Nearly a Lady (Haverston Family Trilogy #1)

by Alissa Johnson

  “Because I was the undowered daughter of a rural gentleman. There was nothing in the match for the Engsly estate. We kept our engagement a secret from all.” She smiled slowly, remembering. “He called me Rose.”

  “Rose?”

  “We were seventeen and nineteen respectively, we met in a rose garden, and the contact between us was forbidden. We thought the use of a nickname quite clever.”

  “I see.” She didn’t actually, but then, her world at seventeen had been very different.

  “We were foolish children,” Lilly said quietly.

  “It isn’t foolish to fall in love.”

  “No, it isn’t. But it was foolish to believe we could secure our future with nothing more than a silly nickname and a tendre. He bought a commission so we could live without his father’s help and promised to return for me as soon as he could. He wrote every day for a month. And then he stopped. No reason was given, no warning. He just stopped.”

  Winnefred absorded that bit of information and worked it over in her mind before speaking again. “Do you think Lady Engsly may have had something to do with that?”

  “It seems likely, doesn’t it? I suppose I might have the opportunity to ask him, if he returns to London during our visit.” She exhaled loudly and straightened her shoulders. “But really, what does it matter now? It was such a long time ago.”

  It mattered, Winnefred thought. She knew Lilly well enough to see past the careless gesture and indifferent tone to know it mattered. She also knew her well enough to know when it was best to push and when it was best to allow some space.

  Lilly brought her hand to her stomach. “Would you mind terribly if we put your next lesson off a half hour or so? I believe I overindulged.”

  Oh, yes, Winnefred thought, it most certainly mattered. She reached for her friend’s free hand and squeezed gently. “Take a stroll, Lilly, or have a lie-down.”

  Winnefred watched her friend stand and leave. An understanding with the Marquess of Engsly. It was nearly impossible to imagine. How different Lilly’s life would have been had the two of them not been separated. She would have spent every season in London, amongst those shops and theaters she adored. She would never have come to Scotland. Because a small selfish part of her was glad her friend had not become the Marchioness of Engsly, Winnefred put the matter aside, brushed off her skirts, and moved to stand. There was quite a bit she could do with another half hour of free time.

  “Have you a minute more to linger, Winnefred?”

  She started at the sound of Gideon’s voice and spun around to find him coming out of the house once more. A tingle of pleasure danced up her spine. Perhaps he’d not been in such a hurry to leave her company after all.

  “I’ve half an hour as it happens. Have you had a resurgence of appetite?”

  “No.” He gestured at her to resume her seat. “I’ve come to inquire after Lilly.”

  “Lilly? Why would . . . ?” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “Were you eavesdropping just now?”

  His lips quirked into a smile. “No. But I was watching from my window.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I was not blind to her agitation at the mention of my brother,” he said softly, taking a seat next to her.

  “Oh. You didn’t appear to notice.”

  “I assumed Lilly would be more comfortable discussing the issue with you.”

  She thought about that and reached down to pluck at a piece of lint on the blanket. “I have never before been put in the position of . . . Of having more than one friend. Nor having any friends with secrets.”

  Gideon nodded in understanding. “I don’t wish to see you break a confidence, Winnefred. I only wish to know if there is something I ought to be made aware of.”

  “And if there is?”

  “Then I will revisit the subject with Lilly.”

  That seemed reasonable. “No,” she decided with a decisive nod. It hadn’t been Gideon who had broken Lilly’s heart, after all. “No, it has nothing to do with either of us.”

  “Lucien wasn’t unkind to her in some way?”

  “Is your brother the sort to be unkind to a lady?” she asked by way of deflecting the question.

  “They met as children,” he reminded her. “Even the best behaved of children can be cruel on occasion.”

  They hadn’t been children, strictly speaking, but she couldn’t see the sense in correcting him. “I’d wager you never were.”

  “You would lose that bet.” He gave her a mischievous smile. “I pushed Miss Mary Watkins into a puddle of mud when we were both seven.”

  She found it very easy to picture Gideon as a small dark-haired, impish little boy, but she couldn’t imagine him pushing someone to the ground. “Why?”

  “She kicked at my dog.”

  Winnefred had never had a dog, but she rather thought her reaction would have been the same. “That’s not cruelty, that’s vengeance. And completely justified, in my opinion.”

  “She cried for a half hour after.”

  She sent him a pitying look. “And you felt badly, didn’t you?”

  “Not as badly as I was informed I should.”

  She laughed and pointed her finger at him. “Exactly, because you knew she deserved it. It isn’t cruel if it’s deserved. I believe I’ve won my wager.”

  “Ah, but what if I told you Miss Watkins had, until that unfortunate day, been a sweet and gentle child, and later grew into an admirable young woman?”

  “Did she?”

  “No.” He grinned when she laughed again. “But it might have happened.”

  “I suppose it might have,” she conceded. “How does this sound? I can assure you that, to the best of my knowledge, your brother never pushed Lilly into a mud puddle or kicked at her dog.”

  “So, there is nothing I need to do for her, or could do for her?”

  She thought of the life her friend had been denied and the life before her now.

  “Yes, there is.” She caught his dark gaze and held it. “You can keep your promises.”

  Chapter 10

  The very next day, a pianoforte was delivered to Murdoch House, and Winnefred took her first dancing instructions from Lilly. To her great delight, she soon discovered one needn’t necessarily be good at something to enjoy it. In fact, when it came to dancing, enjoyment seemed to increase in reverse proportion to the amount of skill a body was able to exhibit.

  The house had no ballroom or music room to speak of, but the front parlor was large enough to accommodate the pianoforte and a pair of dancers once the furniture was lined against the walls. Lilly was the only person in residence proficient at the piano, and so Bess had been recruited as a dance partner for Winnefred. Unfortunately, Bess’s familiarity with popular dances was only slightly more extensive than Winnefred’s, and because the poor girl had no experience at all when it came to dancing in the role of a gentleman, she and Winnefred had spent the last hour bumping into, tripping over, and stepping on each other and the furniture.

  Winnefred couldn’t remember ever having so much fun.

  “Stop. Stop.” Lilly bent over the piano keys, choking out words between fits of laughter. “. . . The pair of you . . . Like drunken marionettes.”

  Winnefred glanced at a sheepish looking Bess. “I thought we were doing rather well just now.”

  They’d not collided more than twice in the last five minutes, which was a notable improvement.

  Lilly took a deep breath and straightened. “Avoiding each other as if you fear the pox is not doing well. And you’ve been dancing as the gentleman again, Freddie.”

  “Oh.” She considered this with pursed lips. The fewest number of mishaps seemed to occur when she was dancing as the gentleman. “I don’t suppose there are any circumstances in which a lady—”

  “No. It is never proper for a lady to lead.”

  Winnefred looked to Bess and winked. “Pity.”

  “’Tisn’t Miss Blythe’s fault,” Bess offered. “I
’ve no talent for dancing as a gentleman.”

  Winnefred grinned at Lilly. “You see? I was dancing as a gentleman because Bess was dancing as a lady. I believe that qualifies as having followed her lead.”

  “It qualified as a mockery of a perfectly lovely dance.” Lilly sighed with frustration. “We need an actual gentleman.”

  “Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

  Winnefred turned to find Gideon standing in the open door of the parlor. No, not standing, she amended, but leaning comfortably against the doorframe. How long, she wondered, had he been there, watching?

  He smiled, straightened and stepped into the room. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Winnefred?”

  Winnefred shot Lilly a quick smug expression. She had suggested asking Gideon to be her dance partner, but Lilly had insisted that such a request would show a grievous lack of sensitivity. “I would be delighted. Can you dance with your cane?”

  “No.” He leaned the cane against the wall. “But I can manage without it for a time, provided Lilly slows the tempo a little for me.”

  “You won’t risk exacerbating your injury?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Even if I should trod on your foot?” It was practically inevitable that she would.

  “The injury was not to my foot,” he assured her as he crossed the floor.

  “Oh. What was the injury to?” She pretended not to see the look of censure from Lilly. The question was indelicate, perhaps, but if Gideon wasn’t troubled by the topic, Winnefred saw no reason why anyone else should be.

  “The upper leg. So, if you could avoid swinging your arms about below your waist, or kicking your feet up above the knees, I believe we’ll do well enough.”

  The image made her laugh. “I shall do my best.”

  Lilly shuffled the papers on the piano. “If you are ready, we shall try the same dance again, but slower.”

  As she took her place across from Gideon, Winnefred considered what a strange sensation it was to stand in front of a man, quiet and unmoving while the lilting strains of a piano filled the room. It was strange enough, in fact, that she lost count of the beats and stepped toward Gideon’s side too soon. He caught her round the waist with his arm, lifted her off her feet, and set her back down again in her spot. “Not quite yet, Winnefred. And wrong side.”

  The words barely registered, as did the sound of the music stopping and Lilly’s groan.

  “Good heavens,” Winnefred breathed, “you’re strong as an ox.”

  He stepped back to his own spot. “Perhaps you’re just dainty.”

  “We start again,” Lilly announced.

  “Dainty?” Though Winnefred knew herself to be a woman of small build, the description “dainty” was one she never expected to hear applied to herself. She found herself grinning at the very notion. “Lace is dainty.”

  “Not the sort my grandmother used to wear,” Gideon replied, raising his voice a little as Lilly began to play once more. “Lucien and I stole some yards of her lace once and fashioned a very fine rope swing for the lake.”

  “She must have been furious.”

  “We never admitted to the crime. Step forward now.”

  “What? Oh.” She moved forward offbeat and remembered to take his hand only after he held it out to her, but she managed to refrain from trampling him as they turned a circle around each other and thought that a fine start.

  “Swings aside, I’m not sure I care for the word ‘dainty,’ ” she commented. “It implies fragility.”

  “A fitting description.”

  “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

  “All life is fragile.”

  “Unless you’re Mr. Pirkle falling from his roof,” she pointed out and remembered just in time to switch hands with him and turn in an opposite circle. “Perspective, I suppose.”

  “Perhaps it is,” he conceded. “Step to the right.”

  She did and nearly tripped over her feet in an effort to catch back up to the beat.

  “Concentrate, Freddie,” Lilly called out.

  She shared a smile of amusement with Gideon, but followed Lilly’s advice all the same, forgoing conversation for the sake of paying attention to the music and the steps. And what she soon discovered was that dancing with an actual gentleman truly did make a difference. She’d been jesting about merely following Bess’s lead earlier, but now that she had Gideon as a partner, it did seem quite a bit easier to step when and where she ought. Admittedly, it also helped that Gideon periodically reached out to steer her in the right direction.

  It wasn’t fun in the same way it had been with Bess, with the two of them dizzy with laughter. It was a completely different kind of pleasure dancing with Gideon. Every time they touched hands or stood mere inches apart, a warmth spread over her skin, her pulse beat a little faster, and her breath caught as if she’d been dancing with him for hours.

  When the song ended, she felt giddy and light-headed, and more than a little disappointed it was over. Lilly, on the other hand, appeared ecstatic. She applauded with considerable enthusiasm.

  “Well done, Freddie. Very well done. Much improved. Shall we try it again? Or something new . . . Oh, a waltz.” She looked to Gideon. “I presume your aunt will see to it she gains permission—?”

  “Naturally,” Gideon cut in, “but I’m afraid I must decline.”

  Winnefred’s disappointment grew. She was quite certain in that moment she could spend the rest of the day dancing, as long as it was with him. “I can’t persuade you to try another?”

  He tapped a finger against his leg. “Would that I could.” “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “No need.” He retrieved his cane from the wall and turned to Lilly. “May I request a respite for all parties? There is something I wish to discuss with Winnefred.”

  “Oh. Well.” Lilly glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I suppose a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

  Gideon led Winnefred from the room with his hand wrapped in a tight fist around his cane. He shouldn’t have come to the parlor. He’d known it was a mistake the moment he peered into the room.

  He’d taken one look at Winnefred, her face lit by laughter, and he hadn’t been able to resist offering to dance. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was stumbling into. He wanted to dance with her and knew he might never have another chance. A reel at full speed was more than his leg could manage, but the slow stop-and-go method of a dancing lesson was well within his capabilities.

  It was a damn good thing two dance lessons had not been within his capabilities. Every smile, every intentional brush of the hand and accidental bump of shoulders had been exquisite torture. A torture he would have gladly continued had he been able. For the first time, he was grateful—albeit begrudgingly so—for a limitation set on him by his injury.

  He’d heard it said that infatuation with a woman could make a man feel drunk, but he’d never before experienced the sensation. He’d been intrigued by women in the past, charmed by them, and certainly desired them, but he’d never been in jeopardy of losing his head.

  Gideon glanced at Winnefred as they stepped outside into the sunlight and decided it wasn’t like being drunk. It was like being tipsy—with just enough sense left to know one more drink would propel a pleasant headiness into outright inebriation, but not enough sense left to keep from reaching for the bottle.

  He shouldn’t have reached for Winnefred in the parlor. He’d known it would be a mistake to offer his services as a dance partner. He’d known exactly what he was doing and exactly what the consequences would be. And he’d done it anyway.

  “You’re very quiet all of a sudden, Gideon.”

  There was a thread of uncertainty in Winnefred’s voice, prompting him to make a conscious effort to set aside his frustration and relax the hand gripping his cane. He’d brought Winnefred outside to surprise her, not worry her. “My apologies. I was woolgathering.”

  “Does it have something to do with the
messenger that came this morning?” She reached for his arm. “It’s not bad news, is it?”

  “Not at all.” He could feel the warmth of her fingers through his coat sleeve. “It’s something I have been anxious to receive. Something for you.”

  “For me?” She dropped her hand. “But—”

  “My first morning here, I told you, and Lilly, you could have anything you wanted from the Engsly estate as restitution for my stepmother’s crimes. You asked for nothing.”

  “That’s not true. I asked not to go to London.”

  “So you did,” he conceded with a smile. “Well, I hope this makes up for the denial of your request.”

  “But I have plenty, Gideon. I don’t need—” She broke off when he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “What is this?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  She unfolded the paper and read the tidy script. It was, in essence, a deed to Murdoch House, or as close to one as an unmarried woman could hope to retain within the constraints of the law. It granted Miss Winnefred Blythe the letting of Murdoch House for the period of five hundred years, the amount due for such a time having been recognized by the Engsly estate as having been paid in full. In addition, the contract, and all rights granted within, was transferrable upon death to the inheritor of her naming.

  She stared at the contract a long time without speaking.

  “Does it please you?” Gideon asked softly.

  She looked at him, back to the contract, then back to him again. Her expression was one of shock and marvel. “It’s . . . When . . . Can you do this?”

  “I can and have. I wrote to my brother’s solicitor last week and requested he draft the lease immediately.”

  “It’s mine,” she breathed. “Murdoch House is mine.”

  “To do with as you please. The contract clearly states you are not required to answer to the Engsly estate for the condition of the land. You can restore the house and grounds, run a hundred sheep on the land, or you could burn the house to the ground and build a haberdashery in its place. The choice is yours.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I would give it to you in full, if I could.”