Nearly a Lady (Haverston Family Trilogy #1)

by Alissa Johnson

  She very much hoped to see him at breakfast that morning, even though it meant taking a meal with Lady Gwen. After washing and dressing, she followed a maid’s directions to the dining room and found Lady Gwen seated at the long table alone. A table, Winnefred could not help but notice, that was devoid of food except for Lady Gwen’s plate. The alluring scent of eggs and meat and fresh bread emanated from the long sideboard against the far wall.

  Oh, blast.

  Lilly had told her of such arrangements being popular, but for the life of her, Winnefred couldn’t remember if she was to make her own plate or wait for someone else to do it for her.

  She hesitated in the doorway and had just decided to sneak back upstairs for Lilly when Lady Gwen looked up from her plate.

  “Miss Blythe. You are looking much improved.” She set her fork down and gave Winnefred a thorough looking over. “Very much improved, indeed. It is a pity about the freckles, but it would seem you are, overall, quite acceptable.”

  Winnefred was too preoccupied with trying to figure through her next move to trouble herself over the lukewarm compliment. “Thank you . . . I . . .”

  Lady Gwen glanced over at the sideboard. “Ah. You may serve yourself this morning or request a servant do so for you. In the future, should a gentleman offer to bring you a plate, you may accept.”

  She blinked at the easy manner in which the woman explained what was no doubt, to her, a very simple matter. “Oh. Thank you.”

  Lady Gwen raised one brow. “You appear quite stunned, Miss Blythe. Have you been laboring under the impression Lord Gideon failed to inform me of the state in which he found you?” She dropped the brow and pursed her lips in obvious disgust. “Shameful.”

  Good manners or not, Gideon’s aunt or not, Winnefred could not let that pass. “There is nothing shameful in what I and—”

  “Settle your feathers, child. I refer to the behavior of Lord Engsly, not your own. The neglect of two young ladies is inexcusable.” She pursed her lips again. “My brother always was a churl.”

  Oh, how she wished she had stalled in her chambers for longer . . . possibly until fall. “I apologize for the assumption.”

  “Unnecessary.” Her eyes flicked over Winnefred’s shoulder. “Ah, Miss Ilestone, your timing is impeccable . . . As is your attire, this morning. That is a lovely shade of green, my dear. We shall have to see it on you in a gown of more fashionable cut. Now, do show Miss Blythe the proper way to fix herself a plate and have a seat. We have much to discuss regarding your come-outs, as it were. I do believe Lady Powler’s ball next week will be just the thing.”

  As far as Winnefred could ascertain, the preparations required for a ball that was to be “just the thing” were the same as those required for an upcoming London season, with two notable exceptions. To begin with, this time round, Lilly’s responsibilities were not those of an instructor, but of a student. It was a role she fulfilled with aplomb. There wasn’t a dance she couldn’t master, a name she couldn’t remember, a French phrase that didn’t trip easily off the end of her tongue.

  Winnefred’s lessons, on the other hand, progressed much as they had in Scotland. She spilled the tea, forgot if the wife of the second son of an earl was lady or a missus, and failed to impress the dancing master with her impression of an inebriated puppet. With every misstep, she felt a little more out of place. With every fumbled lesson, she grew increasingly worried that the upcoming ball would prove to be a disaster.

  As a further blow to her confidence, Gideon became a regular witness to her failures, his presence being the other difference between the Scottish and London preparations. Lady Gwen insisted he take an active role in the tutelage of his charges—a responsibility he bore with varying degrees of enthusiasm. He managed to use the excuse of his weak leg to disappear while the dancing master was in residence, and she caught him nodding off whilst Lady Gwen read from Debrett’s Peerage on the evening of the third day. But he did seem to enjoy accompanying them to Bond Street the next morning, and to her bewilderment, he took an inordinate amount of interest in the selection of her new wardrobe, even going so far as to repeatedly reject the choices made by his aunt. In fact, within a half hour’s time of entering the modiste’s shop, he was going through the fashion plates and selecting the gowns himself.

  To Winnefred’s further surprise, Lady Gwen ceded to the majority his opinions without argument.

  “I see nothing amiss with your selections,” she commented as she and Lilly looked over the plates. “You surprise me, nephew. I would not have thought you a connoisseur of ladies’ fashions.”

  Gideon looked slightly offended at the accusation. “I’m not. I employed a bit of common sense, that’s all. Do you care for them, Winnefred?”

  Though she appreciated that he would ask, her complete ignorance of fashion left her no criteria with which to judge the gowns other than the feel of the material. She fingered several bolts of fabric set aside for her. “Yes. They’re lovely.”

  Lilly gently nudged a plate toward her. “You should look at the drawings before making a decision, Winnefred.”

  “I don’t see the point,” she admitted. “The three of you are far more qualified than I to choose new gowns.”

  Lady Gwen nodded. “I applaud the good sense you exhibit in deferring to those of experience, Miss Blythe.”

  Winnefred straightened a little at the small compliment. Praise was a rare thing from Lady Gwen—praise directed at her, at any rate—and while the good opinion of haughty, judgmental ladies was not something she wished to trouble herself over, she found herself reluctantly eager for the approval of Gideon’s aunt. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “However,” Lady Gwen continued, “it will not do for you to have so little knowledge of fashion. It is a common topic of conversation.” She motioned Winnefred closer. “Come here, child. Gideon will explain to you the reasoning behind his choices while Miss Ilestone and I select fabrics for her own wardrobe.”

  Gideon’s head snapped up from the plate he’d been examining. “Explain?”

  “Yes, nephew. Explain. Come along, Miss Ilestone.”

  “I . . .” Gideon looked at Winnefred, at his aunt’s retreating back, and once again to Winnefred. “Well . . .”

  She would have helped him if she’d known how. Possibly. It was a rare and fascinating thing to see Lord Gideon Haverston so comically flummoxed.

  He cleared his throat, twice, and gestured at the plates. “Well . . . pale colors are, of course, de rigueur for young unmarried ladies.”

  She was relatively certain she knew what de rigueur meant. “Of course.”

  “And the uh . . . The high . . .” He waved a finger in the general vicinity of the woman’s bust. “The high cut of the waist is . . . also de rigueur.”

  “Is it really?”

  He shot her a quick, threatening glance that had her stifling a laugh.

  “Well, for pity’s sake,” she whispered, “even I know that.”

  “You were wearing trousers the first time we met,” he reminded her.

  “They didn’t render me blind,” she returned. “And I did own a gown, you’ll recall.”

  “So you did, and do you know what marked that gown as outdated?”

  “The fact that it was a dingy shade of ivory and had several patched holes in the skirt?” She leaned a hip against the table, remembered that a lady did not go about leaning on furniture, and promptly straightened again.

  “No, that marked it as old,” Gideon said. “The cut is what marked it as outdated. The waist was too high. The strict adherence to classical style has been tempered in recent years. Waists are lower these days.”

  “I see.” He looked inordinately proud of himself for coming up with that bit of information. She suspected it was the only bit he had. “And is that what you looked for in these gowns? A fashionable waist line?”

  “Well, that, and . . .” He frowned thoughtfully. “And certain details that were uniquely suited to you. See this one
? I bought a gown for you in Scotland this same shade of peach. I know by way of experience that it brings out the roses in your cheeks without accentuating your freckles.”

  She felt a flush of pleasure at the roses comment and pulled a face to hide it. “I do wish I hadn’t the freckles.”

  “There is nothing wrong with freckles.”

  “Then why concern ourselves over their accentuation?”

  “Because it is a matter of taste, and . . . And there is no accounting for taste.” He smiled at her bland expression. “We just do, that’s all.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She reached over and tapped one of the plates with her finger. “You haven’t an inkling as to why you chose those gowns, do you?”

  “Certainly, I have. I chose them because they suit you, as I said.” He drew a small stack of plates from the end of the table and showed her a pale blue gown with lace and ribbons and something very large and very odd attached to the back. At best guess, it was a badly tied bow. “This is the ball gown Lady Gwen insisted upon.”

  “Oh. How very complicated.”

  “Exactly so. You’re not complicated. You’re simple.”

  “Simple,” she repeated dryly. “May I presume you will not be instructing me on the art of delivering compliments?”

  “I see you’ve still not been instructed on how to receive them. Simple can be a very fine thing.”

  “So can manure in a turnip patch.”

  “Point taken,” he said with a curve of his lips. “Let me try another avenue of explanation. You, Winnefred Blythe, are genuine. Wholly without guile or artifice. A conversation with you requires no interpretation, no search for hidden meaning. Being friends with you is effortless. That is what I meant by simple. These . . .” He gestured at the plates. “These layers of ruffles and lace and intricate patterns, they belong on a woman who would hide who she is. Not on you.”

  It was such a lovely speech, she hadn’t the heart to point out how much of herself she hid by trying to be a lady of the ton, nor the heart to wonder if he truly realized it.

  “Thank you,” she murmured instead and, fearing a blush would be noticed by more than just she and Gideon, quickly changed the subject. “Is the ball gown as bad as all that?”

  “No,” he assured her, “or I’d have made a more determined argument against it. It’s a very fashionable gown. And it doesn’t hurt for a person to expand their tastes from time to time.”

  “That’s true.” She cocked her head at the plate. “It is a lovely shade of blue.”

  “I believe yours is to be pink.”

  “Oh. Well, I trust Lady Gwen knows what she is about. I trust you do as well, but I must say, none of this is going to help me discuss fashion with any sort of authority.”

  “You’ve an eye for color and feel for material of quality. Limit your input to those, and when in doubt, mention that your gowns came from Madame Fayette. The other ladies will be suitably impressed.”

  The sound of Lilly’s soft laughter kept her from responding. She turned her head and watched as Lady Gwen gave a rare smile and nodded in approval of something Lilly said.

  “She’s wonderfully happy. Lilly, I mean,” she added, turning to Gideon. “I’ve you to thank for that.”

  “Am I to retain my internal organs, then?”

  She considered it, and the weeks of balls and dinner parties ahead of them. “Let us see how things fare at Lady Powler’s ball.”

  His lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t one of amusement, it was one of understanding. “I’m sure my aunt was careful in her choice of invitations to accept, Winnefred. You don’t need to be afraid.”

  She squared her shoulders, indignant at the implication. “I may grow nervous on occasion, but I am not afraid of anything.”

  Chapter 26

  Four days later, as the hour of Lady Powler’s ball drew near, Winnefred stood alone in the middle of her chambers and admitted to herself that she was afraid.

  In truth, she was terrified.

  That hadn’t been the case earlier in the day. She’d simply been too busy to be afraid.

  She had bathed in rose-scented water, been helped into her pink ball gown, and sat through the lengthy process of having her hair pinned into a complicated array of curls. She wished the process had been a bit lengthier, because now she was left with nothing to do but think about how incredibly nervous she was.

  She was going to embarrass Lilly.

  She was going to humiliate herself.

  No one was going to be fooled into thinking she was a lady.

  In an effort to distract herself, she studied her reflection in the cheval mirror and, after moment’s consideration, decided that her appearance, at least, was acceptable. In fact, she looked rather pretty. There was still the matter of her freckles, and skin that had, despite Lilly’s best efforts over the years, become slightly browned in the sun. But the muted rose of the silk did a fair job of flattering her complexion, and the low cut of the neckline did an exceptional job of flattering her charms.

  She looked down at herself with pursed lips. She’d never thought of herself as a woman with notable charms before. But there they were, pushed up, laced in and practically spilling over the top of her bodice. What hypocrisy that she should be forbidden to acknowledge in the company of a gentleman what was being so blatantly revealed for the benefit of that gentleman.

  Here, sir, what do you make of these? I should think them the finest bubbies at the ball.

  Snickering nervously, she turned her head when a soft knock sounded on her door.

  “Yes. Come in.” And stay, she thought. She didn’t want to be alone with her nerves.

  The door opened a crack and Rebecca’s head popped inside. “Lord Gideon would like a word with you, miss.”

  Oh, perfect. “Of course. Where is he?”

  By way of answer, Rebecca entered the room with Gideon following behind her. He stepped inside, caught sight of Winnefred, and stopped. Slowly, his gaze trailed up and down the length of her, his eyes coming to rest at the low-cut bodice. She couldn’t have asked for a more effective means of distraction, and she wasn’t certain what she wanted to do more—blush, invite him closer, or laugh outright. Hypocrites or not, the ladies of the ton knew what they were about.

  Rebecca cleared her throat delicately. “Shall I stoke the fire in the sitting room, my lord?”

  “Hmm?” Gideon blinked and turned his head slowly as if waiting for his eyes to catch up. “Oh, right. The fire. Thank you, Rebecca.”

  When he looked at Winnefred again, his eyes had cleared and there was a smile playing at his lips. “It appears I was wrong about the gown. You look exquisite.”

  “Thank you.” She bobbed a quick and much-practiced curtsy. Then, because it felt as if the movement had shifted the material lower, she tugged at the bodice. “It feels like a ton of bricks.”

  “I imagine it does.” His gaze followed the movement of her hands a moment before snapping to her face. “Why bricks, do you suppose?”

  She stopped tugging. “I’m afraid to inquire what you mean by that.”

  “If it’s a ton of something, what difference does it make if it’s a ton of bricks, or a ton of stone, or a ton of very fluffy pillows? They all weigh the same by definition.”

  “Is it absolutely necessary I spare thought for that?”

  Gideon shook his head sadly and crossed the room to stand before her. “You display a distressing lack of curiosity.”

  “It’s true, I do. And the shame of it weighs more heavily on me every day. Much like a ton of fluffy pillows.”

  “Well. I hope you’ll not mind the addition of a few more ounces.” He glanced into the sitting room and seeing Rebecca occupied, pulled a small box from his pocket. “I saw this today and thought of you.”

  She looked at the box and groaned. This was not the sort of distraction she wanted. “Gideon, no.”

  He’d bought her presents every day for the last four days—bonnets and bracelets, earrin
gs and fancy slippers. On several occasions, he’d had multiple gifts sent to her chambers. “You cannot keep purchasing such things for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s too much, and they are inappropriate. Even I know a gentleman is not allowed to give a lady jewelry or articles of clothing. And a lady is not allowed to accept.”

  “As your acting guardian in my brother’s absence, it is perfectly acceptable for me to purchase items necessary for a London season.”

  “It is acceptable that you pay for them, not buy them as gifts.”

  “The difference escapes me.” He shifted his cane to his arm so he could open the box.

  “It does not. It . . .” She trailed off, her eyes going round as he revealed a necklace fashioned of small, delicate pearls and ending with a moderately sized diamond pendant. It was beautiful. Simple, elegant, beautiful, and no doubt worth a small fortune. She felt her resolve to decline the present slipping away. “Oh, it’s so lovely . . . I shouldn’t accept this. I shouldn’t accept any of your gifts.”

  “Why do you, if it bothers you?”

  “Because . . .” She shifted her feet and bit her lip. “Because they’re lovely, and . . . Do you know how many sheep I could buy with this? And the garnet bracelet? It could see Murdoch House through a drought, and . . . And I can’t say no.”

  He bent his head and laughed softly.

  “I shouldn’t take this,” she mumbled, looking at the box in his hand. She reached out and took it. “But I can’t say no. I could—I’d not be tempted, if you would only stop offering. What must I do to persuade you to stop?”

  His laugh faded, and when he lifted his head to speak, his dark eyes were somber. His voice was soft and edged with a sadness she didn’t understand.

  “Take them for granted,” he said.

  She shook her head. “What?”

  “I want you to take these things for granted. I want you to be as sure of their existence in your life as you were of hunger and cold in Scotland.” He reached out to tap the edge of the box with his finger. “I want to bring you a pretty, useless trinket, and have you see a pretty, useless trinket—not a windfall, not its worth in livestock, and certainly not salvation from the hardship you seem to think awaits you in the future.”