Nearly a Lady (14 page)

She could scarcely wrap her mind around the enormity of what he had given her. Now here she was, standing outside his chambers, about to ask for more. And willing to argue with him to get it.

She shuffled her feet, bit her lip, and told herself she wasn’t asking for a
great deal
more. Just a small favor. One she was requesting only because Lilly had insisted upon it, and she was only nervous to do so because Lilly had made such a fuss to start.

“A few hours of time,” she mumbled to herself. “It’s nothing, really.”

And there was no reason for her to feel ill at the possibility of disagreeing with Gideon. He had given her a gift for which she would always be immeasurably grateful. Gratitude, however, should not be mistaken for obligation. She would ask him the favor, and if he had a problem with granting it, he could take the matter up with Lilly.

Pleased, if not entirely confident, with her line of reasoning, she knocked on Gideon’s door and let herself in at his answer.

She found him seated in one of a pair of seats before the window, an open book in his lap.

He looked up and frowned at her a little. “Something the matter, Winnefred?”

“No. No.” She sincerely hoped not. She crossed the room to stand before him and decided to get straight to the matter at hand. “Lilly has decided it is no longer appropriate for me to walk alone to the prison.”

Strictly speaking, Lilly had never been of the opinion that it
was
appropriate, but there’d hardly been a choice in the matter.

Gideon stared at her a long, long moment before speaking. “I cannot adequately express the number and ways in which I am currently in agreement with Lilly. Why the
devil
have you been going to a prison?
Alone?
”

In the interest of avoiding an argument, she met his shock with calm composure. “Some of the guards are willing to pay a nice fee for a well-mended shirt or coat, and Lilly has always been gifted with a needle and thread.”

“There is no longer any reason for either of you to be sewing for money. If there’s something you need or want—”

“The work was done before you arrived, Gideon. We’d simply forgotten about it during all the commotion. I can’t very well keep them, can I?”

“Of course not. Send one of the footmen.”

Exactly what Lilly had told her, and exactly what she didn’t want to hear, let alone
do
.

“I’d like to go myself, if it’s not too much trouble.” She refused to give in to the urge to start fidgeting. “I’ve . . . other business there.”

“Other business,” he repeated slowly. “At the prison.”

His tone rankled. It was one thing for him to disapprove of her past behavior, but it was something else altogether to speak to her as if she were a dim-witted child. She tipped her chin up. “I believe I just said as much. Now, will you take me, or shall I go alone and leave you to explain to Lilly why you couldn’t be pulled from your . . .” She leaned forward and cocked her head to look at his book. “. . .
Tales in Verse
, by Mr. George Crabbe, to see me safely a few miles down the road? . . . Do you really read poetry?”

He shut the book carefully, placed it on a side table carefully, and spoke so very carefully, he succeeded in unnerving her a little. “On occasion. Now, have a seat, Winnefred, and tell me, exactly, what this business of yours entails. If I find it unsatisfactory, a footman will deliver the shirts and coats. If I believe you’ve adequate reason for going, I’ll consider taking you myself. You may, if you choose, inform Lilly of whichever course of action I have decided upon. But let us be clear—I
explain
myself to no one.”

She considered him quietly. He hadn’t shouted, or cursed, or even snapped at her. His voice had remained perfectly even. But the authority—in the tone, in the words—was all but palpable.

She took the seat across from him, suddenly fascinated. “I’ve been
wondering
how you managed to captain a ship for all those years. I was beginning to suspect you injured your leg during a bout of mutiny.”

“Delighted to have satisfied your curiosity,” he answered in the same unforgiving voice. “Your reasons, Winnefred. I’ll have them now.”

She sat up straighter in the chair. “I am not a sailor aboard your ship to be ordered about. And my reasons are none of your concern.”

“On the contrary, and to my considerable frustration at the moment, you, and everything you do, are my concern until I deliver you into the care of my aunt.”

The mention of frustration at having to care for her until he could hand her over to someone else made her heart stutter and the edges of her vision turn red. It was an irrational and disproportionate reaction to an offhand comment, she knew, but she was helpless to stem the anger. She’d had her fill of being delivered from one person to the next as a child.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I have no interest in being anyone’s burden, Gideon. And I will not be passed between members of the Haverston family like an inconvenient head cold.”

She rose from her seat and turned to leave, but Gideon stood and caught her hand before she could escape.

“Sit down,” he said softly.

“No.” She tugged her arm. “Let go.”

“Winnefred, please.”

She stopped pulling at his plea but didn’t resume her seat.

Gideon gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “My frustration is with this particular conversation, not with you. I apologize for my poor choice of words.”

“The conversation is with me.”

“It is not our first disagreement.” He gave her a disarming smile. “Can we not settle this one as we have others?”

“I haven’t a rifle to hit you with.”

“We’ll make do.” He let his hand slide away. “Will you sit?”

She didn’t want to, particularly, but neither did leaving in a fit of temper still appeal to her. She sat reluctantly.

Rather than follow suit, Gideon rested on the arm of his chair. “I received a letter from my aunt this morning. She is looking forward to having two young ladies in her house. I apologize for giving the impression neither she nor I care for your company.”

“A poor choice of words, as you said.” Because she didn’t care to have it known how deeply his words had cut, she shrugged and strove for a light tone. “Heaven knows I’ve no ground to stand on when it comes to choosing the correct words—”

“You’ve a right to be angry.”

“Yes, I do. But I don’t wish to be angry with you.”

“I’m grateful for it.” He bent his head a little to catch her eye. “Are we friends again?”

They were only words, she told herself. “I would like to be.”

“Excellent. Then why don’t we try broaching the subject of the prison once more, and see if we can’t work our way toward an agreement.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“By starting from the beginning. Like this.” He made a show of taking a proper seat in his chair and then cleared his throat dramatically—a silly affectation that succeeded in making her smile. “Winnefred,
dear
, would you care to tell me your reasons—which I’m certain are fine ones—for wanting to visit the prison?”

She winced, fisted her hands in her skirts, and twisted. “No. I really wouldn’t.”

A pained laugh escaped from Gideon. “Oh, for—”

“I’m not trying to be stubborn, Gideon. I’m not. I . . . Couldn’t we try starting somewhere else?”

“No.”

She went from twisting to tugging. “If I agreed to tell you, would you promise not to poke fun or lecture?”

“I’ll promise to do my best not to hurt or discount your feelings. Will that do? If, however, you’re about to inform me you’ve been playing cards and drinking scotch with the inmates, I’m going to lecture. And if you tell me you’ve been instructing the men in the art of needlepoint, I am most certainly going to laugh.”

A laugh was clearly what he’d been hoping to gain from her with that small speech, but she remained silent, avoiding his eyes and tugging on her dress.

In the face of her reticence, Gideon went very still except for the rounding of his eyes. “Holy hell. Tell me you have not been playing cards and drinking scotch—”

“Certainly not . . . Not the scotch part, anyway.”

He lifted a hand to jab a finger at her. “You are never,
never
again to step foot in—”

“There’s a young man,” she cut in, desperate to explain before he finished his ultimatum. “A young man I wish to see.”

He dropped his hand slowly. “A young man you play cards with?”

“No. Well, once, but only as a means of gaining trust.”

“Of course. Cards and trust,” he drawled. “They’re naturally suited.”

“They can be, when one makes certain to lose a sixpence and pays the debt on the next visit.”

“Five pounds a year and you lost a sixpence on purpose?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Who
is
this man?”

“His name is Thomas, and he isn’t a man. He’s hardly more than a boy.”

Gideon blinked at this bit of news, then relaxed against the back of his chair with a bit more emphasis than she thought was strictly necessary. “A boy.”

“He can’t be more than thirteen years of age, though he would insist otherwise. I certainly do not believe he is the fifteen he claims.”

“Even a boy of thirteen can be dangerous,” Gideon said quietly.

“No doubt. But Thomas was caught stealing oranges from a vendor’s cart in Langholm. Hardly the act of a vicious criminal. He’s so very young, Gideon, and I thought . . . I thought perhaps, if he had a skill, or a bit of education . . . I’ve been teaching him to read.”

There was a long pause before Gideon spoke again. “I see. Why did you hesitate to tell me this?”

“Well, it’s not entirely acceptable behavior for a lady, is it?”

“I’ve seen you in trousers, swearing, and talking to a goat.”

“Yes, but that was before. Before you and Lilly set your sights on seeing me . . . I don’t know—reformed, I suppose. I didn’t want you to think I’m wholly incapable of being educated, or that I’m ungrateful. And then there’s the fact that most people would think it foolish to teach a common thief to read—a senseless expenditure of time and effort.”

“What I think,” he said gently, “is that there are two very different sorts of ladies and gentlemen in the world. There are those, like Lady Engsly, who hold the title by the questionable virtue of birth and marriage. And then there are those who merit it by virtue of their actions. Your willingness to help this young boy exhibits, in abundance, the very quality used to define what it means to be a lady—grace.”

A flush of pleasure heated her cheeks and rendered her temporarily mute.

Gideon’s lips twitched. “I take it you haven’t yet had a lesson regarding the appropriate responses to a compliment.”

“There are
lessons
for that?” She held up her hand and shook her head. “Never mind, I don’t wish to know. Does this mean you’ll take me, then? To the prison?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

 

W
innefred didn’t argue when Lilly suggested the carriage be used. It was only sensible, given Gideon’s need to use a cane. She argued quite vehemently, however, when Lilly also insisted upon Bess accompanying them for the trip.

“I am going to a prison. A prison I have visited quite on my own a hundred times in the past.” More important, she was distinctly uncomfortable having someone watching over her as if she were an ill-behaved five-year-old.

“A hundred is a considerable exaggeration,” Lilly argued. “And this time, you are going as a well-bred young lady in the company of a gentleman. Bess will accompany.”

“But—”

Lilly held a hand up. “Bess may ride up top with Peter, the driver, if she is amendable to idea.”

“Is that permissible in London?” she asked, mostly out of curiosity.

“If I told you no, would you stop arguing?” Lilly sighed when Winnefred shook her head. “I rather thought not. A compromise this time, but you must learn to become accustomed to having a maid about. You’ve a reputation to consider now.”

Winnefred, who had previously given her reputation only the minimum of consideration, rolled her eyes at this bit of reasoning but thought better of arguing further. Lilly had agreed to let her go, Gideon had agreed to take her, Bess would ride up top, and a solid two to three hours of lessons would be avoided.

One shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth too often . . . Especially when that horse moved at an exceedingly slow pace, thus extending her freedom. Winnefred estimated she could have made it to the prison and returned half the mended clothes by the time the carriage was readied and its occupants settled.

She set her basket of shirts and coats on the floor as the carriage started down the drive with a jolt. “It would have been faster to walk.”

Across from her, Gideon smiled. “But not as comfortable.”

The carriage hit a large bump, forcing her to throw a hand out to the wall. “Doesn’t feel particularly comfortable to me.”

“When was the last time you rode in a carriage?”

“When I came to Scotland with Lilly.” And if she remembered correctly, she hadn’t found that an easy experience either. “I didn’t care for it.”

“It was a difficult time for you,” he said softly.

“It wasn’t just that.” She frowned a little, remembering. “I wasn’t feeling well. I had a touch of the ague.”

“That would certainly leach the pleasure from a trip.” The carriage rocked over a series of ruts at the entrance to the drive and he added, “So can a very rough road.”

“How did you find the roads on your way to Murdoch House?”

“In better condition than this one,” Gideon replied and used his foot to keep the basket from sliding across the floor.

The movement served to emphasize how much of the small space was taken up by his large frame. He was so close, she could smell his soap. A few more inches and their knees would be brushing. Well, a foot, she conceded, but that still qualified as close.