My Notorious Gentleman (7 page)

Bitsy gave her a somber stare. “He flew away.”

Grace’s eyes nearly welled with tears. “But those baby ducks were safe, though. The mama took care of them,” she assured the war orphan.

Bitsy shrugged, then twirled again, but at least she seemed to be getting used to the fact that her father wasn’t coming home.

Rot in hell, Colonel Avery,
thought Grace. “Where are your brothers today?” she inquired.

“On a ’venture.”

“Again?” Grace exclaimed.

“They go on a ’venture every day, Miss Grace.”

The twin nine-year-olds, Kenny and Denny Nelcott, roamed the surrounding farmlands like a wild pair of rough-and-tumble fox cubs, and when they were not getting into trouble, they were pulling pranks. They were loud and merry as only two boys could be, but Grace worried about them now that they, too, were fatherless.

“Do you know where they were going for today’s adventure?” she asked dubiously as she pulled a weed, but Bitsy was distracted.

“Look!” She pointed a grubby finger toward the drive. “Someone’s coming!”

Someone was, indeed.

Grace got up from her knees beside her plants and pulled off her gardening gloves, turning curiously to find Miss Calpurnia Windlesham thundering up the wooded drive in her one-horse whiskey gig at a breakneck pace.

Grace chuckled to herself.
What now?

Perhaps she had heard from George. Which was just as well, considering there had been no sign of Lord Trevor Montgomery since the Lievedon Ball, nearly a fortnight past. It seemed he was not really interested after all in the Grange or Thistleton.

Or me.

If he were, they’d have heard from him by now. Perhaps she was a little oversensitive about him—this man who had subjected her to her rather violent first kiss, then called her a “distraction,” welcome or not. That was why she had done her best to put him out of her mind.

As for the Grange, it was easy to see in hindsight that he was only being polite when he expressed tepid interest in coming down from Town to have a look at it.

She, meanwhile, had gone and mentally married him off to Calpurnia already, like some sort of meddling mama.

No doubt Callie would end up with George. That was as it should be. The two had been best friends and worst enemies by turns since they were children; as young adults, they made quite a pair, equally headstrong, stubborn, and spoiled. They understood each other, and some might say, deserved each other. Yes, that was likely it.

George and Callie must have finally made up.

It was silly of her to have planned another fate for Callie, for surely, little Thistleton could never hold as big and bold a soul as Lord Trevor Montgomery, a dark and dangerous adventurer with an eye for blond goddesses . . .

A man like that was practically the stuff of legend, at least in her eyes, while Thistleton was the essence of the everyday world. He would go quite mad of boredom here.

“Grace!” Golden curls bobbing beneath her bonnet, Calpurnia pulled her dappled gray to a halt outside the parsonage and flung down from her pony gig more like a Corinthian than a debutante. “Grace, Grace, Grace!”

“Over here, darling!” She waved to her from the side garden.

The rosy-cheeked belle picked up the hem of her flowered muslin skirts and came barreling over with such a look of crazed joy that Grace suspected they would soon hear wedding bells.

Well, that should make Lady Windlesham happy, anyway.

“What’s the news?” she asked with a knowing smile, as Callie skidded to a breathless halt in the gravel.

“See for yourself!” She thrust a pair of opera glasses into Grace’s hands.

She furrowed her brow, but Callie had no patience.

“Look! Lud, woman, haven’t you glanced out your window? Hullo, Bitsy,” she interrupted herself absently, for the wee girl was a great favorite with both ladies. “Have you been working on your curtsy?”

Bitsy beamed at the attention and showed her, nearly tipping forward.

“Very good!” Callie said.

“What am I looking at?” Grace asked, still puzzled.

“Woman, are you blind?” the girl cried.

“No, I’ve had my head in the dirt down here in the garden. Why? Have you heard from George, then?”

“Pshaw! George who? Look . . . there.” Callie grasped her shoulders and turned her, pointing her toward the Grange. “
Him.
”

Grace gasped so hard she nearly choked as she spotted the tall, handsome figure in dun breeches and shirtsleeves strolling idly through a field.

She lost her power of speech momentarily. Her heart was pounding like a drum.

“Do you see him? Eeee! The most beautiful man is walking around the property! I think he’s there to buy it!” She let out another eager little shriek, laughing breathlessly.

“When—?” Grace choked out.

“Mrs. Fiddler saw him drive through town in a
very
nice coach-and-four, and Sally Hopkins came and told me at once—as well she might! Come!” Callie seized her hand. “We’ve got to go and meet him! You must chaperone me. I’ll drive.”

“Calpurnia.” Grace was suddenly shaking like a dimwit.

“Oh, isn’t it wonderful? Finally, someone interesting moving to our stupid little town! Can you imagine how much more lively it’s going to be around here with a handsome gentleman taking up residence at the Grange? Oh, and I’ll just bet he has lots of handsome friends!”

Grace could not find a single word to say. She stared at Callie and handed her back her opera glasses in shock, as if they had burned her fingers.

“What’s wrong with you?” Then Callie rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to go into a fit of shyness now, are you? Grace! Of all times—”

“He’s busy! He’s not going to want us bothering him—”

“Don’t be daft,” she shot back. “He might have questions! We could tell him all about the village and the local Quality. We have to help him, don’t we? Make him feel welcome. You of anyone should know it’s our Christian duty to help strangers. Besides, if he’s considering the place, this is our chance to influence his decision! I didn’t see a lady with him, did you?”

“No,” she breathed, her heart pounding. Grace feared she was in a bit of a tizzy and doing her best to hide it.

“Come on, then! Let’s go show him how friendly we are around here!” Calpurnia started to pull her toward the gig, but Grace planted her heels, striving to clear her head amid her abject panic—and stunned joy—that he had actually come.

She had given up on him days ago and now here he was! In that moment, she barely knew what to do with herself, and was rather appalled that she was nearly as giddy as Calpurnia over his arrival.

But then she recalled her half-forgotten plan to match him and the bold young debutante. When this scheme suddenly came back to her, it had somehow lost all of its appeal.

Confused, she barely noticed little Bitsy tugging insistently on her apron.

“Hurry up!” Callie urged. “If he leaves while we stand here dawdling, I’m going to throttle you.”

“Please, just—let me think for a moment.”

“About what?” Callie stared at her in bewildered impatience. “What is wrong with you? Don’t be unsociable!” Then she folded her arms across her chest as that look came into her eyes. One that Grace knew quite well, and George knew even better. The spoiled, stubborn, do-as-I-dashed-well-please look. “I am going over there with or without you, Grace,” she announced.

“Callie, come. You know that is improper. You don’t want to make a poor first impression on him, do you? Let’s just give the man a little breathing room—”

“You mean ignore him? But that’s beyond rude; why, it’s absolutely boorish!”

“Nonsense. He’ll come over here and see us when he’s ready,” she assured her, trying to sound normal.

“Why would he do that?”

Grace cast about guiltily. “Um, well, we’d be his nearest neighbors, and . . .”

Callie arched a brow in suspicion.

“Oh, very well! He’s an acquaintance of Papa’s,” she admitted.

Callie’s jaw had dropped. “Your father knows him? Gracie, why didn’t you say so?”

“I didn’t know if he’d really come. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Or her own.

Callie bounced and squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh, but this is perfect! You can introduce us! What’s his name? Please? You have to tell me.”

“We really must give the man some peace. He’s just back from the war—”

She gasped. “A military man?” She clutched her chest with a dreamy stare. “I’ll bet he’s gorgeous in a uniform.”

“Yes, I’m sure he is, but—”

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“Excellent! What’s his name, then, did you say?”

“Lord Trevor Montgomery,” she reluctantly revealed.

“Montgomery . . . as in the Duke of Haverlock?”

She nodded wearily. “Yes, he is a younger son.”

Callie stared at her in openmouthed delight, then pivoted and marched back toward her gig. “Come on. We’re going.”

“Calpurnia, no.”

“Oh, don’t be like that again!” The blond belle stamped her foot. “You’re always such a spoilsport! Why can’t I ever have any fun?”

“He’s a bachelor! You’re not going over there alone.”

“Grace. I know you do not care to follow fashion, but you don’t understand. I’ve heard that name before, and I don’t mean only in Debrett’s,” Callie said with a great air of superiority. “I know exactly who Lord Trevor Montgomery is.”

“Do you?”

“I saw it in the papers! He’s an
Order agent.
A war hero—and a gentleman! He’s not going to harm me. Now, are you going to come along and chaperone me or not?”

Grace lifted her chin, prepared to be quite as firm with the girl as she had been with her beau, George. “No. Let the man relax.”

Calpurnia’s rosy lips pursed with determination. “Fine.” She pivoted on her heel and headed back to her gig.

“Callie! What would your mother say?”

“ ‘Well done, Daughter! But it was very wrong of Miss Kenwood to abandon you!’ ” The girl did an apt imitation of the terrifying baroness, her mother, and was on the path to becoming equally as fierce. “Now get in the gig!”

“I’m a mess!” Grace gestured down at her gown. “I’ve been working all morning! I’m covered in dirt!”

“You’re rustic. It’s charming. You look fine. Well, at least take off your apron. Hurry up!”

“God,” she whispered briefly, striving for patience. “You go storming over there like the Golden Horde invading, and you’re going to scare him off from buying the place!”

“Scare him off?” She laughed at her none too pleasantly. “That is not the usual effect I have on gentlemen, Grace. Besides, he’s a trained warrior! I hardly think he’s going to be afraid of little old me. He’ll be more fun than you are, anyway!” Callie grabbed hold of her horse’s bridle and turned the gig around, then climbed back up in the driver’s seat.

“Callie!”

“Hope to see you there!” She flashed a brazen grin and tapped her gray with the whip.

Grace took an angry step after her. “Come back here!”

It was futile.
Maddening little hoyden!

As Callie drove away at a breakneck pace once more, Grace, in her flustered state, belatedly remembered that Papa had invited Lord Trevor to dine with them at the parsonage.
Good God, I have nothing ready to feed the man!
She flew toward the house, almost forgetting the child.

“Miss Grace!” Bitsy insisted.

“Stay right here, darling,” she said absently as she hurried to untie her apron and rushed off. “I’ll be right back—”

“But Miss Grace, I gotta pee!”

“Oh—! Well, then. Very well, come along. Chop-chop.”

Bitsy was too little to use the outhouse by herself, so Grace hurried her into the parsonage.

First she rushed to the kitchen to tell Cook to kill one of the good chickens—they’d have a guest. Then she made sure Bitsy got to use the chamber pot in her bedroom.

This was never a simple ordeal, but Grace waited as patiently as possible, still cursing her foolish heart for racing.

They both washed their hands, and when Grace glanced into the mirror, she noted the wild look in her own eyes.
Get a hold of yourself, woman.

Right.
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She could not believe the effect this man had on her!

“Now, Bitsy.” She bent down before her little friend. “You stay here at the parsonage. I must go after Miss Windlesham.”

Bitsy shook her head. “I’m coming with you!”

“No, stay and wait with Cook—” Grace paused, recalling that Cook was about to behead a chicken.

She closed her eyes and strove once more for patience. That bloody business would give the child nightmares, especially after her little story about the duckies. “All right. You can come with me,” she relented. “But try to walk fast, like your brothers.”

She took Bitsy by the hand and went back outside into the sunshine, then they set off for the neighboring farm. Bitsy walked beside her with a businesslike air, going as fast as her little legs could carry her.

Grace, meanwhile, prayed that Calpurnia did not scare Lord Trevor away—or ruin herself by acting too forward.

But maybe it was for the best that they first met this way, alone.

After all, this could be fate for them both.

Grace’s stomach was in knots as she marched toward the Grange, desperate to see how Lord Trevor reacted to Callie. A world-weary spy, a spirited young belle every bit as beautiful as the one he’d lost. A chance to start again—and he deserved that. Callie could be frightfully charming when she put her mind to it.

Anxious to avert any possible calamity—like Callie throwing herself at him—Grace walked as fast as she could without dragging little Bitsy down the road. She reminded herself repeatedly with every dusty step that a match between the handsome ex-spy and the golden belle would be a boon for the whole village.

There was only one problem with that, one she didn’t want to admit. If Lord Trevor really did marry Calpurnia, Grace feared a part of her would surely die.

And that was just absurd.

Chapter 5

M
iss Calpurnia Windlesham clearly found herself adorable. Trevor didn’t, quite.

Of course, she was pert and lively, charming, and pretty enough to make a fool of many young men, but she reminded him too much of someone he once knew, and thus set his teeth on edge.

What could have got into the silly chit’s head that she should take it upon herself to approach a strange man alone in the middle of nowhere, he could not fathom.

Where were her parents? Didn’t she have a governess?

All he knew was that the little schemer was not getting anywhere near him. He kept a safe, respectable distance from her, only half-listening to her youthful prattle and wondering if she was going to be a problem should he decide to take the Grange.

But then, a welcome sight emerged in the distance on the dusty country road.
Here comes Grace.

That same, odd half smile from before returned to his lips as he watched his pretty friend approach.

Somehow, he knew at once that Miss Kenwood was coming more to rescue him from the girl than the other way round, but the tot walking beside her slowed her progress.

As he watched, the little girl must have asked to be carried, for Grace picked her up and spared the wee one a bit of walking by carrying her on her hip.

Trevor was tempted to go and help her carry the load.

Miss Windlesham turned to see what he was gazing at. She slanted him a smug half smile. “I knew she’d come.”

“Who is that?” he asked nonchalantly, unable to help himself. It was second nature to slip back into spy mode, collecting information on persons of interest however he might.

“That’s Miss Kenwood,” said the blond. Then she wrinkled her too-cute little nose. “It’s funny you should ask. She said you’ve met.”

He squinted into the distance. “Miss Kenwood . . . ?”

“The Reverend Kenwood’s spinster daughter.”

“Spinster?” he asked abruptly, looking at the girl in surprise. But he understood at once.
Why, you’re a horrible little thing, aren’t you?
Oh yes, he knew her kind all too well: competitive females who didn’t hesitate for one moment to stab perceived rivals in the back.

Miss Windlesham nodded, dripping with sympathy. “Poor thing, she’s already twenty-five, on the shelf.”

That remained to be seen, Trevor thought, annoyed. But the girl might know something useful. Such as
why
Grace had not yet married. “Yes,” he murmured cautiously. “We did meet in London briefly, as I recall. I didn’t really get much of a chance to talk to her.”

Miss Windlesham chuckled, edging closer to his side as she, too, watched the pair approaching. “If you first met Grace in London, then no wonder you didn’t remember her. She probably didn’t say a word. She hates going to Town, you see. She was never really one for Society.”

“Why is that?”

“Because she’s boring!” Miss Windlesham said with the merry laugh of a mischievous youngster poking fun at her governess.

“Boring? No,” he protested. “I’m sure that cannot be—”

“Well, she’s shy,” the girl amended. “Don’t mistake me, Miss Kenwood is all that’s good and kind and dear and wise. She’s always reliable. She’s just, well, a bit of an old stick!”

“Really.” Oddly enough, that was the same taunt Beau and Nick had been lobbing at
him
since they were lads.

Little Miss Too-Cute nodded earnestly. “When I told her I was coming here to welcome you to the village, she said we should leave you alone!”

“Did she, indeed?”

God bless her.

“Yes! Isn’t that rude? But I knew she’d follow me,” she added with a smirk.

Trevor abandoned his game and gave the chit a piercing look. “I’m glad she did.” Then he stepped past her and went to meet Grace halfway.

Wearying of carrying the child, she had put the little one down again as Trevor walked toward them.

Miss Windlesham followed, drifting a few yards behind him.

Even before they were in earshot, Trevor and Grace were walking toward each other with wide, affectionate smiles. She waved to him, then got the little girl to do the same.

He felt his heart climb at the sight of her sun-kissed locks blowing in the breeze.

The light, balmy winds made her pastel skirts swirl around her legs even as it ran hectically through the tall grasses all around and made them dance.

“Well met, Miss Kenwood!” he called as he marched toward the preacher’s daughter and her little friend.

“Lord Trevor Montgomery!” she answered gaily, pushing the blowing hair out of her face. “Imagine seeing you here.” It might’ve been just the sun reddening her cheeks, but he thought he detected a trace of breathlessness in her voice as she greeted him.

At last, they came together on the dusty drive below the Grange and stood beaming at each other like old friends.

It was strange how you could meet someone and feel as if you’d known that person all your life. He nodded and put his hands in his pockets, warmed to the core by her presence.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Neither was I. But here I am.”

“Well—it’s nice to see you again,” she said shyly. “We are so sorry to intrude on your deliberations—”

“Not at all. Truthfully, it was a bit of a whim. But your father piqued my curiosity about this place.” He shrugged. “Besides, I can only stay in London for so long before the place starts to drive me mad.”

“Ah, I know exactly what you mean,” she agreed with a small, self-conscious laugh. She sounded nervous to see him again, and Trevor found that entirely endearing.

“Well? What do you think?” she asked, nodding at the rambling old farmhouse behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder at it, then looked deeply into her eyes. “Interesting possibilities,” he said.

She held his gaze and seemed to lose her train of thought.

Miss Windlesham did not like being forgotten. “You see, Grace?” the girl taunted as she caught up to him and joined them presently. “Lord Trevor doesn’t bite.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” he remarked, and Calpurnia giggled, but the flirtatious remark was meant for Grace.

“I see you’ve met our beautiful Miss Windlesham, the toast of the county,” Grace said without a hint of irony—which startled him.

“Yes.” He managed a noncommittal nod at the hoyden, but then smiled at the little ragamuffin. “And who’s this little princess?”

Grace and the child, still hand in hand, exchanged a glance. “This is my friend Bitsy Nelcott. Bitsy, can you give the gentleman a curtsy?”

Bitsy stuck her finger in her mouth and stared imploringly at her minder to be spared this request.

“Go on, it’s all right,” Grace urged gently. “You wanted to come with me to meet him, didn’t you? Well?”

“Show him how you can curtsy, Bits!” Miss Windlesham insisted.

But Bitsy shook her head, finger firmly planted in her mouth.

Trevor grinned and bent down to meet her. “It’s all right, Miss Nelcott. I’m not one for standing on formalities. We all get stage fright now and then.” He picked a small white daisy and offered it to her. “For you.”

She accepted it with a cautious smile.

“What do you say?” Grace prompted.

“Thank you,” the little girl mumbled, barely audibly.

“You’re welcome.” Smiling, Trevor straightened up again.

Miss Kenwood seemed to shake herself out of a trance, gazing at him. “Well! We won’t, er, bother you while you’re considering the house, Lord Trevor. I just wanted to pay a quick call to remind you, you have a standing invitation to dine with us at the parsonage—”

Before she could finish speaking, Miss Windlesham clapped her hands, cutting her off. “Oh, yes! Excellent idea! You must come to Windlesham Hall for supper, my lord, and Grace, you and your father must come, too, since you’re already friends. Gracious, our dining room is bigger than the whole parsonage, so at my house, we can all be together and get to know each other more! It’s perfect! Mother will be thrilled. Our man-chef is divine . . .”

While the girl prattled on, Grace and Trevor both looked at her, then exchanged an awkward glance, each trying to think of a tactful way to decline.

For his part, Trevor had no desire whatsoever to meet these Windlesham people, at least not now. Having dinner with the amiable Kenwoods was half the reason he had made the long journey in the first place though he supposed he probably should have written to them first.

“We can tell you all the gossip about the local Quality, because of course, we know everyone—”

“Callie,” Grace spoke up tactfully at last, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Her diplomatic tone would have impressed his Foreign Office colleagues, Trevor mused.

“Nonsense!” The girl gave Grace an insistent sideways glance that she probably thought Trevor didn’t see. “Mother will be distraught if he doesn’t dine with us!” Miss Windlesham said through gritted teeth, and when Grace blanched, understanding dawned.

“I don’t wish to be any trouble,” he interrupted.

He had no desire to land Grace on the enemies’ list of the local ruling matron. Every village had one such domineering local queen, and Calpurnia’s mother, the lady of Windlesham Hall, must be it here in Thistleton.

He certainly did not wish to cause a rift between Her Ladyship and Grace, or run afoul of the local gentry’s pecking order.

“I’m not sure how long my business here will take,” he explained in soothing tones of regret. “I brought provisions with me in the carriage, anyway. Soldier’s habit. I’ll be on my way back to London before dark,” he added earnestly. “I can feed myself, but thank you both, ladies. You’re more than kind.”

“Whatever’s easiest for you, my lord.” Grace offered a smile that almost hid her disappointment.

But Miss Windlesham pouted.

“Come, Calpurnia. If His Lordship decides to take the Grange, there will be plenty of time for socializing later. Give us a ride back to the parsonage in your gig, won’t you? That’s a long walk for Bitsy’s little feet.”

“All right,” the debutante grumbled.

“Good day, ladies,” Trevor said with a polite nod in farewell, and while the moping chit climbed back onto the driver’s seat of her gig, he sent Grace a wink.

She stopped and stared at him in surprise, just as she was about to lift Bitsy up onto the back of the pony cart.

“Let me get her for you.” He did the honors, whisking the tot high over his head before floating her down onto the backseat.

Bitsy laughed wildly at this, then Trevor stepped aside and offered Grace a hand up.

Brushing her wind-tossed hair out of her face once more, she turned and hesitated, accepting his offered hand with a tremulous smile. “Sorry about this,” she whispered with a slight nod at Calpurnia, who was distracted, gathering up the reins.

“Not your fault.” He leaned closer. “I’ll see you later. You don’t have to feed me, but I do want to stop and pay my respects to your father.”

Her eyes were wide as she gazed up at him, and he was flooded with the luscious memory of kissing her in that darkened room. “All right, then,” she forced out barely audibly. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

He glanced at her lips as she licked them in innocent self-consciousness. Biting back a moan, he took her elbow and helped her up onto the back of the open carriage.

Grace put her arm around Bitsy to keep the child from falling out. They waved good-bye as Calpurnia tapped her dappled pony with her whip, and the light, two-wheeled carriage set off down the drive.

Trevor watched them go, his arms folded across his chest. Then he pivoted and walked back toward the farmhouse, ready to tell the agent his decision.

“I
don’t see why he wouldn’t come to dinner,” Callie fretted, as they drove away. “Mother is not going to be happy.”

She never is,
Grace thought, beyond annoyed at Calpurnia’s interference. Just once, couldn’t the bullying Windleshams stay out of it and mind their own business?

The possibility of dinner with Lord Trevor had been the one thing she had been looking forward to ever since she and Papa had returned to their sleepy village.

Nevertheless, good sport that she was, she let out a sigh and attempted to smooth things over. “Callie, you can’t just tell a man like that what to do. He’s not like George. He knows his own mind.”

“He’s nothing like George,” the girl agreed. “Did you see his muscles? His arms and shoulders are
huge.
”

“Callie, don’t talk like that in front of the child.”

“She doesn’t know what we’re saying. Besides, it’s true! Hercules himself didn’t have so manly a physique!”

“Calpurnia Windlesham!” Grace looked away, red-faced. “I should tell George you said that.”

“Do! Lord Trevor Montgomery puts him in the shade, that useless
boy.
Come, Grace. You’re a woman—you know he’s a dream as well as I do. Did you see how adorable he was with Bitsy? I bet he’ll be a wonderful father.”

“Callie, if you don’t stop, I am going to throw myself off the side of this carriage, I swear.”

Bitsy found this threat hilarious.

Callie looked askance at Grace while the tot laughed uproariously. “What is wrong with you?”

“I just—can’t believe you did that!” Grace burst out. “Running to him like a hoyden. Why didn’t you just fling yourself into his arms?”

“I wish I had,” Callie drawled. “Thought about it, truth be told.”

“This is not a joke! Don’t you ever think about your reputation?”

“Landing the son of a duke would only improve it,” she answered with a defiant shrug.

“Oh, landing him?” Grace exclaimed. “You think you could?”

“I don’t see why not. I have half a mind to have him for my own,” the spoiled debutante declared.

“Really.”

“You must be made of stone, Grace. Did you see his eyes? They are gray like storm clouds. He’s beautiful.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, as Callie waxed poetical. “We’ll be lucky if you haven’t frightened the man away and ruined yourself in the meanwhile.”

Callie lost patience. “You are no fun at all! No wonder you’re an old maid!” she snapped.