“I will always need you as a sister, and my friend.”
Lilly’s smile softened and her eyes grew bright. “Thank you, Freddie. I need you too.”
Chapter 15
For the life of him, Gideon could not figure out how he’d been persuaded to join Winnefred and Lilly for a trip into Enscrum. Lilly had cornered him in the parlor before breakfast, that much was clear. She’d thrown words like London, shopping, necessities, and advice about, and the next thing he knew, he was walking across the modest town square with Winnefred, awkwardly hauling a small stack of packages under his one free arm.
He ought to have been annoyed, or at least stoically reconciled to having been pulled from his self-imposed exile, but it was impossible to retain a foul mood in the face of Winnefred’s enthusiasm. She didn’t appear to take any particular pleasure in the act of shopping, but she took obvious delight in walking about town, looking into the windows, and speaking of her future plans for Murdoch House.
Even the dreary gray weather couldn’t dampen her mood. The sky was thick with clouds, the air cool and heavy, and a light mist clung to her eyelashes and hair in watery beads. He noticed the ends of her hair were beginning to curl in the humidity and he was suddenly grateful he was burdened with packages and a cane. He wanted to reach out and feel the damp locks with his fingers, and he wanted to bend down to taste the mist on her cheek.
She would smell of rain-washed lavender and her skin would feel like satin beneath his lips.
He dragged his eyes away and made himself think of something else, anything else. “We . . . Er . . . We should have brought a footman along.”
Next to him, Winnefred shifted a small box containing a variety of hair ribbons. “Then who would have gone with Lilly to the booksellers?”
“The other footman.”
“He’s keeping Peter company.”
He smiled at the ridiculous comment. “Peter does not require company.”
“If you’d like me to carry more—”
“No, thank you.” He’d been the one to insist on most of the purchases, after all. “You need to grow accustomed to having staff follow you about, you know.”
“I’ll never grow accustomed to it.” She threw a quick look over her shoulder to where Bess trailed a ways back, carrying yet more packages, then pitched her voice into a low whisper. “It wouldn’t be so disconcerting if we weren’t literally being followed. I feel as if we’re snubbing her.”
“It’s how it is done.”
“I don’t care for it . . . And I can feel her eyes on the back of my head.”
“There are other things Bess finds of greater interest at the moment than the back of your head, enchanting though it is.” He jerked his chin toward the carriage and Peter, who, in return, looked to be staring at Bess. It seemed a romance was in bloom. “We could disappear down one of these streets and be halfway across town before Bess noticed.”
Winnefred’s eyes lit with mischievous humor. “Really?”
“We are not trying it.”
“Pity. It would be like . . .” Her voice trailed off when something in Mr. McKeen’s shop window caught her eye. Since very little in the shop windows of Enscrum had garnered much more than a curious inspection from Winnefred, Gideon was surprised when she stopped to stare at a small gold locket and chain.
Despite her insistence otherwise on the day they’d met, Winnefred was well aware of the fact she had never been an angel. She’d committed her share of acts for which she wasn’t proud, but only two had actually been nefarious enough make her well and truly ashamed.
Her first offense had occurred at the age of fifteen when, hungry and tempted beyond endurance, she’d nicked a sticky bun from Mrs. McAlister’s shop while Lilly haggled for a better price on day-old bread. She’d eaten the stolen treat that night—in four selfish bites. And, unaccustomed to the richness, nearly sicked it back up again. The guilt had hurt worse than the ache in her belly, and she’d sworn an oath to never, ever, ever, as long as she should live (she was an adolescent girl, after all) steal again.
But there, in the front window of Mr. McKeen’s shop, was a locket and chain that mocked her as a liar.
She and Lilly had found it under a bed during their first month at Murdoch House. Thievery not yet a consideration in Winnefred’s mind, she’d stuck it in a chest of drawers and left it there. Until last winter when she’d nicked it, sold it, and used the money to procure a doctor for Lilly.
“Do you like it?”
Gideon’s voice sounded unnaturally loud in her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?”
“The locket.” He gestured at the shop window with his cane. “Do you care for it?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no—it was quite the ugliest little trinket she’d ever seen. But a small voice in her head—one that had begun sounding more and more like Lilly with each passing day, she noticed—berated her for the lie. She checked to make certain there was no one else within earshot, and then, to her absolute shock and horror, confessed all in a babbled rush.
“It’s yours. Your necklace. Or your brother’s, I don’t know. I took it from the Murdoch House. Last winter when Lilly was so ill, and you sent that awful letter. Only it wasn’t you, was it? But how was I to know? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” A lady wouldn’t have. A good woman, or at least a smarter one, wouldn’t have. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I tried selling Claire, I did, but no one would have her, and—”
“Winnefred, stop. Are you telling me you pawned that necklace?”
She swallowed past the dry lump in her throat. “Yes.”
“And you are apologizing because . . . ?”
“Well, because I stole it.” She’d thought that was fairly obvious.
“You didn’t. You had my permission to sell anything you like from the house. You simply weren’t aware of it.” He gave her a disarming smile that went a very long way to setting her mind at ease. “Neither was I, come to that, but it hardly matters now—”
“Of course it matters. It wasn’t mine to take.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re a moral creature, aren’t you?”
“It is Lilly’s influence,” she grumbled.
“No. Not all of it, at any rate. How’s this—which of your new belongings are you fond of?”
“Which . . . ? Oh, yes, of course.” She would give up something of her own as payment for the locket. Granted, he’d purchased everything she owned, but in this case, it was the thought that counted. Hoping the thought would be enough, her eyes shot to the box containing a pair of new half boots. “I suppose—”
“I’m not taking your shoes,” he interrupted a little impatiently. “Let me have the ribbons. You seemed excited about those.”
“They’re for Lilly.”
“Why are you buying ribbons for Lilly?”
“Because she’ll like them,” she replied, thinking the answer was, again, rather obvious. “Why else?”
“Never mind. Tell me, did we purchase anything today that wasn’t either strictly practical or a gift for someone else?”
She looked over the array of boxes. “There’s the night rail. I don’t need two. I don’t really need any now that I’ve my own room.”
He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he stared at her, and though she’d not have thought it possible for black eyes to go blacker, his did. His lids lowered, and his gaze traveled down . . . down . . .
The smoldering look alternately thrilled, discomfited, and confused her. She became acutely aware of her body, as if he had succeeded in undressing her with his eyes, and while it was gratifying to know the image of her without clothing was something he found intriguing, the sensation of truly being naked in front of Gideon was rather disconcerting.
Furthermore, she had no idea if he was seeing her, specifically, or merely a female form. Lilly had said most men were libertines at heart. And she knew too little of men to know if it was true.
She wanted
to ask him if she would be expected to stand still and silent for every London gentleman who might care to picture her without her night rail but was a little afraid of what the answer might be.
“Gideon,” she prompted.
His head snapped up.
“Keep the night rail,” he said in a tight voice. “The bonnet. I’ll take that.”
She handed him one of the boxes she carried. “I don’t even like that bonnet.”
“And I’d never set eyes on that necklace before today. This makes us even.”
“But—”
“We’re even, Winnefred.”
Chapter 16
The last days before the trip to London passed in a whirlwind of lessons and final preparations. Time seemed to fly by much too quickly for Winnefred. Though her confidence had received a considerable boost from the Howards’ dinner party, there was still so much left to be learned. And there was a great deal left she wanted to do, including spending more time with Gideon. But try as she might, she couldn’t find another opportunity to see him alone. He was present at every breakfast but, just as the days before the dinner party, made himself scarce directly after the meal.
She took what she could from those few short moments in his company. Any sort of conversation on topics of interest they might share was out of the question, as talk was almost exclusively of London. But she found pleasure in simply watching him as he ate and laughed and spoke with Lilly.
There were details about him she hadn’t noticed before. He had a small, crescent-shaped scar on the underside of his jawline. His eyes were lighter in the morning sun than they were in candlelight or the bright light of midday. There was a lock of hair on his left side that had a propensity to curl up at the end. And he had a tendency to repeatedly flex and un-flex his hand when he was seated. She wondered if it was an attempt to relax muscles tired from gripping his cane.
She wondered a great deal about him—about his days as a sea captain, about the nightmare she’d woken him from, and most pressing to her, whether or not he was even half as fascinated by her as she was by him.
Given his propensity to isolate himself, it was easy to believe, despite the kiss, that her interest was not returned. But her study of him had left her in the position to notice every time he stole a glance at her while Lilly was talking. And she noted that he did so with some regularity. Once in a while, she didn’t pretend to be preoccupied with her food and instead let their eyes meet and hold across the table.
He looked at her a little differently each time. Sometimes he sent her a friendly smile that warmed her heart. Other times she caught him watching her through hooded lids, and every nerve in her body would jump to life. And, once in a while, she saw a shadow of something heavier cross his face. She thought perhaps it was a kind of longing, or sadness, but it passed so quickly, she was never able to say for certain.
Granted, his frequent looks in her direction may have been a result of wondering why the devil she kept staring at him, but she liked to think it was something more. And though their eyes caught for no more than a second or two, for those few brief moments, she could almost believe they were the only two people in the room.
Almost. It was difficult to ignore Lilly’s presence for long.
“I’ve made a list of things we must do during our visit,” she was saying over the dining table. “The items are not in order of importance, mind you, but I did categorize them according to location and a few other variables.”
Winnefred looked down at her breakfast to hide a smile. It was their last day in Scotland, and she was beginning to feel that might not be such a terrible thing. After all, once they were in London, Lilly would have to speak of something other than going to London. And that would be a fine change indeed.
“The first thing I should like to try are ices.” Lilly stabbed a bit of egg with her fork. “Well, not literally the first thing, but as soon as I can, certainly.”
“You’ve mentioned that particular desire before,” Gideon said, looking up from his plate. “How is it you missed the opportunity to indulge when you were in London?”
“My visit was cut short due to my mother’s illness.”
“Visit?” A line formed across Gideon’s brow. “I thought you were there as a child, and again for your debut.”
“No, I was a child at my debut. Only days past seventeen.”
“Seventeen? You were seventeen when you were in London? When you met my brother?”
“I . . .” Lilly picked up her toast. “Yes.”
“That would have put my brother somewhere near to twenty. I was under the impression the two of you met at a much younger age.”
“Yes . . . Well . . . Freddie, will you pass—?”
Winnefred passed the butter before her friend could mutilate her food.
Gideon tapped his fork against the table in a soft, thoughtful manner.
“Tell me, Lilly . . . Wait . . .” The line across his brow grew more pronounced. “Lilly,” he repeated to himself. “Lilly . . . Rose.” He stopped tapping his fork. His eyes widened to the size of saucers, and his mouth fell wide open, his lips curving up a little at the corners. Winnefred thought he looked very much like a man who had taken a sizable blow, and for some inexplicable reason, rather liked it. “Holy hell, you’re Rose.”
Lilly went still, butter knife on her toast.
“You are, aren’t you?” Gideon pressed, leaning forward in his chair.
Lilly’s continued silence was answer enough.
Gideon sent Winnefred a look of accusation. “You thought I didn’t need to be made aware of this?”
Stunned by his reaction, she managed little more than a shake of her head. “I . . . She . . .” She tried to remember how Lilly had made the matter seem of less consequence. “It was a very long time ago.”
“It was,” Lilly finally said. She set her knife and toast down with great care. “And I hadn’t realized Lord Engsly mentioned our friendship to anyone else.”
“Mentioned?” Gideon ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “He’s not spoken of another woman in the same manner before or since. He spoke of nothing but you in every letter.”
“He did not speak of me for long, it would seem,” Lilly murmured, “or you would have remembered my name.”
“He never told me your name, out of respect for you.”
“Respect?” Winnefred echoed.
“The ton does not look favorably upon broken engagements,” Gideon explained before returning his attention to Lilly. “He was . . . He is so in love with you.”
Lilly kept her gaze focused on the table. “As Freddie pointed out, it was a very long time ago.”
“Until recently, he thought you married.”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“He thought you’d married a man named . . .” Gideon looked briefly at the ceiling, searching. “Thomas, Thompson, Townsend—that’s it, Townsend. Jeffrey Townsend.”
“I have never in my life met a man with that name. Why on earth would . . . ?” She closed her eyes on a quiet groan. “Lady Engsly. Oh, of course.”
“In this instance, I’d not be surprised to hear she was aided by my father. They had very particular plans for Lucien.”
Lilly shook her head slowly. Suddenly, her wide blue eyes filled with a kind of horrified amusement. Her lips twitched, and a small giggle escaped.
Gideon tilted his head at her. “You’re taking this rather well.”
Winnefred rather thought so too. “Are you all right, Lilly?”
“I’m sorry,” Lilly said, not sounding the least bit sorry. Another giggle escaped and then another. She put her elbow on the table and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, it’s just . . . It’s all so much like something out of a torrid novel—villains and false marriages and stolen letters.”
“It is a trifle dramatic,” Winnefred murmured, mostly because she felt she ought to say something.
“My brother will know of your presence here,” Gide
on told her gently. “I sent a letter to him upon my arrival.”
Lilly waved her hand in dismissal without lifting her head.
“He’ll come to London,” Gideon added.
“It’s of no matter.” Lilly heaved a heavy sigh and lifted her head. “Truly, Gideon, it’s of no matter to me. It was so very long ago.”
Winnefred wasn’t surprised that after a moment’s hesitation, Gideon nodded in acceptance and soon after changed the subject. Nor was she surprised when he excused himself from the table five minutes later.
He didn’t believe Lilly either.
Winnefred listened for the sound of Gideon’s distinctive footsteps to disappear down the hall before speaking again. “Are you all right, Lilly?”
Lilly flicked her eyes up from her plate. “Of course I am.”
“It must be something of a relief,” Winnefred tried, “to know your separation from Gideon’s brother was Lady Engsly’s doing after all. He didn’t abandon you.”
“No, he did not.” There was a long pause before Lilly added, “Not initially.”
“That’s an odd qualifier.”
Again, a long time passed before Lilly spoke. “He didn’t seek me out, Freddie. After being told I had married another, he didn’t . . . He never came to me to ask why I had broken my promise.”
“Nor you him.”
“But I would have,” Lilly returned, and for the first time, a hint of anger could be heard in her voice. “Had I the funds and the freedom, I would have gone to him and demanded to know why he had ceased to answer my letters. He was the only one with the wherewithal to fight for us, and he chose instead to believe in my betrayal.”
Winnefred wanted to point out the obvious holes in that argument, but instinct told her that now was not the time for being reasonable.
“It was wrong of him not to fight for you.” It would also have been wrong of him to seek out a married woman, but that was another bit of useless reasoning.
“Yes. Yes, it was,” Lilly agreed, warming more and more to the topic. “Moreover, he had the luxury of nursing the heartache and misplaced sense of betrayal in the cradle of wealth and status, while we were here, nursing a fire without fuel and a sorry handful of turnips between the two of us.”
Nearly a Lady Page 15
