Sam had taken to the life as a duck to water. At home in the saddle, capable of cooking a decent meal with the barest ingredients and possessed of a sunny nature that was seldom overset, she had soon had the young subalterns eating out of her hands. They vied with each other for invitations to her dinner parties, when there was food enough to go round, helped her when the conditions were hard and invariably lost their hearts to the Colonel’s lady, while treating her with the same respect that they gave their beloved officer.
It was Brock who had supplied the country house where Percy had spent his last months.
Samantha knew that she would have done anything she could to help Brock. He had been so very kind to her, so thoughtful and generous. Of course she would repay him in any way she could, because he had helped her at a time when her situation had been at its worst. But then, he was a true gentleman, a man whom any woman could admire and trust. Percy had thought the world of him.
Tears stung her eyes as she recalled the day Percy had died as she’d sat holding his hand. He’d looked at her sadly, regret in the grey eyes that had always been filled with wicked laughter.
‘I have not been fair to you, my darling,’ he’d said. ‘You know I always loved you, but I was too old. You were young. You should have had a young husband and children. I have given you nothing.’
‘You gave me four years of happiness,’ she’d told him and bent to kiss his hand. ‘I love you, Percy. I had nothing. You have made me secure for I shall have enough to live quietly in London and that is all I require of life now.’
‘You loved me,’ he’d said in a voice that was no more than a whisper. ‘But not as you would have loved a younger man. No, do not deny it, Samantha. I know I was never quite the lover you needed. You are a passionate woman and you should have had a man twenty years younger who could have matched you.’
‘No, my dearest,’ she’d denied, knowing in her heart it was the truth, yet wanting to ease the regret in his eyes. ‘No man was ever a better husband than you, Percy.’
‘No man could have loved you more,’ he’d said and his fingers pressed hard on hers. ‘Promise me, Sam. Promise me that you won’t grieve for me. You must find someone else, a man who can give you all I could not. I know there is someone you care for, my dear.’
‘Percy, I have been perfectly happy...’ she’d said, but even as she’d spoken the words she knew he’d left her and she’d wept.
Her tears were the more bitter because she believed that she must have hurt him in some way. Surely he had not guessed at those feelings she’d hidden deep in her heart—feelings for Brock, one of his men, that she had never once allowed to show. The realisation that Percy had guessed was painful and made her grieving harder. She had kept up her mourning for more than several months and then only began to go into society gradually. It was Lady Jersey and her great friend Lady Patricia South who had finally dragged her back to the land of the living and made her face up to the future.
These days, she gave discreet, but very popular, dinner parties to which she invited both married and single friends, often including young officers who had served with her husband, and was never alone for very long. At a ball she would gather a crowd of younger men and women about her, though only the very strict would have thought her fast. She was a great rider and was usually to be seen in Rotten Row of a morning, riding a great red horse that looked as if it were far too strong for her and yet responded to her lightest touch. If she began her ride alone, she did not finish it so for there was always an officer or a fashionable gentleman to ride with her.
Samantha cast an approving eye over the chamber prepared for her guest. She could only be glad that Brock had no idea of her continuing feelings for him, because she was sure that his heart was given to another. Indeed, it must be for why else had he asked Cynthia Langton to be his wife? And yet the wedding had not yet been announced...
‘Stay with a widow?’ The look in Rosemarie’s eyes told Brock that she was not happy with the idea. ‘I do not wish to live quietly and hardly dare to raise my voice. Why will you not advance me a little money on my trinkets and let me go where I please?’
‘Because it would be quite improper for you to live alone, Miss Ross,’ he said patiently for perhaps the twentieth time. ‘Besides, Sam is not a long-suffering widow wearing black. Her husband has been dead for almost two years. She goes into society and will take you to small parties and dances, once you have suitable clothes.’
‘She will?’ Rosemarie tipped her head to one side, reminding him with her bright eyes of a hungry robin, ready to pounce on a worm. ‘Where shall I get the money to buy my clothes?’
‘Your lawyer will advance you some money,’ Brock lied, for Mr Stevens had refused to do anything of the kind until he had spoken to the girl’s aunt and uncle. Brock had not yet brought his own lawyer to bear on the subject of her inheritance, though he intended to speak with him as soon as he had her settled with Samantha Scatterby. ‘You need not concern yourself, Rosemarie. You will be safe and pleasantly engaged while I attempt to sort out your affairs. And do not think that your uncle will try to drag you back, because I have already informed your father’s lawyer that we are considering having your affairs taken out of his hands, unless he protects you in this matter. He was much shaken and promised that he would enquire into your affairs without loss of time.’
‘Thank you,’ Rosemarie said and looked thoughtful. ‘You are truly considerate and a great gentleman, sir. Had you not come when you did I might have fallen into the hands of rogues—or died. I know Papa would have liked you. Had he known you, I am sure he would have appointed you as one of my guardians.’
‘Well, your guardian I am not, more’s the pity,’ Brock said and smiled. ‘However, I am hopeful of a satisfactory outcome to your problems—but I must ask you to comply with my request. Mrs Scatterby is a respectable widow and will take care of you while helping you acquire some town bronze. Only if I know you to be safely established in her care can I leave town...’
‘You’re going to see your fiancée, are you not?’
‘Yes, I must,’ Brock said, ‘but fortunately for me Cynthia is in town. I may call on her and settle my affairs before I take a trip down to Falmouth to speak to your uncle.’
‘He will be very angry. I dare say he will demand that I return to his protection.’
‘He may well do so,’ Brock agreed, but seeing the fear in her eyes softened his tone. ‘However, I believe the threat of my applying to make you and your fortune a ward of court will stop him in his tracks. It is a last resort, of course, but if it were the only way to protect you from their scheming I would take whatever measures necessary.’
‘If I were married, my uncle could not make me wed Sir Montague and neither he nor Papa’s lawyer could withhold my fortune.’
Brock was struck by the look in her eyes, his senses alerted. ‘Is there something you have not told me, Rosemarie? Have you a particular young man in mind?’
‘What if I have? He is serving abroad, but once he comes home he will marry me and then...’
‘You do realise that although your uncle may not force you to marry a man of his choice, he can forbid you to wed another—until you are of age you would need his consent to marry.’
‘I knew you would say that.’ Rosemarie pouted at him, a truculent note in her voice. ‘It is the reason I did not tell you everything—but he cannot stop me if we run away.’
‘No, but he might apply to have the marriage set aside and make you a ward of court but under his own jurisdiction.’ Brock frowned at her. ‘For your own sake, I must warn you to be careful, Rosemarie. You are very young to be married and might