Nearly a Lady (20 page)

“Oh.” She relaxed again and thought that bit of information through. “Does that mean I can give her the cut direct the next time we meet?”

“Pity.”

Lilly took a seat next to Winnefred on the bed and studied her face. “You look quite done in.”

“I don’t know why I should be.”

“Nerves.”

“I thought the same.” But it was somehow more believable coming from Lilly. “Will it always be like this?”

“No.” Her face a mask of sympathetic concern, Lilly reached up and gently tucked a strand of Winnefred’s hair behind her ear. “It will get much,
much
worse.”

“Oh, you
brat
.” Winnefred gave Lilly’s arm a playful shove as her friend howled with laughter. It was so rewarding, she thought, so wonderful to see Lilly being carefree and silly.

“What sort of governess are you?”

Lilly exhaled loudly and wiped at her eyes. “You’ve never really needed me as your governess.”

“I have these past two weeks,” she countered.

“That’s true.” Lilly leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek. “Well, you should get some rest. Good night, Freddie.”

“Good night.” She watched her friend stand up and practically skip toward the door. “Lilly?”

“Hmm?”

“I will always need you as a sister, and my friend.”

Lilly’s smile softened and her eyes grew bright. “Thank you, Freddie. I need you too.”

F
or the life of him, Gideon could not figure out how he’d been persuaded to join Winnefred and Lilly for a trip into Enscrum. Lilly had cornered him in the parlor before breakfast, that much was clear. She’d thrown words like London, shopping, necessities, and advice about, and the next thing he knew, he was walking across the modest town square with Winnefred, awkwardly hauling a small stack of packages under his one free arm.

He ought to have been annoyed, or at least stoically reconciled to having been pulled from his self-imposed exile, but it was impossible to retain a foul mood in the face of Winnefred’s enthusiasm. She didn’t appear to take any particular pleasure in the act of shopping, but she took obvious delight in walking about town, looking into the windows, and speaking of her future plans for Murdoch House.

Even the dreary gray weather couldn’t dampen her mood. The sky was thick with clouds, the air cool and heavy, and a light mist clung to her eyelashes and hair in watery beads. He noticed the ends of her hair were beginning to curl in the humidity and he was suddenly grateful he was burdened with packages and a cane. He wanted to reach out and feel the damp locks with his fingers, and he wanted to bend down to taste the mist on her cheek.

She would smell of rain-washed lavender and her skin would feel like satin beneath his lips.

He dragged his eyes away and made himself think of something else,
anything
else. “We . . . Er . . . We should have brought a footman along.”

Next to him, Winnefred shifted a small box containing a variety of hair ribbons. “Then who would have gone with Lilly to the booksellers?”

“The other footman.”

“He’s keeping Peter company.”

He smiled at the ridiculous comment. “Peter does not require company.”

“If you’d like me to carry more—”

“No, thank you.” He’d been the one to insist on most of the purchases, after all. “You need to grow accustomed to having staff follow you about, you know.”

“I’ll never grow accustomed to it.” She threw a quick look over her shoulder to where Bess trailed a ways back, carrying yet more packages, then pitched her voice into a low whisper. “It wouldn’t be so disconcerting if we weren’t literally being followed. I feel as if we’re snubbing her.”

“It’s how it is done.”

“I don’t care for it . . . And I can feel her eyes on the back of my head.”

“There are other things Bess finds of greater interest at the moment than the back of your head, enchanting though it is.” He jerked his chin toward the carriage and Peter, who, in return, looked to be staring at Bess. It seemed a romance was in bloom. “We could disappear down one of these streets and be halfway across town before Bess noticed.”

Winnefred’s eyes lit with mischievous humor. “Really?”

“We are not trying it.”

“Pity. It would be like . . .” Her voice trailed off when something in Mr. McKeen’s shop window caught her eye. Since very little in the shop windows of Enscrum had garnered much more than a curious inspection from Winnefred, Gideon was surprised when she stopped to stare at a small gold locket and chain.

 

D
espite her insistence otherwise on the day they’d met, Winnefred was well aware of the fact she had never been an angel. She’d committed her share of acts for which she wasn’t proud, but only two had actually been nefarious enough make her well and truly ashamed.

Her first offense had occurred at the age of fifteen when, hungry and tempted beyond endurance, she’d nicked a sticky bun from Mrs. McAlister’s shop while Lilly haggled for a better price on day-old bread. She’d eaten the stolen treat that night—in four selfish bites. And, unaccustomed to the richness, nearly sicked it back up again. The guilt had hurt worse than the ache in her belly, and she’d sworn an oath to never, ever, ever, as long as she should live (she was an adolescent girl, after all) steal again.

But there, in the front window of Mr. McKeen’s shop, was a locket and chain that mocked her as a liar.

She and Lilly had found it under a bed during their first month at Murdoch House. Thievery not yet a consideration in Winnefred’s mind, she’d stuck it in a chest of drawers and left it there. Until last winter when she’d nicked it, sold it, and used the money to procure a doctor for Lilly.

“Do you like it?”

Gideon’s voice sounded unnaturally loud in her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?”

“The locket.” He gestured at the shop window with his cane. “Do you care for it?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no—it was quite the ugliest little trinket she’d ever seen. But a small voice in her head—one that had begun sounding more and more like Lilly with each passing day, she noticed—berated her for the lie. She checked to make certain there was no one else within earshot, and then, to her absolute shock and horror, confessed all in a babbled rush.

“It’s yours. Your necklace. Or your brother’s, I don’t know. I took it from the Murdoch House. Last winter when Lilly was so ill, and you sent that awful letter. Only it wasn’t you, was it? But how was I to know? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” A lady wouldn’t have. A good woman, or at least a smarter one, wouldn’t have. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I tried selling Claire, I did, but no one would have her, and—”

“Winnefred, stop. Are you telling me you pawned that necklace?”

She swallowed past the dry lump in her throat. “Yes.”

“And you are apologizing because . . . ?”

“Well, because I stole it.” She’d thought that was fairly obvious.

“You didn’t. You had my permission to sell anything you like from the house. You simply weren’t aware of it.” He gave her a disarming smile that went a very long way to setting her mind at ease. “Neither was I, come to that, but it hardly matters now—”

“Of course it matters. It wasn’t mine to take.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re a moral creature, aren’t you?”

“It is Lilly’s influence,” she grumbled.

“No. Not all of it, at any rate. How’s this—which of your new belongings are you fond of?”

“Which . . . ? Oh, yes, of course.” She would give up something of her own as payment for the locket. Granted, he’d purchased everything she owned, but in this case, it was the thought that counted. Hoping the thought would be enough, her eyes shot to the box containing a pair of new half boots. “I suppose—”

“I’m not taking your shoes,” he interrupted a little impatiently. “Let me have the ribbons. You seemed excited about those.”

“They’re for Lilly.”

“Why are you buying ribbons for Lilly?”

“Because she’ll like them,” she replied, thinking the answer was, again, rather obvious. “Why else?”

“Never mind. Tell me, did we purchase anything today that wasn’t either strictly practical or a gift for someone else?”

She looked over the array of boxes. “There’s the night rail. I don’t need two. I don’t really need any now that I’ve my own room.”

He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he stared at her, and though she’d not have thought it possible for black eyes to go blacker, his did. His lids lowered, and his gaze traveled down . . . down . . .

The smoldering look alternately thrilled, discomfited, and confused her. She became acutely aware of her body, as if he had succeeded in undressing her with his eyes, and while it was gratifying to know the image of her without clothing was something he found intriguing, the sensation of truly being naked in front of Gideon was rather disconcerting.

Furthermore, she had no idea if he was seeing her, specifically, or merely a female form. Lilly had said most men were libertines at heart. And she knew too little of men to know if it was true.

She wanted to ask him if she would be expected to stand still and silent for every London gentleman who might care to picture her without her night rail but was a little afraid of what the answer might be.

“Gideon,” she prompted.

His head snapped up.

“Keep the night rail,” he said in a tight voice. “The bonnet. I’ll take that.”

She handed him one of the boxes she carried. “I don’t even
like
that bonnet.”

“And I’d never set eyes on that necklace before today. This makes us even.”

“But—”

“We’re even, Winnefred.”

T
he last days before the trip to London passed in a whirlwind of lessons and final preparations. Time seemed to fly by much too quickly for Winnefred. Though her confidence had received a considerable boost from the Howards’ dinner party, there was still so much left to be learned. And there was a great deal left she wanted to do, including spending more time with Gideon. But try as she might, she couldn’t find another opportunity to see him alone. He was present at every breakfast but, just as the days before the dinner party, made himself scarce directly after the meal.

She took what she could from those few short moments in his company. Any sort of conversation on topics of interest they might share was out of the question, as talk was almost exclusively of London. But she found pleasure in simply watching him as he ate and laughed and spoke with Lilly.

There were details about him she hadn’t noticed before. He had a small, crescent-shaped scar on the underside of his jawline. His eyes were lighter in the morning sun than they were in candlelight or the bright light of midday. There was a lock of hair on his left side that had a propensity to curl up at the end. And he had a tendency to repeatedly flex and un-flex his hand when he was seated. She wondered if it was an attempt to relax muscles tired from gripping his cane.

She wondered a great deal about him—about his days as a sea captain, about the nightmare she’d woken him from, and most pressing to her, whether or not he was even half as fascinated by her as she was by him.

Given his propensity to isolate himself, it was easy to believe, despite the kiss, that her interest was not returned. But her study of him had left her in the position to notice every time he stole a glance at her while Lilly was talking. And she noted that he did so with some regularity. Once in a while, she didn’t pretend to be preoccupied with her food and instead let their eyes meet and hold across the table.

He looked at her a little differently each time. Sometimes he sent her a friendly smile that warmed her heart. Other times she caught him watching her through hooded lids, and every nerve in her body would jump to life. And, once in a while, she saw a shadow of something heavier cross his face. She thought perhaps it was a kind of longing, or sadness, but it passed so quickly, she was never able to say for certain.