The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (13 page)

He laughed. “It wasn’t entirely dreadful. For a governess.”

She laughed, then studied him. “And what of you? You obviously wish to marry.”

“You’ve heard about my past engagements then?”

“I suspect there is no one in England who has not heard.” She paused. “I assume then that you do wish to marry.”

“It’s part and parcel of my responsibilities to my family, really. My parents, in particular my mother, wish me to marry and are disappointed that I have as of yet failed to do so. Believe me, I have tried.”

“Have you?”

“Is that a note of doubt ringing in your voice?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it is. I mean one failed engagement is awkward, but these things happen. But three engagements—well, three is a habit.”

“A habit?”

She nodded. “A bad habit.”

“I confess I have any number of bad habits, but this is not one of them,” he said in a sharper tone than he had intended. “I’ll have you know I am not in the habit of randomly proposing to women only to have that promise of marriage end in . . . nothing.”

She grimaced. “Now I have offended you.”

“Not at all.” His jaw tightened. “I shall make you a bargain. If you do not ask me about my engagements, I will not ask you about your marriage.”

“Very well, but my marriage was quite satisfactory. One might even say perfect.”

“And yet after a mere three years you are willing to move on.”

“There was nothing mere about the last three years,” she said in a hard tone. “You have no idea how difficult they have been.”

“You’re right. My apologies.”

They drove on in silence.

“Could you stop the carriage please?”

“Why?” he snapped.

“I need to change my shoes and I don’t want to do it in front of the workers.”

“Very well.” He reined in the horse.

She stared at him. “Well.”

“Well?”

“I would appreciate it if you would turn away.” She fluttered her hand at him. “Go on.”

“Good Lord.” He groaned, shifted in his seat and stared out into the countryside. “I can promise you, Lady Garret, the sight of your bare feet would not inflame my passions.”

“Are you sure?” He could hear her opening her bag. “I’ve been told I have very nice feet.”

“While I am certain your feet are exquisite, I am equally certain the sight of them would not tempt me to seduce you.”

“Oh.” The sounds of her changing shoes continued. “Then what would?”

He started. “What?”

“What sort of temptation would you not be able to resist? In terms of seducing me, that is.”

“Lady Garret!” He was as shocked at her comment as he was his reaction.

“I thought I should know. Just in case . . .”

“I assure you, I have no intention of seducing you.”

“Excellent, as I have no intention of allowing you to do so.” She sniffed. “There. I have my shoes on, you may turn around.”

“Thank God because in another minute I don’t know if I would have been able to control myself!”

“Imagine my surprise,” she murmured.

Lady Garret was fast passing annoying and heading firmly into infuriating. Seduce her, indeed. He pushed the surprisingly tempting idea out of his head.

They started on their way again and were nearly at Fairborough when he heard her sigh.

“There is something about you,” she said. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I suspect there are any number of things you can’t quite put your finger on.”

“No doubt, but I find myself saying things to you I had no intention of saying, telling you things I have never told anyone.” She shook her head. “It’s most disconcerting.”

“I find your candor enchanting,” he muttered.

“You do not.”

He pulled the horse to a stop and heaved an exasperated sigh. “Oh, but I do. Women are not usually honest in their dealings with me.”

“And you are always honest with them?”

“Don’t be absurd.” He scoffed. “Women don’t expect honesty from me and I do hate to disappoint. But I do know where a line should be drawn. You should know I have never asked a woman to marry me that I did not fully intend to wed.” He paused to pull his thoughts together. “Unfortunately, women usually see me as two distinctly different creatures. One is an admittedly dashing—”

“And modest as well.”

“—and charming rogue with any number of amorous conquests to his credit.”

“Credit?” Her brow rose.

He ignored her. “Somewhat lighthearted, prone to amusing conversation, even perhaps frivolous. He likes nothing better than telling a good story that will make his listeners laugh unless it’s having a good laugh himself. No one expects anything of a serious or especially honest nature from him. And he plays his role with the skill of a practiced actor.”

“Go on.”

“Or they see me as a man of property and wealth. The current Viscount Stillwell and the next Earl of Fairborough. I tell you, Lady Garret, there is nothing more demeaning to a man’s soul to be wanted for what he has rather than who he is.”

She stared. “I had never thought of it before, but I can well imagine.”

“It’s neither here nor there at the moment, I suppose.” He quickly got out of the carriage, in part to hide his embarrassment. He had never revealed that much of himself to any woman. Not even those he had planned to marry. He circled around to help her down. “I’m rather surprised to admit that you and I may be more similar than dissimilar as I too have revealed things to you I have never said to anyone else. I do hope you will keep my confidence.”

“Of course.” She studied him. “And may I ask the same courtesy?”

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “I shall have a carriage sent back for you this afternoon.”

“You’re not going to stay and check on the progress?”

“I shall leave that in your capable hands,” he said in a curt manner.

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded, her manner every bit as curt as his. “Very well then.” She turned and walked off and he tried not to watch the way that striped skirt swayed with every step.

Win was on his way back to Millworth before he could change his mind. He would have liked nothing better than to have spent the rest of the day in her company. That in itself was surprising. It wasn’t her change in appearance. Indeed, he had already acknowledged to himself that he considered her most attractive. But it was the ease with which they had talked to each other that was nothing short of frightening.

More similar than dissimilar indeed. He couldn’t believe he had said that. Why hadn’t he just called them kindred spirits? Or worse—soul mates. What utter nonsense. He didn’t believe in soul mates. Perhaps he had once, but that was long ago and well before he’d had three fiancées, each of whom he had planned to love but none of whom he did at the time. Which was the only reason he’d survived humiliation and embarrassment and, in one case, the slight cracking of his heart.

He had liked each of his prospective brides, of course. After all, he had planned to spend the rest of his life with them. But he’d chosen them as much for their suitability as a wife, as the next Countess of Fairborough, as anything else. Which he now realized was fairly stupid. Now, he wanted more.

Now he wanted a woman he could share his hopes and dreams and fears and innermost thoughts with. A woman who was at once intelligent and flirtatious. A woman who would be as much friend as lover. That was a woman he could happily spend the rest of his life with.

Not that said woman was Lady Garret. For one thing, they didn’t particularly like one another, although that did appear to be changing, at least on his part. But she did seem to spend a great deal of her time deliberately annoying him. Beyond that the woman was, well, unexpected. Yes, that was it. He didn’t know from moment to moment what she might say or do next. It was at once disconcerting and exciting. Certainly life with her would never be dull although she would more than likely drive any sane man mad. Under other circumstances she might well be a woman he could . . .

Ha! The very idea was absurd and no doubt only occurred to him because of their discussion of her marriage and his engagements. She was absolutely right: they would never suit one another.

No, Lady Garret was not the right woman for him. For one thing she obviously believed she was smarter than he was. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was. He ignored it. For another, regardless of what she might have said, she was still hiding something significant about Mr. Tempest and Garret and Tempest. And that he was determined to find out. Indeed, it was most frustrating that he hadn’t done so as of yet. But then very nearly every encounter with Lady Garret left him frustrated and annoyed.

More so when he realized he hadn’t come any closer to finding out her secrets today, but he had certainly revealed some of his.

Miranda studied herself in the mirror in the rooms she had been given at Millworth although she wasn’t really sure who she was looking at. The woman who stared back at her wearing one of Bianca’s gowns was really rather pretty. She wasn’t at all used to thinking of herself as pretty, but, unless this was some kind of magical mirror from a fairy story, the woman in the mirror was definitely pretty. The bodice was a bit snugger than she was used to and molded to her figure, making her bosom seem, well, inviting. She wasn’t used to that either. She grinned at her reflection. She rather liked it.

Would Lord Stillwell like it as well? Not that it mattered, of course.

She patted her hair one last time, soft brown curls framing her face, something else she wasn’t accustomed to, and started for the dining room. The man had the oddest effect on her. When she didn’t want to smack him, she wanted . . . What did she want?

She had no idea and it was disconcerting. It had been most satisfying today when she had arrived and had seen the look on his face. It was definitely not the look one gave to a governess. Her cheeks heated at the thought of “every little boy’s dream.” The man was incorrigible as well as annoying.

He was also somewhat more than she had expected. For one thing, he was, well, nice. She’d already known he was amusing. And known as well she enjoyed his company. But in his company she found herself saying the most improper things, as well as revealing far more than was probably wise. Even with John she’d been fairly reserved until they had known each other for a significant amount of time. But with Lord Stillwell, she found herself sharing all sorts of intimate details about her life and her thoughts. That it seemed so natural to do so made it no less confusing.

“Lady Garret.” Lady Fairborough descended upon her the moment Miranda stepped into the parlor. “I’m so delighted you could join us.”

Miranda smiled. “I don’t know if I have properly thanked you for inviting me to stay.”

“It was strictly selfish on my part. I must confess, I was exhausted just thinking about you going back and forth to London nearly every day. It simply didn’t make sense. And I do pride myself on my sensible nature.”

Across the room, Mr. Elliott and Lord Fairborough traded amused glances. A lovely blond woman stood beside them. Lord Stillwell was nowhere in sight.

“You are looking exceptionally lovely tonight, my dear.” Lady Fairborough’s gaze flicked over Miranda and she nodded in approval. “Oh my, yes, you’ll do quite nicely.”

“Do for what?” Miranda said slowly.

The older lady’s eyes widened innocently. “Why, do for dinner, of course. Now then, I don’t believe you know everyone.” She took Miranda’s arm and led her toward the others. “You’ve met Lord Fairborough, of course, and my nephew, Grayson.”

“Good evening, Lady Garret.” Mr. Elliott smiled a greeting. “How nice to see you again.”

“Mr. Elliott.” Miranda smiled.

“Grayson, if you please.” He cast an affectionate look at the woman by his side. “Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Lady Lydingham.”

Taller than Miranda and very blond, Lady Lydingham was the epitome of classic English beauty. The kind of beauty that made everyone else pale in comparison. For a moment, Miranda felt extremely pale. She ignored the thought and smiled at the other woman. “Good evening, Lady Lydingham.”

“Oh, please, do call me Camille.” She returned Miranda’s smile. “It would be too dreadfully awkward to live under the same roof and continue such formality. And in spite of its appearance, Millworth has never been overly formal.”

“I would be honored, and you must call me Miranda,” she said. “This is your family’s home, isn’t it?”

Camille nodded. “My great-grandfather acquired Millworth, oh, a hundred years or so ago. Unfortunately, the property is entailed and my parents weren’t clever enough to have sons so I’m not sure what will happen to it in the future.” She glanced around the parlor. “My sisters and I all have our own homes of course, so we certainly don’t need Millworth. Still, it will be rather sad when the day comes that it passes to some distant, unknown relative. Probably some annoying twit of a creature who will see it only for the value of its property and not the richness of its heritage. I have no idea who that might be, but I am certain we have one somewhere.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “Every family does, you know.”

Miranda bit back a smile. “It is a grand house.”

“It is indeed,” Lord Fairborough said firmly. “This house and Fairborough Hall were originally built by members of the same family around the same time. But Fairborough Hall has stayed in our family from the time the first stone was laid, nearly three hundred years, whereas Millworth has changed hands any number of times.”

“And it seems each new owner left his mark on the manor with additions or remodeling or whatever suited the fancy of the new occupants,” Grayson added. “Which is why the façades of Millworth and Fairborough don’t resemble each other.”

“I see,” Miranda said. She had noticed the various styles incorporated in Millworth in a surprisingly harmonious manner on her first visit. “How interesting.”

“But that was a very long time ago,” Camille said firmly. “What I think is much more interesting is what is happening now with the rebuilding of Fairborough Hall.” She cast Miranda an admiring look. “I can’t believe you managed to convince Winfield to install electricity.”

“Where is Winfield?” Lady Fairborough frowned. “He should have been down by now.”

“Some sort of business matter to attend to, Aunt Margaret,” Grayson said to his aunt.

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for Lord Stillwell’s change of heart,” Miranda said. “It was more the influence of his family, rather than anything I said, that led to his decision to allow electrification.”

“And improved plumbing,” Lord Fairborough said.

“Nonetheless, I find what you’re doing quite admirable,” Camille said.

“What I am doing?”

“Being here to oversee the construction. It’s not at all the sort of thing most women would so much as attempt, although I daresay most of us would be quite good at it.” Camille nodded. “It’s quite . . . oh, progressive of you.”

“I’m not really overseeing the work,” Miranda said quickly. “We have a gentleman who does that. My responsibility is more in the manner of a liaison, as it were, between the architect and the actual construction.”

“Regardless, I think it’s most impressive,” Lady Fairborough said firmly. “And quite courageous. It’s not easy to be progressive and look toward the future rather than the past. But we are nearing the twentieth century and there is no doubt in my mind that the world is going to change and we must change along with it.”

“Well, we are getting electricity,” Lord Fairborough said under his breath.

Lady Fairborough cast her husband an unyielding glance. “And that, Roland, is only the beginning.”

“God help us all,” the older gentleman muttered and took a sip from the glass he held in his hand. Whisky, judging from the color.

Grayson chuckled. “What do you have in mind, Aunt Margaret?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet.” Her eyes narrowed in a thoughtful manner. “I would think next . . .” She aimed a triumphant smile at the rest of the group. “Telephones!”

Camille’s eyes widened. “Oh, that does sound like fun.”

“Doesn’t it? They already have them in parts of London, you know.” Eagerness rang in Lady Fairborough’s voice. “I believe there’s a problem with wires and such here in the country, but once the hall was finished, I was going to propose installing them in the Mayfair house.”

“While we’re at it, why don’t we build a stable for the horseless carriage and a dock to tether the flying machine to as well?” Lord Stillwell strode into the parlor.

“I should quite like a horseless carriage.” Lady Fairborough grinned at her son. “And a flying machine.”

“I might have to draw the line at a flying machine,” Lord Fairborough said. “Man was not meant to fly.”

“At last we agree on the limits of progress, Father.” Lord Stillwell addressed the older man, but managed to slant Miranda a smug look.

“Perhaps
men
weren’t meant to fly, but I am one woman who thinks it sounds quite exciting,” Camille said in a mild manner.

“If one finds the threat of imminent death from plunging to the earth exciting.” Lord Stillwell scoffed. “I, for one, intend to keep my feet firmly on the ground.”

“Perhaps it’s the mechanism of flight that concerns you, my lord.” Miranda adopted her most pleasant expression. “Perhaps you would not be as amenable to a flying machine as you would be to, oh, say, wings.”

Grayson choked.

Lord Stillwell’s eyes narrowed. “Birds have wings.”

“As do insects.” She favored him with her sweetest smile. “Annoying pests and the like.”

“Lady Garret—”

“Lady Garret?” Camille snorted. “Good Lord, Winfield, you needn’t be so stuffy. You never have been before and I can’t imagine why you are now.”

He glared at her. “I have a great deal of responsibility.”

“It’s not quite as easy as it once was to be Winfield Elliott.” Grayson bit back a grin.

“And yet, I bravely carry on.” The corners of Lord Stillwell’s mouth twitched as if he too was resisting a smile.

“We have agreed to dispense with formality and call each other by our given names.” Camille pinned him with a firm look. “Now then, Winfield, might I present Miranda? Miranda, this is Winfield.”

“How delightful to meet you, Winfield.” Her gaze met his and she smiled. This was silly but more than a little fun. It struck her that this group had much in common with her own family.

“The pleasure, Miranda . . .” He stepped closer, took her hand and raised it to his lips. His gaze never left hers. This was the second time he had kissed her hand and while the first had triggered a fluttering in the pit of her stomach, now warmth spread from the touch of his lips through to her very toes. “The pleasure is entirely mine.” He lowered his voice, his words for her ears alone. “You are a vision tonight, Miranda.”

“Every little boy’s dream?” she teased.

“No.” His gaze bored into hers. “Every man’s.” Her breath caught, her gaze locked with his and for an endless moment there was no one in the room, no one in the world save the two of them. The wicked lord and the governess. And something that might well have been desire washed through her.

“After all,” Camille’s voice sounded from somewhere very far away, “we are all living in the same house. And you and Miranda will be together for a very long time.”

“A very long time?” Miranda and Winfield said in unison. She snatched her hand from his and stared at Camille, and his gaze followed hers.

Grayson laughed or coughed, one couldn’t be quite sure as his hand covered his mouth.

“Well, yes.” Camille’s gaze slid between Miranda and Winfield. “It was my understanding that construction will go on for months. Which to me does seem like a very long time.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I was not referring to the rest of your lives.”

Winfield scoffed. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Of course not.” Miranda forced a short laugh. “How absurd.”

“Grayson said Fairborough wouldn’t be completed until well after we return,” Camille continued.

“Until who returns?” Lady Fairborough frowned.

“We shall explain it all to you.” Camille blithely waved off the question and nodded toward the door. “And I believe Prescott has come to call us into dinner.”

“Very well then.” Lady Fairborough took her husband’s arm, then glanced at her son. “Winfield, do escort Miranda, if you please.”

“I would be honored.” He smiled politely and offered his arm.

It would have been unacceptable not to take his arm; still, she knew the briefest instant of hesitation, then braced herself. She slipped her hand onto his arm and again that strange sensation of warmth washed through her. At once terrifying and exciting.

He held back until the rest of the group was nearly at the dining room, then walked slowly after them, speaking in a low tone out of the side of his mouth. “That was odd.”

She knew at once what he was talking about and nodded. “Extremely odd.”

“You do realize what they are all thinking?”

“Oh, surely not.”

“Perhaps you have not met my mother.”

“I have met mine . . .” She winced. “We shall just have to set them straight then.”

“How?” He stopped in mid-step and looked at her. “Denying that . . . that . . .
moment
, for lack of a better word, that we shared in front of them would only give legitimacy to it.”

“Legitimacy?” She stared at him.

“Well, yes, acknowledging it gives it credence. If we ignore it, it will go away.”

“Do you really believe that?”

He nodded. “I do.”

Disappointment mixed with relief and something else she couldn’t quite define. Anger perhaps? “Excellent idea. We shall pretend it never happened.”

“That does seem for the best.”

They took another few steps and she paused. Definitely anger. “Although . . .”

“Although?”

“If we really want to convince the others of the insignificance of the
moment
. . .”

“And we do.”

“Without question,” she agreed. “But it seems to me we might want to do more than just ignore it.”

“More?”

“You and I seem to be exceptionally good at annoying one another.” She smiled in as pleasant a manner as she could muster. “Perhaps we should just let that natural tendency of ours take its course.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “That will do, I suppose.”

“Yes, it will.” She clenched her teeth. It was obvious the man had no interest in her whatsoever, even interest of a prurient nature, which was unreasonably upsetting. Infuriating, really, although it made no sense. Why, she didn’t even like him. Even if, for less than an instant, it had seemed there might be something quite remarkable between them. It was an aberration, no doubt. Not the least bit significant. It would be best to ignore it completely and pretend it never happened. Because if it was not important to him, she would absolutely not allow it to be important to her.