My Favorite Bride

  Contents

  One “It’s not that you were a pickpocket, Samantha.

  Two Slack-jawed, Samantha stood in the grass next to. . .

  Three Samantha woke to the clatter of dishes at her bedside.

  Four In the daylight, Colonel Gregory looked even more. . .

  Five Miss Prendregast strode from the room and snapped. . .

  Six “My gracious, young man, you certainly know. . .

  Seven “Those children are monsters.”

  Eight “We can’t eat like this.”

  Nine In the elegant dining room, at the head of a long. . .

  Ten Duncan raced his stallion along the twilit road.

  Eleven The next day, at the stroke of noon, Teresa. . .

  Twelve A scratching at her bedroom door made Samantha. . .

  Thirteen William threw his bedroom window open, leaned. . .

  Fourteen As William expected, Teresa sat enthroned beneath. . .

  Fifteen “Psst.”

  Sixteen Lady Marchant sat at one of the tables beneath a. . .

  Seventeen The guest cottage was very nice. Tiny, but nice.

  Eighteen “See, William, darling? You were right.

  Nineteen That evening, in the music room, as those horrible. . .

  Twenty Teresa viewed her pièce de resistance.

  Twenty-one The music floated out of the ballroom, the moonlight. . .

  Twenty-two William strode up on the porch of the guest house.

  Twenty-three Samantha woke to the sound of the kindling igniting. . .

  Twenty-four “Are you going to untie me, or leave me like this all day long?”

  Twenty-five It was almost finished, this horrible houseparty. . .

  Twenty-six William stalked into his bedchamber and pointed to his valet.

  Twenty-seven Samantha woke with the first light.

  Twenty-eight As William slumbered, Samantha slipped from the bed.

  Twenty-nine The coach careened down the mountain and with. . .

  About the Author

  Books by Christina Dodd

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  LONDON

  SUMMER, 1847

  “It’s not that you were a pickpocket, Samantha. It’s that you persist in exposing your employers’ foibles to your employers themselves, and they don’t care for it.” Adorna, Lady Bucknell, spoke in her soft and husky voice, and anyone listening would think she placidly accepted Samantha’s most recent dismissal.

  Samantha Prendregast didn’t make that mistake. She stood before the desk with her chin up, shoulders back, just as Adorna had taught her. “No, ma’am.”

  The study of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses had been decorated in shades of pale blue, and Adorna’s lush blonde beauty shone like a diamond in a satin setting. “I warned you about Mr. Wordlaw. I told you he was a martinet who believes women should be seen and not heard, and you assured me you would be able to handle him.”

  Samantha resisted the desire to shift back and forth. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Yet in two short months you are back at the Distinguished Academy of Governesses without a job, without a reference, and with a guarantee that Mr. Wordlaw’s vengefulness will spread your larcenous reputation among the few of the ton who don’t yet know it.” Adorna folded her hands beneath her chin and fixed her large blue eyes on Samantha. “So what is your defense this time?”

  Samantha thought of what she should say, how she could pacify Adorna, but she had given up lying at the same time she had given up stealing. “He bullies his son. The lad doesn’t want to study the law. Little Norman stammers already, and when his father dragged him up in front of the entire family and mocked him, my heart ached for him, and I wanted to”—she grew warm as she thought about that day, or perhaps the heat of a summer day in the City affected her—“teach that man a lesson.”

  “So you told his wife about his mistress and convinced his mistress to abandon him. How will that benefit young Norman?”

  “Mrs. Wordlaw’s father controls the money. She has taken her son and left Wordlaw, which she should have done years ago, but she was too proud to admit she’d made a mistake. Norman’s grandfather will make sure Norman gets to follow his dream.” Samantha remembered how science fascinated the boy. “I think the lad is going to invent something wonderful.”

  “And the mistress?”

  Samantha grinned. “She’s a friend of mine from my street days. She relished giving the old whoreson the heave-ho for a chance at young Lord Penwyn.”

  “How did she get that chance?”

  “I arranged it.”

  Adorna’s delicate sigh conveyed resignation. “I’ll wager you did.”

  “My lady, I’m sorry I lost the position and brought disgrace upon the Distinguished Academy of Governesses.” Samantha really was sorry, sorrier than she could say. “But I’m not sorry I helped Norman.”

  “No, I’m not sorry, either. But there are always more discreet ways of maneuvering.”

  Samantha hated that she had disappointed Adorna—again. “I know. I really, really do. I try to remember what you tell me, but sometimes I lose my temper, and I don’t get it back for a long time. By then it’s too late.”

  “Sit down.” Adorna indicated the blue velvet chair beside Samantha.

  Samantha slid into it gratefully. Adorna had rescued her from the streets six years before, and for the first three of those years Samantha had studied Adorna’s every word and move in hopes of emulating her charm and beauty. Now, at the age of twenty-two, Samantha faced the fact that a tall blonde Viking with outspoken tendencies could never squeeze herself into Adorna’s dainty, circumspect mold. But the time spent contemplating Adorna had given Samantha insight into the shrewd mind her patron hid beneath her breathy voice and curvaceous body. The worst of the censure was over. Now she must face the consequences.

  And she knew how to face consequences. She’d learned that, not from Adorna, but from a father who, from the time she could toddle, taught her to pick a pocket and smile charmingly all the while.

  “Mr. Wordlaw had quite the black eye when he came here to complain,” Adorna said.

  Samantha bunched up her skinny fist.

  Adorna nodded. “That’s what I thought. Did he attack you?”

  “He tried. After his wife had moved out.” Their tussle had been brief and sharp, and Samantha’s arm ached where he had wrenched it. She didn’t allow herself to show the terror that struggle had engendered, nor would she admit how often she came awake, heart pounding, in the grips of a nightmare. “He really is a despicable little man.”

  “He’s over six foot. Most people would not call him little.”

  “Not in stature. In character.”

  “Hm. Yes. Be that as it may, he is a respected judge—”

  “Respected?”

  “For the moment. Until I can spread gossip to the contrary.”

  “You are good, my lady.” Samantha folded her hands in her lap and tried to appear demure.

  She obviously didn’t succeed, for Adorna’s voice sharpened. “Even then, my dear young crusader for justice, there are those who believe a woman should honor her vows regardless of how corrupt her husband is.”

  “Men, mostly.”

  “Mostly.” Adorna tapped her nails on the open letter before her and stared beyond Samantha. “Part of the problem with placing you is that you’re an attractive young woman.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Adorna had taught Samantha many things, among them how to make the most of her best features. Samantha braided her platinum blonde hair and wrapped it over her ears, and into a loose knot at the back of her neck. She used her large brown eyes to flirt and admire
, and never did she allow them to reveal her intelligence. Her lips were generous—too generous, in her opinion, but Adorna had told her men would want to kiss them. That turned out to be true, although she hadn’t cared for the experience.

  She was too thin. She knew it. Adorna agreed. But something about her smooth, strong shoulders, her slender body, and the way she walked, brought her attention. More attention than she wanted, usually, for her early life had given her an unvarnished knowledge of men and women and how their bodies worked, and Samantha wanted none of it.

  Nothing Adorna said to the contrary had changed Samantha’s mind.

  “The problem with placing you is your former profession. If you hadn’t been such a famous—or shall I say infamous—pickpocket, things would be easier now.”

  Samantha dropped into the street language of her youth. “Oi just gave them what they wanted, Miss. A little adventure, a little excitement. Oi can’t ‘elp it if they bragged about ‘aving their purses nabbed by the likes o’ me.”

  Adorna did not smile. “That’s the problem. You were well dressed. You were glamorous. You lured them into dark alleys and robbed them, and they liked it.”

  Samantha abandoned the Cockney and returned to the pure upper class English accent Adorna had taught her. “The men did, anyway. The women were not so tolerant.”

  “I thought myself quite tolerant. I didn’t have you hanged.”

  “I’ve never understood why not.” Nor had Samantha understood how Adorna realized her purse had been cut, but in the years since she’d learned that Adorna had a sixth sense about people and a frightening awareness of everything around her.

  “I saw something in you that I liked.” Relenting, Adorna laughed. “You reminded me of me.”

  “My lady, you’ve never had to steal in your life.”

  “No, but I had a father who wished me to marry for his profit.” Adorna looked down at the letter open before her. “I have a solution to your problem. You must leave London.”

  Samantha found herself on her feet. “Leave London?” she shouted.

  “A lady always modulates her voice.”

  Samantha tried to speak normally, but discovered her modulator wasn’t working. “Leave London?” she whispered.

  “I have here a letter from Colonel William Gregory of Cumbria.”

  “Cumbria?”

  “In the Lake District.”

  “The Lake District? But that’s . . . in the country.”

  “Fresh air,” Adorna agreed.

  Samantha waved a feeble hand. “North . . . far north. And west. Mountains. Tall, menacing mountains.”

  “Snow. Brisk, clean, white snow. Clear streams. Beautiful blue lakes. I envy you. Every day will be a holiday.”

  Distraught, Samantha looked at Adorna, seeking any indication that the lady was jesting.

  She was not. “Colonel Gregory is in desperate need of a governess for his children. You are a governess, and a very good one.”

  “I know, but . . . the country.” A painting she had once viewed in the Royal Museum rose in Samantha’s mind. A winding, country road. Lush, green trees. A deer half hidden in the forest. And off in the distance, an azure lake and rugged mountains shrouded in clouds. The most horribly bucolic scene Samantha had ever viewed.

  Adorna did not relent.

  “To work for a . . . colonel?” In Her Majesty’s army?

  “A younger son, sent into the military and serving in India with honors. He married an Englishwoman while abroad—Mrs. Gregory had a reputation for beauty and kindness—and they were quite happy. Three years ago, his elder brother died, and Colonel Gregory inherited the family estate.

  “Before Colonel Gregory could return home, his wife was killed in mysterious circumstances. It is said that he must have been deeply in love with her, for he hasn’t looked at another woman since.”

  Adorna waited, and finally Samantha realized she expected a suitable comment. “Tragic.”

  “Indeed. When Colonel Gregory returned with his family, the story was the talk of London.” With a slight smile, Adorna played with her pen. “Because, of course, the matrons hoped he would reside in London, where he would find a new bride. Instead he went at once to his country home of Silvermere, near Devil’s Fell, and there he has stayed.”

  “Devil’s Fell?” At once a picture formed in Samantha’s head of a decrepit castle, perched on top of a stony crag, jagged and black against a stormy sky.

  “It’s reputed to be a lovely place.”

  If you like bats. Samantha asked, “Have you met Colonel Gregory?”

  “No, but he is an officer and a gentleman, well thought of by his subordinates, and with a strict and sterling reputation.” Adorna viewed Samantha. “I feel sure he’ll offer you no reason for another scandal.”

  “I hope not, my lady.”

  Adorna cleared her throat.

  Samantha hastily amended, “I’m sure not, my lady.”

  Adorna donned her glasses and read from Colonel Gregory’s letter. “ ‘While my home is isolated—’ ”

  Samantha whimpered softly.

  “ ‘—the governess need not worry about her safety. The roads are patrolled by the local militia, which I organize and which is enforced by my men.’ “

  Impervious to Samantha’s revulsion, Adorna said, “And a few paragraphs down, Colonel Gregory says, ‘I offer a salary of four pounds a month, an allowance for tea and sugar and, with that, a half day off every week. I will also allow the governess a week off a year to visit her family.’ “ She looked over her glasses. “Very generous. Much more generous than anything you can make here in London.”

  “But my lady, the locomotive doesn’t even go there.” If Samantha had to leave the City, she wanted to be assured she could return in a hurry.

  “The train will get you close,” Adorna assured her. “Colonel Gregory writes, ‘She should take the train to York, and from there transfer to the coach, which will carry her on to Hawksmouth. At the inn she will tell the innkeeper who she is, and he will send her in a conveyance on to Silvermere, where her charges and I will be awaiting her.’ “

  “That’s why he’s paying four pounds a week.” Samantha could well imagine the rugged country to which Adorna wished to condemn her. “No one would ever want to live out in the wilderness.”

  “Actually, that’s not why.” Adorna examined the letter. “It’s the children.”

  “The children?” This got worse and worse. Samantha tried to read the letter upside-down. “What’s wrong with the children?”

  “Colonel Gregory says there’s nothing wrong with them.”

  “If he says there’s nothing wrong with them, then there most certainly is something wrong with them.”

  “True. I thought that myself. There are certainly an abundance of the little dears.”

  “An abundance?” Alarmed, Samantha asked, “What constitutes an abundance of children?”

  Adorna consulted the letter. “Six, ranging in ages from four to twelve.”

  “Colonel Gregory’s been a busy lad!” And he was just what Samantha didn’t need. A curmudgeonly chap who wanted a governess to care for his abundance of children so he could go chasing around the countryside after vicious bandits. “My lady . . .” Samantha spread her hands, palm up, in appeal.

  Adorna took off her glasses, folded them, and placed them on the table with a precision that boded ill for Samantha. “I am resolute that you shall take this position.”

  Oh, no. Adorna seldom spoke with such determination. She almost always got what she wanted, true, but normally she did so with tact and guile. When she spoke so directly, the intended victim had no chance of appeal. “My lady?”

  “You struck at Mr. Wordlaw’s income, his status, and his masculine pride—and that pride will find no satisfaction with anything but the complete annihilation of your reputation. I cannot find you another position here in London.”

  “But . . . but I’ve never left London.”

  “
You’ve made your bed. Now you must lie in it.” Adorna stared at Samantha. “You are going to the Lake District.”

  Heart sinking, Samantha stared back at her.

  Briskly, Adorna said, “I’ve already sent a letter to Colonel Gregory telling him to look for you within the fortnight. And Samantha?”

  Adorna’s serious tone made Samantha pay particular attention. “Aye, my lady?”

  “Do not, under any circumstances, tell Colonel Gregory about your past.” Adorna folded her hands before her on the desk. “I have investigated him, and I’m told he is a good man, a fair man, but intolerant.”

  “A thief is a thief until the day she dies?” Samantha could scarcely swallow around the lump of resentment in her throat. “There’s nothing new in that. I could make of myself a saint and still the bastards would judge me.”

  “Don’t be vulgar,” Adorna rebuked. “And promise me you’ll be discreet.”

  Samantha smiled bitterly. “I promise, my lady. I will tell this righteous curmudgeon nothing.”

  Chapter Two

  THE LAKE DISTRICT

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  Slack-jawed, Samantha stood in the grass next to her trunk and stared as, in a cloud of dust, the cart raced back down the dirt road toward the village of Hawksmouth. “What did I say?” she yelled after the youthful driver, who ignored her with steadfast disregard.

  All she’d done was inquire if wolves still ate the villagers. Whether she would have to rescue the children from bears. And if Colonel Gregory kept his livestock in the house. They were all questions that needed to be raised, but the groom from the Hawksmouth Inn had taken offense and dumped her here.

  The scenery proved as terrifying as she had feared. Trees lined the road and extended back into a dark forest where, she was sure, bears lurked with long claws and blood-flecked teeth. Bears which now stalked her while slobbering with hunger, waiting only till dark to leap on her and rend her to pieces. And just ahead, she could see an open area. One of those meadows, she supposed, like so many the coach had passed on its trip up here. A meadow, vast and green, rising and falling, etched by lines of white drystone fences that extended as far as the eye could see. Sheep strolled the meadows, large-eyed, chewing grass, watching constantly for . . . wolves.