The Captain's Courtship. Regina Scott

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      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.”

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