Regina Scott - The Rogue's Reform

“I wish we could have met under happier circumstances.” His long fingers toyed with his silver fork. “I’m sure I speak for all of us, dear cousin, when I say we share your sorrow.”

Compassion echoed in his warm voice, and Adele nodded her support across the table to her charge.

Samantha smiled bravely, her own dinner long forgotten. “You knew my father well?”

“Well?” Vaughn shook his head, light from the silver candelabra in the center of the table glinting on his platinum hair. “Can the acorn know the oak? The husk of wheat the rippling field?”

Adele raised a brow.

“Cousin Vaughn was particularly close to your father,” Jerome drawled, although Adele thought she saw him flash the fellow a look of warning. “Uncle helped raise all of us.”

“Don’t you have parents of your own?” Samantha asked.

“We did, or do in Vaughn’s case,” Jerome replied easily enough, as Adele tried not to look too eager to hear more. “But if you are interested in your family history, perhaps I should start with the first Lord Everard, our grandfather.”

Vaughn set down the crystal goblet from which he’d been drinking. “You have no sense of the dramatic,” he told Jerome, then leaned closer to Samantha. “Once, in the Grand Age before we were born, our grandfather was master of the seas.”

“He was a privateer,” Jerome explained to Adele.

That certainly made sense. She found it all too easy to imagine the three of them swinging from lines and grappling with pirates.

Vaughn ignored Jerome, obviously intent on his tale. “Legend has it he braved death to rescue a certain lady who’d been held for ransom on the high seas. His Majesty the King was so grateful, he graciously granted the old fellow a barony and an estate to support it.”

So that was how Samantha’s father came to be titled, through his own father. Adele had often wondered. Like his swordsman nephew, the former Lord Everard had seemed more dashing rogue than polished courtier.

“Regardless,” Jerome continued, brow raised as if annoyed to find himself upstaged by his colorful cousin, “he parlayed his riches into a considerable fortune, for which we can all be grateful. He also had three sons. Arthur, Samantha’s father, was the oldest. My father, Lancelot, was second.”

Samantha giggled. “Lancelot?”

Adele held back her own smile. “A great many gentlemen have romantic names,” she advised Samantha. “None appreciate being snickered at.”

Samantha wrinkled her nose, but Vaughn obviously didn’t mind laughing at the name, for he grinned at Samantha. “You think that’s tiresome? My father’s named Galahad.”

Samantha snorted and picked up her napkin to hide her grin, but her dark eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Grandfather named all his children after one knight or other from the days of King Arthur,” Vaughn explained. “And like the knights of old, they all distinguished themselves. Your father was our leader.”

“When it pleased him,” Jerome said, taking back control of the conversation with a wink to Adele. “My father managed the estates, even after Grandfather died and Uncle inherited the title. My parents were on a tour of the estates when they were killed in a carriage accident. I was thirteen, Richard ten. At that time, we all thought Uncle had sworn off marriage, making me the heir presumptive, so everyone agreed Richard and I should go live with him.”

Adele frowned. Then he’d known he was the heir before Samantha was even born. He would have been groomed for the role. Small wonder he looked pensive at times.

Across from her, Samantha sobered. “I’m sorry for your loss. My mother died when I was young, as well.”

Oh, no. They would not discuss Samantha’s mother if Adele had anything to say in the matter. She smiled at Jerome. “And did you and your brother take after your father, Mr. Everard, in managing the estates?”

“I did,” he replied with a smile that could only be called proud. “Richard preferred to look after our ships.”

“We have ships?” Samantha asked eagerly.

“A veritable fleet,” Vaughn assured her. “Cousin Richard took command immediately.”

“My brother rose to the rank of captain quickly,” Jerome agreed with far more humility in his voice.

“Tragically, he lost his one true love along the way,” Vaughn continued. “Lady Claire promised to wait until he returned, fortune made, but she proved fickle and gave her heart to another. It nearly destroyed him.”

“How sad,” Adele murmured. Even dashing privateers, it seemed, were prone to sorrow, just like far less dashing governesses.

“My brother prefers not to dwell on the past,” Jerome said to Adele, then he turned to his cousin and tipped up his chin. “However, I’m certain you’d prefer to take up the rest of the story.”

Vaughn shook back his white-gold hair and straightened in his seat. As if to be sure of his audience, his dark gaze traveled from Adele to Jerome to Samantha, who sat spellbound.

“My father was the youngest,” he said, voice low as if moved by emotion. “He was a dreamy lad, head always in the clouds. No one was surprised when he ran away from home to join a traveling caravan, journeying to the farthest parts of the world and partaking of all its riches. There he fell passionately in love with a gypsy princess. When she bore me, she begged him to return to his family so that I might be raised with the rights and privileges due an Everard.”

My word. That explained a great deal. Samantha blinked, obviously just as fascinated.

Jerome slowly clapped. “Well done. That story gets better each time you tell it. But I suggest you offer her the truth.”

Vaughn’s dark eyes glittered. “My father married an actress against Grandfather’s wishes. She dropped me in his arms, took Grandfather’s settlement offer and sailed for the Continent. My father became a scholar at Oxford. When I was expelled from Eton for dueling, he sent me to live with Uncle.”

“I like your first story better,” Samantha said.

Vaughn cocked a smile. “So do I.”

Adele glanced between the two men. Mouths curled fondly, muscular bodies leaned in repose, but she could not believe they were so unmoved by their stories. Each of the Everards had borne the pain of abandonment and loss of one sort or another. Small wonder they cleaved to each other.

Do they expect Samantha to join them, Lord? Do they have any idea what it means to shepherd a young girl through her first Season? Are they ready to accept the responsibility?

“Your pasts have been difficult,” she ventured into the companionable silence. “And I applaud your tenacity. But perhaps we should talk of the future. We have a number of questions about the upcoming Season.”

Samantha waved her hand. “We can talk about my Season later. Right now, I want to know how my father died.”

Jerome’s gaze dropped to the fine china before him. Vaughn’s fingers wrapped around his fork as if taking comfort from the cool metal. Adele met Samantha’s gaze, sure more bad news was coming.

“A tragic accident,” Jerome said at last, picking up his own fork again and spearing the last of the mutton. “No need to go into details.”

Adele let out a breath. That he refused to answer could only mean Samantha’s father had died in some horrid fashion. Samantha must have thought so, as well, for she frowned.

So did Vaughn. “You’re mollycoddling her,” he said to Jerome. “If I can’t make up stories, why should you?”

The room seemed to have darkened. Adele glanced between them again and knew Samantha was doing the same. Jerome sat stiffly, eyes narrowed at Vaughn. A tic was working in the swordsman’s lean jaw. This was no time for such posturing. Couldn’t they see that?