Nearly a Lady (30 page)

“Good heavens.” Lilly laughed.

“It seems my appetite has returned.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her belly. “Will it be long before dinner?”

“Another hour, but I saw Gideon in the hall a little while ago and he says you are to take dinner in your room. Breakfast tomorrow as well.”

“Whatever for?”

“For the purpose of recovery. He said you are not to come downstairs until you are fully well.” Lilly frowned a little, remembering. “Quite adamant about it, really.”

“That’s absurd. He can’t banish me like some sort of—”

“Would you
rather
come downstairs for dinner?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head.

“I thought not.” Lilly looped her arm through hers. “Come along, let’s get you something to eat. I want to try the bellpull in your chambers.”

I
t was nearly a full two days before Winnefred felt quite like herself again. Well, it was really only a day and a half, but she stalled in fear of sitting down to a meal with Lady Gwen.

She might have procrastinated longer, but after a half day of feeling healthy and not being able to leave her chambers except to visit Lilly in hers, she was near to climbing the walls with boredom.

Also, she missed Gideon tremendously. She’d not seen him since he’d told her the story of Lady Gwen and her baronet. According to Lilly, he frequently asked after her condition, but he’d not come to her chambers again.

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.

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 out 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.”

 

A
s 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 a 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 while 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 of 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 waistline?”

“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.”