She was right there as well. The fourth, Repton, had disappeared the night Uncle had died in what the authorities persisted in calling a duel, even though his opponent was unknown. The other servants had found Uncle’s whimsical approach to life, forever haring off after a new interest, equally frustrating.
“I’ll see that the town house is adequately staffed,” Richard promised.
She picked up her teacup. “If you require a footman or cook, I can give you recommendations.”
Mrs. Corday paused in washing her hands to gaze at her mistress with worshipful eyes. Did the woman need a position, then? The current cook at Everard House had given notice just last week, saying his skills were wasted on men who were so seldom in residence. On the other hand, Claire’s cook seemed competent, and the biscuit had been nicely done.
Richard nodded in her direction. “Consider yourself hired, Mrs. Corday.”
Eyes widening, she bobbed a curtsy. “Oh, God bless you, sir, your ladyship!”
But Claire wasn’t finished. “You’ll need a town carriage, too, I think,” she said, gazing off in the middle distance. “You all go on horseback far too often. And a matched set of horses in black or white. Nothing looks more slovenly than to arrive at a ball with a ragtag set of nags.”
Samantha would be through her inheritance in hours. “And I suppose you’d like several teams to match her gowns.”
She gave him one of her elegant waves. “We needn’t go so far as all that. Though I will expect a respectable coachman and a groom. And a decent riding horse.” She paused to frown. “She does ride, does she not?”
“Like the wind, I’m told,” Richard said with a grin. “She’s an Everard.”
“A matter of considerable concern,” she replied, then continued before he could take umbrage. “Tell me about her other skills. Does she play an instrument?”
“The piano, with enthusiasm.” Richard knew he sounded defensive. Samantha was a darling, no matter what anyone thought of her family name. Any man would be lucky to claim her heart and her hand in marriage.
“Sing?” Claire persisted.
“I haven’t heard her, but her speaking voice is pleasant enough.”
“Paint?”
He raised a brow. “Paint?”
She pursed her lips, and he had to look away as memories flooded in like a high tide. What was wrong with him? Even after ten years, he found it far too easy to remember how soft those lips had felt against his, how easily they could form words that cut him to the quick.
“Well,” she said, blithely unaware, as usual, of the turmoil she was causing inside him. “I suppose painting is optional. She is versed in the latest dances?”
Richard struggled to focus on her questions. “I wouldn’t know.”
Her frown was back. “Has she ever attended a local assembly?”
He hadn’t realized such things would be important. “Not to my knowledge.”
“A party at her own home, then.”
The party his uncle had held every year came to mind. Samantha and her governess, Adele Walcott, who had married his brother Jerome last week, spoke of an event each summer, when his uncle entertained all his neighbors, great and small, on the grounds of Dallsten Manor in Cumberland. While the locals toasted his health, he’d met with other men inside the manor, and no one knew what they had discussed or who had been invited, except for his uncle’s closest friend, the Marquess of Widmore. But Adele had made it sound as if Samantha had always been sent inside in the evening, when the locals held a dance.
“I suspect she’s never danced with a partner,” Richard told Claire.
She shook her head at such a ramshackle upbringing, and one of her curls came free from her bun. It hung between her ear and cheek, a strand of silky sunlight in the dark kitchen. He grabbed his cup of tea and made himself take a sip of the cooling brew rather than reach out to touch the gleaming gold.
“Then she must have a dance master, before she reaches London,” she declared. “I’ll write to Monsieur Chevalier immediately.”
“Chevalier?” Richard asked, setting down the cup but keeping his fingers anchored to the handle.
“Henri Chevalier, a dance master of some note. He’s trained any number of young ladies the last few years, including a foreign princess.”
Just what he needed, a swell-headed fop teaching Samantha to take on airs. “We can put an ad in the Carlisle paper and find someone in Cumberland.”
She raised a delicate brow. “Certainly we could do that, if Lady Everard was coming out in the wilds of Cumberland. As she is making her debut in London, under my tutelage, only a London master will do. Chevalier is the best, the son of a deposed French count. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your cousin to make do with less.”
And how was he to answer that? Of course he wanted the best for Samantha. That was one of the reasons he hoped Claire would sponsor her. “Very well,” he conceded. “See if your fancy London fellow is available to come with me to Cumberland. I planned to leave tomorrow morning.”
“That,” she said, “we shall discuss in a moment.”
“So you even intend to dictate my travel, madam?” Richard challenged.
She tsked. “Come now, sir. If you wish to bargain, you must be willing to put everything on the counter.”
“Bargain, madam?” What more did she want? Ready for the worst, he braced his hands on the hard wood of the table.
“A turn of phrase, sir,” she assured him, but she straightened in her ladder-back chair as if making a decision. “Allow me to sum up our discussion for you. You wish me to sponsor an untried girl of indeterminate skills, a girl I have never met, and shepherd her through her first Season, including being presented to Her Royal Majesty.”
“And be welcomed everywhere,” Richard added, remembering the requirements of his uncle’s will, which his cousin Samantha was trying so hard to fulfill. “And garner at least three offers of marriage from suitable gentlemen.”
She trilled a laugh. “Why stop at three, sir? Why not a dozen?”
Richard gritted his teeth. “Three will be sufficient. Then you’ll do it?”
She held up a hand. “Perhaps you should hear my requirements first.”
“I heard them—a new wardrobe for Samantha; a carriage and team with coachman, groom and riding horse; the town house refurbished and staffed; and the services of a dance master.”
“The services of Monsieur Chevalier,” she corrected him. “And all that you will need for your cousin regardless of who sponsors her. I’m sure you’ll agree that I deserve something for my struggles.”
So she truly would bargain with him, just as she’d done with the tradesman. He wasn’t sure why that so disappointed him. She was right. He was asking her to change her plans, risk her reputation. Yet he couldn’t help thinking that Claire was the one who had gone back on her word ten years ago. It seemed only fair she do him this favor now.
“What struggles?” he protested. “Samantha is a beauty. Your work will not be onerous.”
“You, sir, have never been a girl on her first London Season. Besides, beauties often require the most effort from their sponsors. I will need a new wardrobe.”
Richard eyed her black dress. “What you’re wearing ought to scare off obnoxious suitors.”
Her smile remained polite, though he thought he saw her eyes narrow just the slightest. “Doubtless. But I’m