The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (53 page)

She did allow him to keep his arm about her waist as everyone mounted the stairs, but as soon as their own chamber was reached she shook him off and ran for the sanctuary that was her own bedchamber.

Once safe inside, she was greeted by the dresser who had arrived on the second day of her new estrangement from her husband. "Bunny," she called out now, "it was just as you promised it would be. Nobody stared or said anything in the least bit cutting. I really think I like them all quite a little bit."

Bernice Roseberry raised her head from the latest copy of
Journal des Modes
she was just then perusing and replied calmly, "Of course you do, child. I never did harbor any great fear that they would descend on you like a pack of rabid wolves crying out for your blood. Now stop fidgeting about like a skittish colt while I help you out of your gown."

The arrival of Bernice Roseberry into her life in mid-July had marked the beginning of great changes in Gilly. Prepared to dislike the woman on sight, Gilly had been somewhat taken aback by the dresser's frank, open speech and no-nonsense way of looking at life. Besides that, the woman was unflappable. She never so much as blinked an eye when she was first presented with her rag-tag charge and told, by the impeccably groomed Earl no less, to "for God's sake, do what you can."

Obviously Miss Roseberry delighted in a challenge, for she'd plunged headlong into a campaign to turn her new mistress into a young lady of fashion—whether that mistress liked it or not.

Gilly's initial resentment and arbitrary behavior was met with an unflinching obsidian stare, not to mention a scathing flow of sarcasm that even Kevin at first could not and latterly deigned not to even attempt to counter. But, after putting up the struggle she was sure her husband expected her to show, Gilly soon began to soften toward her dresser.

It was difficult not to. Added to Miss Roseberry's forceful personality—one that brooked no nonsense from her headstrong charge—was a physical presence that was more than a little daunting. Although of only average height and quite thin (her flat chest was the woman's one secret regret), she gave the impression of being larger than life.

About five and thirty, Miss Roseberry made no push to beautify herself in the way she wore her hair (a tight bun, smack on the top of her head), or in the clothes she wore. Her plain face was always devoid of paint. There was no softening frame for her features, and her flat brown hair and flatter brown eyes were hardly likely to take anyone's attention and turn it from noticing her fierce, straight brows, jutting chin, or long, needle-thin nose.

As for Miss Roseberry's wardrobe, it seemed to consist of interchangeable high-necked dark gowns, with her only jewelry consisting of a string stuck with pins always hanging at her breast, a small pair of scissors dangling from a ribbon on her wrist, and a huge watch (her late father's) strung around her neck by means of a heavy gold chain.

In fact, only moments after her arrival, Kevin, leaning down to whisper into Rice's ear, had commented, "Now there's one I wouldn't care to encounter in some dark alley."

Miss, Roseberry, having keen ears, had overheard Kevin and promptly stage-whispered to Gilly, "It's a comfort to know the Earl is a prudent sort who knows when he is both out-manned and out-gunned." It was probably then that Gilly's resentment had begun to fade away—although she still had felt honor-bound to put up some show of disliking Miss Roseberry for a while, if only to thwart her husband.

Armed with the Countess's new wardrobe just arrived from London, and laboring under precise orders from the Earl, Miss Roseberry had set out to civilize Gilly. Table manners, the proper way to pour tea, the intricacies of social conduct and much more were the lessons that filled their days.

Yet it was only when, with their guests due in less than a week and Gilly dared to ask the dresser timidly, "Do you think you can make me even passably pretty?" that the top-lofty Miss Roseberry set aside her consequence, gathered the young girl into her arms, and crooned, "There, there, child. Don't you fret. Bunny will help you."

When, a few days later, Kevin overheard Gilly calling the dresser Bunny, he'd laughed and asked where on earth that singularly inappropriate handle had come from—and been sternly reprimanded for his question.

"Bunny says her father used to call her by that name as a sort of endearment," Gilly had answered him defiantly. "And don't you say another word, Kevin Rawlings. Bunny hasn't had an easy life since her father's death. He was a schoolteacher, you know, and couldn't leave her well fixed, even though she's of gentle birth. Otherwise nothing could have induced her to become a dresser. She has high principles, the highest. Why, she left her last place of employment because her mistress wore so many jewels, and so much paint on her face, that Bunny told her she refused to work for a tart."

"My, my," Kevin had responded incredulously, "it would appear Miss Roseberry has a staunch supporter in her new mistress. How very droll."

The Earl hadn't quite so amused, however, when the evening after an aborted attempt to reestablish his former nocturnal rapport with his wife, he'd found Miss Roseberry asleep on a pallet outside the entrance to Gilly's bedchamber.

And so it would seem Kevin's plans had succeeded much too well. Gilly had been made much more than her wish of "passably pretty," thanks to her new gowns and Miss Roseberry's talents, and she had also gone a long way towards becoming a well-behaved young lady.

But his plans had not included his wife's dresser-cum-mentor exceeding her duties to the point of becoming a dragon in the chit's defense. Lord only knew she had a surfeit of those already. At his latest tally, Kevin had only Willstone and Rice to list on his side of the ledger, and everyone knew the valet and the aged butler were not exactly forces to be feared.

So Gilly slept alone, and Kevin slept alone, and Miss Roseberry slept midway between them on a cot she set up nightly in the sitting room.

Gilly had once been dowdy, ill-kept, unmannered—and accessible. Since Miss Roseberry's invasion, Gilly was surprisingly pretty, faultlessly groomed, wonderfully polite—and totally beyond his reach. It was a bleeding pity, that's what it was, and if his friends ever got wind of it Kevin doubted he could bear their jokes.

Now, while Gilly quietly submitted to Bunny's ministrations, Kevin, having rushed through his own toilette with an uncaring air that had brought tears of frustration to Willstone's eyes, was pacing back and forth across the sitting room like a caged tiger impatient for his daily ration of raw red meat.

At long last his wife appeared, Miss Roseberry in tow, and he begged a word with his bride in private.

"And can I trust his lordship not to pounce on the poor defenseless child the moment I turn my back?" Miss Roseberry asked, looking at him down the length of her long nose.

Kevin bit down hard on a fitting retort and unbent enough to ask Gilly—very humbly for him—to please grant him this small favor. "I promise I'll behave," he added sincerely, refusing to look at his wife's dragon of a dresser.

"
Hrruumph
!" Miss Roseberry sniffed. "Believe that, my girl, and you'll believe anything. The man doesn't have it in him. Just ask Rice, who's known him from his cradle."

Gilly, seeing the tic that had begun to work in Kevin's otherwise expressionless face, forestalled any recitation of her husband's past sins by patting Miss Roseberry on the shoulder and assuring her she was more than capable of holding her own with her own husband.

"Believe her, woman," added Kevin earnestly. "She can, you know. I have the scars to prove it."

Gilly blushed a bit, knowing he referred to his last attempt to enter her bedchamber, an event that had left him with a large bump on his forehead thanks to Gilly's accurate aim and a nearby vase that had served as ammunition. The sound of the vase shattering on the floor (only after inflicting its damage on Rawlings's blonde pate) had brought Miss Roseberry at a dead run and saved Gilly any retribution at the hands of her husband.

He'd had no further opportunity to be alone with his wife since, and he went to bed each evening most sincerely wishing Miss Roseberry an uncomfortable night's sleep on her makeshift bed.

Once Miss Roseberry reluctantly withdrew from the sitting room, Kevin approached Gilly. "You're looking quite beautiful tonight, puss."

This was no empty compliment. Gilly did look beautiful. Miss Roseberry may have declined to rig herself out with any style, but she was a perfect genius when it came to making the most out of her mistress.

Tonight, for instance, Gilly was dressed in a cunningly cut gown of the lightest bronze shade, with an overskirt of sheer spun gold net. Her creamy shoulders rose above the low neckline and her hair, now cut quite short and artfully groomed to cluster about her small face in a cap of loose curls, revealed Gilly's long, graceful neck while turning her pixie-like face into a heart melting vision of pert nose, enchanting freckles, and enormous blue eyes.

Kevin had been aghast to hear via Rice that Miss Roseberry had decided Gilly's long fiery mane had to "go the way of all unnecessary things," but he now couldn't imagine her any other way. How very far they both had come from their wedding night, with Gilly hiding away in a servant's small bedchamber, and he going off to his marriage bed with all the joy of a condemned man mounting the gallows.

And, strangely, Kevin knew that Gilly's vastly improved appearance had little to do with anything. Yes, he was glad Miss Roseberry had worked her magic. For Gilly's sake. But he knew he would love his wife if she'd never changed a hair from the first time he'd watched her sashay into the Long Library, mischief in her mind and murder in her eye.

Ah, but what a stir she would make when they finally went off to London! Why, Byron would swoon at the sight of her, then go racing off to find pen and paper, Kevin mused now, and had to tear his eyes from her before he fulfilled Miss Roseberry's fears and pounced on his wife like the love starved man he was. Instead, he allowed himself only a single self-pitying smile before turning away from Gilly's questioning eyes, saying, "You made me proud today, child, very proud. My friends are all quite enamored of you already."

"I like them as well," she replied softly, barely restraining the hand that longed to reach out and touch the man standing with his back to her. What a pair of fools they were! She knew she had only to say a single encouraging word, make one small conciliatory gesture, and he'll be back in her arms. He must also know it. How were two such stubborn people ever to find happiness, let alone love? It was simply impossible.

And yet, Gilly could not bring herself to speak again.

They were both silent for some time, each feeling the

tension between them as keenly as a knife in the breast.

"Gilly, I—"

"Kevin, I—"

They both burst into speech at the same time, then stopped upon hearing the other.

"You were about to say?" Kevin asked quickly, relieved that Gilly was willing to speak to him.
Idiot!
he screamed inside his head.
You couldn't be more cowhanded if you actually tried!

"No, no, you go first. After all, a woman should always bow to her husband," she stammered nervously, for she was no more sure of what she had been about to say than was he of what words he would use.
Why can't I bend?
she asked herself.
Am I still so afraid?

There was another small silence before Kevin smiled, the smile making deep slashes in his cheeks and sending sparkles to dancing in his eyes. She'd given him an opening, bless her, and he'd be damned for a fool if he didn't take it.

"Ah, Gilly," he whispered huskily, shaking his head, "I've missed you, puss." The smile left his face, and his eyes darkened to indigo as he reached out his arms to his near-to-trembling bride.

"I...I've missed you t-too—you arrogant popinjay," Gilly stammered before putting out her own arms and meeting her husband halfway in their rush to be in each other's embrace.

Later that night, after a dinner that was marked by an all-round feeling of camaraderie and friendship, the Earl and Countess of Lockport gave their excuses and bid their guests an early good-night.

Miss Bernice Roseberry passed the night in her own bedchamber.

#

Rice (as far as Gilly was aware, he possessed no other name) was all that a butler should be: stuffy, condescending, laughably correct in his manner and bearing, unflaggingly loyal, and, most importantly, more than willing to surreptitiously guide Gilly away from any potential social
faux pas
.

He seemed to regard his new mistress as a child who had somehow strayed from the nursery and inadvertently acquired a Countess's coronet through no fault of her own. Because of her extreme youth and readily apparent
naïveté
—and abetted by the story of her past gleaned from members of the staff—he felt an instinctive sympathy for the child. He also was aware that she had been literally blackmailed into marriage and, although he believed the very sun to rise and set with his own Master Kevin, he also believed Gilly was too much the innocent to be married to such a man of the world.

So far Rice's sojourn at The Hall had been most pleasant. He was happy to be back in harness, as it were, having found retirement after Kevin's father's death too uneventful by half, and thoroughly enjoyed having a staff to bully once more.

He had become the scourge of the half-dozen young village girls who had recently been added to the housekeeping staff as he patrolled the corridors, his tall (very), thin (extremely), brittle-looking form encased in proper black, his white gloved fingertips occasionally inspecting a table for dust. The Hall might be shabby but, with the estimable Rice in charge, the accumulated filth of two decades was rapidly being swept away.

With an apron tied about his middle, he supervised the polishing of silver or instructed the very insulted Hattie Kemp in the fine art of French pastry making.