Nearly a Lady (8 page)

She twirled once and laughed again, a free and happy sound that made Gideon wonder if he and Lucien had missed out on a great deal by not having a sister to spoil and tease. “It pleases you, then?”

“Pleases me? I’ve my first new dress in a decade. I’ve new furnishings for the house, my own room, and people to see to the care of both. If it weren’t unforgivably forward, Lord Gideon, I’d kiss you here and now.”

“Gideon,” he reminded her and bent down to offer her his cheek.

Lilly gave him a peck, then started when a crash, a yell, and several loud gasps sounded in the foyer.

“Who the devil are all these people?!”

Winnefred stumbled in looking breathless and flustered. Her clothes were wrinkled, her long braid of hair frazzled, and her face noticeably pale under the freckles.

“Are you ill?” Gideon demanded, something akin to panic skittering up his spine.

“No, I—”

“Of course she’s ill,” Lilly said pleasantly. “You sent those custard-filled pastries.”

“Was something wrong with them?” Bloody hell, he’d poisoned the woman. “Can a person get sick from eating a stale pastry?”

“No,” Lilly assured him. “But a person can get sick from eating six fresh ones.”

“Five,” Winnefred defended, still standing in the doorway. “And someone answer my question. Who are—”

“Our new staff,” Lilly explained. “Isn’t it wonderful? No more cleaning and cooking and washing and chopping and—”

“Yes, I know what a staff does.” Winnefred glanced back into the hallway. “I thought perhaps you’d hire a person or two to see to . . . whatever it is a lord needs seeing to, but do you really need so many?”

“They’re not for me, or not entirely,” Gideon informed her. “They’re here to provide for whatever you and Lilly might need.”

Winnefred turned back to him, looking surprised. “But I don’t really need anything. I—”

“Of course you do,” Lilly said. “You need someone to care for the animals, the garden, the fences, stock wood for winter—”

“I can do that.”

“You can, and you have, but now you’ve something else to occupy your time—you’ve lessons, remember?”

Winnefred winced. “I remember. I just assumed . . .” She trailed off and blinked at Lilly, who was running a smoothing hand down her gown.

Gideon took a step toward her. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s a new gown,” she answered in a dazed voice. “I hadn’t noticed. I was distracted. I thought you were playing with a tablecloth, Lilly, or . . . I’ve no idea what I was thinking . . . You’ve a new gown.”

Gideon may not have been raised with a sister, but he’d had his share of sweethearts and figured he could recognize hurt jealousy as well as the next man. He hadn’t expected it of Winnefred, but then, he hardly knew the woman, really. He opened his mouth with the intent of pointing out the box he still held under his arm but got no farther than a quick indrawn breath before she turned to him and proved that perhaps he knew her rather well after all.

“You brought Lilly a new gown.”

She smiled at him. And it wasn’t a “where’s mine, then?” sort of smile, nor the dreaded “I’m tragically disappointed, but I’ll not admit to it” sort of smile. It was, without question, a “you are the dearest, cleverest, most wonderful of men” sort of smile.

Simply put, she beamed at him, and Gideon felt the power of it down to his toes. Her amber eyes lit up, her full lips parted, and her face flushed a lovely shade of peach. She looked, he thought, altogether too tempting.

He cleared his throat, pulled out the other box, and very nearly shoved it at her. “I’ve one for you as well, several for both of you, actually. One of the maids will put them in your chambers, I’m sure. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve some . . . some . . . correspondence to see to.”

And with that singularly inelegant speech, he left the room with every intention of putting into action his plan of avoiding the ladies of the house for the next three weeks.

Particularly one Winnefred Blythe.

 

G
ideon’s departure was too swift for Winnefred to do more than stare after him, perplexed, and rather disappointed she’d not had the opportunity to properly thank him for bringing Lilly a gown. It had been such an act of thoughtfulness. One that very neatly, and very effectively, sliced through several layers of lingering distrust.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Lilly shook her head dismissively. “Not at all. I think our Lord Gideon is something of an odd duck. A man of his station is allowed his quirks. Aren’t you going to open your box?”

“Hmm? Oh.” She set the box down on a side table and pulled off the lid. Like Lilly’s, her gown was white muslin, but there was no colored embroidery on the fabric, just a simple white-on-white vertical print and a touch of eyelet on the sleeves and hem.

Lilly smiled and nodded with approval. “An appropriate choice. You’ll look lovely.”

“I . . .” She trailed off as she ran a finger down the material. “Oh. It’s soft.”

Her old gown was coarse and scratchy; it pinched under her arms and cut into her sides with even the slightest movement. It wouldn’t be so dreadful, she thought, to wear something that felt like this.

“Is it for London?” she asked.

“No, it is for you to wear here.”

She snatched her hand back as if she were burned. “You can’t be serious. We’ve weeks before we leave. What if I ruin it?”

“Then you’ll be publicly flogged and left to languish in the stocks.”

“I’m in earnest, Lilly. I wouldn’t begin to know what to do with a gown as fine as this.” She gestured at the dress. “I’ll have it covered in mud in under an hour.”

Lilly began folding her own dress. “Do you think you’re the first woman to have occasion to walk on a muddy path?”

“Of course not, but—”

“Mud can be brushed out, Freddie.”

“But I don’t need a new gown now. I’ve the old one and my shirt and trousers.”

Lilly replaced her gown in its box. “No, you don’t need the old dress, shirt, and trousers now; you have new gowns. We’ll start your lessons tomorrow. No excuses . . . and no more sweets. Six pastries . . . honestly.”

“Five,” Winnefred reminded her. She rubbed a hand against her aching belly, sat down, and sighed. “And it was worth it.”

W
innefred’s introduction into the complicated—and in her opinion, truly bizarre—ways of the ton began the next day and continued uninterrupted throughout the week. From dawn to dusk she was instructed in everything from proper dining etiquette, to executing the perfect curtsy, to how to address the various lords and ladies of Europe.

She found her new life and new surroundings in Murdoch House not unpleasant, exactly, but difficult. She and Lilly had shared a room since the first day they’d arrived in Scotland, for comfort in the beginning, then later for practical reasons. But now Winnefred went to sleep and woke alone, or with a stranger in the room stoking the fire. She hadn’t yet decided which was more discomfiting.

She was dressed in fine gowns, served an abundance of fine food on fine china and silver platters, and instructed in the matter of fine manners. Everything, it seemed to Winnefred, was absolutely, unquestionably, and irritatingly
fine
.

She missed the muddy walks with Claire to the stream in the mornings. She missed the freedom of wearing what she liked, speaking her mind, doing as she pleased. She missed the sense of pride at having accomplished something tangible every day, whether it was catching fish for breakfast, or mending a broken stall door, or even washing the linens.

Lilly’s lessons were challenging, certainly, but they weren’t something Winnefred could point to and say, “I did that. I managed that quite on my own.”

Of course, she
might
have been able to say that about the lessons . . . if she’d shown any talent for learning and remembering them.

“Is this really necessary, Lilly?”

It was the seventh day, and she and Lilly were sitting, straight-backed with their ankles crossed, in the newly appointed parlor. It was Winnefred’s first lesson on the art of using one’s fan, and her blasted bit of feathers and whalebone refused to cooperate. It insisted on folding when she fluttered it, sliding open when she tapped it, and molting feathers in a great cloud every time she snapped it shut. She’d pulled several out of her mouth now and was certain she had more sticking up from her hair.

“I believe mine’s defective.”

“It isn’t; you’re just being too rough with it. It’s a fan, not a hammer to be swung about.” Lilly leaned over to adjust Winnefred’s grip on the handle. “And it
is
necessary. Communicating with one’s fan has fallen out of fashion, but I’m sure the signals themselves are still recognized. What if you propositioned a man without realizing?”

“Is the man handsome?”

“That is not the point.”

“It could be. It would be bold and daring and wonderfully wicked of me if he’s handsome.” She shrugged and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “If he were homely, it would just be stupid.”

Lilly heaved a great sigh and looked to the ceiling as if for inspiration. “To begin with, propositioning any man, for any reason, is nothing short of unforgivably forward and therefore
immensely
stupid. Secondly, a man’s value does not rest solely in his appearance.”

“But a woman’s does,” Winnefred scoffed.

“No. At least, not if that woman is well dowered and well connected. And last—don’t shrug. It’s vulgar.”

Winnefred gaped at her. “I’ve seen you shrug
hundreds
of times.”

“Not,” Lilly replied with great dignity, “in the last week. I have successfully broken myself of the practice. You can as well.”

There were a few things Winnefred would have preferred breaking at the moment—the ridiculous fan for one—but she’d made a promise to do her best, and she meant to keep it.

The lesson continued for another hour—another unbearably long hour to Winnefred’s thinking—before one of the maids stepped in and announced dinner.

Lilly smiled at the younger woman. “Thank you, Bess. Will his lordship be joining us this evening?”

“No, miss. He’s asked for his meal to be sent to his room.”

Again
, Winnefred thought, tossing her fan back into its box. She’d seen very little of the man since the morning he’d returned with the gowns. He was often away from the house, going to Enscrum for the day. And when he was in, he secluded himself in his room and made it perfectly clear to everyone that he didn’t wish to be disturbed.

His continued absence only added to Winnefred’s already troubled thoughts. She had come to the conclusion on the day he’d returned from Langholm that, despite the limited time they had spent together, she felt more than a physical attraction to the man. She felt a fondness. It had been so thoughtful of him to bring Lilly new gowns without being asked. And he’d been quite reasonable about the small misunderstanding in the stable. He’d made her smile when she’d wanted to pound her fence to splinters out of frustration, had sent those delicious custard-filled pastries, and had brought back from town the most wonderful of luxuries . . . chocolate. How could she help but be fond of him? How was she to ever discover if the way her belly tightened and her skin flushed whenever she caught a glimpse of him was something more than a temporary attraction and fondness if the man refused to speak with her? How—?

“Winnefred, are you listening to me?”

“I . . .” She blinked, then pulled herself away from her worries to find Bess gone and Lilly looking at her with an expectant expression. She offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“You were fretting,” Lilly corrected. “Which is the very thing I was commenting on. Why don’t you take a walk after we eat? The air will do you good.”

“Haven’t we plans after dinner?”

“Nothing that can’t be put off for one evening, and to make up for it, we’ll have another extended lesson on dining etiquette at dinner.”

Her pleasure at the thought of a solitary walk dimmed just a bit. “Of course we will.”

 

G
ideon turned a corner around a stand of pines and came to an abrupt halt. There, sitting on a rock by the stream that marked the boundary of Murdoch House land, was Winnefred, accompanied by her goat. Both of them oblivious to his presence.

His heart sped up of its own accord. It seemed to always do so when he caught sight of her. And he seemed to always be torn between turning his eyes and thoughts away and lingering to watch.

He’d chosen to watch only once, on the fourth day of his internment—as he had begun to call his stay in Scotland—when Lilly had taken Winnefred outside to practice walking gracefully, or so he gathered from the viewpoint of his window.