The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (14 page)

“Very well then, Winfield.” She cast him her brightest smile. “Shall we join the others?”

It was going to be an interesting evening.

 

 

“. . . and therefore I have decided to go with him.” Camille’s gaze circled the table. “I have never been to America and who knows when I might have another opportunity. Delilah”—she glanced at Miranda—“my younger sister, has agreed to join us so it won’t be the least bit improper.”

“I don’t know why you have to go at all.” Lady Fairborough aimed a pointed look at her nephew. “You just returned to England in December after eleven years of being away. Eleven years, Grayson, is a very long time.”

“I am well aware of that.” Grayson smiled at his aunt.

“And now you are leaving again.” She huffed.

“I am leaving, Aunt Margaret, to settle my business affairs and make the necessary arrangements so that I can return to England for good,” he said in the kind of firm but gentle tone one uses when one has explained something more than once. “But I shall always have to travel to America on occasion.”

“Business, my dear”—a firm note sounded in Lord Fairborough’s voice—“is business.”

“Besides, we won’t be gone long,” Camille said. “Grayson says it will be less than a month and probably only three weeks. Why, we shall spend more time in travel than actually in New York. Which does seem a pity, really. But we do want to be back before the Midsummer Ball.”

“The queen might yet come,” Lady Fairborough murmured.

“The last thing I want is a visit from the queen,” her husband muttered. “Problems enough without a royal visit complicating life.”

“Nonetheless, it is a pity Fairborough won’t be completed by then.” Camille sighed. “I haven’t been to the Fairborough Midsummer Ball in years and I was quite looking forward to it.”

“I am sorry, but . . .” Miranda shook her head. “The project is huge. There was a great deal of damage and rebuilding to Lord—to Winfield’s—specif ications is not an easy task. We have really just started and it is already the beginning of May. Completion by late June is next to impossible.”

“Next to?” Winfield raised a brow. “I thought you said it was impossible? Next to impossible implies that there is an iota of a chance that makes it indeed possible.”

“I am sorry, I misspoke.” Irritation clenched her teeth. “It is indeed impossible. It simply cannot be done.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze meeting hers over the dinner table. “Why not?”

“I just said it was an enormous project.”

“One wonders if another firm could accomplish it.”

“And yet other firms were not willing to so much as attempt it.” Was he doing this deliberately or was he just being his usual annoying self?

“Perhaps this could be accomplished if a man was in charge,” he said in a deceptively casual manner.

“Or a promise would simply be made that would not be kept as men are prone to do.” She shrugged. “Promises not kept, engagements broken, that sort of thing.”

His eyes narrowed. “It seems to me anything can be done if one puts enough effort and resources into it.”

“And money,” she snapped. “This is already costing a small fortune. Are you willing to spend even more?”

“How much more?”

“I have no idea. We would have to vastly increase the number of workers.” She thought for a moment. “Construction costs would be at least twice what we have allocated. Perhaps even three times as much.”

“And could you then guarantee completion by late June?”

“No! Absolutely not!” What part of this did the blasted man not understand? “I simply cannot promise you the house will be finished. For one thing, I will not have men working on Sunday. That is not negotiable.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Nor will I allow Mr. Clarke to sacrifice safety for speed,” she said sharply. “And I will not permit shoddy workmanship.”

“Nor do I expect you to.”

“Even if we could get the floors, walls and roof in place by late June, the finishes could never be done. Keep in mind, you want Fairborough put back precisely the way it was. That means replicating carved woodwork and molded plasters. I have craftsmen in London working on some of that already, but it is going to take a considerable amount of time to be done correctly.”

“I shall make a bargain with you.” His gaze locked on to hers. “If the Midsummer Ball can be held at Fairborough, as it has been for well over a hundred years—”

“One hundred and twenty-seven, to be exact,” someone murmured.

“There is a bonus in it for you.”

She stared at him. “What kind of bonus?”

“Substantial.” He paused. “I am already paying you twice your usual commission. I will give you a bonus equal to your original commission.”

“On the condition that your Midsummer Ball is held at Fairborough?” She studied him closely. Surely he wasn’t that stupid?

“Exactly.” He nodded. Apparently he was.

“And you are willing to pay the extra construction costs incurred?”

“I am.”

“I see.” A bonus of that size, above and beyond the original contracted agreement, was pure profit and could be put in its entirety into her employee fund, thus ensuring their security. And that was especially important now.

Her presence at Fairborough would not go entirely unnoticed. She might well be able to get away with the same excuse she had originally given Winfield—that she was simply taking Emmett’s place out of necessity—but she was realistic enough to understand that that would not hold up for long. Even if the elusive Mr. Tempest was given credit for the architectural work, one thing would surely lead to another and the truth would come out. That was the dreadful thing about truth: it very nearly always came out eventually. The house of cards she and Clara had so cleverly built would tumble and Garret and Tempest would tumble with it.

“I am more than willing to spend your money, Winfield.”

“Ah, spoken like a true woman.”

“I accept. I shall make certain the ball is held at Fairborough.” She nodded. “On my next trip into London, I shall have an addendum to the contract drawn up.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.” He shrugged. “I should think a simple agreement between the two of us should suffice. I am a man of my word after all. Especially when it comes to an agreement with a beautiful woman.”

“As evidenced by your history with giving your word to women.”

Someone at the table choked and abruptly Miranda realized she had quite forgotten that they were not alone. She looked around the table to find four pairs of eyes staring at her and Winfield in either horror or amusement or shock or disbelief.

“My apologies,” she murmured and grabbed her glass of wine and drained it.

“I think we . . . well . . .” Winfield began. “Sorry.” Then he too tossed back his wine.

“Ah yes, well . . .” Lord Fairborough cleared his throat. “Have you made your travel arrangements yet, Grayson? Might I suggest . . .”

The discussion around the table turned to the less volatile topics of travel and ships and what Camille looked forward to seeing in America and who knew what else. Miranda’s mind was anywhere but on the conversation, and she counted the minutes until she could gracefully make her escape. If Winfield’s intention had been to show his family that their
moment
was not indicative of some sort of feelings between them—as indeed it wasn’t—he’d succeeded admirably. No one at this table could possibly think there was anything between them that was not of a business nature. Indeed, if she was trying to convince anyone they did not so much as like one another, this would have been an excellent way to go about it. Not that it wasn’t the truth.

At long last dinner dragged to a merciful close. The ladies were to retire to the parlor; the gentlemen were headed to the billiards room. Miranda excused herself, pointing out she had a great deal to do in the morning. She headed toward her rooms and started up the stairs.

“Lady Garret. Miranda.” Winfield hurried toward her. “Well, what did you think?”

“What did I think?” She paused on the second step and studied him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the opportunity presented itself and I took advantage of it.” He grinned with what looked like pride.

“What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about seizing the moment. Carpe diem, if you will.”

“What moment?” She stared with growing horror.

“When Camille asked about completing the house before the ball and, of course, I know how determined you are. Even ambitious.”

“Go on,” she said slowly.

“And I knew the mention of another firm would infuriate you as well as my inference that a woman should not be here at all.”

“Inference?” Her voice rose. “Inference?”

“I didn’t actually say it, you know. I simply implied.”

She tried to scream, but the oddest squeaking, croaking sound came out instead. Was the man truly mad?

“Although I did think your comment about broken engagements was a bit too much,” he said in a chastising manner.

“Did you?”

“It didn’t seem quite in the spirit of our plan.”

“What plan?”

“It was your idea.” He studied her for a long moment; then his eyes widened with realization. “You weren’t acting, were you? You meant everything you said.”

“I had no idea you didn’t!”

“Well, I didn’t!”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Now you do!”

“And?”

“And?” His eyes widened with horror. “You do realize this whole bonus nonsense was no more than part of an act. Given that, I assume you will not hold me to it.”

She stared at him for a long moment. The man was not merely mad but stupid as well. “Oh, but I will.”

His eyes narrowed. “It scarcely matters. You can’t complete the work by the ball; therefore you will not earn the bonus.”

“Oh, I will earn the bonus, Winfield.” She started up the stairs. “You may count on it.”

“Excellent, as that means the house will be finished,” he called after her.

“It only means the ball will be held at Fairborough,” she said in a tone too low for him to hear. He’d realize his mistake soon enough. She was wrong about Winfield Elliott. He was indeed a twit after all.

And for that he’d have to pay.

“Well, dinner was certainly interesting.” Gray leaned over the billiards table and positioned his shot.

Win had hoped his cousin and his father were going to do the decent thing and pretend nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at dinner. Of course he was wrong. Gray had only been waiting for Win’s father to retire for the night. Win suspected his cousin and father had agreed between them to let Gray deal with this.

Gray took his shot, then nodded with satisfaction. “It was like watching a play performed during dinner. Although, admittedly, one did tend to forget about one’s food.”

“I’m glad you were entertained.”

“I’m not sure anyone was entertained exactly. In spite of a few excellent lines on her part, it wasn’t that good of a play.” He thought for a moment. “Actually, it was more like watching a collision that you know is coming, that you know as well you should try to prevent, and yet you can do nothing but stare.”

“Thank you for your assistance.”

“I assumed you could handle it.” Gray shrugged. “Apparently not.”

“I did handle it.” Now was not the time to confess he didn’t mean anything he had said but was acting a part designed to show his family he and Miranda had no interest in one another. In hindsight, it had not been his best idea. It had certainly not been well thought out but rather evolved with every word out of his mouth. Nor did it turn out as he had expected. He still wasn’t entirely certain what happened, but once again it was as though he had lost a game he didn’t know he was playing.

“Ah, yes, well, if you define handling it as agreeing to give the woman a great deal of money . . .”

“A bonus, Gray,” Win said firmly. “On the condition that Fairborough is completed by the day of the ball. She has said from the beginning it can’t be done, so it’s really a moot point.”

“I see.” Gray chalked the tip of his cue. “I have never seen you quite so befuddled by a woman before.”

“What utter nonsense.” He leaned over the table and took his shot. The ball refused to cooperate, but then wasn’t that to be expected given the rest of the evening? “I am not the least bit befuddled.”

“You have no idea what you have agreed to, do you?”

“Of course I do. I just said—”

“The exact wording of your agreement, an agreement upon which you gave your word, as was witnessed by the rest of us, was that she would receive a substantial bonus if the ball could be held at Fairborough.”

“And?”

“And, it seems to me, and probably to her as well, that the ball can indeed be held at Fairborough without construction being completed.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Win scoffed. “Completion was implied. Part and parcel of the agreement.”

“And yet as it was not stated . . .” Gray shrugged.

Win stared at his cousin. “You’re telling me if the ball is held in an unfinished ballroom, or even on the front lawns, then she has earned her bonus?”

“I would think so,” Gray said in a mild tone as if his cousin hadn’t just thrown away a significant amount of money. “I would wager she thinks so as well.”

“Bloody hell.” Win blew a long breath. “I didn’t see that.”

“No, you were too busy doing battle with the fair Lady Garret.” He paused. “Who, I might add, was looking exceptionally fair tonight.”

“She always looks exceptionally fair,” Win said absently. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? Of course, he hadn’t realized that his words would be taken seriously. He’d had no idea she wasn’t playing the same game he was. Now that he knew the truth of it, her comments carried a bit more sting than they had initially. He had thought they were becoming at the very least friends. Was it at all possible that she really didn’t like him? That she thought his ill-fated engagements were an indication of his lack of honor? That he was not a man of his word?

“So what are you going to do now?”

Was there a chance that the odd sensations that had swept through him when he had gazed into her eyes tonight, feelings of inevitability and completion and, yes, even fate had not been shared? Feelings that were at once terrifying and yet hopeful and exuberant. Regardless, it was entirely too soon to place credence in such moments. Why, it could have been nothing more than an aberration. He barely knew the woman after all. If he had learned nothing else in regard to women, he had learned restraint.

“I said, what are you going to do now?”

Besides, in spite of what she had said about not being opposed to remarrying, was she indeed ready to give up ties to her late husband? She was, after all, engaged in keeping his company solvent. It was not unreasonable to think that was one way of keeping him or the memory of him alive. He wasn’t sure he could compete with a dead man. Not that he intended to.

“Win?”

Win’s gaze snapped to his cousin’s. “What?”

“I asked what you were going to do now.” Gray’s eyes narrowed. “Although it was apparent you were paying no attention whatsoever.”

“I was distracted.”

“Obviously.”

“I don’t know what I am going to do now.” Win shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t mind the extra costs of construction if it speeds the work along. I don’t even mind paying her the bonus. But . . . she’s done it again, you know. Manipulated me to suit her own purposes.”

“
She
manipulated
you?
” Gray’s brow rose. “That wasn’t my observation.”

“She’s very clever about it.” He shuddered. “She’s very clever about everything. She may well be the cleverest woman I have ever met.”

“Apparently.” Gray studied him closely. “You don’t seem very upset about it.”

“I’m getting used to it,” he said under his breath. And it really was his own fault. Maybe she did have him befuddled after all. His life had certainly become much more complicated and confusing since the moment her sturdily clod feet had walked into it.

“You are preoccupied tonight, cousin.”

“Am I?”

“You’ve barely noticed that I am about to claim victory.”

“Are you, indeed?” He glanced at the table. “Apparently you are.”

Gray shook his head in disbelief, put his cue in the rack on the wall and picked up his half-empty glass of brandy. “Well?” He sat down on the well-worn leather sofa positioned so as to enable the watching of a game or simply idle conversation. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Tonight? Everything? The look you and Miranda exchanged before dinner? The fact that the two of you can scarcely go ten minutes without sparks of some sort flying between you? The deal you struck with her?”

“I don’t know what happened.” Win shook his head. “I am usually not that—”

“Stupid?”

“For lack of a better word, yes.”

“Then what were you?”

“It’s going to sound, well . . .” He winced. “Stupid.”

“All the better.” Gray nodded. “Go on then.”

“It seemed the best way to convince the rest of you that there was nothing between Miranda and myself . . .” Without thinking, he paced the length of the table. “Which there isn’t, of course.”

“Of course not.”

“In spite of that . . . that moment.”

“The one in which neither of you seemed to notice the rest of us were present?”

Win nodded. “That’s the one. In order to prove that it meant nothing—”

“Which you wished to do because?”

“Because, for one thing, you know how Mother is when she suspects there is the possibility of an appropriate match so much as passing by.” He grimaced. “I wouldn’t want to wish Mother’s determination on anyone, let alone Miranda.”

Gray nodded. “Go on.”

“It simply seemed like a good idea to allow free rein to our natural tendencies to clash. And, in doing so, show all of you there is certainly no possibility of anything between Miranda and myself.”

“I see.” Gray sipped his brandy thoughtfully. “You do know it didn’t work.”

“It didn’t?”

“Absolutely not.” He paused. “If anything it convinced us all there was something extremely interesting occurring between the two of you.”

“That’s absurd.”

Gray leaned forward. “What’s absurd is the fact that after choosing the wrong woman three times, you are unable to see when the right one comes along.”

Win stared. “Miranda Garret is absolutely not the right one. That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, she doesn’t like me. She certainly doesn’t trust me. She thinks I am hopelessly behind the times. She disagrees with me about what women should and should not do. And I suspect she is not entirely over the death of her late husband.”

“And yet she has changed her manner of dress and the way she wears her hair. It seems to me that is indicative of a woman who is moving on with her life.”

“I daresay you’re—”

“As well as being an indication of a woman who wants a man to notice her.”

“I have noticed her,” he snapped. “I have noticed any number of things about her. Most of them extremely annoying.”

“But not all?”

“Of course not all.” He’d noticed that a dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth when she smiled. And he’d noticed the delightful sound of her laughter. And he’d noticed the way she seemed to smell vaguely of the promise of spring and how the color of her eyes changed with her mood.

“It seems to me,” Gray said slowly, “that Miranda has presented you with quite a challenge.”

Win narrowed his eyes. “A challenge?”

“You have always enjoyed a good challenge.”

“What do you mean by a challenge? What kind of challenge?”

“Why, winning the heart and hand of the fair Lady Garret.”

Win stared. “I don’t want her hand or her heart.” He shook his head. “She has already pointed out that she and I would not suit one another.”

“And therein lies the challenge.” Gray shrugged. “Change her mind.”

“I don’t want to change her mind. I have no interest in Miranda Garret, nor does she have the tiniest bit of interest in me.”

“Very well.”

“Very well what?”

“It’s no business of mine.”

“No, it isn’t”

“I’ll be off to America in a few weeks anyway.”

“Yes, you will.”

“For the best, really. Although I was looking forward to watching your demise at the hands of yet another female.”

“There will be no demise.”

Gray cast him a look of what could only be called pity.

“There won’t.” He huffed. “I assure you there is nothing between Miranda and myself, nor is there the slightest possibility that will change.”

“Very well.”

“Stop saying that!”

“As you wish.” Gray bit back a smile and sipped his brandy.

“I do wish,” he snapped.

Admittedly though, Gray might well have a valid point. Even if Win was confused and befuddled, his cousin was not. And if Gray saw something that Win didn’t, wouldn’t it be wiser to find that out rather than miss it entirely? This was the rest of his life after all. If he had learned nothing else from being engaged to the wrong woman three times it was caution. There was no need to rush into anything. Although, it was entirely possible that he was too worried about making yet another mistake to be able to recognize the right woman when she came along. Nonetheless, didn’t he owe it to himself to find out?

The worst part was while she might possibly be the right woman for him, not merely every man’s dream but his, it was more than obvious he was not the right man for her.

 

 

“Lord Stillwell—Winfield.” Miranda paused on the top step of the short flight leading to the drive. Winfield stood beside two saddled horses, their reins held by a groom. She couldn’t help but notice how dashing and handsome he looked in his riding clothes. She could certainly see what all those other women saw in him. Not that she cared. Even if he had invaded her dreams last night in a most improper and all too exciting manner. But she certainly couldn’t help what happened in her sleep. “I didn’t expect to see you so early.”

“I was told you intended to ride to Fairborough today and I thought I would accompany you.” He smiled in a pleasant manner. Given the way they had left things between them last night, she wasn’t sure she trusted that smile.

“I am more than capable of getting to the hall by myself.”

“I have no doubt of that, Miranda, as long as you stay to the road. However, there is a shorter way through the fields that trims a good ten minutes off the time. It’s much more . . . efficient.”

“Oh well, as long as it’s
efficient
.” She wasn’t at all sure why his reference to efficiency annoyed her and yet it did. She allowed him to help her into the saddle, ignoring the unwelcome sensation of the warmth of his hands.

He mounted his own horse and they started off. Within a few minutes she was glad she had decided to ride rather than take a carriage. Riding beside one another negated the necessity for conversation. But sitting together in a carriage they’d be forced to speak to one another or endure long stretches of awkward silence. Admittedly, she did rather enjoy conversing with him, aside from that irritating tendency she had to say whatever crossed her mind. She did need to do something about that.

“Do you think it can be done?” he said at last.

“Do I think what can be done?”

He slanted her a skeptical look, as if he knew that she knew precisely what he meant. “Can Fairborough be completed by the ball?”

“I believe I have made myself clear on that question,” she said in a cool tone.

“Then the answer is no?”

“The answer has always been no.”

“And yet you do intend to take my bonus despite the fact that completion of Fairborough was implied?”