The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (12 page)

Miranda choked back a laugh. “Good Lord.”

“Yes, well, one does like to think a higher power had a hand in that somewhere.” Bianca grinned.

“Why didn’t I hear about this?” Miranda frowned.

“I have no idea, except that you never pay attention to interesting things like this.”

“Gossip, you mean.”

Bianca sniffed. “I prefer to think of it as news.”

“How dreadful for him,” Miranda said. “Lord Stillwell, that is. To be abandoned by the woman he was to marry because someone better came along. He must have been devastated.”

“I daresay he recovered.”

“No doubt,” Miranda murmured. “It all depends, I suppose, on whether or not he was in love with her.”

“Not everyone marries for love, you know.”

“Of course not.” Miranda cast a last look at Mrs. Hedges-Smythe chatting with her friends. She didn’t look quite as lovely as she had a moment ago but looked rather hard instead. Almost like a glass bauble one originally thought was a diamond. One sparkled with a richness and depth that bespoke rarity and value. The other simply glittered.

“Now then, we shall find all sorts of wonderful things for you to wear during your sojourn in the country,” Bianca said while they waited for her carriage. “You’ll no doubt meet Lord Stillwell during your visit.”

“I would imagine.”

“I’ve never actually met him, but I’ve certainly heard about him. I understand he’s quite dashing and handsome and extremely charming.”

Miranda smiled in a noncommittal manner. “So I have heard.”

“I believe he and Sebastian were friends once.”

“How nice.”

“You do realize it’s entirely possible Lady Fairborough has invited you with an eye toward her son finding fiancée number four.”

Miranda laughed. “That’s absurd.”

“If she is a friend of Mother’s, all things are possible.”

Bianca’s carriage approached and Miranda turned to her sister. “You know when I told you I was invited to stay with Lady Fairborough, you never said a word about Lord Stillwell.”

“No, darling sister, I didn’t. But then . . .” She studied Miranda closely, as if she could see all her secrets. “Neither did you.”

Win strode down the main stairs leading to the entry hall. It was fast becoming a habit to ride over to Fairborough once a day to assess the progress and perhaps annoy Lady Garret as well. Although she hadn’t been annoyed as she hadn’t been back since the day of their picnic, which in itself was most annoying. If she was going to take on the role of the Garret and Tempest representative, she had damn well better be here to do so. Admittedly, her Mr. Clarke had things well in hand. Why, the woman didn’t really need to come back at all. The oddest thought struck him that he might well miss her, if, indeed, he didn’t already.

He reached the ground floor and started for the already open door, nodding at the footman stationed beside it. It was fortunate that most of Lord and Lady Bristow’s servants had relocated to the family’s house in London while the older couple was out of the country and the servants from Fairborough Hall could smoothly take up their positions. Win would much prefer not to have to pay two full staffs when one was more than sufficient.

He was a scant step or two from the door when another footman, balancing several valises and a few hatboxes, staggered into the house, followed almost immediately by two more servants each holding one end of a small trunk, with more hatboxes stacked on the trunk. It appeared someone had arrived for a visit and intended to stay for quite some time. A step behind them, yet another footman struggled to juggle at least a half dozen paperboard tubes and what looked to be an artist’s case. His eyes narrowed. He only knew one person who had paperboard tubes.

The distinct voice of feminine laughter sounded from beyond the door. Win stepped over the threshold and squinted, momentarily blinded by the bright spring sunlight.

“Oh, there you are, Winfield.” His mother waved from the bottom of the steps. “Do come greet Lady Garret.”

He blinked hard to adjust to the sunlight, then caught sight of the younger woman beside his mother. What had she done to herself? Her striped skirt in shades of blue and solid blue jacket were not merely fashionable but fit her like a second skin. A beribboned and feathered hat sat upon soft, brown curls at a jaunty angle.
Jaunty? Lady Garret?

“Good day,” he murmured and walked down the steps.

“Good day, Lord Stillwell.” Lady Garret cast him a knowing smile. “You look surprised.”

“Shocked is a better word.”

“Oh?” A warning sounded in her voice and he was not stupid enough to ignore it.

“I did not expect to see you here,” he said quickly. He moved closer, took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Might I say you look lovely today.”

“Oh.” Surprise crossed her face. “Why, thank you.” She tilted her head in a manner that could only be called flirtatious and lowered her voice. “Not like a governess then? Like every little boy’s dream?”

“My dear Lady Garret.” He met her gaze in a flirtatious manner of his own. “Exactly like every little boy’s dream.”

“Why, my lord, you will quite turn my head with comments like that.” There was the tiniest breathless note in her voice that did something odd to the pit of his stomach.

“Will I?” He brushed his lips across her hand. “What an intriguing idea.”

“Is it?”

“Indeed it is.” For an endless moment he stared into her eyes, more brown than green today. The strangest sensation washed through him. As if this was the beginning of something quite remarkable. Absurd, of course. Still . . .

She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held firm. “Allow me to apologize again. I never meant to offend you.”

“I know that and I’m not entirely sure why I was offended.” She shrugged. “Just one of those silly female things, I suppose.”

“I suspect you are many things, Lady Garret.” He chuckled and reluctantly released her hand. “But silly is not one of them.”

“You’re being charming now, aren’t you?”

“I am trying, but . . .” Odd, he was really making no particular effort to charm her. “I meant every word I said. You’re not the least bit silly and you are indeed quite lovely today. Not that you weren’t lovely before,” he added quickly. “You are simply lovelier today, if indeed that is even possible.”

“Oh, but, my lord—” She smiled and that charming dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. He had the most outrageous desire to lean forward and kiss it. She would most certainly slap him then. Still, it might well be worth it. “You haven’t yet seen my shoes.”

He winced. “Are they the ugly, horrendous shoes?”

She laughed. “No.” She raised the satchel she held in her other hand, the same one she had carried on their first meeting. “But I did bring them. It is certainly silly to wear nice shoes to a site of construction.”

“How very sensible of you.” He nodded. “Or perhaps I should say wise.”

“Sensible will do.”

“Winfield,” his mother said. Odd, he had nearly forgotten she was there. “I had the most brilliant idea.”

“Did you?” He pulled his gaze from Lady Garret and turned it toward his mother. Speculation gleamed in her eyes for no more than an instant although possibly it was simply the sunlight. “And what brilliant idea was that?”

“I invited Lady Garret to stay here during the rebuilding of Fairborough.” A smug note sounded in his mother’s voice. “It seemed to me if she was going to be here nearly every day anyway, it made far more sense for her to reside here and go into London when she needed to rather than the other way around. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.” He nodded. “I should have thought of it myself.”

“You don’t mind then?” Lady Garret studied him closely.

“I think it’s an excellent idea. This way you can keep us apprised of the progress without undue effort. And while the trip into London is not a difficult one, making it every day would be terribly wearing especially for—”

Her brow rose. “For a woman?”

“I was going to say for someone whose time is as valuable as yours is,” he said smoothly although it had been on the tip of his tongue to say “a woman.”

“Excellent.” Mother nodded. “I shall instruct Prescott to have appropriate rooms prepared and your bags unpacked.” She turned to Lady Garret. “I shall send for a carriage to take you to Fairborough.”

Lady Garret nodded. “I am eager to see what has been accomplished in the last few days.”

“I’ll take you,” Win said abruptly. “I was about to go to Fairborough myself.”

She hesitated, then smiled. “That would be most appreciated.”

“Then I shall see you both later.” Mother beamed at the couple, and Win was certain there was more than a little triumph in that look. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was thinking, although he did have his suspicions, but he was certain it was best not to know. “It will be such fun having another woman in the house. Aside from Camille, that is.”

A few moments later he helped Lady Garret into the gig and they started off toward Fairborough. Now that they were alone, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her. They had had such a convivial time of it on their picnic until, of course, he had mucked it up.

“If you look through the trees, toward the top of that hill, you might be able to catch a glimpse of the Millworth Manor folly,” he said at last, trying not to sound like a tour guide. “Its location is not nearly as remote as the Fairborough folly.”

“But then it wasn’t built as a surprise either, was it?”

“I don’t think so, but it could have been, I suppose.”

“It would have been quite a lovely surprise for a man to build for his wife.”

“A nice piece of jewelry would have been easier,” Win murmured.

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “You don’t mean that. I suspect you are quite a romantic sort.”

“Me?” He raised a brow. “Why would you think that?”

“A man cannot have as many conquests as you have had without being something of a romantic. I can’t imagine women simply fall into your lap.”

“Oh, you would be surprised,” he said in an overly somber manner. “I scarcely have to do more than bid a woman good day and she is falling at my feet. It can be quite awkward, you know, if there is a group of them.” He shuddered. “I recall one incident when there were a dozen or so ladies walking in Hyde Park. Young, old, all shapes and sizes, some were even there to chaperone the others. All I did was tip my hat and smile . . .” He flashed her his smile. “And the ground was fairly littered with fallen bodies. Why, it was all I could do to step around them and make my escape. I tell you, I feared for my life.”

She stared at him. “You’re making that up.”

He grinned. “Not all of it.”

“Most of it then.”

“Possibly.”

She laughed. Every time she laughed it was as if he had won some sort of prize. He quite liked making her laugh.

“Why did you change?” he said abruptly.

“Change?”

“Your hair is different and your clothes . . .”

“What about my clothes?”

“Shall I be honest?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded. “I am a firm believer in honesty.”

“You’re not going to get annoyed and take it out on perfectly innocent eating utensils?”

“I shall try to restrain myself,” she said wryly.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “I fear I will be taking my life in my hands.”

“What fun is life without risk?”

“You are an enigma, Lady Garret.” He glanced at her. “That’s the second time you’ve said something like that. On the one hand you are here, assuming a position few women would attempt. Even if you are doing it out of a sense of responsibility toward your employees.”

“And on the other hand?”

“On the other hand, I get the distinct feeling you are not the kind of woman who takes risks.”

“Imagine that,” she said under her breath.

“Are you?”

“That’s not a simple question, my lord. And I fear my answer is equally complicated.” She thought for a moment. “I suppose it all depends on how one defines risk. It was indeed something of a risk to assume Mr. Clarke’s—Mr. Emmett Clarke’s—usual duties at the site of a project. To assume a position not usually taken by a woman. And yes, I find taking that risk most exhilarating.” She paused. “One could say adopting a new manner of dress to be something of a risk as well.”

“And your hair.”

“What?”

“You’ve changed your hair as well.” He smiled. “It’s most becoming.”

“And before?”

“We are back to that, are we?”

“I am nothing if not tenacious, my lord.” She chuckled. “You should have added that to unyielding and assertive.”

He winced. “You are going to hold that against me forever, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

“It was meant as a compliment, you know.”

“It didn’t feel like one, which is probably as much my fault as it is yours.” She sighed. “Now then, Lord Stillwell, tell me about my hair.”

“I am probably going to regret this.” He drew a deep breath. “It was entirely too severe. Even under your hat one could see it was entirely too . . . restrained. As if it was being punished for some vile crime. As for your clothing . . .”

“Yes?”

“What you have worn up until today was not entirely out of fashion—”

“And you are conversant with the latest fashion?”

“I know women who are conversant with the latest fashion,” he said in an offhand manner. “As I was saying, while not exactly unfashionable it was also sensible, practical, somewhat drab, a bit too big—”

“I haven’t really had—”

“Nondescript.” He nodded. “That’s the word for it. As if the woman wearing that clothing wished to blend into the background and escape notice. Like a chameleon. Your manner of dress was completely at odds with your nature.” He met her gaze firmly. “You are entirely too clever and sharp and vibrant to ever escape notice.”

Her eyes widened. “Am I?”

“I find it most interesting that you don’t seem to know this.”

“I am the youngest of six siblings.” She shook her head. “It was usually easier to keep one’s mouth shut and avoid confrontation.”

He chuckled. “You seem to have grown out of it.”

She grinned.

“Now it’s your turn. I gave you my honest assessment of your clothes. Now tell me why you have made such a dramatic change.”

“I suppose I am tired of hiding.” She shrugged. “Besides, I have been a widow for three years and perhaps it’s time to make certain changes in my life.”

“I see.” He nodded. “You are looking for a husband then.” He cast her a stern look. “I do hope you’ve not set your cap for me.”

She gasped. “Good Lord, no!”

“You needn’t be so vehement about it.”

“I didn’t mean to be. I do apologize. But you and I would never suit.” She shook her head.

“Probably not,” he said under his breath, ignoring the tiniest sense of disappointment.

“And I’m not particularly looking for a husband, but my family—that is to say, my mother . . .” She blew a resigned breath. “My mother firmly believes that no one unwed can possibly be happy. She also thinks three years is long enough to mourn.”

“Is it?” He held his breath.

For a long moment she didn’t say anything; then she nodded. “I think it is, yes.”

“But you are not actually looking for a husband?”

“Absolutely not.”

“However, you are amenable to the possibility. Should the right man come along, that is.”

“Yes, I suppose I am. The idea of spending the rest of my days alone is not a pleasant thought. It’s not how I planned my life.” She fell silent and he wasn’t sure what to say. “My life continues even if my husband’s did not. I thought I had moved on, but I now see it wasn’t enough. I only took half steps, I think. It’s time now to go forward and probably has been for a while. I cannot live in the past, nor do I wish to. Furthermore I believe I’m ready, even perhaps excited, about what the future may hold.” She cast him a wry glance. “Admittedly, I hadn’t given remarrying or the future a second thought until the last few days when it was pointed out to me how dreadful my appearance was.”