Regina Scott - The Captain's Courtship

Lord Widmore was a refreshing change. He always treated her with respect and raised topics of conversation as if assuming she had every right to take part in the discussion.

“You’re heading for Cumberland, I hear,” he said now, falling into step with her as she returned to the ballroom from the card room, where she had helped Lord Eustace trump Lord Thurston. “With Everard, no less.”

Claire nodded to a passing acquaintance. “A gentlemanly escort is useful when traversing the wilds.”

“Or navigating the ton,” the marquess acknowledged. “I should hate to see your generous nature put to the test.”

Claire smiled at him. “Thank you for your concern, my lord, but I’m certain I will be fine.”

“They are Everards, you know.” When she looked him askance, he merely shrugged. “Much as I enjoyed Lord Everard’s company, I know some consider his family a bit on the scandalous side. And there is, of course, the question about the girl’s paternity.”

Claire motioned him aside, closer to the pale blue wall and away from any other guests. “My lord, surely you don’t malign an innocent child.”

His eyes searched hers, as if trying to gauge her inner strength. “It is not her innocence that concerns me. There are issues here you cannot know, secrets the Everards are hiding from you. Are you certain you wish to associate yourself with that group?”

Secrets? Issues? Had Richard withheld information to gain her trust? Oh, those doubts were too easy to blossom, yet she could not risk all she’d tried to accomplish by giving in to them, especially not in front of the marquess, of all people.

“I am an old friend of the family,” she said dutifully. “It’s my pleasure to sponsor Lady Everard for her Season.”

He looked less mollified than anyone to whom she had peddled the tale. “Then you are intent on helping them.”

“Quite.”

He surprised her by laying a hand on her arm, his long face serious. “If you need anything, if the girl needs anything, let me know. I can do that much for her father.”

Claire swallowed as he withdrew his touch. “Thank you, my lord.” She very nearly let him go, then realized she did need help, in one area. “There is something, a triviality.”

His face was still as serious. “Name it.”

“I want Monsieur Chevalier to teach her dancing. I believe your daughter benefited from his instruction.”

He smiled then, as if he’d found the answer to his concerns. “Indeed she did. I’m sure I can offer incentive to send the fellow to you. Consider the matter settled.”

The other gentleman, however, was not so easily appeased. Everywhere she went, whatever she was doing, Richard was watching. Her husband had always abandoned her the moment he could, preferring the card room or the company of his friends to hers. But tonight she was constantly aware that Richard stood nearby, never interrupting, never threatening, but always ready to do her a service. If he was hiding some dark secret, he didn’t show it. His smile remained pleasant, his carriage confident.

He was the one who brought her a fan when the room proved heated. He was the one who found her and Horace Hapheart a table in the crowded supper room. And he was the one who sat at her side when she plopped down on a chair near the end of the night, exhausted.

“Ready to leave?” he asked.

Claire nodded with a sigh. “My task is accomplished.”

“Is it?” He cocked his head. “I thought you had one more duty tonight—to dance with me.”

Dread fell like a rock into her stomach, but she kept her smile in place. “But you haven’t danced all evening.”

His mouth turned up on one corner, as if he was pleased at the thought that she might have been watching him as well. “Perhaps I was waiting for the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Claire made a show of glancing about. “Ah, I believe you are in luck. Lady Imogene is just releasing her current partner, and no one else has rushed forward yet, for once.”

“Lady Imogene can dance with a monkey for all I care,” he said with charming conviction. “Partner me, Claire.”

She couldn’t. Oh, she couldn’t! She’d longed to dance, to move with the music, to smile at her partner across the way in the pure joy of the moment. But she didn’t dare trust herself, especially with Richard.

“I regret that I do not feel it proper for a lady in mourning to dance,” she told him.

His smile was melting into a frown. “And aren’t you planning to give up mourning when we return to London?”

“For your cousin’s sake, certainly. I can’t go about looking like an old crow if I’m sponsoring her.”

“You don’t even resemble a young crow,” Richard said. “I’ve been patient. One dance is not too much to ask, madam.”

Her mouth was dry. Father, please! Make him give this up. You know why I can’t dance. Guilt poked at her for fending him off. “Unfortunately, I am quite fatigued. Will you be a dear and call for the carriage?”

He rose, and she nearly sighed with relief. But his puzzled look down at her told her he wasn’t satisfied by her answer. “Very well, Lady Winthrop, I’ll strike my colors and fetch you the carriage. But you’re hiding something, and we have three long days ahead of us for me to discover what that might be. I only hope I can convince you to trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

Chapter Seven

She’s changed.

The thought kept running through Richard’s mind as he saw Claire home and returned to Everard House for his own bed. Claire had always been popular; when he’d been courting her, at some balls he’d had to wade through suitors six deep to reach her side. Then she’d seemed entirely too aware of the power she held over them all; as little as a frown from her would take the wind from their sails. Tonight, she’d been gracious to everyone, from Widmore to the feckless Horace Hapheart. Was it all part of her plan to win them to Samantha’s side, or had her proud heart truly softened?

Then there was the matter of her dancing. Claire had danced with a rare combination of joy and grace. He’d found it hard to take his eyes off her as she swung around him, and he’d never known her to sit out a set. Yet tonight she hadn’t stepped onto the floor once. He simply couldn’t believe she’d forgo the pleasure just to complete her so-called strategy. So, why refuse to dance with him? Was he still so repugnant to her?

He was still thinking about the ball when he left the house the next morning to complete his preparations for the trip north. Mr. Marshall, the butler, had agreed, uncommon gleam in his eyes, to hire more staff and prepare the house for Samantha’s arrival, with the help of the decorator Richard had commissioned. Now Richard just had to see that Samantha reached London as planned.

He’d ridden from Cumberland, but he couldn’t see Claire making the return journey that way. And Vaughn’s chariot, though sporty, wasn’t built for travel over long distances. So he hired a post chaise and postilion and made arrangements for changes of horses along the way.

His second task was more grim. At his brother’s suggestion, he’d enlisted the aid of a Bow Street Runner to look into the disappearance of Repton, his uncle’s valet, and the treacherous footman Todd, who had stolen from them and threatened Jerome and his wife. Richard had no reason to think the footman had returned to London, but the famed thief-takers associated with the Bow Street magistrate’s office could travel anywhere in England, on request.

“I’ve found nothing on your valet,” the runner reported that morning, when Richard met him at a public house near the office. A slight, older man with graying, curly hair and a lined face, he wore his red waistcoat, the badge of office, proudly. “But a fellow matching the description of your footman turned up.”