Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1) (14 page)

The church was larger than she had expected, with soaring stone arches and a huge, beautiful bell tower topped by a weather vane in the form of a griffin. It seemed to loom over the surrounding buildings, dwarfing them and the pitiful humans below into near insignificance.

"They say only those born within the sound of these bells are true Cockneys."

Gillian jumped at Stephen's low voice just behind her right ear. She had not realized he was so close until she felt the heat of his breath stirring her hair, sending shivers of delight down her spine.

How could she remain stiffly correct when he was so close it made her knees tremble?

"Shall we go inside?" he asked.

Gillian nodded, furious with herself for being so weak around the man she had just sworn to put in his place. He raised his arm, his expression congenial, his smile warm. Gillian sighed inwardly. Despite her current feelings, she knew it would be dangerous to be too rude. Besides, she intended to be excruciatingly correct, which meant enduring the earl's company no matter what she thought of him.

With a cool smile, Gillian placed her fingertips on his forearm and told herself quite forcefully not to enjoy the ripple of muscle she felt beneath his coat.

As they entered the church, Gillian dropped her gaze out of habit. Bastards did not raise their eyes to God, or so Reverend Hallowsby had repeated over and over to her. So she focused on Tom running along beside her. The boy had filled out in the last two weeks. A steady diet of healthy food as well as a regime of regular bathing had dramatically changed his appearance. His brown curls were now orderly and clean, his face alight with curiosity, not that sallow tinge of desperation. But as dramatic the change, some things remained the same. His eyes still sparkled with a lively intelligence, absorbing and evaluating everything he saw.

"Coo, but don't it look big without the gents stuffing themselves inside?"

"You have been here before?" Gillian asked in surprise.

Tom turned and grinned at her. "Best pickings on Sunday."

"Do you mean to tell me, young man, you came to church to cut purses?" She tried to sound stern, but totally failed in the face of his impish grin.

"Best pickings when the morts try to impress 'is neighbor with the weight of 'is purse." Then he shrugged.

"Tom!" She gasped, awed by his audacity. "Were you truly here cutting purses?"

Slowly the boy's face fell as he shifted awkwardly away. "Naw. They don't let the likes of me in 'ere."

Gillian grew quiet, still keeping her gaze on the boy. She knew exactly what he meant about not being wanted, could see the hurt in his stiff little shoulders despite his demeanor. And in her memories, she relived every single sermon, every echoing word of condemnation that Reverend Hallowsby had heaped upon her head.

All because she had beaten him with his own cross until he bled. He had caught her right after Sunday services his first week in the vicarage. He had pulled her into the back room while whispering about sin and atonement.

And then he had touched her.

She had not stopped to think of the consequences. She had not realized how vindictive the man might be when thwarted. She had merely reacted, grabbing a wooden cross from the wall and striking out until she could escape. And that was when her nightmare had begun.

Sighing, she reached out to ruffle Tom's hair. "The morts never liked me either," she said softly, and was rewarded with a flash of understanding far beyond his tender years. "But," she added with a grin, "we are here now. And with an earl!"

Tom grinned back, and she knew they had formed a bond. Whatever became of her, she would not forget Tom. And whatever he could do for her, he would. Their loyalty toward one another was assured, and it gave her such comfort that Gillian finally gained enough courage to look up at the church itself.

It was certainly impressive. Large windows threw checkered patterns across the floor, lighting long rows of rich, dark pews. The floor was made of stone, and her walking boots clicked ominously on the gray floor. But it was the altar that drew her attention the most.

Even before Reverend Hallowsby had come to York, church had never been a happy place for her. Though Reverend Crane had been kind to her, he always said she would have to be extra good, to walk an extra tight line before God because of her unfortunate parentage. Now, despite the distance adulthood gave her, she still felt a tiny bit of panic as she entered the church. Would God strike her dead because she was a bastard pretending to be legitimate? Would Reverend Hallowsby's hellfire and brimstone rise up and burn her alive for her audacity?

In her mind, she knew it was all foolishness, but still her heartbeat accelerated and her fingers clutched Stephen's arm as she raised her eyes to the cross.

Nothing. She saw a gilded cross sweeping upward above the altar. Then, before she could catch her breath, the sight was replaced by a fleshy visage with an obsequious smile.

"Good afternoon, my lord. Welcome to St. Mary-le-Bow church. Have you come to hear the bells?" Gillian blinked and focused on the overly round face of a minister scurrying forward.

"Actually, Reverend," commented Stephen from beside her, "we have come to see the crypts."

"The crypts! My goodness, but—"

"I believe my solicitor contacted you earlier in the week regarding this visit."

The man's face underwent a dramatic change. Where before it was merely ingratiating, it now became positively overflowing with toadying adoration. "Oh, my, yes, my lord. Of course. I had not realized you were the Earl of Mavenford. Please, please, follow me."

Gillian glanced up at the earl. His face was impassive as his gaze wandered over the flowing stone arches.

"You arranged for a visit earlier this week?" She thought their excursion merely an afterthought of their incredible dance. But now, knowing he had actually planned ahead for their outing made her unaccountably pleased with the world.

He glanced down at her, smiling warmly. "I promised you I would. Did you not believe me?"

"No," she answered. "I did not. I apologize for misjudging you."

His face grew pensive as he slowed their progress through the sanctuary. "Not many people have kept their promises to you, have they?"

Gillian's mouth went dry, and she glanced away. How could she forget how very much this man saw even in polite chatter? This was just another example of how easy it was to make serious mistakes around him, how one false word could give away everything before she even began. She must be doubly on guard today.

"Oh, Reverend!" she suddenly exclaimed. "This is absolutely amazing stonework. How was it done?" She knew Stephen was not fooled. She had no true interest in masonry. It was merely an excuse not to speak to Stephen. And from the weight of his gaze, he was not happy with her distraction.

Still, he said nothing, allowing her to encourage the minister into long soliloquies of rapture on the construction details of the church. She listened politely, as did Stephen beside her. But all too soon Tom grew bored, wandering about, poking into one niche or another, pocketing a dropped coin when he thought no one saw. Meanwhile, Gillian pretended fascination with the cleric's words while Stephen's hooded gaze remained trained on her, as though she were some puzzle he needed to decipher.

The thought should have frightened her. Instead it gave her an odd surge of excitement knowing she was the center of his thoughts. It was perverse of her, she knew. But she could not deny the thrill she experienced whenever she caught him looking at her.

Gillian sighed as the reverend began another long speech about the details of preparing stone for carving. If only the Season would begin. She must find a husband quickly or she would give her secret away entirely.

"I say, Sophia, is that Mavenford?"

Gillian twisted around at the cultured tones echoing through the sanctuary. From the corner of her eye, she saw Stephen also turn and Tom shrink surreptitiously behind a pillar.

There, sauntering calmly down the center aisle, was what must be a tulip of the ton and an incomparable. They were clearly brother and sister, with the same dusty blond locks curling artfully about their faces. Like Stephen, the woman's eyes were blue, although the tulip's were gray and had the cold gleam of a stone; the incomparable's eyes were more brilliant, flashier, like a rare sapphire.

Both were clothed in the first stare of fashion, although along completely different lines. The man preferred a colorful style Gillian found a trifle effeminate, especially when compared to Stephen. His pantaloons were yellow and his waistcoat gray and gold. This was topped by a dark green coat that flattered his narrower shoulders and emphasized the lean, trim lines of his almost lanky body. All in all, the effect was pleasing if not endearing, fashionable in a way the overwhelmingly masculine Stephen could never achieve.

"Goodness, my lord," said the woman as she neared Stephen. "I heard you were in town. I am so pleased to meet up with you today." The woman's voice fit her appearance perfectly. It was mellow, echoing with a seductive richness in the large sanctuary. Her tone spoke of wealth, sophistication, and most of all supreme confidence in her beauty and position in society. She wore a stunning silver and sapphire walking gown that cast Gillian's dull white dress into the shade.

While Gillian was occupied with envy, Stephen bowed solemnly over the incomparable's hand. "It is always a pleasure, Lady Sophia." He dropped a polite kiss to her fingers, then straightened. "Geoffrey. You look capital, as always."

The other man smiled with a distinctly world-weary air. "One does try." Then he raised his quizzing glass to the earl. "Nice to see you have made the effort."

Stephen returned the smile, his expression almost self-mocking. "As you said, one does try." Gillian tried not to stare at Stephen. He seemed all that was correct, but something in his demeanor told her he was not pleased by this interruption. The thought quite cheered her.

Then it was Gillian's turn to be introduced, and all thoughts fled as Stephen took hold of her hand and drew her forward. "Amanda, please allow me to introduce you to Geoffrey Rathburn, Lord Tallis, and his sister, Lady Sophia Rathburn. Tallis, Lady Sophia, this is Miss Amanda Wyndham."

Lord Tallis bowed over her hand, his fingers caressing her palm as he moved. "My pleasure indeed, Miss Wyndham."

Gillian curtsied and was grateful she did not fall flat on her face.

"Oh, my, this must be your little ward," Lady Sophia said with a serene smile. "You are quite lovely, my dear. I am sure you will take this Season."

"You are too kind, my lady," Gillian answered dryly as she met the frankly appraising glance of the woman. How could she ever have thought to be like this woman, to show Stephen she, too, could be sophisticated and elegant?

Where Lady Sophia's movements were graceful and unhurried, Gillian felt every jerk of her breathing, every awkward shift of her short, clunky body. Where Lady Sophia wore colorful fabrics with style and maturity, Gillian was trussed up in a childish white that already sported dirt smudges along the hem. Even Gillian's hair, her absolute best asset, could not compete with the other woman's fashionable coiffure.

She felt and no doubt looked a slightly scapegrace child. If it were not for the appreciative gleam in Lord Tallis's eyes, she would have given up altogether. As it was, she focused her gaze on Lord Tallis, the one man who seemed friendliest toward her.

"How odd to have met you here, Lord Tallis," Stephen said, interrupting her thought. "I had not thought the crypts especially fashionable these days."

A strange gleam entered the man's eyes as he glanced at Lady Sophia. "True, my dear. But then who knows where my sister's interest will lie from one day to the next. One minute she is happily anticipating a shopping expedition; the next moment nothing will do but to go visit the crypts. Of course, she must drag me along." He shifted into a martyred pose. "And all because of some correspondence from your mother." He glanced significantly at Stephen.

Now Gillian understood why the two had so providentially appeared in the church. The countess no doubt sent around a message telling Lady Sophia to join them here just to make Stephen more aware of Sophia's assets and Gillian's failures.

Well, she thought with an angry sniff, she would just show the arrogant witch exactly what Gillian Ames was made of. She might not be a highborn lady, but she, too, could act haughty, cold, and so reserved she would put the cool Lady Sophia in her place.

So began the most painful lesson of her life.

Chapter 7

Rule #8:

A lady does not play with dead bodies.