The Rogue's Reform. Regina Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ the current circumstances. “Sinner or saint,” he told Vaughn, “we know one thing for certain. He managed to change his will with none of us being the wiser.”

       “I still say it’s Caruthers,” Vaughn answered. “Uncle would never have cut you out this way, Jerome.”

       Jerome wished he could believe it was as easy as a lying solicitor, but these changes smacked of something more. And it was too like his uncle to want to put Jerome in his place.

       Richard, however, seemed to agree with Vaughn. “You may be right. It sounds as if Caruthers knew about this house and that will the entire time, the old fox.”

       “Well, the fox will need to outrun the hounds this time,” Vaughn replied, returning to his pacing with a sudden grin that softened his sharp features. “It took us days to get here, but it may take Caruthers a fortnight to reach the manor, thanks to the reception I so graciously arranged along the way.”

       Jerome could only hope. Vaughn had left gold and instructions all along the coaching route, but whether the solicitor’s journey was slowed even further depended on where he chose to stop and with whom he chose to speak.

       “I’d say we have, at most, a week to learn the truth before Caruthers arrives,” Jerome told them. “Somewhere in this house is the proof he thinks will show that Samantha is Uncle’s legitimate daughter.”

       “What exactly are we looking for?” Richard asked.

       “A marriage certificate, most likely,” Jerome replied. “But it may be something more nebulous—a letter from Uncle to her mother, the written testimony of the attending physician or midwife, the notation of a vicar before her baptism. It’s probably kept somewhere secure—a safe, a strongbox, or with the older estate documents in the muniment room, if this place has that sort of archives.”

       Vaughn paused expectantly. “And when we find it, what then? Do we destroy it to prevent the lie from spreading?”

       “If necessary,” Jerome agreed.

       “And if she is Uncle’s daughter?” Vaughn pressed.

       How could he answer? A part of him wanted to hurl the proof into the nearest fire and be done with it. Was this why his grandfather had set up his own will to hem in his oldest son? He’d feared Arthur Everard’s recklessness, so he had insisted on an entail that put the control of most of the property and fortune with Caruthers. How he’d forced Uncle to sign the entail agreement, Jerome couldn’t imagine.

       But Grandfather’s will had tied Jerome’s hands as well, and Uncle and Caruthers had fought every improvement he’d proposed. For years he’d worked, studying farming so he could convince the solicitor to institute the best practices on their estates, learning the shipping trade with Richard so they could make optimum use of the share the Everards owned in various ships, scrutinizing every movement on the Exchange to ensure their investments grew. Despite the restrictions placed on him, he had managed to increase the fortune by over one hundred thousand pounds at last estimate, while their estates flourished and their ships sailed loaded with rich cargo.

       And Uncle valued Jerome’s skills so little that he offered a girl fresh from the schoolroom to replace him? Unthinkable!

       “She isn’t Uncle’s daughter,” he told Vaughn. “And we’re going to prove it.” He turned to his brother. “When the news of Uncle’s death is told, people are likely to dredge up memories about his life. You have a talent for getting people to talk to you. Strike up a friendly conversation at that inn we passed on our way into the valley. See what you can learn.”

       Richard nodded, gathering himself and rising.

       “And me?” Vaughn asked.

       Vaughn was the wobbly wheel on Jerome’s plan, the one most likely to roll off in another direction entirely. His unending need for action could prove a problem if not harnessed.

       “For now,” Jerome said, “keep the staff out of my way. Then I want you to befriend our new cousin. I’d like your impression of the girl.”

       Eyes lighting, Vaughn swept him a bow. “It would be my pleasure. I’ll know whether she’s an Everard. Count on it.”

       Jerome wanted to feel as certain, but he could only hope he had made the right decision about coming to Dallsten Manor and about bringing his volatile cousin with him.

       Adele hurried along the chamber story, passing paneled doors closed on seldom-used rooms, alcoves that held rare statues and fine works of art. Where was Samantha? Why hadn’t she waited in the schoolroom as ordered? She had to be found before she bumped into their guests. The girl deserved better than to hear the news of her father’s death from a stranger, albeit a handsome, charming one.

       Just the thought of Jerome’s wide, warm grin sent a tingle through Adele. How silly! Surely it was the drama—his sudden arrival, the news of Lord Everard’s death. If Adele had met Jerome Everard on a country road on the way to church, she probably wouldn’t even have noticed him.

       And perhaps pigs might fly.

       On Adele’s right, even her grandfather looked skeptical, standing tall and stern in his gilt-framed portrait. He had the same pinched-nose look as her mother, as if he were just as aghast that his descendant had fallen to such an end.

       A Dallsten, governess in her own home!

       Adele ignored him. The exalted Dallstens could toss and turn all they liked. Because she’d agreed to serve as governess, she had a home and she could be near her mother, who lived in the dower house at the foot of the drive. Because Adele was the governess, she was allowed a certain freedom, and she’d been able to keep the house generally intact. Thanks to Lord Everard’s capricious generosity, she had fine clothes to wear and good food to eat, even at the family table. Most days, she was truly grateful. Lord Everard had not been the most conscientious of men, but he had done very well by her family, going so far as to trust her with virtually all of the upbringing of his only daughter.

       Yet how could she tell Samantha the awful news? Adele hesitated at the door of the girl’s bedchamber. She remembered the feelings of loss all too well. She’d been about Samantha’s age when her father had died: thrown from a horse, and him a man who rode like the wind. And, like tossed by a blowing wind, her future, her hopes, had all tumbled away.

       She sighed. Life had turned out differently than she’d been taught to expect. In rare moments, she felt cheated, but most of the time, she simply did what must be done. And what must be done right now was to make sure Samantha wasn’t cheated in the same way. She squared her shoulders and opened the door.

       Samantha was seated at her cluttered dressing table, bare elbows shoving aside the jars of creams, the boxes of hair ribbons. Her brows were drawn over her pert nose as she regarded her reflection in the looking glass. Once her feet had swung high above the floor as Adele brushed out her golden curls. Now the table seemed too small for her in her pale muslin gown. But she still didn’t look old enough to be wearing her mother’s pearl bobs, which dangled from her ears.

       “Those are for special occasions, if you please,” Adele reminded her, venturing into the room.

       Samantha turned to her with a smile. “I thought three handsome visitors might be occasion enough.”

       Some of what Adele was feeling must have shown on her face, for Samantha’s grin faded. СКАЧАТЬ