Which meant that Richard Everard needed her help, almost as badly as she needed his. Was it possible she could parlay his request into more?
Is this a door You want me to walk through, Lord?
Aloud, she murmured, “I imagine she has her heart set on this Season.”
“She’s actually a bit intimidated by the prospect,” he confessed with a fond smile. “She needs a good example.”
Now, that would be pleasant, serving as an example to a young girl, helping her avoid Claire’s mistakes. But did she really want to relive those mistakes any more than she already had?
“Perhaps you should wait a year, then,” Claire replied. “She’s only sixteen, you said. Plenty of time.”
He shifted on the chair, spine straightening, chin lifting. Sitting beside him, she could see the physical influences of his profession—the golden tan of his skin where the sun had caressed him, the lines at the corners of his eyes where he’d gazed across the horizon.
“It must be this year,” he said.
Interesting. Why was he so insistent? She’d been pushed to do her duty too many times to force it on another, particularly a girl fresh from the schoolroom. “Nonsense, sir. I assure you a maiden needs a certain level of maturity to do well in London. Would you pluck a peach before it had ripened?”
“Lady Everard is hardly a fruit.”
Claire sat taller. “Lady Everard? Then she has the title. Oh, your brother must be beside himself.”
Even with his close beard, she could see the tension in that square jaw. “My brother Jerome is delighted with the turn of events. He was married four days ago and is busy setting up his household.”
“Indeed. I must send him a note in congratulations. Who is the lucky bride?”
He leaned back from the table. Oh, but he didn’t want to give her the information. Claire kept her smile polite. A lady did not gloat in triumph at discomfiting a troublesome guest, however sorely she was tempted.
“Her name is Adele Walcott,” he said.
Claire tapped her chin with one finger. “Adele Walcott. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Is she related to Admiral Walcott?”
“Not that I know of.”
“The Walcotts of Gloucester, then.”
“No.”
“Daniel Walcott, the Parliamentarian from Dover?”
“No. She’s from Cumberland. Until recently she was Lady Everard’s governess.”
The story improved by the moment. But it would do his cousin no good. One could only dine on gossip for so long. Claire took a sip of her tea. “So, your brother married the girl’s governess, and you need another suitable female willing to play tagalong so your cousin can join Society. Naturally you’d think of me.”
“I thought of you,” he gritted out, “because you are the only lady known to the queen and perhaps willing to help my family.”
“My dear Captain Everard,” Claire replied, “I have no idea what gave you that impression.”
As if she’d pushed him too far, he rose, dwarfing the table, dwarfing her. “Oh, you’ll help us, Claire, and I’ll tell you why. You want to stay in London, and I can give you that.”
“Indeed.” Did he truly think it that easy? Richard Everard wanted her in London, therefore in London he expected her to be. Well, London, she had learned to her sorrow, exacted a price from its residents. She wasn’t sure she was willing to pay it any longer. But if she was going to stay, it would be on her terms.
She glared up at him. “Staying in London does not come cheap, sir, and neither do I. I have any number of requirements that must be met before I would even consider changing my plans. And I would need to know that your intentions are serious this time. Just how much are you willing to invest to guarantee your cousin’s success and my goodwill?”
Chapter Three
Why was it only money that made the rose bloom in those fair cheeks? Once Richard would have given anything to be the one who made Claire smile. Now he was tempted to wring her neck.
As if she could see trouble brewing, she raised her chin. “Sit down, Captain Everard,” she said. “We have a great deal to discuss.”
He wasn’t so frustrated that he didn’t recognize she was turning his own words against him. Perhaps he had been too demanding. But the subject was a difficult one, with so many aspects that he could not confide in anyone outside the family, especially not a woman who’d proven particularly unfaithful in the past.
Still, Claire was their only hope. He had a duty to his cousin Samantha, a promise to keep.
Funny. He’d only known of the girl’s existence for a month, after the family solicitor, Benjamin Caruthers, had informed Richard, his brother Jerome and their cousin Vaughn of the contents of their uncle’s will and the fact that his daughter would inherit the bulk of the estate. Jerome had been certain it was all a lie, some game of Uncle’s, even from the grave. But after riding to Cumberland and spending a fortnight in the girl’s company, they were in agreement. Samantha was an Everard through and through.
Richard had never come to care for anyone so quickly, except for Claire. His new cousin deserved his loyalty and his best effort as she embarked on this Season, which would mark the triumph or doom of his family. If humbling himself in front of Claire would help, he’d simply have to do it. They had nowhere else to turn.
Samantha must be presented at court, and only a lady like Claire could sponsor her. Given his uncle’s wild ways, few ladies were willing to risk their reputations by associating themselves with the Everards. But Claire posed an opportunity, and he’d be mad not to take it.
He returned to his seat and made himself pick up the fragile teacup like the polished gentleman he was. “We’re not lacking in funds,” he assured Claire, with a quick glance at Mrs. Corday. The woman had moved to the hearth and was arranging her pot on the fire, her broad back to him, but he had no doubt she could still hear every word that was said across the room. He couldn’t risk any hint of scandal, for Samantha’s sake.
“I’m delighted you’re prepared,” Claire said beside him. She was too proper to show her triumph at his apparent capitulation, but he thought he heard it in her voice. She had a siren’s voice, warm, low, compelling. He’d found it hard not to heed ten years ago, and it wasn’t any easier to ignore now.
She eyed him speculatively, as if calculating just what it would take to break him. “Very likely, your cousin will need an entirely new wardrobe, and that will be pricey.”
“Fripperies,” Richard scoffed.
Her smile grew. “You’d be surprised at the cost of fripperies, sir. You’ll need to refurbish the Everard town house as well.”
Richard frowned. “Why? It’s good enough for the rest of us.”
She sniffed, a mere tightening of her nostrils. “I’m sure it was quite sufficient for your uncle and the three of you, who rarely entertained among your class. For a young girl with a score of suitors and acquaintances coming to call, no.”
She had a point there. He wasn’t sure when a fresh coat of paint had been slapped on the light green walls. And Uncle’s tastes in decor might give some people pause. Some years ago, he had purchased a fifteen-foot-tall marble statue of a naked woman holding out a golden apple. It currently resided in the entry hall. Samantha would no doubt be intrigued by the piece, but he