by Heather Boyd
“Hello, Thomas.”
The boy looked up at his mother. “Are you going to marry him?”
“Gracious, no,” Mrs. Beck chided quickly. “Mr. Whitfield would, however, like to look at your sore fingers.”
The eldest pulled the youngest behind him and glared. “I won’t let anyone hurt him again.”
Gideon strolled forward, conscious that the boys looked at him with painful wariness. He did not blame them for their caution. “You are a good brother to want to protect Thomas. I would never harm him. But if you’d prefer, my housekeeper tends all my scratches and scrapes, and will be very gentle with your brother. You can go with him into the house of course.”
Although both looked skeptical, they followed their mother when she called them to come with her. Gideon placed his hands behind his back and strolled slowly toward his home. He led them inside to the housekeeper’s room and bade them wait there while he found his servants.
Mrs. Harrow and Mrs. Mills were seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea. “Do you have a moment to tend a few scratches?”
“Are you hurt, sir?”
“Not I. Mrs. Beck’s youngest, and perhaps the other one, too. You might have to cajole them a little to find out more.”
Mrs. Harrow and Mrs. Mills exchanged a long look. “As you like, sir.”
“I’ve left them in your room, Mrs. Harrow,” he murmured. The pair gathered their things, and a plate of biscuits, and rushed out. He heard the soft exclamations of his servants and paced the kitchen until they returned.
Mrs. Harrow drew close. “Mrs. Beck had to go but wished us to bid you goodbye, sir.”
“Good.”
Mrs. Harrow frowned. “Those wounds?”
Gideon rubbed his fingers over his palm, remembering his own hard childhood. Thankfully, he bore no lasting scars from his father’s punishments. But he remembered them all, the unfairness and ferocity.
“A switch,” Mrs. Harrow informed him sadly.
“Just like my father did to me.”
Mrs. Harrow patted his arm. “That’s all in the past, sir.”
“If only I could forget as easily,” he said quietly.
Mrs. Mills returned to her chair nearest the hearth, her expression understanding. “If you don’t mind me saying, perhaps a visit to Stapleton Manor will chase the ghosts away. His grace usually cheers you up.”
He nodded. “Yes, perhaps a visit with friends is just what I need.”
Chapter 5
Jessica dragged in a deep breath. It did not help. The idea that Giddy had kissed that woman, a stranger, offended her sensibilities so much, she clenched her hands into fists. Had he not, just yesterday afternoon, declared he was too old for marriage?
Obviously he wasn’t too old to kiss strangers. Jessica had never known him to pay any attention to other ladies, but then Mrs. Garland’s teasing comments yesterday about his popularity flooded her mind, as did some of Natalia’s previous remarks. Gideon Whitfield was good-looking, wealthy in a limited fashion, which no doubt made him a prize—more so than she’d ever considered. Did he behave differently when she was not around?
Did he take lovers or have a mistress somewhere hidden away?
She covered her face as mortification struck her. She’d given Gideon a present. If he was involved with another woman, she should not have done it. Jessica would not like another woman to give her particular gentleman, if she ever had one, so personal a gift.
And why was it that the moment she’d gone away, he’d formed an attachment to another woman? He was hiding his real nature from her. Pretending to be proper when he must be anything but. There was no reason she couldn’t know about his—she swallowed a lump in her throat—affections for a woman, unless he still considered her a child who must be shielded from the truth.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the far wall. Jessica had rarely had cause to be displeased with her neighbor, but she was well and genuinely offended. She had told him her deepest, darkest secrets for years, and he never had. She had thought Gideon was a true friend. Friends confided in each other. Well, apparently they were not the friends she’d once imagined.
She turned toward her plants, intent on wiping away dust from their leaves to make them glossy again.
The first pot she pulled toward her sent a splash of water tumbling down the front of her gown. “Oh, no!” she cried, attempting to dab at the spots with her handkerchief. Unfortunately, the little lacy scrap made little difference.
But then she noticed the soil of each plant in front of her was drenched, too. She tilted each pot to drain the excess water then quickly moved each to an empty dry bench. “How could this have happened?”
“Is something the matter?”
She almost jumped out of her skin in shock and spun around. “Mr. Whitfield! Oh, you scared me.”
Giddy was the last person she expected to see today, and her face grew hot. She glanced at his mouth, at the lips that had kissed someone else that morning, then turned away. “What are you doing here?”
“I hope you don’t mind my interruption,” he murmured. “I noticed your water tank had run dry when I came to collect my coat earlier. I’ve returned to top it up and will be gone in a moment.”
Given he was carrying a full bucket of water on the end of each arm, she had to believe his reason for coming was sincere. He had not come to see her, and that thought entirely depressed her spirits. “It was filled only yesterday.”
“Well, its empty now,” he assured her.
She looked at the rest of her plants and saw all were soaking wet. Too much water was not healthy for greenhouse plants. She tapped the side of the cistern, heard the emptiness within and sagged in defeat. “I must have not shut off the valve properly yesterday.”
“I doubt that. Let me have a look.” He set the buckets aside and joined her. A series of pipes was supposed to deliver a small amount of water to each pot tray when she turned the valve. It was easier than carrying buckets and much more efficient. But now each dish beneath each pot was full to overflowing.
Giddy squinted at each pipe and then sighed. “Damn. I think it may be broken somewhere.”
He turned away, rummaged in his coat pocket and stood with his back to her a long moment. When he turned around, he had spectacles perched on his nose.
Jessica stared at him in surprise. “When did you get those?”
“February.”
While she’d been away. She frowned. That was another thing Gideon hadn’t yet told her about. Any moment she expected to discover he had become someone else entirely. She would not like that.
She moved toward him and peered up into his face. The spectacles made him seem like a stranger at first, and she had to admit he might be. “You were getting headaches before I left for my season.”
He nodded. “Too much reading by poor light at night has strained my eyes, I’m told. The pain disappeared once I started wearing these.”
“I’m glad you finally saw someone.” She tilted her head to one side, trying to decide if they could still be friends if he kept secrets. If she did not have Giddy… “You look…”
“Even more like my father than I did before,” he finished rather glumly.
“You are nothing like him.”
“You never met him,” Gideon reminded her.
It was true that Jessica had never met Gideon’s father, but there was a painting at Quigley Hill of the late Mr. Whitfield. She didn’t like it. She’d discovered from listening very carefully over the years that Joseph Whitfield had been as mean-spirited and cold as he’d looked in his portrait.
Gideon was nothing like him. She’d never known him to raise his voice or hand to anyone in anger. “I was going to say more handsome, actually, but I’m sure I’m not the only woman to mention that recently.”
“Thank you.”
She turned away, blushing, uncomfortable with the knowledge that Gideon had an admirer. She had always liked the way he looked,
the way he laughed with her, too. She should have expected other women to learn to appreciate him also.
Jessica avoided looking at Gideon again in favor of draining off the excess water from her plants until her face cooled. “At least now you’ll stop squinting at everything and everyone,” she grumbled and then shook her head. She hadn’t meant to criticize him when she’d missed their conversations so much.
“I wasn’t aware I was doing so. My apologies,” Gideon murmured.
He started tapping away at the pipework. He bent down on one knee, looking up at the cistern and pipes that spread out from the wall. Jessica paused to watch him, holding back a sigh. He had another life apart from hers—one she might never really know.
“I think there is a crack in the join here,” he said. “See?”
Gideon made room for her. She went to him and crouched down so she could see where he pointed underneath the cistern. A tiny bubble of water lingered at the very beginning of the pipework.
“We should summon the blacksmith to have a look at his work,” he decided. “I’m sure this is fixable.”
“I hope so too,” she agreed.
She turned to Gideon, and her breath caught. He was one of her best friends. She couldn’t stay angry with him. She wasn’t capable of holding a grudge and she’d missed him. But as they remained kneeling very close together, his nearness felt strange—because of the woman he’d kissed that morning, and because he’d avoided kissing Jessica the day before. She thought she’d known him better than anyone.
She hurried to stand up again. “Thank you for your assistance. I’ll send word to the blacksmith and ask him to come at his earliest convenience.
Gideon climbed to his feet and then looked around as he removed his eyeglasses. He shoved them into his coat pocket, the same one he’d left behind with her the previous day. “In the meantime, I’ll help you clean up.”
“I can do it on my own.”
“It’s no trouble,” he promised. “I’ve no where else to be right now.”
She should not have felt relief at his words but she did. If he left, might he go to that other woman again? There was a lot of lifting and sorting to be done. Jessica was not ready to lose him. Not yet. “Thank you. I would appreciate your help very much.”
They worked in silence for a while, but Jessica felt the strangeness between them was still there. She could not get past the idea that her neighbor was courting and hadn’t said a word about it. Not even to her father it seemed, because Father would have teased Gideon about it already if he’d had the slightest inkling.
She stopped what she was doing and wet her lips. Curiosity curled within her about the stranger. Had she been a guest in Gideon’s house last night? How long would it be before he proposed? “How was your dinner?”
“Quite good. The roast was perfection, the dining table survived the candles being lit.”
Jessica laughed softly, unable to help herself. Giddy always managed to make her laugh, no matter her mood. “Did you banish Mr. Lewis to the stables?”
“Didn’t have to. The man refused to assist with anything to do with the dinner.”
She stopped what she was doing and glanced at Gideon in surprised. “That’s not like him. I’ve always found him to be very helpful and polite.”
Gideon set his hands on the table and rocked forward and back on his feet. “I know. He’s been in an odd mood for weeks now. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s become quite surly with me.”
She deposited her plant with the others and returned to his side. “Have you asked Mrs. Harrow what the trouble might be? Housekeeper’s usually know everyone’s business, whether you want it known or not.”
“I did ask her about Lewis, but she said she couldn’t say.”
Jessica tensed as he leaned closer, but then he lifted a large pot, one too heavy for her, and stepped around her. She watched him move the heavy pot to the other side of the room with ease. He returned, brushing dirt off his waistcoat. He was so good to help her. “Couldn’t say? That sounds suspiciously like an evasion,” Jessica noted.
“That is what I thought, too.” Gideon started to chuckle. “When did you get so wise, my lady?”
“I’ve always been this way, or so Fanny teases me. Fanny says I was born with an old soul.” Jessica was proud of that.
“So you were,” he agreed, smiling. “But don’t forget to leave room to have a little fun now and then.”
“I’ll never forgot that when I will always have you to remind me,” she said, glancing his way. Would he still be her friend if he married? He would certainly have obligations elsewhere then, and if he married this Mrs. Beck, he would acquire sons to raise as his own.
Jessica gulped at that thought. “Mr. Lewis has been at Quigley for as long as I can remember. He is devoted to you and has always been sensible. Whatever the problem is, no doubt it can be solved to everyone’s satisfaction.”
It wasn’t her place to do so but she could involve herself. Mrs. Harrow would probably tell Jessica what ailed Mr. Lewis if she asked the right way.
Gideon approached her. “What are you plotting in that agile brain of yours, my dear girl?”
She smiled sadly. Forever, Gideon would think of her as a mere child. She had grown up, but he couldn’t see the change in her. Everyone else had considered her a woman of marriageable age for the last year. Well, everyone but him and her father, apparently. “Never mind, sir.”
“You’re sad again.”
“Am I?”
“I wondered perhaps if you were unhappy with me for not inviting your family to my dinner last night. If I had known you were coming back so early, I certainly would have or changed my plans to another night.”
Jessica fought a flush of heat to her skin. “I’m not in despair that I missed out on an invitation. I’m not so childish as that.”
“It is quite all right for you to say so if you are.”
She sighed and forced a smile to her lips. “I don’t expect you to invite my family to every amusement you host, even if they are so very rare.”
When he married, their friendship would become less important to him. He wouldn’t understand why that saddened her. He would want her to be happy for him. She had to pretend she hadn’t seen him kiss that woman and when the engagement was announced, she would also pretend surprise along with everyone else.
“Jess,” he said softly. “I can always tell when you’re not being truthful, you know.”
She shrugged. She should count herself lucky to have had Gideon to herself for so long. She placed her hand on his arm, feeling his strength and warmth through the thin barrier of his linen shirt. Gideon was warm, both in personality and in person. He deserved to be happy, and if that woman made him so, she had to accept the situation. “I’m still tired from the journey and London, perhaps,” she promised. “I’m not sure where I belong anymore.”
“Your father’s marriage has displaced you as mistress of Stapleton Manor.”
“I don’t mind giving way to Gillian.” Jessica leaned against a dry portion of the potting table. “But I will need to find something else to fill my days with. This will not be enough.”
He leaned next to her. “What about your little cottage in the village?”
“What about it?”
“It is empty, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but…oh, I see where you’re going. You think I should empty the cottage of Aunt Grey’s furniture, too?”
“That wasn’t what I was going to suggest.” He nodded. “What do you think of leasing the place, furnished?”
“To whom?”
“To Mrs. Beck.”
“No!” The word sprang from her lips without any proper consideration. She turned away from Gideon as her face had grown very hot again. Usually she would listen first, but the thought of that woman meeting Gideon at her own property made her extremely angry.
“Very well. It was just an idea. No matter. I’ll find somewhere else for the school.
”
She whipped around to stare. “School?”
“Hmm, an idea I had. The village hasn’t had a tutor living there for a long time and Mrs. Beck is in need of a way to support herself and her sons. I thought setting up a school in the village would be a better location.”
She gulped, alarmed at how quickly her temper had spiked for no good reason. “What were the other alternatives?”
“We could always hire the private dining room, but the expense and the noise of patrons might prove an issue. I might have offered the morning room at Quigley Hill as an alternative, but it would be a long walk for any students.”
Having Gideon involved with setting up a school would ensure its success—but having him and Mrs. Beck run the place together troubled her.
“Jess, please. Speak your mind to me.”
“It’s nothing.” She had always confided in him, but perhaps it was time to stop because he might not like what she had to say. She smiled quickly. “I should have gone to bed earlier last night. I’m a little tired.”
“Talking with Gillian all night again?” Gideon slid one of his arms around her back. It was comforting, but she resisted the urge to turn into his embrace, as she once might have when she’d been younger.
Before the kiss, she wouldn’t have thought twice.
Even so, when she breathed in his scent—a combination of the outdoors and the herbal soap Jessica had given him last Christmas—the distance between them seemed to lessen.
He turned her toward him, and then cupped her face between his palms. He stared into her eyes. “Perhaps a lie down will do you some good. With luck, you’ll wake refreshed for dinner tonight.”
A little overwhelmed by the way he was holding her face so tenderly, she scrambled for her wits. Never before had she hated to ask him a question, and she took a moment before asking the most pressing one. “Do you have plans for dinner?”
“Yes, I’m joining you all.” His smile grew. “Your father sent a note about it last night, and I have already accepted.”
“Good.” She leaned her face into his hand at last but she still wished she hadn’t seen him kiss that woman today. She moved back, knowing she must. “Dinners are always more enjoyable with your company. No one in London is ever interested in fungus the way you are.”