Nearly a Lady (24 page)

“I’m not certain about the entire closet full of gowns part, but the rest is common knowledge. You’ll have to do better. What’s her secret?”

She pursed her lips, warming to the challenge. “The earrings she is wearing are from a lover. A very well-to-do lover. They’re not something a woman employed at a tavern could afford. You see how she fiddles with them and smiles? But she doesn’t look at the door. She’s not waiting for him to come in. Because he’s already in the room.”

“Well done,” he commented as she finally gave in to the urge to yawn. “You learn quickly.”

“Some things,” she murmured. “Now you. Which of these fine gentleman purchased the earrings?”

Gideon scanned the room. “The young man two tables over on your left. He’s peeking glances and blushing and—”

“Married,” she finished for him. “I wager he’s married.”

“That would be his dark secret. His wedding bed hasn’t yet cooled and already he’s warming another. He can’t help himself. Her charms, her—” He broke off suddenly and cleared his throat. “Perhaps this isn’t the most appropriate of games to be playing with you.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ve some idea what goes on between a man and a woman behind closed doors, Gideon.” A very narrow idea, but it counted. “Giddy is bred every year, you’ll recall.”

“Nevertheless, it would be best if we moved on to other people. What about that man?”

Caught between annoyed and amused, she didn’t even bother to look where he pointed. “He’s not married, but he has two mistresses. In the same house.”

He scowled at her. “The man in the blue wool coat by the fire.”

“He likes his sheep for more than their wool.”

“For pity’s sake.”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. But there was a dark edge to her humor, and a heaviness of heart she couldn’t shake.

It had been only a week since she’d sat in his chambers at Murdoch House, worried he might think less of her for teaching a thief to read. It had seemed important to her then that he believed she could be taught to behave like a proper lady. But she found that wasn’t what she wanted from him now. She wasn’t interested in his approval of what she might become, or pretend to be for the short time she was in London. She wasn’t sure she wanted to become a lady. There was very good reason to believe she might not even be capable of such a transformation.

In that moment, all she wanted from him was to accept her as she was now. And it chafed that he had to be reminded of who that was.

“Did you think a fine dress and some distance from my land would make me someone else entirely, Gideon?” she asked softly. “Have you forgotten how you found me? Who I am?”

He looked at her, his dark gaze searching her face for a long, long moment before answering. “I could never forget you, Winnefred.”

She shrugged and traced her finger down the handle of her spoon. “Pity your family didn’t feel the same.”

“Yes, it is. A great pity.”

She snatched her hand back from the table and winced. He’d been so thoughtful today, so wonderfully considerate, and she repaid him now by being disagreeable and petty.

“I apologize,” she mumbled. “That was uncalled for. I don’t know why I said it.”

“Aside from the fact it is true,” he replied with more kindness than she felt she deserved, “you said it because you are more tired than you are willing to admit.”

She couldn’t seem to lift her gaze above her empty bowl. “That is not an excuse—”

“And,” he cut in, “you are taking this more to heart than you should for the same reason. Winnefred, look at me.” He waited for her to comply. “You are a breath away from falling into your soup bowl. Go upstairs; go to bed. Things will look different in the morning.”

Under other circumstances, she might have taken some offense at the insinuation she had difficulty seeing things as they really were. In fact, she
wanted
to take offense, which only went to prove his point.

She was exhausted. Her body felt leaded and her thoughts raced without getting anywhere. She knew she was angry still, but she couldn’t decide if it was with him for thinking she ought to be a lady or with herself for not meeting his expectations. Probably, it was a bit of both, which made very little sense.

“Winnefred,” Gideon said again. “Go to bed.”

Giving up, she nodded and rose from the table to seek out her bed.

T
he next morning, Winnefred stood at the front of the inn and watched as Gideon oversaw the harnessing of the horses to the carriage. She took a deep breath of the cool morning air and smiled. She felt herself again . . . Only better. Remarkably better. In fact, she felt very nearly exuberant.

It was the oddest thing. She’d gone to sleep worrying over her disagreement with Gideon and had woken in such a fine mood, she’d had no trouble at all addressing her troubles as she so often did . . . by pushing them away.

Gideon hadn’t been angry when she had left. She wasn’t angry now. And the rest could be worked through in time.

It all seemed so simple. Which, quite frankly, seemed a little strange.

How was it her body could still be battling a lingering weakness while her spirits practically soared? She contemplated this as Gideon walked across the yard to meet her. Then she contemplated how much she enjoyed watching Gideon walk across a yard to meet her.

He ought to seem ungainly, she mused, or less virile somehow because of his injury. But he didn’t. He moved with an unexpected grace, and the unmistakable command of a man confident in his physical prowess. She watched the sculpted muscles of his thighs bulge beneath the snug fabric of his trousers, then let her eyes wander up to the broad expanse of his chest and the quick bunch and release of his powerful shoulders when he leaned on his cane.

Oh, yes, everything about the man spoke of an uncommon physical strength. And everything about that had an uncommon effect on her.

“Feeling better this morning?” Gideon inquired when he reached her.

“Very much, thank you.” Amused by the tenor of her thoughts—less so by the heat in her cheeks—she caught her hands behind her back and rocked on her toes. “You were right, you know. Things do look different in the morning. Dramatically so. I feel euphoric. It’s the most bizarre thing.”

He tilted his head at her. “You’ve not been ill before, have you?”

“I had a head cold once and the mild illness on the way to Scotland. Why?” She stopped rocking, a grim thought occurring to her. “Is euphoria a symptom of something more serious—?”

“No,” he replied on a laugh. “Just a benefit of recovery.”

“Oh.”
How very nice.
“Does it last long?”

He looked at the carriage, then looked at her. “I’m afraid not.”

“I’ll take pleasure in it while I can, then,” she decided. “Are we ready to leave?”

He chuckled and nodded. “I’ll fetch Lilly.”

An hour later, Winnefred noted with some disappointment that Gideon was also right about the life span of her euphoria. With every sway of the carriage a little more of her good mood slipped away.

She rode atop again, and though she found the movements of the carriage unpleasant, she also found plenty to distract her from her discomfort, and she wondered why anyone would ever choose to ride inside. There was so much to see, and the narrow view of the countryside to be had through a carriage window and around an outrider could not compare to the grand vista offered by an elevated seat. Better yet, Gideon had chosen to keep her company again, and he entertained her with tales of his travels and his youth. All of which he admitted to embellishing generously for the sake of good drama. She was delighted he did. She was delighted with
him
. Never before had she met someone capable of making her laugh and dream, wonder and want in the space of an hour, and then make her laugh and dream, wonder and want all over again in the next.

But what was most unfamiliar to her was the experience of being cared for by someone stronger than herself. With Lilly, there had always been companionship and cooperation. But with Gideon, she felt . . . protected. There was no other word for it, no other way to describe how it felt to be tucked up against his side, his large frame sheltering her smaller one. He steadied her with strong hands when the carriage rocked too hard, and the heat of his body permeated through her coat and gown, warming skin that wanted to chill.

She had always considered herself a person of independence, capable of caring for herself. But she could admit that there was a comfort, even a sense of freedom, in knowing she could rely on Gideon for a time. It was nice to know that, if just for a little while, she didn’t have to be the strong one.

But even the frequent stops they made, the distractions of beautiful scenery, and the comfort of Gideon’s company were not enough to hold off her illness indefinitely. By early afternoon, she was experiencing a persistent ache in her belly, and her limbs began to feel sore and heavy. She tried to stay awake, remembering what Gideon had said about the perils of keeping her eyes off the road for too long, but it was only a matter of time before her head drooped and she slipped into sleep.

She woke on her own, slowly and with the unsettling notion that someone had stuffed a wool coat in her mouth during her nap. As she became more aware, she realized it would be more accurate to say that she had put her mouth on the coat.

She was drooling on Gideon.

Her head snapped up and off his shoulder fast enough to have her neck screaming in protest. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry.”

Oh, how mortifying.

“Quite all right,” he assured her with a teasing smile. “You salivate charmingly.”

She groaned and dragged the back of her hand across her chin. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“There was no reason for it. You’ve been asleep less than half an hour.”

“My pride could give you a dozen reasons. All moot now,” she grumbled.

“Exactly. So why worry yourself over it?”

“Easy for you to say.” His dignity hadn’t dribbled slowly out of his mouth for the last few miles.

“You’ll make light of men and sheep, but throw in a little spit, and you color right up. You’re a puzzle, Winnefred.”

“I’m a terrific mess,” she muttered. Her clothes were wrinkled and twisted, her bonnet was askew, and loose strands of hair whipped into her eyes. A headache was beginning to press against the back of her forehead and nausea continued its relentless assault against her system.

Gideon slipped out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “We’ll be stopping for the day soon.”

She wasn’t cold, but the coat smelled of him, and she found that comforting. She smiled in thanks. “We don’t need to stop yet. It’s barely midday.”

“It’s nearing two.” He pointed to a thick gray wall of clouds she hadn’t noticed in the distance. “And we’ve heavy rain coming.”

Not just rain, Winnefred thought, but a storm. The soft rumble of thunder could be heard, and the heavy sheets of rain extending from the clouds looked as if they could wash the road and everyone on it away in a matter of minutes.

She turned to Peter. “How far are we from shelter?”

“Ten miles back or nine miles forward, give or take.”

She looked again at the brewing storm. “We’ll not outrun it.”

“No, we won’t,” Gideon agreed. “You’ll need to get inside the carriage soon.”

“No.” She reached up and tied the ribbons of her bonnet more tightly. “Absolutely not.”

“You’ll be soaked.”

She considered the alternative. “Then I’ll be soaked.”

“Winnefred—”

“I can’t, Gideon. Not for nine miles. I just can’t.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but in the end, he simply nodded and tucked his coat more securely around her shoulders.

“You need this back,” she said.

“I don’t. And you’ll keep it on, or you’ll ride out the storm in the carriage.”

She kept it on.

The rain began slowly, a mist of water brought in on the wind. It picked up, just as the wind did, and within twenty minutes, Gideon’s prediction came true. She was soaked to the bone. The rain and surrounding air was warm, but the water drove against them in hard sheets. She kept her chin down and her eyes closed and didn’t look up again until she heard a soft curse from Gideon and felt the carriage begin to slow.

“What is it?”

If anyone answered her, she didn’t hear it over the storm, and it hardly mattered. She could see the trouble for herself. A large stream cut across the road. It ran fast, wide, and undoubtedly deep. And the wooden bridge spanning it had been built too low to accommodate the sudden influx of water from heavy rainfall. The rushing water buffeted against the side of the bridge, periodically lapping up and over the boards. Winnefred imagined that if it hadn’t been for the howl of the wind and rain, one could hear the creaking and groaning of the wood. If the rain continued with such intensity, it would only be a matter of time before the bridge gave out.