Nearly a Lady (12 page)

“Yes, certainly.”

“I shall endeavor to remember that. Did you see the garden this morning? Something’s got into the carrots.”

Gideon chuckled at the less-than-subtle attempt to steer the conversation away from something resembling a lesson.

Lilly merely sighed. “I know you’re not eager to go to London, but we have very little time left and a great deal to accomplish before we leave.”

“Yes, I know.” Worried she may have lessened her friends’ pleasure in the morning, she put an effort into sounding cheerful. “I’ve no doubt seeing the Prince Regent will be quite memorable.”

“There is more to London than just going into society, you know,” Gideon informed her.

Winnefred nodded obligingly. “The opera and . . . other things.” She couldn’t recall what other things Lilly had mentioned. “I’m sure it is all very exciting.”

She wasn’t excited, particularly, but she was intrigued by the idea of a night at the theater and thought that close enough.

“There’s more than the opera as well,” Lilly said. “There is Vauxhall Gardens and, though I cannot promise you will be allowed to attend, the Smithfield Market.”

Winnefred experienced her first true flicker of anticipation at the mention of the massive meat and poultry market. “I should like to see that. What else?”

“Well, there’s Hyde Park,” Lilly continued. “The Royal Circus . . . Or is it something else now?”

“Surrey Theatre,” Gideon told her before turning to Winnefred. “There’s the British Museum as well, and—”

“Oh, your brother was so fond of the museum,” Lilly cut in with a small laugh.

Gideon’s gaze snapped to Lilly. “You knew my brother in London?”

Lilly faltered a moment, then suddenly found her toast exceptionally interesting. “We were childhood acquaintances. Will you pass the butter please, Freddie?”

“Lucien doesn’t discuss his love of history with passing acquaintances,” Gideon said.

“I suppose he was more forthcoming as a young man.”

“Not as I recall.”

“Oh, well . . . No doubt children pass through a great many changes of character. And a younger brother is probably not privy to an older brother’s every minor alteration of character. Particularly not when they are both very young. The butter please, Winnefred.”

Winnefred set the dish in front of Lilly, though what her friend thought to do with it, she couldn’t imagine. Lilly had torn her toast into a half dozen pieces.

If Gideon noticed her agitation, however, he gave no indication of it. He simply nodded and reached for his drink. “You must be right. Were you in London long on your last visit?”

“A few short weeks. Not nearly long enough. I hadn’t the opportunity to experience half of what I wished. I did so want to try Gunter’s ices.”

Winnefred only half listened as Lilly and Gideon began to once again list London’s attributes. She poked at her eggs as curiosity and nerves poked at her. Lilly was hiding something. It wasn’t difficult to tell when her friend was keeping a secret—the woman was not an accomplished liar—but it was impossible to demand an explanation in Gideon’s company.

Under the assumption she would have to wait another hour or more to speak with Lilly in private, she was a little surprised when Gideon set his fork down five minutes later and pronounced himself done. His plate, which he had piled high with food earlier, was scraped clean. Winnefred gaped at it, wondering that he had managed to eat so much so quickly and still participate in the conversation. And then she wondered whether it was a skill she could acquire and put to use at dinner parties in London. Probably not.

“That was very quick,” she commented and felt a pang of disappointment that he should be so eager to leave.

Gideon rose with his cane, his large form casting a shadow over the blanket. “I’ve some business to see to this morning.”

She wanted to ask him what sort of business required he swallow his food without chewing, but she managed to restrain herself. She watched him bow and walk away, then she turned her attention to Lilly.

“What are you hiding?”

Lilly glanced up from her plate. “Beg your pardon?”

“You were lying just now, about London and Gideon’s brother. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing, I . . .” Lilly sagged all of a sudden. “Oh, I am. I am lying. I’m sorry, Freddie. It comes out of habit.”

“You’re not in the habit of lying.”

“I am about this. I didn’t meet Lord Engsly as a young child.” She exhaled loudly. “I met him at seventeen . . . We had an understanding.”

Winnefred could have sworn the ground beneath her shifted. Had she been asked to guess the lie, an engagement would not have occurred to her. “You’re not serious. An understanding? With Gideon’s brother? With
Lord Engsly
?”

“It was not Lord Engsly at the time, and our understanding was never publically declared. His father and stepmother did not approve of our association.”

“Why ever not?”

“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 twenty 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.”

T
he 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.”