by Cheryl Holt
Gradually, it was dawning on her that she had no desire to fit in with such awful people, and she was questioning all of her choices. What was she doing at Dunworthy? How long would she tarry? If she stayed on, what place was she willing to occupy? If she left, what might she do instead?
When she’d traveled to Cornwall, she’d had no idea what sort of man John Dunn would turn out to be. She’d hoped to persuade him to hire her as Bobby’s and Jane’s governess. Briefly, she’d even toyed with the notion of asking him to start a school, with her as the teacher. Would she like to try that?
She didn’t think so. Her sole job as a governess had been teaching Bobby, Jane, and Daisy at Benton. They were smart, gifted children, and it had been a pleasure to work with them, but she didn’t have the patience to manage a collection of surly Dunn cousins who didn’t like her and weren’t interested in learning.
She could still teach Bobby and Jane—whether John permitted it or not. There wouldn’t be a salary for that, but for the time being—with John providing room and board—she didn’t need any funds. Yet she’d need money in the future for clothes and shoes and other items. What then?
She refused to be a pauper, wouldn’t attire herself like a fishwife, wouldn’t beg the housemaids for their castoffs. Though she wasn’t in much of a position to be a snob, apparently she was.
With each passing day, it was more obvious that there was only one way she could remain at Dunworthy and that was if John married her. Would he?
She doubted it very much. If she mustered the courage to broach the subject, but he bluntly informed her they wouldn’t wed, it would set in motion a string of consequences she couldn’t avoid.
She’d ruined herself simply to make him happy. Because of it, she’d put herself in a hideous quandary. She hadn’t the temperament to blithely engage in a salacious affair, so she was madly in love with him now. She felt that they were tightly bound in a manner that couldn’t be severed, but how did he view their relationship?
If he perceived no heightened connection, then he would trifle with her until he grew bored. He’d shift his attention to some other foolish, loose girl, and Winnie would have to dawdle in the corner and watch him flirting with someone else.
The humiliating scenario was too vile to contemplate, so shouldn’t she move on? Shouldn’t she find a new spot for herself so it never became a reality?
She had to separate from John before he separated from her. Their amour should be dissolved on her terms rather than his. Wouldn’t that be better?
She’d say goodbye to him, then to Bobby and Jane. She’d journey to London and live with her cousin. She’d list herself with various employment agencies, and she was positive she’d land a job without too much difficulty. Wasn’t that best?
She glanced over to the dresser where there was another letter from Daisy’s aunt, Josephine Bates. It sounded as if Miss Bates had never received Winnie’s first reply, and she’d explained again how she was being assisted by Peyton Prescott, how he wanted Bobby and Jane to visit Daisy in London someday.
If Winnie went to London to search for work, she could befriend Miss Bates. She’d be able to see Daisy, and when Lord Benton brought Bobby and Jane to town, Winnie would be able to see them too.
Each minute nudged her closer to the realization that her sojourn at the castle was very limited indeed.
She heard John approaching long before he arrived. His booted strides echoed down the deserted hall. He stopped at her door and slipped in without bothering to knock, but there was no reason for him to knock. She was always thrilled to be with him.
“There you are.” He was smiling, looking splendid. “I’ve been waiting for you downstairs. The dancing has begun, and you promised to be my partner.”
“I’m not coming down.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you’re coming.” He walked over to her, and he lifted her off the chair and seated himself. Then he snuggled her onto his lap. “Why are you hiding? What’s wrong?”
“I’m feeling sorry for myself.”
“You’re not usually morose. What is stirring this bout of melancholy?”
She studied him, anxious to remember how handsome he was, how dashing, how he’d filled her days with such joy and excitement.
“I have to return to London,” she said.
“Return to London?” He gaped at her. “Why would you?”
“It’s time.”
“It’s not time.”
“It probably is. Why would I tarry? My goal in traveling to Dunworthy was to deliver Jane and Bobby, and I have.”
“Your goal may have been to deliver them, but you planned to stay on too. Didn’t you tell me that? I’m sure you did.”
“I thought I should watch over them, but they’ve settled in without much help from me. I’m not a relative or even their official guardian. My duty to them is finished.”
“You are terribly glum, aren’t you?”
“They don’t need me anymore, and I’ve forced myself to accept that fact.”
“May I have an opinion about it?” he asked.
“I suppose you can. What is it?”
“You’re not leaving. That’s my opinion.”
She sighed with resignation, and she slid off his lap and went to stand on the other side of the room. It was a small chamber, so it didn’t put much distance between them, but distance was required. When he was touching her, she couldn’t concentrate.
“If I were to remain,” she said, “where would you imagine our relationship heading?”
He scowled as if it was the strangest question ever. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve jumped into a very torrid affair. So far, we’ve managed to be furtive about it, but sooner or later, we’ll be exposed. What then?”
“We have been exposed. The whole castle is gossiping about us.”
“Don’t you care?”
“No. My conduct isn’t anybody’s business.”
“But my conduct is.”
“Are you worried my cousins will scorn you for dallying with me? Is that it?”
She didn’t intend to dawdle at Dunworthy, so their attitude was irrelevant, but she didn’t mention it. “I hate to be denigrated, but I’m not concerned about them. I’m concerned about how you view me.”
“I think you’re wonderful. You know that.”
“What are you describing precisely? How am I wonderful to you?”
“Why, Winifred Watson, are you fishing for compliments?” He grinned. “If you need me to provide a boost to your self-esteem, you really are in a dour mood.”
“I’m not begging for compliments. I’d just like to be clear on a few topics.”
“All right, Winnie. How about this? You’re smart and funny and beautiful. You make me happy, and I’m glad you arrived. When I enter the main hall and see you there, I’m delighted by your presence. How does that sound?”
“It sounds grand.” She nodded, letting his kind words sink in. “How will our liaison end? I realize you’re a man, and males can be particularly obtuse when it comes to emotional issues, but what is it you envision with regard to me? Do you believe we actually have a relationship?”
“Yes, we have a relationship.”
“A physical one,” she pointed out. “Could it ever be more than that?”
“More than physical?” He appeared completely confused.
Men were such thick creatures! “I’m asking you to clarify how we will proceed into the future. Will we simply sneak off and fornicate in dark corners until….when? Until I wind up with child? Until you grow weary of me and move on to another enticing girl? What?”
Obviously, he wasn’t eager to engage in the conversation, but that was too bad for him. She was determined to get some answers.
“You shouldn’t fret over it so much,” he ultimately said. “It will work itself out. We’re having a marvelous time, and we shouldn’t court trouble by establi
shing rules or predicting conclusions.”
“When we first started in, you told me you’d marry me. I recall that you swore you would.”
“Oh.” His cheeks reddened with chagrin.
“Now that we’re more deeply involved, has it crossed your mind again?”
She was stunned that she’d been brave enough to raise the matter. Candor had been easier than she’d presumed it would be, but it had been much harder too. Her pulse was thundering in her ears so loudly that she could barely hear his reply.
“I suppose—despite how I respond—I’ll seem like a scoundrel.”
“Why is that? Is it because you were lying to me so you could lift my skirt?”
He wrinkled up his nose. “I wasn’t lying.”
“You just weren’t being especially honest?”
He was still seated in the chair, while she was hovering by the dresser like a frightened rabbit. He patted his thigh, urging her to sit with him again.
She shook her head. “Please tell me what you have to say, and be very blunt so I’m not left wallowing with any misconceptions.”
“Winnie, why would you want to wed me?”
How about because I love you so much I’m dying with it?
“When two people misbehave as we have, marriage is the penalty they pay.”
“But think, Winnie!” he said. “If you were my bride, you’d be trapped at Dunworthy forever. Could you picture yourself staying with me? Have you considered the grueling months and years where you’d have only me and my cousins as your companions? You’re aware of how they loathe strangers, and you’ve already felt the brunt of their disdain. Could you live with it day in and day out?”
She thought—if she was his wife—she’d implement changes that would make it acceptable. She’d find relatives who were cordial, boys like Cook Tim who weren’t so surly. She would get rid of the malingers and malcontents, would hire servants from the outside who would respect and heed her.
Evidently, those alternatives hadn’t occurred to him.
“It might be difficult,” she said, “but maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe we’d be so happy that none of it would bother us.”
“It would bother me. I’m afraid you’d start to hate it, then you’d start to hate me for shackling you. Then where would we be?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re so remarkable. You deserve a posh life, filled with interesting, educated friends. What would you have here? Not much, I don’t guess.”
“Could you ever see yourself marrying me?”
He dawdled for an eternity, the torturous moment spreading out as he searched for a comment that wouldn’t crush her. Finally, he picked one. “It would be so unfair to you.”
“Is it just me who can’t tempt you into matrimony? Or is it marriage in general? If you found a girl who could fit in, would you suffer these same qualms? Or would you be delighted to proceed?”
Again, a torturous moment spun out. With each second that ticked by, he was furnishing answers, and none of them were the ones she was desperate to receive.
“I can’t bear that I’ve put a frown on your pretty face,” he said.
“You didn’t put it there.”
“I didn’t remove it either.” He stood and walked over to her, and he dipped down and kissed her. “Don’t listen to me on any important subject. I’m awful at sentimental conversations, and I never say the right thing.”
“You’re correct about that.”
“I’m hosting a celebration. We should be dancing the night away.”
“I told you I’m not in the mood for a party.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We have so few of them in this drafty castle. When one transpires, we can’t ignore it.” He extended his hand. “Come downstairs with me.”
She stared at that hand, but she couldn’t grab hold. She’d forged ahead to folly, but what had she expected? As a female—with no family, money, or prospects—she’d yearned to bind herself to him so he would save and protect her, but clearly, he had no intention of doing that.
Typically, she viewed herself as being smart and shrewd, but she wasn’t really. Not when it involved amour. Where amour was concerned, she was an idiot and a dunce.
She had to arrange to depart, and she’d have to manage it without giving him any notice. He was so stubborn. If she tried to leave—when he was opposed—he’d prevent it simply to get his way.
It was time to write some letters. Miss Bates and her cousin had to be notified that she was returning to London. She’d have them check the advertisements for employment options that might suit her, and she would sneak away as soon as she could—when he wasn’t watching, when he wasn’t paying attention.
She would be devastated to part from him, devastated to part from Bobby and Jane, but she was an adult, and occasionally, tough choices had to be made.
She forced a smile. “I owe you a dance, don’t I?”
“You owe me dances—as in plural. We will revel until your slippers fall off.”
“If you actually can dance. I’m still not convinced you’re proficient.”
“I am very, very proficient, Miss Watson. Just you wait and see.”
As if they were adolescent sweethearts, he linked their fingers and led her from the room. Apparently, they would stroll into the main hall together where all his kin would be confronted by the blunt fact that he favored her. They’d realize it wasn’t merely a vicious rumor.
Not that it mattered. Not that he was sending a message. To him, she was a bit of fluff, a flirtation, but that’s all she was. And it would be over shortly.
* * * *
John marched toward the castle, Bobby and Rex hot on his heels. The boy was his shadow, and John was glad of it. As he’d suspected, Bobby was wise and perceptive on a dozen different levels. He often knew what John needed before John knew himself.
He glanced around, relieved to note most of the stragglers had crept away. When he’d left a few hours earlier, they’d been sleeping in corners and passed out in the courtyard. The sun was high in the sky, and most everyone had slinked home to lick their wounds.
All in all, it had been a fine festival, but then, Dunworthy parties usually were. People ate, drank, gambled, fought, and renewed old bonds. What more could a man want from such an event?
He’d spent most of the evening showering attention on Winnie until her sour mood had lifted. He’d used her to keep busy, to ignore the tempest that was swirling. He’d sought the distraction so Freddie would have plenty of opportunity to persuade Holden to leave.
After learning that Holden was lurking across the water, he’d been angrier than he’d ever been. During several previous discussions, he’d threatened to murder Holden, and he hadn’t been joking or bluffing. If he came face to face with Holden ever again, he would kill him, but he’d rather not. He’d rather Holden ran away and hid where John could never locate him.
The extended revelry had worked as he’d planned. He was much calmer and able to think rationally.
Once he’d risen for the day, he’d visited the tavern in Dunworthy to inquire about Holden, and yes, Holden had fled in the night. John had checked his room to be certain, and he’d bribed the tavern owner to guarantee he never slithered back without John being apprised.
Now he only had to deal with Freddie. His friend wouldn’t have packed and departed as John had ordered. He’d figure he could weather John’s wrath and eventually be forgiven. That was the path by which they normally staggered forward.
But not this time. He’d warned Freddie about Holden, yet Freddie had allowed him to sneak into Dunworthy anyway. Freddie had kept Holden’s secret. On top of that outrage, he’d frightened and manhandled Winnie. It was all too much to abide.
With Holden having left, he had to ensure Freddie left too. Freddie would whine and claim he didn’t have anywhere to go, but that wasn’t true. He could crawl to London and sponge off his despicable br
others for a change. He had four of them. John was finished sheltering the disloyal lout, and Freddie would never be welcome at Dunworthy again.
He entered the main hall and was delighted to discover Winnie engaged in one of her annoying projects. She’d mustered a cadre of servants, and they were cleaning like fiends.
All signs of the gathering had been wiped away. The tables had been shoved to the side, and the floor was being scrubbed, the walls too. A pair of scullery maids were toiling away in the large fireplace, supplying the scouring it probably hadn’t had in centuries.
Winnie looked adorable. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt, her apron too. Her beautiful hair was covered by a kerchief, the blond tresses tied with a ribbon and hanging down her back.
The oddest sensations swept through him, and he froze, attempting to identify what they were. He was startled to recognize joy, amusement, affection, irritation, and significant fondness all rolled into one. He couldn’t imagine walking into his castle and her not being there.
The prior night, she’d waxed on about how she was prepared to head to London, but he wasn’t about to let her. If he had to lock her in a cell in the dungeon to keep her close, then that is what he would do.
“Hello, Lord John.” She grinned, appearing as if her morose disposition had been fully vanquished.
“Hello, Miss Watson.” He grinned too and went over to her. “I see you’re causing trouble again.”
“I’ve decided trouble must be my middle name.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I came down to breakfast this morning, and none of the mess from the party had been cleared away. Can you believe it?”
“Yes, I absolutely can.”
“You should hire a good housekeeper.”
“Or a hard dictator like you.”
“I’m not hard enough. I swear, your cousins may be your servants, but they don’t feel much of an impulse to actually serve you. How can you stand it?”
There were numerous eavesdroppers, and several grumbled under their breath. Others shared caustic glances that didn’t bode well for her trying to fit in, but then, they’d agreed she’d never fit in. She couldn’t make it any worse. Could she?