Minx (17 page)

"I won't," he assured her. "But deuced paganish? Where the devil did you come up with that?"

"I was merely trying to point out that I have responsibilities here and have no wish for a frivolous lifestyle. Some of us have more important things to do than fritter our time away, looking for activities with which to amuse ourselves."

"Of course."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to detect any sarcasm in his voice. Either he was serious or else he was a master at deception, because he looked utterly earnest.

"Did you have any other objections?" he asked politely.

"Yes. I will not quibble with you over the fact that I need a new wardrobe, but you have forgotten a pertinent fact. I have no money. If I couldn't afford new gowns here in Cornwall, I don't see how I could afford any in London, where everything is surely more expensive."

"I'll pay for them."

"Even I know that isn't proper, Dunford."

"It probably wasn't proper last week when we went to Truro," he acquiesced with a shrug. "But now I'm your guardian. It couldn't be more proper."

"But I cannot allow you to spend your money on me."

"Perhaps I want to."

"But you cannot."

"I believe I know my own mind," he said dryly. "Probably a bit better than you do, I imagine."

"If you want to spend your money, I'd much rather you put it into Stannage Park. We could use a bit of work on the stables, and there is a piece of land adjoining the southern border I've had my eye on—"

"That wasn't what I had in mind."

Henry crossed her arms and clamped her mouth shut, fresh out of objections to his scheme.

Dunford regarded her petulant expression and correctly guessed that she was ceding the floor to him. "If I may continue...Let me see, where was I? Fun, wardrobe, oh, yes. It might do you a bit of good to get a little town polish. Even," he said loudly as he saw her mouth open in consternation, "if you have no intention of ever returning to London again. It is always good to be able to hold one's own with the best in the land—and the snobbiest, I suppose—and there is no way you'll be able to do that if you do not know what's what. The port was a good example."

A flush stained her neck.

"Any objections there?"

She shook her head mutely. She hadn't felt the need for social polish up to now; she ignored and was ignored by most of Cornwall society and was fairly content with the arrangement, but she had to admit he had a point. Knowledge was always a good thing, and it certainly couldn't hurt to learn how to comport herself a little more properly.

"Good," he said. "I always knew you had exceptional common sense. I'm glad you're showing it now."

Henry rather thought he was being somewhat condescending but decided not to comment on it.

"Also," Dunford continued, "I think it would do you a great deal of good to meet some people your age and make some friends."

"Why do you sound as if you're lecturing to an errant child?" she muttered.

"Forgive me. Our age, I should say. I'm not so very much older than you, I suppose, and my two closest female friends can't be more than a year older than you, if that."

"Dunford," Henry said, trying to stave off the embarrassed flush that was staining her cheeks, "the very reason I most object to going to London is that I don't think people will like me. I don't mind being alone here at Stannage Park, where I truly am alone. I quite like it, as a matter of fact. But I do not think I will enjoy being alone in a ballroom full of hundreds of people."

"Nonsense," he said dismissively. "You'll make friends. You just haven't been in the right situation before. Or the right clothing," he added dryly. "Not, of course, that one ought to judge a person on his or her wardrobe, but I can see where people would be slightly, er, suspicious of a female who doesn't seem to own a dress."

"And you, of course, are going to buy me a closetful of dresses."

"Just so," he replied, pointedly ignoring her sarcasm. "And don't worry about making friends. My friends will adore you; I'm sure of it. And they will introduce you to other nice people, and so on and so forth."

She didn't have any other cogent arguments on that particular point, so she had to settle for a loud grumble to express her ire.

"Finally," Dunford said, "I know you adore Stannage Park and would like to spend the rest of your life here, but perhaps, just perhaps, Henry, you might someday like to have a family of your own. It is exceedingly selfish for me to keep you here for myself, although Lord knows I would like to have you around because I'll never find an estate manager who will do a better job—"

"I'm more than happy to stay," she interjected quickly.

"Have you never given any thought to marrying?" he asked softly. "Or children? Neither is a distinct possibility if you remain here at Stannage Park. As you have pointed out, there is nobody worth his salt right here in the village, and I think you have effectively scared off most of the gentry around Truro. If you go to London, you might meet a man who captures your fancy. Maybe," he said in a teasing voice, "he will even turn out to be from Cornwall."

I fancy you! she wanted to scream. Then she was horrified because she hadn't realized until that moment just how much she did fancy him. But beyond this infatuation—and she was loath to call it anything deeper than that—he had struck a chord. She did want children, although she had refused to let herself think about it much up to now. The possibility of her actually finding someone to marry—someone who'd be willing to marry her, she thought dryly—had always been so remote that thinking about children brought only pain. But now—oh, Lord, why was she suddenly picturing children who looked exactly like Dunford? Right down to his warm brown eyes and devastating smile. It was more painful than anything she could imagine because she knew that the adorable imps never would be hers.

"Henry? Henry?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry. I was just thinking about what you said."

"Don't you agree then? Come to London, if only for just a little while. If you don't like any of the men there, you may return to Cornwall, but at least then you can say you explored all your options."

"I could always marry you," she blurted out. She clapped her hand to her mouth, horrified. Where had that come from?

"Me?" he croaked.

"Well, I mean..." Oh dear, oh dear, how to patch this up? "What I mean is, if I married you, then, um, I wouldn't have to go to London to look for a husband so I would be happy, and you wouldn't have to pay me to oversee Stannage Park so you would be happy, and...um..."

"Me?"

"I can see you're surprised. I'm surprised too. I'm not even sure why I suggested it."

"Henry," he said gently, "I know exactly why you suggested it."

He did? She suddenly felt very warm.

"You don't know very many men," he continued. "You are comfortable with me. I'm a much safer option than going out and meeting gentlemen in London."

That's not it at all! she wanted to yell. But of course she didn't. And of course she didn't tell him the real reason those words had burst forth from her mouth. Better just to let him think she was too scared to leave Stannage Park.

"Marriage is a very big step," he said.

"Not so big," she said, wildly thinking that she'd already half-dug herself into a ditch—why not broaden the hole? "What I mean to say is, there is the marriage bed and all that, and I must admit I have no experience in that direction beyond, well, you know. But I was raised on a farm, after all, and am not entirely ignorant. There are sheep here, and we breed those, and I can't see how it would be so very different and—"

He arched one arrogant brow. "Are you likening me to a sheep?"

"No! Of course not, I..." She paused, swallowed convulsively, then swallowed again. "I..."

"You what, Henry?"

She couldn't tell if his voice was icy cold, shocked into disbelief, or merely heartily amused.

"I... uh..." Oh, Lord, this would have to go down in history as the worst day, no, the worst minute of her life. She was an idiot. A bacon-brain. A fool, fool, fool, fool, fool! "I... uh... I guess maybe I should go to London." But I'm coming back to Cornwall as soon as I can, she silently swore. He wasn't going to tear her from her home.

"Splendid!" He rose, looking supremely pleased with himself. "I'll tell my valet to begin packing immediately. I'll have him take care of your things as well. I don't see any reason to bring anything other than the three dresses we bought last week in Truro, do you?"

She shook her head weakly.

"Right." He crossed to the door. "So just pack up any personal items and knickknacks you might want to bring, and Henry?"

She looked up at him in question.

"We'll just forget about this little conversation, shall we? The last bit that is."

She managed to stretch her lips into a smile, but what she really wanted to do was hurl the brandy decanter at him.

Chapter 10

At ten the following morning Henry was dressed, ready, and waiting on the front steps. She wasn't particularly pleased that she had agreed to go to London with Dunford, but she was damned if she wasn't going to behave with a bit of dignity. If Dunford thought he would have to drag her kicking and screaming from the house, he was mistaken. She had donned her new green dress and matching bonnet, and had even managed to locate an old pair of Viola's gloves. They were a bit worn, but they did the trick, and Henry found that she actually liked the feel of the soft, fine wool on her hands.

The bonnet, however, was another story altogether. It itched her ears, blocked her peripheral vision, and was a general nuisance. It took all of her patience— which, admittedly, wasn't much—not to rip the blasted thing from her head.

Dunford arrived a few minutes later and gave her an approving nod. "You look lovely, Henry."

She smiled her thanks but decided not to put too much stock in his compliment. It sounded like the sort of thing he said automatically to any woman in his vicinity.

"Is that all you have?" he asked.

Henry looked down at her meager valise and nodded. She hadn't even enough to fill a proper trunk. Just her new dresses and some of her well-worn men's clothing. Not that she was likely to need breeches and a jacket in London, but one never could be sure.

"No matter. We'll rectify that soon."

They climbed up into the carriage and were on their way. Henry caught her bonnet on the door frame as she was getting in, a circumstance which caused her to mutter most ungraciously under her breath. Dunford thought he heard her say, "Bloody bleeding blooming bonnet," but he couldn't be certain. Either way, he was going to have to warn her to curb her tongue once they reached London.

Still, he couldn't resist teasing her about it, and with an astonishingly straight face he said, "Bee in your bonnet?"

Henry turned on him with a murderous glare. "It's a dreadful contraption," she said vehemently, yanking the offending piece off of her head. "Serves no purpose whatsoever that I can deduce."

"I believe it is meant to keep the sun off your face."

She shot him a look that said quite clearly, "Tell me something I don't already know."

Dunford had no idea how he managed not to laugh. "You may come to like them eventually," he said mildly. "Most ladies don't seem to like the sun on their faces."

"I'm not most ladies," she retorted. "And I've done very well without a bonnet for years, thank you."

"And you have freckles."

"I do not!"

"You do. Right here." He touched her nose and then moved to a spot along her cheekbone. "And here."

"You must be mistaken."

"Ah, Hen, I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to find that you have a bit of feminine vanity within you after all. Of course you never did cut your hair, so that must count for something."

"I am not vain," she protested.

"No, you're not," he said solemnly. "It's one of the loveliest things about you."

Was it any wonder, Henry thought with a sigh, that she was becoming so infatuated with him?

"Still," he continued, "it's rather gratifying to see you have a few of the failings the rest of us humans share, if only in short measure."

"Men," Henry declared firmly, "are every bit as vain as women. I'm sure of it."

"You are most probably right," he said agreeably. "Now, do you want to give me that bonnet? I'll put it over here where it won't be crumpled."

She handed him the headpiece. He turned it over in his hand before setting it down. "Deuced flimsy little thing."

"It was obviously invented by men," Henry announced, "for the sole purpose of making women more dependent upon them. It completely blocks my peripheral vision. How is a lady meant to get anything done if she cannot see anything that isn't directly in front of her?"

Dunford only laughed and shook his head. They sat in companionable silence for about ten minutes, until he sighed and said, "It's good to be on our way. I was afraid I was going to have to do physical battle with you over Rufus."