Nearly a Lady (19 page)

She spoke quickly, before Gideon could. “The late Lord Engsly very generously left me an inheritance in memory of a brief friendship he shared with my father. Lord Gideon—”

“Upon his death?” Mrs. Howard cut in. “One should never look a gift horse in the mouth, of course, but why ever did he wait to see you settled?”

“He was not aware of my presence until very late. My father preferred to discuss matters of sport and horseflesh to family.”

That confession was answered by a series of throat clearings and pointed looks between the guests.

Mrs. Cress seemed to be the only person oblivious to the silent conversation around the table. She chuckled merrily, sending the ruffles about her collar to waving. “My eldest grandnephews are very much the same. Gone to London these two decades and no word but at Christmas, and then but three pages filled with talk of their clubs and their horses. Such charming boys, but I vow, they would trade me for a matched set and entrance to White’s, if the law allowed.” She chuckled again and raised her cup in a mock toast to Gideon. “Ghastly creatures, you gentlemen. We ought have nothing to do with you.”

“True,” Gideon conceded. “But then you would be left dancing with each other and writing poetry to yourselves.”

The guests laughed and soon the conversation turned into a lighthearted list of reasons ladies continued to keep company with gentlemen in the face of all good sense. Winnefred thought it rather silly that not one amongst them was willing to point out the obvious benefit of continuing the species, but thought it best to keep that opinion to herself.

The remainder of the meal passed without incident. The only oddity Winnefred noted in the next three hours was a tendency for Mrs. Cress to chew every third bite while staring at her. It came as no surprise, then, when the woman took pains to lead her away from other guests when the ladies retired to the parlor.

Mrs. Cress carefully lowered herself onto a small settee by the fire. “Do join me for a bit, Miss Blythe. I have wanted to meet you for some time.”

“I . . .” Winnefred sat and brushed at her skirts, searching for an appropriate response. “I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”

“It isn’t often I visit my son and his wife.” Mrs. Cress patted her right leg. “Twenty miles can be quite a trial for me, you understand. We are in dire need of more inns in Scotland.”

She had no idea what to say to that. Fortunately, Mrs. Cress seemed not to require a response.

“But Mrs. Scarrow wrote to me stating that Mrs. Howard had written a letter to her indicating the possibility of Mrs. Howard sending an invitation to you, and I could not resist the enticement of finally meeting you.”

No wonder they had received the invitation so late. It had been approved by committee. “I hope the trip was not too taxing?”

“Not enough inns,” she said again. “But the weather was lovely.”

“I see.”

Mrs. Cress tipped her head forward and whispered, “What do you make of my daughter-in-law?”

Oh, dear.
“Er . . . Mrs. Howard has been very gracious tonight.”

“Hmm.” She straightened and eyed Mrs. Howard from across the room. “I do not care for the color of her gown.”

“Umm . . .”

“Rumor has it the two of you had a very contentious first meeting.”

“I . . .”
Oh, damn.
“I was thirteen.”

“Oh, don’t diminish your accomplishments by tossing about your age, girl. I hear you swore at her.”

“Well, not
at
her.”

“Pity. My daughter-in-law is a silly, ofttimes meanspirited twit. A set down now and then would do her good.” She looked at Mrs. Howard again and sighed. “But her affection for my son is sincere. A mother could not ask for more.”

A mother who loved her son couldn’t ask for more, Winnefred thought and found herself rather liking Mrs. Cress.

“The quail, however,” Mrs. Cress added, “was quite dry tonight.”

Winnefred couldn’t keep her lips from twitching. “I confess I did not notice.”

“No matter. The beef quite made up for it. Have you met Miss Malone?”

Winnefred glanced at a pretty young woman with pale blonde hair showcasing an inordinate number of ribbons and recognized her as the only other guest who had greeted her warmly. “We were introduced. She seems friendly.”

“She has just returned to her family from school. The child is quite ridiculous but so lively of disposition one cannot help but enjoy her company. Her mother is an accomplished flutist, though her musical talents do not exceed Mr. Bate’s gift of artistry. And his son is quite handsome, though his chin a bit overlarge . . .”

Winnefred made herself comfortable as Mrs. Cress began a very lengthy monologue on the various inhabitants of Enscrum and the surrounding countryside.

For a woman who so rarely visited the area, she had a surprising amount of information to impart about the people in the room. That information was given in leaps, fits, and starts, occasionally making it rather difficult to follow. Nevertheless, Winnefred enjoyed what she felt might loosely be termed a conversation. She could always find out later if it was Mrs. Ward who had the collection of vases and Mr. Gettle who pinched the servants, or the other way around.

Perhaps this was the way to ensure success at London dinner parties, she mused. She would find an individual of a friendly and chatty nature and spend the whole of the evening letting them talk at her.

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to see Gideon making his way toward them. He looked particularly handsome tonight. He always looked handsome, of course, but she’d not had the opportunity to see him in a room full of other men until now. He did quite well in comparison. Quite well indeed. Though she knew it was foolish, she felt a small spark of pride at knowing he was the best-looking man in the room.

Gideon bowed when he reached them. “I beg your pardon for interrupting, Mrs. Cress, but might I have a word with Miss Blythe?”

At Mrs. Cress’s assent, Gideon offered Winnefred his arm and ushered her across the room and out through one of the open glass doors leading to the side terrace. Light spilled from the parlor and there were torches scattered throughout the garden, but even so, the terrace was dimly lit compared to the parlor.

“Am I allowed to be out here with you?” she asked.

“As long as we remain in full view of everyone in the parlor.” He answered in a soft and distracted manner, and when she glanced at his profile, she saw from his rather sober countenance that he’d not sought her out for light conversation.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

He stopped and turned to face her, letting her arm slide free of his. “You lied to spare my father’s name. Why?”

It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about. “Oh, at dinner, you mean? I did no such thing.” She shrugged and leaned against the stone balustrade. “I lied to spare you discomfort. Your father may go to the devil.”

He smiled a little at that. “I thank you for the thought, Winnefred, but the deceit was unnecessary.”

“So was the truth.”

“Did you not consider that you may have done an injustice to your father?” he pressed. “He sounded a very callous man to have made no effort to see you were cared for.”

“I have heard the story of how he died,” she informed him, “and how Lord Engsly came to be my guardian.”

“His last thought was for you.”

Needing the time to sort through her feelings, she turned and began a slow walk down the length of the terrace, with Gideon falling into step beside her.

“It would be a lie to say that means nothing to me,” she said at length. “It would also be a lie to say a moment’s thought makes up for a lifetime of neglect. A good man, a good father, sees to the welfare of his children. He does not pass them off in the last minute of his life to the gentleman standing nearest.” She stopped and met his gaze. “I may have painted a lighter picture of your father than he deserved, but I did not paint a darker picture of my father than he deserved.”

Gideon gave a small nod of acceptance. “Then I will thank you again for sparing me from having to air my stepmother’s sins and leave it at that.”

She would have commented further, but she was distracted by the discovery that their small walk had placed them in front of a six-foot section of wall separating the glass doors into the parlor. They were completely blocked from the view of those inside. Her initial instinct was to hurry back in front of the windows, but one glance at Gideon and that instinct disappeared as if it had never existed.

He looked so dashing in his evening attire. She was transfixed by the way the soft breeze tousled the locks of his dark hair, and the way the torchlight danced across his striking features.

And now, here, for the first time since their moonlit walk to Murdoch House, she had the opportunity to . . .

Her eyes fixed on his mouth, and she took a small step closer.

He took a larger step back. And then another, until he was right in front of the next set of glass doors.

“Did you see Mrs. Howard’s hat?” he inquired.

She blinked at him, stunned at his retreat and the abrupt change of subject. Had he known what she was about? Had he backed away because he’d realized what she meant to do and didn’t care for the idea? She searched his face, but all she found there was a sort of earnest curiosity.

“Her hat?” she echoed, not at all surprised that she should sound just as mystified as she felt.

“With the feather sticking out the top. Why do women wear headpieces with single feathers sticking out the top?”

She badly wanted to reach up and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I do not know” was the best . . . No, the
only
reply she could come up with.

“They’re like misshapen exclamation points.”

She was not going to ask. Absolutely
not
going to ask.

“The women or the hats?” she asked. Because, really, what else could she do? Being present for one of Gideon’s tangents was like finding oneself trapped in a bog. Struggling only made things worse.

“Both,” he decided after a moment’s consideration. “But it’s worse when the hat is on a head.”

“Why?”

“Because that makes them misshapen exclamation points
with legs
.” He smiled and waited a beat, as if allowing time for the image to form in her mind. “You don’t find that problematic?”

“I find this entire conversation problematic.”

“It is a puzzler,” he agreed. He winked at her and held out an elbow. “Shall we go inside and see what Mrs. Howard has to say on the subject?”

Oh, how she wished she had the courage to ask him
that
.

Because she didn’t, she stepped forward and took his arm. And because she was preoccupied with thoughts of a missed kiss, and the amusing, albeit empty, threat to insult Mrs. Howard’s hat, she failed to notice that the smile on Gideon’s face slid away the moment they turned toward the doors. And she never heard the long, slow release of his breath.

 

T
hree hours later, Winnefred walked into her chambers at Murdoch House, tossed her reticule in the general vicinity of a chair, and promptly fell backward onto her bed.

She was exhausted. She’d done nothing but stand, sit, eat, and talk for hours, and yet she felt drained down to the very marrow of her bones. It was ridiculous, and if she’d had the energy for it, she would have been concerned. Was she to feel like this after every dinner party? How much worse would it be after a ball? She wasn’t going to last a week in London.

And she wasn’t going to last another week in Scotland wondering and worrying why Gideon had kissed her once and backed away from her twice.

She’d never found mathematics quite so depressing.

What the devil was she doing wrong?

Maybe it was simply that
she
was wrong. Maybe there were good reasons why people like her father and the Engslys had rejected her in the past. Maybe Gideon’s tastes, like theirs, simply did not run to unsophisticated hoydens. Maybe she just wasn’t likable. Maybe she wasn’t worth the trouble . . .

She grimaced at the direction of her thoughts. The fears were old ones, and her response to them just as familiar. She ruthlessly shoved them aside and refused to give them further consideration. Feeling sorry for herself, and about herself, would accomplish nothing.

She stared at the plaster of the ceiling, instead, and had half convinced herself it was all right if she fell asleep in her clothes just this once, when Lilly threw open the door and flew into the room. She looked as happy as she had the day Gideon sent someone to deliver the note and pastries to Murdoch House, and twice again as energetic. She came to a stop in the middle of the room and performed a small, silly jig.

“Oh, you were brilliant tonight, Freddie. Absolutely brilliant.”

Somehow, Winnefred found the energy to sit up and lean against one of the posters. “Was I?”

“Were you not aware?”

“I’m always aware of my brilliance in a general sense, but—” She stopped to yawn hugely while Lilly laughed. “But not tonight’s brilliance, specifically.”

“Your conduct was superior to Mrs. Howard’s,” Lilly said with relish.

“Oh, you jest.”

“I don’t. Upon our arrival, Mrs. Howard greeted you
after
me. That was very poorly done.”

“Was it?” She frowned thoughtfully. “You are older.”

“But, as the companion to the ward of the Marquess of Engsly, I am lower in rank.”

“That is preposterous.” She straightened from the poster. “You are not lower—”

“Not in your eyes.” Lilly paused to give her a wink. “And certainly not in mine. But in the eyes of the ton, you occupy a loftier position in society. Mrs. Howard should have greeted you first.”