Nearly a Lady (Haverston Family Trilogy #1)

by Alissa Johnson

  But what was most unfamiliar to her was the experience of being cared for by someone stronger than herself. With Lilly, there had always been companionship and cooperation. But with Gideon, she felt . . . protected. There was no other word for it, no other way to describe how it felt to be tucked up against his side, his large frame sheltering her smaller one. He steadied her with strong hands when the carriage rocked too hard, and the heat of his body permeated through her coat and gown, warming skin that wanted to chill.

  She had always considered herself a person of independence, capable of caring for herself. But she could admit that there was a comfort, even a sense of freedom, in knowing she could rely on Gideon for a time. It was nice to know that, if just for a little while, she didn’t have to be the strong one.

  But even the frequent stops they made, the distractions of beautiful scenery, and the comfort of Gideon’s company were not enough to hold off her illness indefinitely. By early afternoon, she was experiencing a persistent ache in her belly, and her limbs began to feel sore and heavy. She tried to stay awake, remembering what Gideon had said about the perils of keeping her eyes off the road for too long, but it was only a matter of time before her head drooped and she slipped into sleep.

  She woke on her own, slowly and with the unsettling notion that someone had stuffed a wool coat in her mouth during her nap. As she became more aware, she realized it would be more accurate to say that she had put her mouth in the coat.

  She was drooling on Gideon.

  Her head snapped up and off his shoulder fast enough to have her neck screaming in protest. “I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry.”

  Oh, how mortifying.

  “Quite all right,” he assured her with a teasing smile. “You salivate charmingly.”

  She groaned and dragged the back of her hand across her chin. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “There was no reason for it. You’ve been asleep less than half an hour.”

  “My pride could give you a dozen reasons. All moot now,” she grumbled.

  “Exactly. So why worry yourself over it?”

  “Easy for you to say.” His dignity hadn’t dribbled slowly out of his mouth for the last few miles.

  “You’ll make light of men and sheep, but throw in a little spit, and you color right up. You’re a puzzle, Winnefred.”

  “I’m a terrific mess,” she muttered. Her clothes were wrinkled and twisted, her bonnet was askew and loose strands of hair whipped into her eyes. A headache was beginning to press against the back of her forehead and nausea continued its relentless assault against her system.

  Gideon slipped out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “We’ll be stopping for the day soon.”

  She wasn’t cold, but the coat smelled of him, and she found that comforting. She smiled in thanks. “We don’t need to stop yet. It’s barely midday.”

  “It’s nearing two.” He pointed to a thick gray wall of clouds she hadn’t noticed in the distance. “And we’ve heavy rain coming.”

  Not just rain, Winnefred thought, but a storm. The soft rumble of thunder could be heard, and the heavy sheets of rain extending from the clouds looked as if they could wash the road and everyone on it away in a matter of minutes.

  She turned to Peter. “How far are we from shelter?”

  “Ten miles back or nine miles forward, give or take.”

  She looked again at the brewing storm. “We’ll not outrun it.”

  “No, we won’t,” Gideon agreed. “You’ll need to get inside the carriage soon.”

  “No.” She reached up and tied the ribbons of her bonnet more tightly. “Absolutely not.”

  “You’ll be soaked.”

  She considered the alternative. “Then I’ll be soaked.”

  “Winnefred—”

  “I can’t, Gideon. Not for nine miles. I just can’t.”

  He looked as if he wanted to argue, but in the end, he simply nodded and tucked his coat more securely around her shoulders.

  “You need this back,” she said.

  “I don’t. And you’ll keep it on, or you’ll ride out the storm in the carriage.”

  She kept it on.

  The rain began slowly, a mist of water brought in on the wind. It picked up, just as the wind did, and within twenty minutes, Gideon’s prediction came true. She was soaked to the bone. The rain and surrounding air was warm, but the water drove against them in hard sheets. She kept her chin down and her eyes closed and didn’t look up again until she heard a soft curse from Gideon and felt the carriage began to slow.

  “What is it?”

  If anyone answered her, she didn’t hear it over the storm, and it hardly mattered. She could see the trouble for herself. A large stream cut across the road. It ran fast, wide and undoubtedly deep. And the wooden bridge spanning it had been built too low to accommodate the sudden influx of water from heavy rainfall. The rushing water buffeted against the side of the bridge, periodically lapping up and over the boards. Winnefred imagined that if it hadn’t been for the howl of the wind and rain, one could hear the creaking and groaning of the wood. If the rain continued with such intensity, it would only be a matter of time before the bridge gave out.

  The moment the carriage stopped, Gideon and Peter hopped down. Winnefred followed them, a little surprised Gideon neither insisted she stay nor assisted her down. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was completely unaware of her presence. He walked toward the stream without looking at her. And when the outriders moved to follow, Gideon simply stopped them with a distracted wave of the hand.

  He stepped onto the bridge and looked down as another wave of water splashed over and onto his boots. It didn’t quite pass his ankles. He didn’t stand there long but backed off the bridge and rejoined her and Peter on the road. Winnefred waited for him to say something, but he simply turned around and stared at the water.

  Peter lifted his voice over the storm. “Sound as rock, that bridge!”

  Winnefred nodded and looked to Gideon. “Shall we cross?”

  When he said nothing, simply stared at the bridge, she assumed he hadn’t heard her over the wind and rain.

  “Gideon, do we cross?!” she yelled louder, but still he didn’t answer. He gave no indication he’d even heard her. A sliver of unease wound under her skin. “Gideon?”

  The unease turned to fear when he remained still and silent. Swallowing it down, she turned and spoke to Peter. “Go wait by the carriage. Tell Miss Ilestone to stay inside. Lord Gideon and I will return shortly.”

  Peter glanced uncertainly at Gideon but ultimately obeyed. When he was out of earshot, Winnefred tried to maneuver herself into Gideon’s line of sight, but he simply peered over her head at the bridge. He was too pale, she thought. His breathing was too heavy. Water ran down his brow and cheeks in rivulets, but he didn’t appear to notice.

  She took hold of his shoulders instead. “Gideon, what is it? . . . Gideon!”

  He didn’t look at her, but he spoke, finally, in a voice so soft she had trouble hearing him over the storm. “A minute. It just needs to stop for one bloody minute so I can think.”

  “What needs to stop?” The storm? The rushing water? He wasn’t making any sense. It was as if he was trapped somewhere else, fighting a battle she couldn’t see. But she knew torment when she saw it, and she recognized the pain in his eyes as the very same she’d seen when he’d woken from his nightmare.

  “You can have all the time you want,” she tried, her heart breaking for him, “just look at me.”

  It was as if she wasn’t even there. She stepped back and brushed the rain from her face. Pleading with him wasn’t working. Yelling at him wasn’t working. She had to think of something else. She couldn’t stand to see him so lost.

  She looked at the bridge, at Gideon, and made her decision. She spun on her heel and marched toward the bridge.

  Gideon was on her before she put a single foot on the wood. He grabbed her around the waist and dragg
ed her back from the water before spinning her around in his arms.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

  His arms felt like bands of iron, and his features were hard as stone. He was furious. She hadn’t known he was even capable of such anger. And all she could think was, Thank heavens. Oh, thank heavens.

  She tipped her chin up and hoped the tactic she was taking was the right one. “Testing the bridge for myself. Someone needs to decide what’s to be done.”

  “I will decide what’s to be done!”

  She reached up, gripped his face with both hands, and forced him to keep looking at her, and only her. “Then decide, Gideon. Do we cross, or do we not?”

  He swallowed hard, but his eyes stayed on hers. “No,” he said at last. “No, we do not.”

  “Excellent.”

  He nodded as if approving of his own decision, and as he did, the confusion and pain in his eyes began to fade. “The storm is moving quickly. We wait until it passes. The water will recede.” He nodded once more. “We wait.”

  “We wait.”

  Delighted, relieved to the point of giddiness, she gave in to temptation and pressed her lips to his. He tasted of the rain, with the faintest hint of the gin he’d nipped from the outrider. She had just enough time to decide she rather liked the taste, and to register the feel of his fingers brushing lightly across her cheek, and then he was pulling away . . . Slowly, this time, and without a single backward step.

  She could have kissed him again just for that.

  Gideon had other ideas. “Get in the carriage,” he said, his voice a little rough. “I’ll fetch you when it’s time to leave.”

  Chapter 20

  Winnefred had no more than returned Gideon’s coat and opened the carriage door before Lilly reached out, grabbed her arm, and yanked her inside. “What on earth is going on here?”

  “Good grief,” Winnefred gasped, pulling her arm free and taking a seat. “Give me a moment to right myself.”

  “You may right yourself as you explain.”

  Winnefred tried to take off her sopping bonnet, but the ribbons were tied into a hopeless knot. “There was a minor disagreement between Lord Gideon and myself. I thought it best to resolve the issue in private.”

  “Private? I could see you well enough from the window, Winnefred Blythe. There was nothing private about that kiss.”

  “Let it alone, Lilly.”

  “I’ll not. You are my—”

  “For now,” Winnefred tried. “For now, let it alone. Please.”

  Lilly pressed her lips together, tapped a finger against her knee—which was not quite so encouraging a sign as a tapping foot—then said, “No. Absolutely not.”

  Winnefred groaned. She should have known a spot of begging wouldn’t put Lilly off. “I love you, Lilly. I do. But I’ll not share a secret with you that is not my own.”

  Particularly when she hadn’t the foggiest idea of what that secret might be.

  “I’m not asking you to,” Lilly returned. “I am demanding you explain that kiss.”

  “It was just . . .” She gave up on the knot and forcefully pulled the ribbons over her chin. “It was only a peck.”

  “I’m not blind. I saw how you were looking . . .” Lilly sighed and trailed off. It was some time before she spoke again, and when she did, her tone was sympathetic. “Are you in love with him, Freddie?”

  Winnefred frowned in thought. She’d not considered the notion before, and she found now that no matter from which direction she looked at the question, she couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. Worse, she couldn’t work out how she even felt about the idea. She hadn’t any philosophical objections to falling in love, but she did have some reservations, not the least of which was the notion of falling in love with someone who might not love her back.

  She scooted forward in her seat, wrinkling her nose a little when her wet skirts bunched under her legs. “I don’t know. What does it feel like to be in love?”

  “It feels wonderful,” Lilly replied. “. . . Until it doesn’t.”

  “That’s not at all helpful.”

  “The experience of falling in love is different for everyone.” Lilly cocked her head. “How does he make you feel?”

  “I just told you. I think I might be in love.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, physically, do you mean? I find him quite attractive. Sometimes, when he looks at me a certain way—”

  “No, that is not what I . . .” Lilly cleared her throat and carefully smoothed her hands down her skirts. “Yes, there are certain . . . corporal . . . er . . . indicators that certainly . . . indicate . . . Oh, dear.”

  Winnefred shook her head. “I’ve no idea what—”

  Lilly closed her eyes briefly and raised her hand. “Let me try again,” she suggested. “Does having him about make you happy?”

  “Yes, very.”

  “And when he is not about, do you miss him?”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “In a different way than you miss, let us say, Claire, or even myself?”

  “Yes.”

  Lilly nodded. “Then there is a chance you are in love with him.”

  “Just a chance?”

  “Only you can say for certain.”

  Winnefred slumped back against the cushions. If she were capable of saying for certain, she wouldn’t have needed to ask. “What about . . . When did you know Lord Engsly returned your affections?”

  “When he declared them to me.”

  “Oh.”

  Lilly laughed softly. “Give it time, Freddie.”

  “Do you approve, then?”

  “Naturally, I do.” Lilly leaned forward and gripped her hand. “For as long as he makes you happy.”

  She could have done without the second half of that statement. “Do you expect him to make me unhappy?”

  “Not intentionally, no. And he does appear to be quite fond of you, but . . .” Lilly squeezed her hand again before letting go. “He is the brother of a marquess.”

  There it was, all her fears wrapped into one statement of fact.

  She busied herself for a while, wringing out the water from the cuffs of her gown until she could gather the courage to voice those fears aloud.

  “He reads poetry,” she said quietly. “Real poetry, not silly limmericks. And he’s traveled the world. He speaks of Aristotle, and he knows French. I wager he’s never forgotten which fork to use at dinner.” She worried her lip a moment. “Do you suppose . . . Do you suppose I’m just a diversion to him? Do you think he might see me as an amusing country bumpkin, and nothing more?”

  “No,” Lilly said, and with enough force for Winnefred to know she meant it. “Absolutely not. I have no doubt that what Gideon sees is a very clever young woman who is learning of forks and poetry, and will one day be as familiar with each as any other lady.”

  Winnefred tried, and failed, to produce a smile. By that logic, Gideon thought highly of the woman she might become, not who she was now.

  Lilly spoke before she could. “And that’s not what I was referring to when I spoke of Gideon’s rank. I am sure he cares for you, but the brother of a marquess may very well have definite expectations placed upon him when it comes to his choice of wife. I shouldn’t care to see you disappointed.”

  “Oh, that.” She made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat and decided she was quite done investigating all the reasons she might not be good enough for Gideon. “He doesn’t concern himself with those sorts of expectations, particularly. And it hardly signifies. I’m only possibly in love with him, and I’m not at all sure I want to be a wife to anyone.”

  It was difficult to see without sunlight coming into the carriage, but Winnefred could have sworn her friend paled a little. “You listen to me very carefully, Winnefred Blythe. If you intend to pursue your interest in Lord Gideon, you will do so only with the goal of marriage in mind. The consideration of any other romantic arrangement is unacceptable. Do you understand?”
/>   “But—”

  “No.” Lilly didn’t snap the word, but there was a finality in her tone Winnefred knew meant there was no point in further debate. “No other arrangement is acceptable. Do you understand?”

  She bit back the urge to argue. “Yes.”

  “Promise me you will not even think—”

  “I promise I will not enter into a formal arrangement with Gideon that does not meet with your approval.” She wasn’t any more interested in becoming someone’s mistress than she was someone’s wife.

  “Good.” Lilly narrowed her eyes. “Now say it again without the formal bit.”

  “Oh, look. The rain has stopped. That was very quick.” She reached for the door handle, intending to make a fast escape.

  Lilly threw an arm out to block her exit. “Winnefred.”

  She bit her lip, searching for a way to appease her friend without making promises before she’d thought through all her options.

  “I don’t want anyone to be disappointed,” she said quietly. “Least of all you.”

  Lilly hesitated, then nodded and let her arm fall.

  Stifling a breath of relief, Winnefred climbed out of the carriage and closed the door behind her. The air felt thick and the ground squished beneath her feet as she walked to where Gideon stood, his back to her, watching the stream. Already it was beginning to recede, she noticed. The water barely topped over the bridge.

  She hesitated as she neared Gideon.

  Are you in love with him?

  How the devil was she to know? She had affection for him, yes. She was attracted to him, without question. She had respect for him and admiration and . . . And questions, she concluded. She had so many questions. About herself. About him. Now, however, was not the time to ask them. Not while he was standing alone under heavy gray clouds, his head bowed and the muscles of his broad shoulders visibly bunched under his coat. She set her own worries aside and stepped up beside him.