Nearly a Lady (Haverston Family Trilogy #1)

by Alissa Johnson

  “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 claimed 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 fashionably 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 fairytale 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 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 a while.”

  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?”

  “Er . . . I think so, yes.”

  “Excellent. Take a seat.”

  She did as he asked, and because she wasn’t quite ready to get to the topic at hand, she turned her attention to the papers on his desk. “What is all that?”

  “Work from the Engsly estate. My brother’s secretary has been taking care of things of late, but now he’s gone and caught the ague.”

  “Inconsiderate of him.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” He set his pen down. “What’s troubling you, Winnefred?”

  Her gaze shot to his and then away. She felt awkward all of a sudden—frustrated and ungrateful. Uncomfortable with the first and last, she focused on the middle.

  “Mathematics,” she grumbled and pointed a finger at him. “And it’s all your doing. You shouldn’t have hired so many.”

  “So many what?”

  “People. Staff for Murdoch House.” She threw her hands up in irritation. “I can’t afford them. I know I asked Thomas to come, but he’s only one. I can afford one, not several dozen.”

  “You don’t have several dozen,” he reminded her calmly. “Why don’t you let some of them go if—?”

  “Let them go? I couldn’t possibly, not after so short an employment.”

  “Why not?” he asked, the question clearly academic from his standpoint.

  “You know very well why not. They are relying . . . They need . . .” They needed her to keep them fed, housed, and safe. “I can’t do it. I can’t turn them out.” She swallowed hard and forced herself to sit up straighter in her chair. “I need your help. I am asking you for additional funds to keep them employed. All of them.”

  “Certainly.”

  “It would only be a temporary measure,” she rushed on. “Just until the land—” Finally, his response sank in. “Beg your pardon?”

  “I said certainly. You may have whatever you need.”

  “But . . .” It couldn’t be that easy. Nothing was ever that easy. “But the arrangement was for the allowance owed and—”

  “The arrangement is changed,” he broke in. “Do you want to argue the matter?”

  She snapped her mouth shut and shook her head.

  “Then it is settled,” Gideon declared.

  “Well.” Apparently, it was to be that easy. “I suppose it is. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” He held a finger up when she would have risen from her chair. “Another minute of your time, please.”

  She sank back into her seat, then rather wished she hadn’t because he didn’t say anything, he just sat there, silen
tly observing her through curious eyes. And if she had been standing, she could have wandered over to the fireplace to inspect the clock or make a point of perusing the books on the bookshelf—something, anything, besides watch him watch her.

  “What?” she finally demanded. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “I cannot puzzle you out.”

  Puzzle her out? Hadn’t he said she was simple? “What is there to puzzle out?”

  “What you want,” he replied.

  “I just told you what I want.” The man’s mind moved in dizzying circles.

  “No, you just told me what you want for someone else. If it hadn’t been for the staff, you’d not have asked for more funds . . . You ask so little for yourself,” he added softly.

  She wasn’t sure why that felt so much like an accusation to her. “That’s not true. I’ve taken food, shelter, a wardrobe, a mountain of fripperies, a trip to London—”

  “Because taking them meant giving them to Lilly.”

  “I asked you to bring me a pastry and chocolate,” she reminded him.

  “You offered me the coin to bring two pastries, one for Lilly and one for yourself, and you gave your last cup of chocolate to me.” He tapped his finger against the arm of the chair. “Two errands, that’s all you’ve demanded of me, the wealthy son and brother of a marquess.”

  “I demanded you take a meal a day with us.”

  “Again, because you thought it might benefit Lilly.”

  “Murdoch House—”

  “I gave you Murdoch House. Why are you arguing again?”

  “Because . . .” She searched for a way to explain her discomfort. “Because you would paint me a saint, and I don’t think that’s fitting.” No more fitting than imagining her a true lady. “I don’t . . . You needn’t laugh quite so hard.”

  “A saint?” he echoed when his amusement faded. “I assure you, the thought has not entered my mind. Once.”

  A bit miffed he should agree with her so fervently, she steered the conversation away from the topic of her unlikely canonization. “Then why concern yourself over what I have and have not requested?”