The Rogue's Reform. Regina Scott

the music, and murmured praise for Samantha’s accomplishments and Adele’s instruction. He even picked up Adele’s paisley wool shawl when it slipped from her shoulders, tucking it back in place with the gentlest of touches and setting her to trembling.

       Why was he being so attentive? She ought to see only kindness, but it felt like so much more. Yet how could it be more when she was only the governess?

       Her feelings remained conflicted as the Everard gentlemen bid her and Samantha good-night, and she and the girl climbed the grand staircase for the chamber story. Samantha’s steps were just as light as they’d been that morning before she’d heard of her father’s death, and she hummed the last tune she had played.

       “What do you think of my cousins?” she asked suddenly as they turned the corner for the longer corridor and her bedchamber.

       Adele felt hot again, but she kept her tone polite. “They seem to be presentable gentlemen.”

       Samantha rolled her eyes. “That response is not very helpful.”

       “And are you grading my responses now, miss?” Adele challenged with a smile as she opened the door and ushered the girl into the room.

       Samantha went to sit in front of her dressing table with a rustle of her emerald skirts. “Of course not, but I was hoping for more. Do you think they’re handsome? Do you find them charming?”

       “Neither of which a governess should answer about her employer,” Adele replied, trying to keep her face appropriately stern as she joined her charge.

       “Well, I like them,” Samantha said, facing her reflection. “Cousin Vaughn is a lot like Papa, very free with his feelings.” Her brows drew down as if she didn’t like the picture she saw in the looking glass. “It’s a little strange, in fact, how much he resembles Papa.”

       The sorrow trembled in her voice. Adele laid a hand on her shoulder. “You will likely miss him for some time, dear.”

       Samantha nodded, face puckering further. “And Cousin Jerome won’t even tell me how he died.” She swiveled on the stool to meet Adele’s gaze. “Maybe you could ask him. He likes you. I could tell.”

       It was on the tip of Adele’s tongue to ask how Samantha could be so certain, but she pulled the words back before they were spoken. She could not encourage the girl to discuss the chance of an attraction that served no one. “Does it truly matter how your father died? He is gone, my love, and you must consider your future.”

       Instead of looking comforted, as most young women might have done in remembering that the future might be brighter, Samantha put her back to Adele and bowed her head. “How can I? What point is there to having a Season? Papa won’t even be there to see me. I might as well stay in Cumberland and marry an old farmer.”

       Adele raised her brows at the petulant tone. “I suspect we might be able to find a sufficiently aged one to meet your qualifications.”

       That won a smile from the girl. “Well,” she acknowledged, “maybe a young farmer. A young, handsome farmer with a sporty barouche and four matched horses to pull it.”

       Adele laughed as she reached for the brush. “That’s more like it. Oh, Samantha, you’ll have such a marvelous time in London, meeting girls your own age, going to balls and parties. It’s the very best I could hope for you, a chance to meet the perfect gentleman, to have a life of your own beyond this house. Surely your father wished that, too. Now we just need to convince your new cousins to see about the arrangements, and we can be off.”

       “You convince them,” Samantha said, wincing as Adele began to pull the brush through her tousled curls. “Start with Cousin Jerome. In fact, I think you should spend as much time as you like with him.”

       The light was shining in those dark eyes again. Little matchmaker!

       “How very thoughtful of you,” Adele said, giving the brush an extra tug, “but, as I told your cousin earlier, my first thought is for you. Mr. Jerome Everard will simply have to wait.”