She could feel herself smiling, then smiling broader when she caught sight of Gideon exiting the card room.
And when he is not about, do you miss him?
Apparently, she missed him even when he was only a room away.
She wanted to leave her little corner of the ballroom so she could go and tell him of the happy realization she’d come to about her visit to London, and how she had bluffed Lilly into dancing, and every detail of everything else that had occurred since they’d spoken last.
She decided she also wanted to reach up, take his face in her hands, and bring his dark head down for a nice long kiss, because, really, if she was going to indulge in ridiculous fantasies, they might as well be good.
Amused by the picture in her head of a well-kissed Gideon being forced to listen to every thought that had crossed her mind in the last half hour, she waited, almost patiently, for him to spot her through the crowd and make his way across the room.
“Miss Blythe,” he said, bowing low, “may I interest you in a turn about the room?”
She rose to take his arm. “A turn would be lovely, my lord, thank you.”
Gideon grinned at her as he led her away. “You look happy.”
“Oh, I am.” She gripped his arm tighter in her excitement. “Have you seen Lilly? She was dancing a moment ago. Plus, it’s been near to an hour and I haven’t scalded anyone, or offended anyone, or spilled anything. I can’t remember the name of the lady in the bronze gown next to the potted palm, but she doesn’t know that.”
“Mrs. Carlisle.”
“Ah.”
“You won’t be dining on my raw heart, then?”
“Not tonight,” she said cheerfully.
Almost immediately, she wondered if she’d spoken too soon. A round of tittering came from the small group of women that had drawn Lilly into conversation after she’d left the dance floor. Tittering was never a good sign. She steered Gideon closer, but he held her back when she would have steered him directly into the group.
“Have a little faith in your friend,” he advised and pulled her just far enough away to listen in without being noticed.
“A very interesting choice of gown, Miss Ilestone,” one of the girls chimed. She tossed a quick, feline smile at her friends. “That style must be all the rage in rural Scotland because, I vow, I have never seen the like.”
Fuming, Winnefred took a step forward with the vague and—she would admit later—ill-advised notion of breaking a nearby flowerpot over the brat’s head.
Gideon grabbed her arm and shifted to block the view of his hold on her from the rest of the room. “Faith, Winnefred.”
Clearly unaware of the scene taking place off to the side, Lilly tilted her head just a hair, smiled ever so sweetly, and patted the girl’s arm in a sympathetic manner. “Of course you haven’t, Miss Drayburn. It is a creation of Madame Fayette’s. And she is a little particular in her choice of patrons.”
The tittering stopped. Miss Drayburn opened her mouth but failed to produce anything beyond a splutter.
“But have no fear,” Lilly continued, letting her hand fall. “We can be certain Madame Fayette will not hear of the slip from your friends. Now, do excuse me. I am promised for the next dance.”
Winnefred watched as Lilly turned and walked away, a smug smile lighting her features. No, not just smug, but amused.
Gideon released her arm. “You see?”
“Lilly enjoyed that,” she whispered.
“Does that bother you?”
“No, of course not. I’m just . . . I’d worried someone might be unkind to her. I never thought she’d like it.”
“She liked winning,” Gideon corrected. His eyes tracked Lilly across the room. “She belongs here.”
Winnefred wanted to tell him he was wrong. Lilly belonged in Scotland with her. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back, knowing them to be a lie. Murdoch House may have been Lilly’s home for the last twelve years, but she’d never really belonged there. It had become increasingly clear over the last week that London was Lilly’s world.
“I think . . .” She swallowed past a dry lump in her throat and forced herself to say aloud a fear she’d refused to acknowledge until now. “I think she means to stay.”
Gideon looked at her and frowned. “You’ve been here a week. This is one ball. You can’t guess at where Lilly will want to be months from now.”
“You just said she belonged here.”
“Amongst the ton, yes. But the ton only gathers in London twice a year. The other months are spent traveling or at country estates.”
“That’s true.” And with a bit of imagination, she could picture Murdoch House as a small country estate. A very, very small country estate. “I suppose, if Lilly wanted to visit London now and then, that wouldn’t be so terrible.”
Not wonderful, not at all what she wanted, but not terrible.
“There you go . . . Feel better?”
“Yes. And no.” Her lips twitched. “I still want to hit Miss Drayburn with the flowerpot.”
“Is that what you had planned?”
“More or less.”
“Try to make it less,” he suggested.
“Oh, very well.” She glared at the back of Miss Drayburn’s head and whispered a particularly vulgar insult.
Gideon’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “Now do you feel better?”
“Quite a lot, actually.”
She sighed and turned to see Lilly glide across the dance floor once more, this time in the elegant circles of a slow waltz. It occurred to her that watching a graceful dancer in a pretty, candlelit ballroom was nearly as agreeable as being an uncoordinated dancer in the privacy of one’s own home.
“Isn’t that lovely,” she said after a time. “Absolutely perfect.”
“I’m sorry I cannot dance with you.”
Winnefred looked over at the soft words from Gideon and found him frowning down at his cane. Regret and annoyance that he could not do as he pleased, she understood, but the apology baffled her.
“I am as well, as it troubles you.”
“Of course it troubles me.” The frown deepened to a scowl. “You shouldn’t be standing here. You should have your pick of partners.”
“I don’t want a pick.”
“You should be dancing.” He turned his scowl in the general direction of several young gentlemen across the room. “Wait here. I’ll see to it—”
“What? No.” She whipped a hand out to grab his arm, then dropped it just as quickly when she realized the breach of manners. “I beg you, do not demand a dance for me from one of those men. It would be mortifying—”
“I wasn’t going to demand . . . exactly.”
She ignored the obvious lie. “Furthermore, I do not want to dance.”
“Of course you do.” He punctuated this bit of presumption with a nod and hard tap of his cane against the floor.
“Where on earth did you acquire such an impression?”
“In Scotland,” he replied, as if the answer was obvious. “You had a splendid time dancing.”
“Yes, but I was dreadful at it.”
“But you’ve had more lessons, more time, more . . .” He trailed off, and his brows lifted in amused surprise. “You’ve not improved?”
“No.” But she rather liked that he’d assumed she could. The dancing master had proclaimed her hopeless after the first dance. But Gideon, she remembered, had not been present for those lessons.
“Not even a little?” Gideon pressed.
She shook her head and leaned toward him in a conspiratorial manner. “Your aunt has instructed me to feign a touch of the headache whenever I am asked to dance.”
He looked at her with patent disbelief. “For the whole of the season?”
“Either I am quite prone to them or exceptionally slow to recover.”
Their shared laughter was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Gwen and a gentleman Lilly would describe as fashion
ably handsome—fair of eyes and hair, tall and light of build, a high brow, thin nose, and strong chin. Winnefred thought him not quite so handsome as Gideon, but she was predisposed to like him all the same because his eyes crinkled nicely in the corners when he smiled.
“Lord Gratley,” Lady Gwen said, “may I present Miss Winnefred Blythe?”
Lord Gratley bowed as she curtsied. “Miss Blythe, would you care for a turn about the room?”
She’d rather have stayed with Gideon than take yet another turn about the room, but in the face of an open invitation, there was little she could do but agree. “A turn about the room would be lovely, my lord.”
Gideon scarcely noticed that his aunt departed as soon as Lord Gratley escorted Winnefred away, and he certainly didn’t see the knowing smile that briefly crossed her face before she turned and left. He was too preoccupied trying to ignore the seed of jealousy taking root in his stomach. And when ignoring failed, he attempted to reason his way around it.
It was just a turn about the room, he told himself. A brief walk with a man he rather liked. Lord Grately was a friendly, sensible sort with a keen sense of humor and an eye for seeing past the pretenses of the ton.
And therein lay the problem, Gideon thought darkly.
He didn’t want another man seeing—really seeing—Winnefred.
Whether she was in a complicated ball gown or a simple dress, he was the only man who truly saw her. He knew that beneath the fragile silk was the steel spine of a woman who’d confronted a thief in her stable and beaten him to the ground. He knew that behind the soft smile was the unconquerable will that had kept two women alive on five pounds a year. Well-rehearsed manners hid a brash tongue, and the excuse of a headache would keep quiet the fact she was graceless as a lumbering army. Only he knew the simple, wild beauty of her. It was a treasure he wanted to hoard. She was a secret he wanted to keep all to himself.
He was being unreasonable and he knew it. But even as he berated himself for being a dog in the manger, he scowled as Winnefred laughed at something Gratley said. And he wasn’t sure if it was better or worse when Gratley laughed at something Winnefred said in return. He only knew he didn’t like it. This was not the sort of enjoyable torment he had promised himself in Winnefred’s chambers.
Gideon felt the seed of jealousy sprout and grow as he watched them continue their slow tour of the room. By the time Lord Gratley returned Winnefred to his side, it had spread insidious little tendrils to his brain. And when Gratley bowed and took his leave, Gideon had the outrageous urge to trip the man up with his cane.
Some of his irritation must have shown, because Winnefred took one look at him and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing.” He succeeded in holding his tongue for all of two more seconds. “You should have a care, Winnefred. People will talk if you flirt overmuch with one gentleman.”
“According to Lilly, some people will talk no matter . . .” She blinked and looked at him with a mixture of pleasure and confusion. “Was I flirting? With Lord Gratley, you mean? I’d no idea.”
“You were smiling and laughing.”
“That’s flirting?” she demanded in a disbelieving whisper. “You can’t be serious. How else would a lady react to a charming gentleman with a keen sense of humor?”
“A polite smile—no teeth—would suffice.”
She gaped at him. “I’m to pretend I’m disinterested, even though I am not?”
He shifted his weight without realizing. “No. Yes. Were you very interested?”
She started a little at the question. And who could blame her, he thought? He had no business asking, no business even being curious. He certainly had no business sounding like a petulant boy when he asked the question he was so painfully curious about. He scrambled for a way to save his pride and, distracted, missed the quick light of comprehension in her eyes.
“I can speak with my aunt, if you like,” he said, finding an excuse for his behavior. “See if she can’t arrange to find out which invitations he has accepted.”
And make bloody well certain you aren’t at a single one of them, a little voice whispered. He ignored it.
She peeked around his shoulder for a glimpse at Lord Gratley and studied the man with an intensity that had Gideon’s hand curling tight around the handle of his cane.
“I think I should like that,” she said after a time. “He was very easy to talk to, and he is handsome. Like a fairy-tale prince.”
Gideon tried, and failed, to not turn around and give Gratley a quick and jealous assessment.
“His nose is flat,” he declared, turning back to Winnefred.
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” She gave him a polite smile with no teeth that had him biting off an oath. “I suppose I only noticed his finer attributes.”
He had no interest in and no intentions of learning of Lord Gratley’s finer attributes. And after a closer look at Winnefred’s features, he began to suspect she wasn’t particularly interested in them either. Her lips were twitching.
“Are you goading me?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yes. And quite successfully, I might add.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re being ridiculous. Don’t smile and laugh,” she scoffed. “I smile and laugh with you, and if it were inappropriate, Lilly would have mentioned it by now.”
“Laughing with me is an entirely different matter.” It wasn’t really, because there was nothing wrong with her laughing with either of them, but it was too late to confess to that. “As your guardian—”
“Lord Engsly is my guardian, or was my guardian—”
“As the highest-ranking member of the Haverston family currently in Britain, and as the man who brought you to London, and as the—”
“Oh, please, let’s not quibble over the matter,” she cut in with a small laugh. “Let me revel in my accomplishments awhile.”
He considered and quickly rejected the idea of pressing the issue. In part because he knew he was being unreasonable, but mostly because he hadn’t been at all sure where he was going with that last argument. “Accomplishments?”
“Oh, yes. It’s been over an hour now and I’ve still not scalded anyone, offended anyone, or brained anyone with a flowerpot. And, according to you, I have even managed a flirtation with a gentleman of rank and wealth.” She grinned and, apparently forgetting where she was for a moment, planted her hands on hips like a farmer surveying a fine harvest. “I am very nearly a success.”
Chapter 28
Plans to visit Hyde Park the following morning were cancelled when the weather turned cold and wet. Winnefred didn’t mind. It gave her the chance to work on a task she’d been eager to tackle for weeks—planning a budget for Murdoch House. Gideon had promised her back allowance and a small bonus, and a fortune such as that required careful management. Though dreams of what could be done for Murdoch House had danced merrily through her head the moment the promise had been made, she’d been uncertain of Gideon initially and unwilling to plan for what she might not receive. That uncertainty had been put to rest well before they’d left for London, but she’d not had enough free time to attempt the job properly until today.
And she’d not have it again for some time. The next week of her life had been scheduled down to the minute—dinner parties, another ball, the opera, calls on the neighbors, and on the seventh day, Lady Gwen’s grand ball. Which was, Winnefred had been informed by both Lady Gwen and Lilly, to be the highlight of the London season.
She doubted it could be nearly as engaging as her plans for Murdoch House.
Initially, she quite enjoyed making a tidy list of all the things the house and land needed, and accompanying each with an estimated cost of purchase or upkeep, but as the list grew longer, the pleasure began to fade. By the time she reached the end of her expenses, her lips were twisted into a grimace.
How was it possible she hadn’t enough funds? She now had access to more money than she had ever seen. It was more
money than she had ever dreamt of seeing. It had to be enough.
She tried running the numbers again, this time excluding luxuries like chocolate and new boots twice a year, but it made little difference. Then she tried spreading her expenses out over the course of two, and then three years, but that just made things worse. To keep the house running and the staff employed, Murdoch House needed to generate a goodly income, but for Murdoch House to generate a goodly income, it needed sufficient livestock and supplies and time. But once she paid for the livestock and supplies, there wasn’t enough left over to keep the house running and the staff employed for the time it took for Murdoch House to generate its goodly income.
Damn it.
She tossed her pen down on the writing desk in her chambers and folded her arms over her chest. This was all Gideon’s fault, she decided. He had been the one to bring twelve servants back from Langholm. Twelve for pity’s sake. And all but a few of them house servants. She still had to hire more field hands.
“Blast.”
She glowered at the list of numbers and made herself consider one option she had studiously ignored until now. She could sell the jewelry from Gideon.
Just the idea of it put a knot in her stomach, which was just enough motivation for her to consider, and accept, the only other option she had left.
She would ask Gideon for more money.
After a brief search, Winnefred found him seated behind the desk in a small study off the front hall. He’d taken off the morning coat he’d worn at breakfast and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing muscular forearms. His cravat retained the simple knot she’d seen earlier, but it had been pulled tight and the silk hung loose around his neck as if he’d been tugging on the material without realizing it.
She tapped lightly on the open door. “Gideon? May I speak with you a moment?”
Gideon looked up from a substantial stack of papers, a line of concentration across his brow and his hair sticking on end in several places. “Will it distract me from my current task?”
Nearly a Lady Page 24