And devil take it, what was wrong with him?
After years at sea, he was no stranger to unbidden dreams of very pretty women doing very wicked things. But never before had those fantasies included an innocent who—no matter how far he attempted to remove himself from the idea—was essentially under his care.
This was the very reason he should never be given the responsibility of another’s well-being—he couldn’t be trusted with it.
Calling himself a dozen different kinds of cad, he stood where he was, near to praying she wouldn’t turn around, and concentrated on making himself presentable. It took several long, steadying breaths, and one singularly un-arousing image of the last time he’d seen the Prince Regent—half naked and pawing at his current mistress—to manage the task, but manage it he did.
Feeling in control of himself once again, he moved toward Winnefred and the odd-looking dog. Upon closer inspection, Gideon could see the animal had a boxy head, floppy ears, and a short, pointy tail. A goat. An enormous goat looking very un-goatlike, in Gideon’s opinion, as it sat serenely in the grass, watching Winnefred and listening sympathetically to her complaints. Or it could just be begging for something in her pocket, he supposed.
“Do goats beg?” he called out to her.
Winnefred glanced over her shoulder briefly before hefting the rail that had been on the ground onto her knee, which certainly made a strong practical argument for the trousers.
Before he could reach her, she’d used her leg and both arms to lift the rail between two crossbeams. Stubborn, he thought, or so used to doing for herself she wouldn’t think to ask for help. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a napkin full of scraps.
“Claire does,” she told him, tossing the food at the goat, who gobbled it down greedily before turning slavish eyes to her mistress once more.
He propped his cane against the fence and leaned a hip against the wood. “You did a very kind thing for your friend this morning,” he told her, mostly because she looked as if she needed to hear it.
She kicked at a rock and frowned as it went tumbling through the grass. “I didn’t do it very graciously.”
“Not graciously, no, but you accomplished it all the same.” He bent his head in an effort to catch her eye. “Will it be so very terrible to spend a few months in London?”
“Yes.”
The absolute conviction in her voice had him straightening. “Have you ever been to London?”
She leaned back against the fence next to him. “Isn’t there anything you know you wouldn’t want to do without ever having done it before?”
“Dying comes to mind.”
One corner of her mouth hitched up. “That isn’t exactly what I meant, though I suppose the principle is the same.”
He tilted his head back in thought. “I shouldn’t care to inherit the marquessate,” he decided. “And not simply because I’m fond of my brother and his demise would be a prerequisite for the event. I just don’t want the burden.”
“Would it be so very terrible, being a marquess?” she echoed.
“Yes,” he replied, chuckling. “Without question, yes. The land, the people, the politics—each and every one demanding one’s time and undivided attention. I could name a few things I’d like less—like the aforementioned dying—but it would be a decidedly brief list.”
She nodded in understanding, and he considered the rarity of that amongst the ladies of his acquaintance. Women of society generally considered a title one of life’s greatest trophies, and obtaining one, one of the greatest accomplishments. Hoping to avoid one, he supposed, would be considered one of the greatest stupidities.
They stood in comfortable silence for a time—until, apparently bored, Claire uprooted herself from her spot on the grass to press her nose against Gideon’s leg and huff loudly.
“Don’t mind Claire,” Winnefred told him absently. “She does that to everyone she likes. Though to be honest, that distinction seems to be made fairly randomly.”
“I see.” He frowned down at the goat, a little concerned she might try to communicate her sudden affection for him with a solid bite. “Interesting name for a goat, Claire.”
“Hmm. The vicar has a nasty wife named Clarisse.”
“Ah.” He shook his leg a little in an attempt to dislodge his new friend. “And the Lucien I heard you mention?”
Perhaps it was coincidence that his brother’s name was also Lucien, but he doubted it.
A half smile curved her lips. “Our calf—our neighbor’s really as he’s already paid for him.”
He thought of the enjoyment he’d have informing his brother, the marquess, of his namesake. “Creative.”
“Not very,” she admitted. “We’ve only one calf a year, and it always goes to our neighbor Mr. McGregor. We name all the males Lucien—to keep from becoming attached, you understand.”
“Perfectly. I don’t suppose any of them manage to avoid becoming steers?”
“Not one.”
“As I said, creative.” He looked around the fields. “Is there a Gideon somewhere about I should be aware of?”
This time when she answered, it was with a bright grin that lit up her face and a mischievous sparkle in her amber eyes. “We’ve a cow named Giddy. She has the most enormous teats you’ve ever—”
She broke off at his laugh and tilted her head at him. “You cringe at the thought of being a marquess but appreciate having a cow named after you. I’m not certain if I find that commendable or absurd.”
“A fine thing, absurdity,” he replied, still chuckling. “Generally undervalued and overlooked. Yet it can be found in almost every situation. Even the darkest of circumstances often retain that small light of humor that we label the absurd—war, politics”—he winked at her—“London seasons. There’s comfort in knowing that, don’t you think? And a talent in being able to find it.”
And sometimes, he thought, it was all that stood between a man and despair. Disturbed by the direction of his thoughts, he straightened from the fence and grabbed his cane. “Well, it’s a lovely morning, but I’ve things to see to in town. I don’t suppose you’ve a phaeton or the like hidden somewhere?”
She snorted at the mention of a phaeton. “There’s an old one-horse cart behind the stable, but I can’t imagine it still works.”
“And will you ride to town with me if it does?”
“Thank you, but no. I’ve my own things to see to.”
“Suit yourself. Anything you’d like me to retrieve while I’m there?”
She started to shake her head, then apparently thought better of it. “I shouldn’t . . . I really shouldn’t, but . . . will you wait a moment? I’ve money in the cottage and—”
“We’ll settle later,” Gideon interrupted. She’d need to become accustomed to someone else purchasing whatever she needed, but he thought it best to ease her into the notion. The habits that came from years of nearly complete independence weren’t likely to drop away in a matter of hours.
“All right, if you don’t mind.” She grew excited, smiling and biting her lip at the same time. “There’s a bakery, Mrs. Morrow’s. She has the most amazing pastries in her windows. There’s one I’d dearly love to have. It’s fluffy and round and covered in some sort of glaze.”
She made an attempt to form the shape of the treat with her hands. It helped him not at all.
“What’s the name of this confection?”
“I’ve no idea, but it’s filled with something, I think. It’s too large not to be—fruit maybe, or some sort of custard.” She sighed lustfully. “I sincerely hope it’s custard.”
She’d never had one, he realized. She’d wanted it long enough and well enough to sigh over the very thought—and she didn’t strike him as a woman who made a regular practice of sighing—yet she’d never taken so much as a bite. What other pleasures, large and small, had been stolen from her?
“I’ll be sure to bring it back.” And he’d be sure it was filled with custar
d as well, even if he had to scrape out the fruit and stuff it anew himself.
“Could you bring two?” she asked with a hint of embarrassment. “One for Lilly? If it’s too much—”
“Two it is.”
Winnefred spent the remainder of the afternoon and a good portion of the evening seeing to her chores. She skipped lunch, partially because they’d eaten a late breakfast but mostly because she wasn’t quite ready yet to face Lilly.
Anger had passed, and so had self-pity. She was resigned not only to going to London but making the best of it. What would moping about do besides make everyone around her miserable? What she hadn’t quite resigned herself to, however, were the preparations.
Winnefred was conscious of her shortcomings. She knew full well she wasn’t adequately equipped for a London season, and she knew Lilly was, even now, making plans to rectify the matter. It needed to be done, and Winnefred was willing and able. She wasn’t, however, anywhere near to eager.
And so she stalled out-of-doors, waiting until the sun had set and the last of its lingering light began to fade before returning to the cottage.
She found Lilly at the front door, holding a baker’s box and a note and looking a bit dazed.
“We’ve a note from Lord Gideon. You just missed the messenger.”
Winnefred looked down the road to see dust still hanging in the air. “What does the note say?”
“I don’t know. I’ve not opened it yet.”
“Why ever not?” A horrible thought occurred to her. “Do you think he doesn’t mean to come back? Do you—?”
“What? Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s only . . . well, we’ve never had a message delivered before . . . Twelve years and not a single letter besides the yearly allowance from Lady Engsly.” She smiled broadly at the envelope. “And now look! We’ve a letter delivered by special carrier—and from a lord, no less. I believe this is one of the finest days I’ve had in years.”
Because it was so like her friend to become excited over something so silly, Winnefred laughed and threw her arms around her, nearly crushing the note and box in the process. “I love you, Lilly Ilestone.” She planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’m sorry I was so rotten at breakfast.”
Lilly returned the kiss. “And I’m sorry I maneuvered you so unfairly into something you don’t want.”
“Sorry enough to—?”
“Not nearly.”
Winnefred laughed and released her. “Well, open the note, then.”
Lilly tucked the box under her arm and gently opened the envelope, careful not to tear the fine paper. “He couldn’t find all that he needed in Enscrum and means to travel to Langholm. He’ll return in the morning. He’s signed it ‘your servant always.’ Isn’t that lovely?”
“Exceedingly. Open the box.”
Lilly ignored her and frowned at the letter. “Before he left, he asked if there was anything I’d like, and I gave him a small list. What if he’s going through all this trouble because of me?”
“I shouldn’t worry too hard on it, Lilly. Lord Gideon is capable of saying no.” She smiled playfully and added, “Or perhaps he’s too much the gentleman to deny a lady’s request and he’s cursing your name as we speak. ‘Damn Miss Ilestone. Blasted irrational female, insists on apples when there’s perfectly good strawberries to be found on every corner of Enscrum.’ ”
Lilly made a scoffing sound. “There are exactly four corners of Enscrum. And very little to be found on any of them.”
“Annoyed men tend to exaggerate.” And so did Lilly. Enscrum was small, but it was charming, and it did have its own shops. “What’s in the box?”
Lilly tugged the lid open. Nestled inside were a half dozen pastries.
“Oh, heaven.” Winnefred sighed and reached in to pluck one out. She held it to her nose and drew in the smell of fresh cream and sugar. Treats were rare for her and Lilly, and treats extravagant as the ones in the box had been nonexistent until now. She wanted to savor every moment, to delight in and draw out every second of pleasure. Although—there were six in the box . . .
She furrowed her brow at the thought of what that would cost. “I only asked for two. Do you suppose the rest are his? I hadn’t wanted to spend so much—”
“They’re a gift.” Lilly took a pastry for herself and, like Winnefred, breathed in the aroma. “Oh, my, that is nice, isn’t it?”
“Are you certain?”
Still reveling in the sweet scent, Lilly blinked, a little lost. “That it smells nice?”
“That they’re a gift.”
“Of course.” Lilly considered her a moment. “I forget, sometimes, how little experience you have with these sorts of things.”
“What sorts of things?”
Lilly shrugged. “Men, gifts, being taken care of—”
Because it was a truth Winnefred found uncomfortable, she edged the conversation in another direction. “But the cost—”
“Oh, wait till you see what I asked of him.” Lilly laughed. “Now take a bite. I’d prefer you in a pleasant state of mind when I tell you what Lord Gideon and I decided after you left this morning . . . In fact, why don’t you take the box and indulge yourself while I see to dinner?” Lilly handed her the pastries and turned for the house. “I’ll tell you of my plans while we eat.”
Winnefred accepted the box with a worried frown. She hated to think what sort of plan required the fortification of half a dozen pastries.
Make the best of it, she reminded herself. Taking a seat on the front steps, she bit into her pastry. Custard. She sighed heavily around a mouthful of the treat. Oh, she’d just known it would be custard.
It was a very good thing she’d not been tempted to purchase one until now, she thought. She never would have been able to help herself from purchasing more. The half pound she had saved would have disappeared within a fortnight. As it was, the treats would cost her . . . nothing, she realized. The pastries cost her nothing.
They’re a gift.
Winnefred took another bite and considered Lilly’s words. It was true, she hadn’t any experience receiving gifts. Certainly not from men. Most certainly not from handsome men whose presence made her feel strangely restless, as if she wasn’t quite comfortable in her own skin.
It was the oddest sensation, the way her heart had tripped and her skin had prickled when he’d unbuttoned her gown that morning, and it was both unsettling and intriguing to remember how pleasant it had been to lean against the rail of the pasture with him, laughing and talking and standing in companionable silence. There had been a pleasant tightening in her belly and an unexpected temptation to shuffle her feet closer until they were standing arm to arm.
Lost in thought, she polished off her pastry and reached for another. She’d been weighed by a mountain of worries that morning and had been unwilling to add to them by giving more than a passing moment’s consideration to her surprising physical reaction to Gideon. But now her heart and mind were resigned to a future much altered from the one she had always envisioned. And she no longer had an excuse to deny the obvious.
She was attracted to Lord Gideon Haverston.
The idea was more interesting than alarming. She wasn’t a complete stranger to attraction. The fact that the butcher’s son was quite good-looking had not escaped her notice, but the mild interest she felt on the rare occasions she had visited the butcher could not compare to what she felt in Gideon’s company. She was drawn to him in a way she’d never experienced before. And it was disconcerting that such feelings had preceded the founding of trust.
She worked her way through the second pastry, eventually arriving at the decision that it was only natural a man as handsome as Lord Gideon had immediately captured her interest. She was human, after all, a member of the animal kingdom. A male specimen of superior physical quality would appeal to her just as surely as a fine bull appealed to Giddy.
Fortunately, she retained the ability to assess her physical state objectively. Gideon fascinated her, yes, b
ut she had no intention of acting on that fascination . . . yet. Perhaps the feelings would pass, or perhaps the accumulation of trust would allow them to grow.
Either way, a wait-and-see approach seemed wise.
Satisfied with her decision, she swallowed her food and reached for another pastry.
Chapter 5
Gideon returned the next morning as promised, but he didn’t come alone. He brought a small army of servants and supplies with him—a carriage with two footmen riding in back, the driver and two grooms riding up top, and three maids riding inside. Behind them were two wagons full of food, linens, furnishings, a cook (he’d cleared the idea with Lilly first, of course), and three more servants he hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do with. It hardly mattered to his mind, as long as they were there.
“Good heavens, what is all this?” Lilly stood on the front steps of the house and looked to be caught somewhere between delighted and stunned.
Gideon dismounted and held the reins to a groom who hopped down to grab them. “Didn’t I mention I’d be going for help?”
“Well, yes, but . . .” Lilly watched him retrieve a pair of packages from the carriage. “Will all of them be staying?”
“That’s certainly the idea.” Gideon climbed the steps, shifted his boxes and cane, and took her elbow to usher her inside.
“But . . .” She craned her neck back once, twice. “But where will we put them? We’ve only two servants’ quarters.”
He led her into the parlor. “Two quarters will house four, the loft in the stable can house six, and the spare bedroom can be converted temporarily to house two more. We’ve plenty of space.”
“But—”
“Would you like to see what I’ve brought?” He held one of the boxes he’d carried in. “Well, go on then, open it up.”
Nearly a Lady Page 5
