Nearly a Lady (23 page)

“I am happy to see you improved.”

“Bullocks. You’re amused. I could very well be quite seriously ill, and you’re—”

“What you
are
, Winnefred,” he told her with a grin, “is seasick.”

If he’d told her she was the Queen of Sheba, she wouldn’t have been more shocked. She gaped at him, absolutely speechless.

“Who’d have thought?” Gideon reached for her slice of cheese and ate it whole. “Our Winnefred has a delicate constitution.”

She found her voice again. “Delicate.”

“As the petals of an orchid,” he crooned poetically and—in her opinion—stupidly. “As a single snowflake in spring.”

Something like a laugh escaped her throat. “Snowflake.”

“Precisely.” He took a bite of bread. “The ton’s chaises will certainly be put to good use this season. Lilly’s explained how to execute a proper swoon, I hope? Because it won’t do for you to go flipping over the backs of furniture haphazardly. There’s an art to it—”

“I have never swooned in my life.” Though it had been a near thing only a few moments ago.

“Looked to me as if it were a near thing only—”

“Have we anything besides watered beer?” she asked quickly.

“I’m afraid not. Unless you’d fancy a bit of the gin one of the outriders has stashed under his overcoat.”

“No, thank you.” The very idea made her stomach roll unpleasantly. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She took another bite of food, her brow furrowed in thought. “Are you quite confident it’s only seasickness?”

Though she didn’t care for the idea, it was much preferable to the possibility of scarlet fever or smallpox or some other horrendous and contagious illness.

“Strictly speaking, it’s carriage sickness, but yes, I’m sure. I’ve seen it enough times to know.” Gideon gestured in the general direction of the road. “It’s the repetitive rocking.”

She lost her appetite again. “We’ve days left before we reach London.”

“There are ways to ease the discomfort,” he assured her gently.

“You’re certain?”

“I promise.” He nudged the hand holding her food. “Try eating a little more.”

Willing to take him at his word, she did as he suggested. They made an unhurried meal of their picnic, and Winnefred felt better with every minute that passed. By the time Gideon gathered the blanket and the remaining food, she felt almost human again. Almost.

“Do you want anything else before we go?” Gideon inquired as they made their way out of the woods.

Home. My own bed in the gardener’s cottage.
She bit back the words, hopeful the acute longing for the safe and familiar would pass with the lingering illness. “No. I’m feeling much improved, thank you.”

Her confidence wavered as they reached the clearing on the side of the road. Just looking at the carriage made her feel woozy. She hesitated and reached for Gideon’s arm without thinking. “I . . . I don’t know if I can—”

“You won’t have to,” he said gently. “You’ll ride up top.”

Before she had a chance to respond, Lilly flew from the carriage in blur of blue skirts.

 

G
ideon allowed Lilly to fuss over the state of her friend a little before assisting Winnefred to the top of the carriage. Rather than return to his horse, he settled in the seat beside her. Purely for reasons of safety, he assured himself. Winnefred was better off supported between himself and Peter—a bit of logic reinforced when Winnefred’s head nodded and slid onto his shoulder within the first ten minutes.

But no matter how he justified his decision, a small part of him knew the truth. He wanted to be near her. He wanted to watch her sleep. He wanted the reassurance of her warm body next to his.

His world had stopped when he had found her on the ground next to the stream. When she’d whimpered in distress, it had started again with a slow, painful roll of his heart. He would have given anything in that moment to make her well again, anything she wanted. If she’d asked to return to Murdoch House, he would have turned the carriage around, and Lilly and his brother be damned.

And it hadn’t been humor at her illness that had prompted him to laugh when she’d begun to eat. It had been relief, pure and simple.

The extent of his affection for her was unnerving, but he couldn’t find a way around it, couldn’t find a way to lessen the desire just to be near her. He’d tried. Over the last three weeks he’d tried nearly every distraction known to man . . . to the men in Enscrum and the surrounding countryside, at any rate. He’d even thought of finding a pretty, willing woman in Langholm, but he’d not been able to gather any enthusiasm for the idea. That revelation had been particularly disturbing. He had no intention of taking Winnefred Blythe to bed, but he’d be damned if he spent the rest of his life celibate.

Winnefred moaned softly and shifted against him. The blanket he had wrapped around her slipped to her waist. He replaced it carefully, tucking it gently around her shoulders and under her chin. Her skin, he noticed, was slowly losing the color it had regained during their picnic.

He spoke quietly over her head at Peter. “I seem to recall an inn not far from here.”

“Aye, my lord. Not a mile down the road.”

“We’ll rest there for the night.”

Gideon let Winnefred sleep until the inn came into view, then rubbed her shoulder softly and whispered in her ear, just once.

“Winnefred.”

That was all it took. She woke with a start, bolting upright as if she’d been prodded with a hot iron. “What? What is it?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her wide-eyed dishevelment. “You wake . . . quickly.”

She looked at him and blinked eyes foggy with sleep. It was a few seconds before her brain seemed to process his words.

“Habit,” was all she said.

His amusement vanished. Two women, alone for years on an isolated farm. Yes, he imagined it was a habit learned quickly and well. The muscles in his jaw clenched until he thought his teeth might crack.

Winnefred appeared unaware of his sudden change of mood. She shifted in her seat to look around her. “Why did you wake me?”

He cleared his throat and wiggled his jaw to relieve the pressure. “To keep you from becoming ill again. A bit of sleep is good for you, but keeping your eyes off the road for too long will bring the nausea back.”

“Oh.” She rubbed her stomach, as if testing his theory, and looked around again when they slowed in front of the inn. “We’re stopping. Are we changing the horses?”

“No. We’re stopping for the day.”

“For the day?” She squinted at the sun. “But we’ve hours of daylight yet. Is something the matter?”

“Nothing a leisurely meal and a good night’s rest won’t remedy.”

“But it’s so early. Why . . . ?” She turned and frowned at him. “I don’t need to be coddled, Gideon.”

On the contrary, he’d never met a woman more in need of coddling in his life, but he doubted she would appreciate the sentiment.

“You may not require a rest, but I do.” He tapped a finger against his leg. “Extended periods of inactivity cause uncomfortable stiffness.”

This was a complete and, in his opinion, entirely justified fabrication. It was also remarkably effective.

“Oh.” She went from mulish to apologetic in the space of a heartbeat. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“It wasn’t troubling me earlier.” Or now, he added silently.

“But in the future . . .” she pressed.

“I will voice my dissatisfaction when necessary,” he promised her, and in this, he was being honest. He intended to speak up every time she lost her color or looked tired or in any way distressed.

He intended to voice his dissatisfaction quite a bit.

W
innefred spent the few hours before dinner finding ways to occupy her mind and keep her body awake. She could have slept. If she had crawled on top of the mattress and closed her eyes, she would have been dead to the world in under a minute. And because there was nothing worse than sleeping through daylight and being awake at night, she chose to read instead, and pester Lilly, and walk about the room until it was finally time to go downstairs for dinner.

The inn and tavern was a modest establishment, without a private dining room. As she took a seat with Gideon and Lilly at a table, Winnefred studied the scene around her. There were fifteen or so patrons scattered about in groups of twos and threes. Soft laughter sounded over the crackling of the fireplace, and a pair of barmaids in gowns cut low about the neckline wove expertly around tables and guests. The air smelled lightly of wood smoke and heavily of meat roasting in the kitchen.

She blew out a sigh of relief when her mouth watered and her stomach tightened with hunger instead of nausea. “I am famished.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Lilly said meekly.

Winnefred looked at her friend and grimaced. Lilly was hardly a hothouse flower, but there was something about the heavy scent of roasting meat that sometimes put her stomach off.

“Shall we take our meals in our rooms, instead?” She willed Lilly to say no. After spending a couple of hours pacing the floor of the room she shared with Lilly, Winnefred found the notion of returning so soon distinctly unappealing.

Lilly shook her head. “I will take my meal upstairs. You may stay here with Gideon, if you like.”

“Can I do that?”

Lilly nodded toward an elderly woman seated by the fire a few feet from the table. “The innkeeper’s wife will make an acceptable chaperone. I’ll speak with her.”

To Winnefred’s delight, the innkeeper’s wife agreed to the arrangement. Better yet, she chose to perform her chaperoning duties from the continued comfort of her chair, allowing Winnefred and Gideon to carry on a conversation in relative privacy.

“Did you nap?” Gideon inquired from across the table.

She shook her head. “I slept in the carriage, and
on
the carriage. If I slept a minute longer, I’d be awake all night. It will be difficult enough, being in a strange place for the night.”

“You’ve stayed at an inn before.”

“Yes, on my trip to Scotland,” she replied. “I had a dreadful time of it, trying to rest. I had a touch of the ague.”

His lips curved into a knowing smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of . . .” She trailed off, remembering the headaches and mild bouts of nausea, and how quickly she had recovered when they reached Murdoch House. “Oh. I hadn’t considered it might be something else. I don’t recall being nearly so ill as I was today.”

“It was twelve years ago. There are things that affect us more strongly as adults than as children. And vice versa, of course.” He gave her a wink. “You’ve grown more delicate over the years.”

She laughed but was distracted from commenting when a steaming bowl of stew and several slices of warm bread were set before her. The savory aroma wafted to her nose and set her mouth to watering again. She couldn’t remember ever being so hungry.

For the next quarter hour, conversation all but ceased while she steadily made her way through the meal. When she finally looked up from the table, it was to find Gideon finished and staring at something behind her with his lips curved up at the corners.

She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “What are you smiling at?”

“Hmm?” Gideon looked at her. “Ah. Not what, who. I’m playing guess-the-secret.”

“Guess-the-secret? Is it a game?” She set her spoon down, intrigued, and not the least surprised to find he was a grown man who still indulged in games.

“Of sorts. One of the young officers on my ship devised it during a particularly long voyage.”

She stifled a yawn, sleepy now that her belly was full and the threat of further illness had been averted for at least a few more hours. “How does it work?”

“You pick people at random and guess their darkest secret, or which of their dark secrets they’re most troubled about today. The second version worked best on the ship as one looks at the same people every day.”

“Didn’t you give your men enough to do?”

“They had free time now and then. Look there,” he said quietly and jerked his chin at a portly middle-aged man in a worn coat. “He has pawned his deceased father-in-law’s watch and chain to pay for his ale. He’s frugal about it, though, and keeps the money hidden. He uses the funds to buy only one drink a week. See how he’s nursing it? He wants to make it last.”

“Could be he used an honest day’s wage.”

“Could be, if we weren’t playing guess-the-secret. What about her?” He nodded toward one of the well-endowed barmaids. “What’s her secret, do you suppose?”

Winnefred scowled thoughtfully at the maid. “She has an entire closet full of adequately fitting gowns that she neglects in the hopes of earning a larger wage.”