Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1) (17 page)

"He most certainly is. As long as he wears my livery, he is expected to act appropriately." The words sounded pompous even to him, and she punctured his pretensions with one word.

"Piffle." She folded her arms and challenged him stare for stare. "He was not in your employ during his holiday, so he cannot be sacked for misbehaving. And since I did not really know about it in the first place, you will not send me back to York." She nodded as though she just solved a mathematical problem.

"I thought you said the whole thing was your idea."

She shrugged. "Well, of course I said that when I thought you would sack Tom. But now I see you will let him stay on, so I feel free to confess my absolute non-participation in the entire affair."

Stephen raised an eyebrow in an effort to look intimidating. "I have not said Tom could stay on."

"But of course you will because you are an eminently fair man. Despite your wounded vanity and that"—she wrinkled her nose—"earl air of yours, you know Tom was on holiday and could do whatever he liked."

"Earl air! What the devil does that mean?"

She pointed her finger directly at his chest. "Exactly, my lord. Earl air."

Stephen took a deep breath and tried to restrain his temper. "The boy was with me, and whenever he is with me, he must act accordingly."

Amanda nodded, smiling serenely as if she were soothing a petulant child. "Well, of course he must, my lord. But Tom was not with you. He was with me. And I have graciously decided to forgive him his transgression."

Stephen felt his eyes bulge at her audacity. "You have!"

"Absolutely, my lord. Because I, too, am a fair and reasonable person." And with that she flashed him a devastating smile and sailed out of the room.

Stephen stared slack-jawed at the door long after her flowing white skirts disappeared around the corner. Of all the impossible, incorrigible, managing females he had ever met, Miss Amanda Wyndham took the cake. She was... He took a deep breath. She was... His mind boggled at the attempt to find a suitable adjective for the woman.

To think to tell him she had decided not to sack Tom. That
she
—

He collapsed into his chair and suddenly, abruptly, burst into a rolling gale of laughter that lasted a full five and three-quarter minutes.

Chapter 8

Rule #9:

A lady does not enter conversations uninvited.

"I warned you, my lord. I told you, but you would not listen."

Gillian paused outside the library door, her curiosity piqued by the sound of someone who actually dared speak to Stephen in such a superior, condescending manner.

"At the time, Wheedon, you said it was a bold, aggressive move." Gillian stepped closer to the door to hear Stephen's comment, though there was no mistaking the deadly restraint in his voice.

"Of course, my lord," responded the unknown man, clearly oblivious to Stephen's dangerous tone. "It was a move so like an aggressive military man, but as I told you before, farming is not a war—"

"Of course it is!" the earl snapped. "You fight insects, bad weather, poor soil—"

"You nurture the land, you bless it with your tears, you tend to its animals as you would your own children...." Gillian stifled a giggle at the image of Stephen trying to nurture a slobbery little calf. Clearly the speaker did not know much about the earl.

Apparently Stephen thought so, as well. "You are being ridiculous."

"I am being honest, and you refuse to listen." Gillian gasped at the speaker's audacity, even as she leaned closer to the keyhole. "You must forgive my presumption, my lord, but your brother, God rest his soul, placed a great deal of confidence in me, and I grew accustomed to speaking my mind. This crop change idea, like your coal mining improvements, is another example of how unfit you are to handle the decisions involved in a large estate."

Gillian felt her jaw go slack at such insolence from a man who must be Stephen's steward or maybe his man of business. She did not understand why the earl did not boot him out the door. But Stephen remained stubbornly silent while the obnoxious man continued to rant.

"It is no shame to you, of course. You are a military man. You view the world from that perspective."

That at least was true. There were times when Stephen tried to literally command her and others into a parade-ground precision. One look at the various unique personalities in this household would have told an imbecile that military order was simply not possible. And yet Stephen persevered.

"Perhaps, my lord, I may be so bold as to suggest you attach yourself to the Home Office. They must have something for you to do."

"Then you would be free to do whatever you like with my estates," Stephen said, his voice low and cold.

"That is what your late brother hired me to do."

Stephen remained silent, and Gillian held her breath, waiting for the coming explosion. Whoever this man of business was, he certainly needed a set-down, and Stephen was just the man to do it.

She could well imagine the earl slowly rising from his chair, hunching down over the desk until nearly nose-to-nose with the weaselly man. Stephen would take a deep breath, dragging out the moment until the little man began to sweat under the strain. Then Stephen would say it, those cutting words that would effectively slice the pompous steward in half.

Gillian waited, fairly tingling with anticipation.

"As you may have noticed," he said with a faint tinge of amusement, "I am not my late brother."

"What?" Gillian burst through the door, her outrage clouding all reason. "You cannot possibly mean to let him," she sputtered, "remain in your employ after what he has said to you!" She turned and glared at the man, then felt her jaw go slack in astonishment. Contrary to what she expected, the steward was not a small, weasel-faced man.
Enormous
would be a better description.
Huge, muscular
, and
hatchet-faced
would be even better.

This man was certainly not a solicitor. He looked like a man who worked hard beneath the sweltering sun, a man who daily fought with the trials and horrors of a farm. He must be a steward on one of Stephen's many estates, she decided.

"Mr. Wheedon, may I present my ward, Miss Amanda Wyndham," Stephen commented in an icy tone. Gillian glanced at her guardian. He was impeccably dressed, as always, but this time the afternoon sun seemed to highlight not his exquisite form, but the faint lines of strain bracketing his angular face.

"Miss Wyndham." At her name, Gillian turned her attention to the intimidating man. He rose from his seat and executed a proper, if somewhat awkward bow, given the constrained space between his chair and the earl's desk.

"Mr. Wheedon," she acknowledged, lifting her chin with clear disdain. Perhaps he was a huge bear of a man, but that certainly did not give him the right to speak to Stephen that way.

"Did you want something, Amanda?" Stephen's voice indicated he was coldly furious, which was not the least bit surprising. What did startle her was that his anger appeared directed at her, and not his steward, who even now waited impatiently for her to leave.

Gillian floundered. "I..." Her gaze shifted between Stephen and Mr. Wheedon. Then suddenly she straightened and challenged the earl. "I most certainly do, my lord. I want to know why you allow this man to speak to you in such a discourteous way."

"I see." Stephen folded his arms across his chest. "And the reason you feel entitled to this explanation is...?"

She stared at him, momentarily stymied by his question. Then she gave him a brilliant smile as she settled herself in a nearby chair. "Because, my lord, you are neither unfit nor stupidly aggressive. Many people view farming as a war, what with the blights and all. As for the thought of
nurturing
a ram into a frigid stream for his cleaning, well—"

"Just how long were you listening at the door?" Stephen exploded, finally losing his maddeningly cool exterior.

"That does not matter." She gave him an airy wave as she spoke. "What is important now—"

Stephen stepped forward to tower over her. "
I
will decide what is important, my girl."

She nodded and flashed him her best smile. "Precisely my point, my lord. You should decide what to do on your estates, and not be dictated to by people who should know better than to speak in such an insolent manner." She slanted an accusing glance at Mr. Wheedon and noted with surprise that he flushed with embarrassment.

But Stephen did not allow her the luxury of intimidating his steward. Instead he leaned down, fixing her with an imperious stare. "And why is it I should make all the decisions? Merely because I have the title?"

"Goodness, no!" She gasped. "My father had a title and, as you no doubt are aware, he was a complete idiot when it came to anything but drinking and wenching."

Mr. Wheedon choked at her frank speech, but Stephen, more used to her, merely glowered. "Whereas my experiences with cannon fire and the finer points of killing make me eminently qualified."

She frowned at his sarcasm. "Your determination and discipline make you eminently qualified. And if Mr. Wheedon has not the patience to teach you the rest instead of trying to fob you off on the Home Office, then perhaps you ought to find someone else who is."

She was gratified to see Mr. Wheedon's ruddy complexion pale beneath her steady regard. And for once, Stephen surprised her by staying silent, apparently lost in his own thoughts. He straightened, his gaze abstract as he returned to his desk while both she and Mr. Wheedon waited for his attention.

Fortunately for Gillian's strained patience, they did not have to wait long. Stephen blinked; then after a brief glance at her, he turned to his steward.

"Thank you, Mr. Wheedon, for coming today. I realize as this is spring, your time is extremely short. Please return to Shropshire and implement the changes we have agreed on. I hope to visit there in a fortnight."

The man rose swiftly despite his large size. He bowed to Stephen, gave a curt, triumphant nod to Gillian, then exited the room.

"But... but you are not going to sack him?" she asked as the door closed behind the insolent man.

Stephen waited until they heard the muted thud as the front door closed. Then he turned his attention slowly, imperiously to her.

"I decide how I am addressed by my employees, Amanda." He voice was deadly cold as it pierced her like tiny needles of anger.

"Well, of c-course," she stammered.

"Mr. Wheedon speaks out of love for the land he manages. He is honest and forthright, qualities I highly prize. He would never dream of doing anything disrespectful or dishonorable, such as eavesdropping or bursting in on things he knows nothing about." He punctuated his words with a frosty stare that made her blood freeze.

Naturally she expected him to be angry. She had belatedly realized one did not typically burst into a man's conversation with his steward without warning or preamble. But Stephen was accustomed to her. Other than perhaps a mild scolding and another rule on her list of ladylike behavior, she had not expected anything truly horrid.

She certainly did not expect the implacable fury lacing his deadly voice or the frightening power of his barely leashed temper.

"You have exactly one minute to explain your appalling behavior, Amanda."

"I..." she began, her mind spinning furiously. "I was trying to defend you."

"Defend me?" he said, his voice still low, like the soft hiss of a blade coming out of its sheath. "So you thought I needed your protection?"

"No, of course not—"

"Or perhaps you believed you could help me by humiliating me in front of my employee?"

"No—"

"By bursting through a closed door and showing you have no decorum?"

"No—"

"By then sitting down, uninvited, pushing yourself forward in the most unseemly, disgraceful fashion?"

"I thought—"

"Thought! Amanda, you had no thought whatsoever!"

Gillian looked down at her hands, a lump forming in her throat. She only now began to realize how hasty and ill-conceived her actions were. "I am sorry," she whispered.