several days with Claire? Some part of him brightened at the thought, and he immediately squashed it. What was wrong with him? Lady Claire Winthrop was entirely too good at manipulating his feelings. If she could get him to agree to a new wardrobe, a French maid and a new house in the space of a quarter hour, what more would he end up conceding after several days in Claire’s company?

And he still couldn’t entirely believe she had agreed to help him, constrained circumstances or not. Besides, how had her circumstances become so constrained? Her father had been wealthy; he’d been the one to insist that Richard find a way to care for Claire in style. Richard had always assumed her late husband was wealthy, otherwise, why not fulfill her promise to marry Richard? Surely her father and husband had provided for her in their wills or arranged some marriage portion. Had she gone through the money in a year’s time? Given their conversation, he could almost believe it.