Regina Scott - The Heiress's Homecoming

Will had seldom seen his son’s face so mulish. His brows were gathered, his lips tight and his head was every bit as high and proud as hers as he dropped his hand to the side of his coat. “How can I let it go when your choice will take you away from me...away from Evendale?”

If she noticed his lapse, she was wise enough not to comment on it. “I will come visit. I promise.”

“It won’t be the same.”

Will winced at the adolescent whine. With every movement, every word, his son proved how young he was. And Will didn’t want him any more attached to this woman.

“James,” he said, “the lady asked you to drop the subject. I suggest you comply.”

He regretted his suggestion immediately, for his son blanched. Jamie snapped Lady Everard a bow. “Never intended to hurt you. Sorry.”

Now she paled, and Will could not understand the reason. “There’s no need to apologize,” she replied. “I know you have my best interests at heart. Please tell Mrs. Dallsten Walcott I’m sorry I missed the party. I should go.” Her curtsey was a mere bob of her head before she fled.

“You didn’t need to berate me in front of her,” Jamie said in the silence that followed, his gaze on the floor. “She already considers me a child.”

Jamie’s actions spoke louder than Will’s chastisement, but Will didn’t think the boy would appreciate the fact. He kept his voice gentle. “Sometimes those who watch us grow up are the last to see us change.”

“I suppose so.” His deep sigh could have felled a forest.

Under other circumstances Will would have been hard-pressed not to smile at the dramatic performance, but now he could only wonder how far things had progressed between his son and their lovely neighbor. “I realize you’ve known her for years,” he ventured. “Your grandfather wrote me letters and told me about your antics as children.”

Jamie nodded, clearly avoiding Will’s gaze. “She was always there, as long as I can remember.”

When he hadn’t been. Will had run off with the diplomatic corps shortly after Jamie had been born, and only his brother’s death had brought Will home. He tried to ignore the guilt that tugged at him. “I suppose it’s natural that you’d come in contact with her. The Everards are our closest neighbors.”

Jamie shook his head, one corner of his mouth lifting. “She was more than a neighbor. She was my best friend. And she was always up for a lark. We used to ride together and play catch-me-who-can in the woods. Grandfather even had me take lessons from her governess when we were between tutors.” He sighed again, and another forest tumbled.

“But she’s been in London the past few years, hasn’t she?” Will asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. From what he knew of the Everard family, it would not have surprised him to learn that his son and the lady had been meeting in private.

“Eight years,” Jamie agreed so heavily he made the time sound like decades. He glanced up at his father, defiance shining in his eyes. “I wrote to her.”

Will leaned his hip against the sofa, trying not to overreact. Neither his son nor Will’s consequence would thank him for it. “And did she return your sentiments?”

Jamie gazed out the door. “She wrote back, but she never claimed anything more than friendship.”

Relief was palpable. He could only hope the lady would remain nothing more than a friend. “And may I ask your intentions now?”

Jamie shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I should have known better than to try, but I thought perhaps she might see me differently with her back against the wall.”

She felt trapped? Was that why she’d been crying? Despite his intentions, Will straightened and came around the sofa to join his son by the door. “What do you mean? What’s troubling her?”

Jamie flushed. “Apparently she doesn’t wish me to speak of it. I cannot abuse her trust, Father. I hope you understand.”

Will was afraid he understood all too well. Jamie was in love with Samantha Everard. He was tempted to put it down to calf-love—that tempestuous emotion that sometimes plagued the youth. But he had not forgotten the feelings he’d had for Jamie’s mother, and at an equally young age. He would never have claimed that was anything short of love.

“You need say no more,” Will promised him. Indeed, at the moment, he was less interested in hearing from his son and more interested in hearing from the lady herself. But he needed no audience save hers.

“Perhaps you should return to the party,” he suggested to Jamie. “You are the guest of honor, after all.”

Jamie nodded, but Will was certain his son would take little joy from the remainder of the evening.

He escorted Jamie back to the hall; introduced him to the wife of a local baronet, a lady who would in no way affect his emotions as they danced; ignored yet another imperious look from his hostess; and darted for the entryway. If Lady Everard was waiting for her carriage, he wanted to catch her before she departed.

He had never met any of the Everards personally, but what he suspected would be enough to give most men pause. He’d been in the process of marrying and mourning when Arthur, Lord Everard, had moved his wife and young daughter into Dallsten Manor, the estate to the south of the Kendrick seat.

While he was away trying to forget his lost love, Samantha Everard had grown into a beautiful woman, one who had gathered an offer of marriage from more than one gentleman, he’d heard. Yet despite her wealth, charm and beauty, she had accepted no man as husband. He wasn’t sure why and feared the reason would only hurt his son. He could understand Jamie’s infatuation, but he could not allow it to go any further.

As he had hoped, she was waiting in the entryway. One of his footmen must have retrieved her evening cloak, for the black velvet that draped her made her seem all too slender, almost ethereal, as if one of the fairies rumored to live in the forests nearby had come to visit.

She certainly had more energy than a mythical creature. Instead of standing regally as a lady normally would, she was striding back and forth in front of the white marble columns that separated the entry from the wood-paneled main corridor of the house. She moved so quickly, in fact, he wondered that her kid leather slippers didn’t wear out against the black-and-white marble tiles.

But at least her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror on the opposite wall proved she was the only guest waiting. With the late supper soon to be served, none of his other visitors were ready to depart. The only other people in the space were the footmen who stood at attention in their coats and breeches on either side of the wide-paneled door that fronted the drive, and Will knew he could count on their discretion.

“Lady Everard,” he said, approaching her, and she pulled herself up in obvious surprise, skirts swirling about her ankles like a gentle tide. The smile that brightened her face stopped his movement, his thoughts and very nearly his breath.

“Lord Kendrick,” she said. “You didn’t have to abandon your other guests for me. Your staff is wondrously efficient. I expect my carriage any moment.”

He thought the footmen stood a little taller at her praise. He wanted to stand a little taller as she gazed up at him. This was ridiculous! He wasn’t an eighteen-year-old lad on his first year in Society. And he feared something far darker lay beneath that pleasing smile.

“I wished a word with you before you left,” he said, lowering his voice. “I must ask your intentions concerning my son.”

Her golden brows shot up. “My intentions? Isn’t it generally the lady’s father who asks that question, of a suitor?”

She was right of course, and she could not know he’d just asked Jamie the same question.