Snickering nervously, she turned her head when a soft knock sounded on her door.
“Yes. Come in.” And stay, she thought. She didn’t want to be alone with her nerves.
The door opened a crack and Rebecca’s head popped inside. “Lord Gideon would like a word with you, miss.”
Oh, perfect. “Of course. Where is he?”
By way of answer, Rebecca entered the room with Gideon following behind her. He stepped inside, caught sight of Winnefred, and stopped. Slowly, his gaze trailed up and down the length of her, his eyes coming to rest at the low-cut bodice. She couldn’t have asked for a more effective means of distraction, and she wasn’t certain what she wanted to do more—blush, invite him closer, or laugh outright. Hypocrites or not, the ladies of the ton knew what they were about.
Rebecca cleared her throat delicately. “Shall I stoke the fire in the sitting room, my lord?”
“Hmm?” Gideon blinked and turned his head slowly as if waiting for his eyes to catch up. “Oh, right. The fire. Thank you, Rebecca.”
When he looked at Winnefred again, his eyes had cleared and there was a smile playing at his lips. “It appears I was wrong about the gown. You look exquisite.”
“Thank you.” She bobbed a quick and much-practiced curtsy. Then, because it felt as if the movement had shifted the material lower, she tugged at the bodice. “It feels like a ton of bricks.”
“I imagine it does.” His gaze followed the movement of her hands a moment before snapping to her face. “Why bricks, do you suppose?”
She stopped tugging. “I’m afraid to inquire what you mean by that.”
“If it’s a ton of something, what difference does it make if it’s a ton of bricks, or a ton of stone, or a ton of very fluffy pillows? They all weigh the same by definition.”
“Is it absolutely necessary I spare thought for that?”
Gideon shook his head sadly and crossed the room to stand before her. “You display a distressing lack of curiosity.”
“It’s true, I do. And the shame of it weighs more heavily on me every day. Much like a ton of fluffy pillows.”
“Well. I hope you’ll not mind the addition of a few more ounces.” He glanced into the sitting room and, seeing Rebecca occupied, pulled a small box from his pocket. “I saw this today and thought of you.”
She looked at the box and groaned. This was not the sort of distraction she wanted. “Gideon, no.”
He’d bought her presents every day for the last four days—bonnets and bracelets, earrings and fancy slippers. On several occasions, he’d had multiple gifts sent to her chambers. “You cannot keep purchasing such things for me.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too much, and they are inappropriate. Even I know a gentleman is not allowed to give a lady jewelry or articles of clothing. And a lady is not allowed to accept.”
“As your acting guardian in my brother’s absence, it is perfectly acceptable for me to purchase items necessary for a London season.”
“It is acceptable that you pay for them, not buy them as gifts.”
“The difference escapes me.” He shifted his cane to his arm so he could open the box.
“It does not. It . . .” She trailed off, her eyes going round as he revealed a necklace fashioned of small, delicate pearls and ending with a moderately sized diamond pendant. It was beautiful. Simple, elegant, beautiful, and no doubt worth a small fortune. She felt her resolve to decline the present slipping away. “Oh, it’s so lovely . . . I shouldn’t accept this. I shouldn’t accept any of your gifts.”
“Why do you, if it bothers you?”
“Because . . .” She shifted her feet and bit her lip.
“Because they’re lovely, and . . . Do you know how many sheep I could buy with this? And the garnet bracelet? It could see Murdoch House through a drought, and . . . And I can’t say no.”
He bent his head and laughed softly.
“I shouldn’t take this,” she mumbled, looking at the box in his hand. She reached out and took it. “But I can’t say no. I could—I’d not be tempted, if you would only stop offering. What must I do to persuade you to stop?”
His laugh faded, and when he lifted his head to speak, his dark eyes were somber. His voice was soft and edged with a sadness she didn’t understand.
“Take them for granted,” he said.
She shook her head. “What?”
“I want you to take these things for granted. I want you to be as sure of their existence in your life as you were of hunger and cold in Scotland.” He reached out to tap the edge of the box with his finger. “I want to bring you a pretty, useless trinket and have you see a pretty, useless trinket—not a windfall, not its worth in livestock, and certainly not salvation from the hardship you seem to think awaits you in the future.”
“You want to spoil me.”
“I do, yes.”
“And I want to be annoyed with you for it. It pricks at my pride.” She looked down at the necklace. “But it would be foolish of me.”
“That, Winnefred, is my very point. When you can turn away an expensive piece of jewelry without feeling like a fool, then I will curtail my gifting habits.” He slipped the necklace from the box and handed her his cane. “Hold this a moment.”
Before she could ask what he meant to do, he’d stepped behind her and reached around to settle the pearls and diamond against her throat. She barely registered the weight of the jewels on her skin. It was impossible to think of anything but how close he was standing. She felt the warmth of his breath against her hair and the brush of his wrists across her shoulders. Heat and a giddy sense of anticipation gathered in her chest then spread out in waves, until she was certain every inch of her was flushed. She wanted to turn around and tilt her face up to his, but Rebecca was still in the sitting room. And all too soon, the necklace was secured and Gideon was stepping away.
“Perfect,” Gideon announced when she turned around. “Now for these.”
To her astonishment, he pulled another box from his pocket and revealed a set of sapphire earrings.
“More jewelry?” Without thought, she reached out to touch.
Gideon pulled his hand away. “Becoming greedy already? That’s a fine start.” He snapped the box shut. “But they’re not for you.”
“Not for me? But . . .” She looked up and saw the familiar twinkle in his eyes. “For Lilly?”
“Indeed. Would you like to give them to her?”
She would have rather kissed him, but as alternatives went, presenting Lilly with sapphires wasn’t half bad.
“Go on, then,” Gideon urged. He handed her the box. “I’ll meet you downstairs when it’s time to leave.”
Gideon watched Winnefred leave the room with sapphires in hand and asked himself, as he had a dozen times a day for the last week—
What the devil am I doing?
The answer was always the same. He was torturing himself.
There was no other possible explanation, no other plausible reason he could give for why he had ceased trying so hard to avoid Winnefred and had even begun to seek her out.
Why else had he not set his foot down when his aunt had insisted he be present for every lesson and shopping trip? Why else would he hand deliver a string of pearls to her chambers if not to see her, knowing he couldn’t have her? It hadn’t been necessary for him to pick out her gowns at the modiste’s either. His aunt could have managed, and Winnefred hadn’t cared one way or the other. It certainly wasn’t necessary that he sit in the high-back chair in the library every night simply because Winnefred always sat on the green settee and the high-back chair afforded him the best view of her profile.
It was absurd, and it was the trip from Scotland that was to blame. He’d grown used to being able to talk to her anytime he wanted, and feeling the warmth of her pressed against his side, and seeing the details of her face with just the slightest turn of his head. He’d become so accustomed to having her there, right there next t
o him, that he found he could no longer go the day without needing to see her. Even the space of a few hours made him feel restless and dissatisfied.
The two days she had spent recovering in her chambers had been hell. Another day and he would have . . .
He shook his head and dragged a hand down his face. He’d not have made it another day.
And what did it matter that he couldn’t go a day now?
There was nothing unseemly in his behavior toward Winnefred. Admittedly, he had a fair number of unseemly thoughts toward Winnefred, but a man couldn’t be held responsible for a few—very well, quite a few—erotic daydreams.
Nothing he was doing harmed her. Nor did any of it threaten his independence from responsibility. So, he stared a bit. A man was entitled to look. And he brought her trinkets from time to time. There was no harm in that. The woman needed spoiling—the Engsly estate owed the woman a bit of spoiling—and a gentleman could present gifts to a lady without becoming responsible for her. Too many gifts, or the wrong sorts of gifts, and he was honor bound to present an offer of marriage, but that didn’t apply to wards and guardians.
The irony of using his questionable role of guardian as an argument against his responsibility for Winnefred was something he chose not to examine too closely.
He preferred to concentrate on his future plans. It would be months before the season was over, months before he would have to let Winnefred go, and if he was determined to spend that time torturing himself, so be it. He would stare, and buy her diamonds and pearls, and imagine her wearing them with nothing else. And he would do it as damn well often as he liked.
He tapped his cane against the side of his foot as a slow, determined smile spread across his face. If he was going to spend the next several months in torment, then he was bloody well going to enjoy it.
“Would you care to explain what you are doing in Miss Blythe’s bedchambers, nephew?”
Gideon’s head snapped up at the sound of his aunt’s voice in the doorway. “Er . . . Just woolgathering. And now leaving.”
“Not so quickly, if you please.” Lady Gwen stepped into the room with a soft rustle of gold silk.
“Rebecca is in the sitting room,” Gideon explained. “And Winnefred is with Lilly.”
“Yes. I’ve just come from Miss Ilestone’s chambers, where I was informed by Miss Blythe that she has no interest in obtaining a match this season.”
He ignored her less-than-subtle reminder of her distaste for his use of first names. “Yes, I know.”
“I presume this is the reason you were so adamant in your letters from Scotland that a dowry not be arranged?”
He gave a small shrug. “I see no point in making her a target for fortune hunters.”
“There is still Miss Ilestone to match,” she reminded him.
“Your expertise may not be needed in the case of Miss Ilestone.” Because he wanted to draw the moment out, he leaned forward slowly before whispering, “She is Lucien’s Rose.”
It was a rare thing indeed to see the rigidly composed Lady Gwen visibly taken aback. Generally speaking, it was also a very brief thing. Lady Gwen’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped opened in astonishment, but only for a moment. “Good heavens. Does he know?”
“I sent a letter to Italy. But I’ve not yet heard word back.”
“Well.” Lady Gwen tilted her head a little in thought. “It is possible Lucien has gone elsewhere in search of your stepmother. The letter may have missed him.”
“It may have. In any event, he’ll hear the news sooner or later.” He pictured his brother reading the letter and smiled. “I’m happy for him.”
“I am as well,” Lady Gwen replied, before adding, “and irritated with you. You led me to believe Miss Blythe and Miss Ilestone were in need of my assistance.”
“They are,” he assured her. “Everyone is in need of your assistance, aunt. England would be a much finer place altogether if its people had the sense to fall in line with your opinions.”
“Oh, rubbish.” She studied him with suspicious eyes. “What other secrets are you keeping from me?”
“None from you. But since we are on the matter of secrets—Winnefred is under the impression she will be running Murdoch House on her own, and with strict financial restrictions. I would appreciate it if you said nothing to dissuade her of this notion.”
“You wish for her to struggle and worry?”
“I wish to give her what she wants. She wants to work to make Murdoch House a success. She takes great pleasure in seeing the rewards of her labors, and I’ll not rob her of that pleasure by robbing her of the work.”
“But you mean to see she does not fail,” Lady Gwen guessed.
“The amount of ten thousand pounds has been put aside in the event it becomes needed.” He thought about that. “It won’t be.”
“Such faith in the woman,” she said quietly.
“I have seen what she is capable of.”
“I ought to reprimand you for encouraging your brother’s ward to engage in such crass pursuits.”
“But you won’t,” he guessed with a patronizing smile, “because you’re fond of her.”
Lady Gwen made a small scoffing noise in the back of her throat. “You ascribe a generosity I do not possess. I barely know the chit. It is you of whom I am fond. It is you I wish to see happy. Miss Blythe is nothing more to me than a possible avenue to your well-being.”
“An avenue to my well-being? That’s absurd.”
“I have not seen you take such interest in and care for anyone or anything since before the war.”
An uncomfortable knot formed between his shoulder blades. “My interests and cares have not changed.”
“Deny it if you will, but remember that it is a dangerous game you play, nephew. Miss Blythe is an unmarried woman in possession of a clever mind, stubborn nature, and some very unusual ideas.” She straightened a little, as if surprised by her own words. “Well. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am fond of her after all.”
Chapter 27
According to Lilly and Lady Gwen, Lady Powler’s parties were neither the most extravagant nor the most fashionable events the London season had to offer. But to Winnefred, Lady Powler’s ball looked a very grand affair indeed. Everywhere she turned she saw silk and jewelry, crystal chandeliers and gilded candelabras. And food, she thought, biting into a delightful confection of cake and strawberries she’d discovered at the refreshment table. There was more food present than she had seen in her life. The lively strains of a reel floated from the second-level gallery while the guests below danced and laughed and wandered about the enormous room in search of friends or introductions.
Despite her lingering nervousness, she had to admit that—the obvious wastefulness of it all notwithstanding—it was a rather pretty scene. Which was to be appreciated, because she and Lilly had done little more than stare at it for the last half hour.
Winnefred gave a quick look over her shoulder to be certain she wouldn’t be overheard before leaning in her chair to speak with Lilly. “I did not agree to travel hundreds of miles just to watch you turn down opportunities to dance.”
“I’ll not leave you here alone,” Lilly returned, calmly smoothing a hand over the skirts of her pale blue dress. She looked so lovely tonight, Winnefred thought. Absolutely beautiful. And more than one gentleman had taken notice.
“Lady Gwen is not ten feet away.” She nodded her chin to where their chaperone was immersed in a conversation with a group of ladies her own age.
Gideon had been pulled into the card room by Lord Powler almost immediately upon their arrival, but Lady Gwen had remained in their company longer, making introductions and settling them in a quiet spot at the edge of the ballroom. Several gentlemen had since requested Lilly’s hand for a dance. And Winnefred had watched her graciously turn down each and every one.
It was maddening.
She leaned a little closer. “I swear to you, Lilly, if you do not accept the next offer
to dance, I will make such a scene that Lady Gwen will have no choice but to send us packing back to Scotland this very night.”
“You wouldn’t.”
No, she wouldn’t, but because it was imperative Lilly believe otherwise, Winnefred finished off the last of her treat, brushed off her hands, and sat back in the chair. Then she gave Lilly the same imposing look she had employed with Gideon when he had threatened to lock her in her chambers at Murdoch House.
“Do you remember the little ditty I learned at the prison?”
Lilly accepted the next offer.
And as Winnefred watched her friend being led to the dance floor, it occurred to her that, aside from having to bully Lilly into enjoying herself, and the brief moment upon entering the ballroom in which she seriously contemplated bolting back out again, the night was going remarkably well. To the best of her knowledge, she’d not yet made a single egregious error of manners. True, her glowing description of the Scottish countryside had been met with raised brows by the young ladies who had sat with them for a time. And probably, she should not have mentioned the specifics of her illness to the gentleman who had inquired after her trip to London. No one, however, had appeared to be overtly offended by, or even unduly interested in, her minor slips.
How silly she had been to imagine she would be the center of attention, that every guest would be watching her, meticulously appraising her every word and move.
Evidently, in the eyes of society, she was just another woman come to town. True, her connection to Lord Englsy made her a person of mild interest, but she wasn’t a great beauty, an heiress, or even a legitimate member of the Haverston family. In short, she wasn’t the sort of woman who warranted the ton’s close inspection.
For the second time in her life, Winnefred was grateful for being the sort of woman others found easy to dismiss.
Better to be forgotten than despised, she thought.
And so much better to have her inadequacies ignored than have them reflect poorly on the people she cared about. All she had to do was refrain from any sort of behavior that was so monstrously inappropriate it couldn’t possibly be overlooked—which she was almost certain she could manage—and Lilly would have her successful season.
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