Nearly a Lady (11 page)

But Winnefred didn’t know what sorts of things made a man such as Gideon smile.

Now, in the early light of day, she wondered if even her present of toast and chocolate had been childish, like a small girl offering her favorite toy to appease an adult’s grief.

Grimacing, she rolled from bed and dressed without calling for a maid. It was early yet, and she wanted solitude, a long walk with Claire in the fields. For just a few hours, she wanted things to be simple again.

She found Claire in the stable, fast asleep in an enormous pile of fresh hay. Winnefred felt a small pain of regret that it had been someone else who had provided her companion with such a fine bed. Still, it was a pleasure to see Claire so well cared for. She crossed her arms on the top rail of the stall and rested her chin on her wrist.

“Look at you,” she said softly. “Quite the princess . . . And the sloven, to be sleeping in your food.”

Claire lifted her head, blinked twice, then promptly went back to sleep.

Winnefred laughed and uncrossed her arms to open the stall door.

“Have you taken to sleeping in as well, then? Lilly calls it keeping town hours, you know. Just a silly way to say sloth, really.” She knelt down in the hay, reached into a pocket, and retrieved a napkin of scraps she’d taken from the kitchen. “Come here, darling. I have something for you.”

The promise of scraps lured Claire from her bed and out the stable.

A little worried her companion might be tempted to turn back, Winnefred doled the treats out in stingy increments until they were out of sight of the stable.

“A very sad thing indeed that I should have to bribe you to keep me company,” she remarked, stopping to offer the last of the food.

Unfazed by the censure, Claire inhaled her breakfast, then ambled off to inspect an old log.

Winnefred smiled and resumed her walk. The morning air was foggy, damp, and a little chilly, but the breeze that caught at her skirts was warm, and the thin layer of clouds held the promise of burning away by midday.

A perfect morning, she mused. And the very thing she needed to clear her mind and lift her spirits. Though her intention had been to use the time to work through her troubles, she resisted that task now, reluctant to weigh the lovely scene with worries. She had time enough to think of Gideon. An entire day, like as not. He would, as always, keep to his room, or go to Enscrum for the day, and she would be kept busy with Lilly’s lessons. It was very unlikely they would meet before dinner.

It was with some surprise that she rounded a small stand of trees and saw him next to the pond, standing quiet and still as a statue amongst the reeds. He didn’t turn to face her and gave no indication that he thought himself to be anything other than alone—and content in his solitude. She was too far away yet to see his face, but she imagined it was as serene, as unmoving, as the rest of him. He was listening, she thought, to the birds, and the wind, and the distant call of cattle. He was watching the early morning mist upon the pond, the gentle lap of water against the banks, and the soft sway of the grass in the breeze.

She’d thought him handsome, that first night in the gardener’s cottage, and charming the next day in the garden. She’d viewed him as a man of power and wealth, wit and fancy. Last night, she had thought him one of secrets.

But now, as she watched the mist roll off the pond to wrap and swirl around his legs, she thought him simply beautiful. And for the first time in her life, she wondered what it would be like to have a man like that turn to her, smile, and open his arms.

Instinct had her retreating back a few steps. It was one thing to be attracted to a man, but it was an altogether different thing to want something more—something she may never have. Pride and practicality had her stopping in her tracks and moving forward again. She wasn’t a coward, and she needed to know if he was still suffering.

She cleared her throat to alert him of her presence, but he didn’t appear to need it. He glanced over his shoulder and gifted her with a smile, as if he’d known she was there all along.

“Good morning, Gideon.”

“Winnefred. Claire.”

She reached his side and stood there, with her hands gripped behind her back and her mind searching for something useful to say.

“Are you rested?” was the best she could manage.

“I am, thank you.”

She stole a quick look at his features, but his expression revealed nothing.

She nudged a weed with her toe. “It’s very early. I hadn’t expected anyone else to be up and about.”

“I always rose with the sun when I was at sea. I’ve found the habit difficult to break.”

“Do you miss the sea?”

It was several moments before he answered. “I have very fond childhood memories of the coast. My mother often took Lucien and me to the ocean while my father visited London or his extensive collection of hunting boxes.” He laughed softly and bent to pick up a smooth, round pebble. “No doubt my early perceptions of the sea were greatly colored by my father’s absence.”

Though he made the statement casually, Winnefred heard the edge of anger and sadness. She didn’t know how to respond to either. “You do miss it, then.”

“No, I do not.” He skipped the rock expertly across the water. “Perceptions change.”

Feeling at a loss, she wrapped her arms around her waist and bent her head to stare at her feet. She found the courage to speak, but the words were directed at her toes. “Gideon . . . Are you quite certain you are well?”

“Perfectly, I assure you.”

“You don’t seem it. Will you tell me of your dream last—?”

“You smell of hay again.”

Her eyes snapped to his face at that startling non sequitur. Was he attempting to be funny by poking fun at her? He didn’t appear to be amusing himself at her expense. He was regarding her with a warm, inquisitive smile.

“I only just noticed it,” he said, as if that somehow explained everything. “You smelled of lavender and hay the first time we met. But you’ve not smelled of hay again until now.”

“I was in the stable this morning with Claire,” she said, dropping her arms. “If the smell offends you—”

“It doesn’t.” He leaned toward her and sniffed. “Quite nice, actually.”

She honestly didn’t know what to say to that. The change of subject had been so abrupt, it left her reeling. And it wasn’t every day a woman was complimented for smelling like a stall.

Gideon straightened and tapped the end of his cane against his foot in a thoughtful manner. “It’s odd, don’t you think, that we find so many scents to be agreeable and yet we’ll wear only a few. Why does every lady want to smell like a flower? Why not roasted tenderloin or a filet steak? I’ve yet to meet the man who didn’t appreciate a superior cut of beef.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a little at the image of a woman dabbing meat behind her ears. “The lady would go off.”

“There is that. What of fresh-baked bread? . . . Or asparagus? I’ve a keen fondness for asparagus.”

She gave up the notion of trying to have a serious discussion. Obviously, he had no intention of telling her of his dream or explaining his somber mood when she’d first come upon him. And since the silly conversation appeared to be restoring his good humor, she couldn’t think of a good reason to try to change his mind.

“I don’t know that asparagus is universally admired,” she returned. “Or that it has a scent. Pumpkin might be nice.”

“It would be. All this talk of food reminds me I’ve not yet had breakfast,” he said suddenly. He turned his back to the pond and offered his arm. “Will you walk me back to the house and see that I’m fed?”

She took his arm with a smile and started them off at a leisurely pace. “I’ve special plans for breakfast. A picnic on the back lawn.”

“A breakfast picnic?”

She ignored Lilly’s rule and shrugged. “The weather has been unusually mild lately. Why shouldn’t we take advantage of it?”

“Why indeed? I look forward to it.”

“You mean to join us for breakfast?”

“A meal or two, as promised.”

She’d been thinking of dinners when she’d requested he take meals with them, but after a moment’s thought, she decided breakfast might work well enough. With a bit of luck, a relaxed atmosphere in the morning would cheer all three of them for the day.

“Is there anything special you should like Cook to prepare?” she inquired.

“Could we persuade Lilly to cook her eggs?”

She snorted at the very idea. “She would need to be persuaded from her bed first.”

“Could it be done?”

“Not without cost.”

He appeared to consider this for a moment. “How great a cost?”

“At the very least, you would require the aid of a sturdier cane.”

He laughed, as she’d hoped he would. “I see. And has she always greeted the morning with violence?”

“On the contrary, she’s quite cheery in the mornings.” She took a deep breath of air, then let out a long dramatic sigh of content. “I
do
so love having a few hours to do with as I please this morning. I vow, if Lilly rises and I have to spend the next hour trapped in lessons instead of planning a picnic—”

“I am resigned to eating Cook’s eggs.”

“Delighted to hear it.”

She told him of her plans for the morning as they walked, and when they reached the house, she took another look at his features. She noted with pleasure that much of his good humor had returned. “Would you like to help me with the picnic?”

He stepped forward to hold the door open for her. “I’m afraid I’ve no talent for planning meals, just eating them. I’ll be in the stables if I’m needed.”

“Oh. Well.” She reached down to pat Claire good-bye but paused before stepping inside. She felt as if something else needed to be said or done, but when nothing came to her, she gave Gideon an awkward wave, turned, and headed down the hall.

“Winnefred?”

She turned back and found Gideon watching her from the open door. “Yes?”

“Thank you for the chocolate.”

“You drank it, then.” It had occurred to her at one point during the night that he might have simply rolled his eyes at the gesture and let the drink go cold.

“Naturally I drank it. It did wonders.”

She smiled hesitantly as Gideon turned to walk away, letting the door close on its own behind him. Company, a bit of laughter, and a cup of chocolate—perhaps, despite her lack of experience in such matters, she had managed to provide a little comfort after all.

Or perhaps it was merely coincidence.

She wished Lilly would teach her something about lords and gentlemen besides how not to proposition one with a fan.

W
innefred settled herself more comfortably between Gideon and Lilly on the picnic blanket and took in the sounds and smells of a waking Murdoch House. She heard Giddy’s call, smelled the wood smoke from the kitchen chimney, and watched as Claire came trotting from the direction of the stable to investigate the strange happenings on the back lawn. The early morning clouds had burned away and the sunlight of midmorning cast a warm glow over the land.

It was, to Winnefred’s mind, a perfectly lovely scene. She might have gone so far as to call it ideal, had the conversation about her now been of something—
anything
—besides the upcoming trip to London.

To give Gideon his due, he did make an attempt or two to steer Lilly toward other topics, but he gave up the effort when Lilly asked him to describe the Prince Regent. Less out of capitulation, it seemed, than a fondness for the task. Gideon had quite a bit to say about the man, very little of it flattering, a great deal of it shocking, and all of it undeniably amusing—particularly to Lilly.

Winnefred smiled as she bit into her toast. She might have been disappointed with Gideon’s quick surrender, but the combination of food and lively conversation appeared to be so very effective in clearing the last of his dark mood, she couldn’t be sorry for it.

She caught the familiar twinkle in his dark eyes as he began a description of the Prince Regent’s drunken antics at a particularly merry ball, and she saw it brighten when Lilly broke into fits of laughter. He enjoyed that, Winnefred realized. He took considerable pleasure in making someone else laugh.

Lilly wiped tears from her eyes with one hand and pointed her fork at Winnefred with the other. “You mustn’t speak of the Prince Regent in this manner to anyone else, Freddie.”

Winnefred froze mid-reach for a second helping of ham. “I’ve not said a word about the man.”

“I mean you are not to follow our example. A young, unknown, unmarried lady cannot disparage a member of the royal family in public.”

“May I laugh if someone else is doing the disparaging?”

“That would depend on who.”

“An elderly, popular, married lady,” she drawled.