The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (27 page)

 

 

“So,” he said in as casual a manner as he could muster. “How is she?”

“Well, she doesn’t look as bad as you do, but then I can’t imagine anyone could. Too little sleep and too much alcohol, I suspect.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Win murmured. “The alcohol, that is. There seems to be little I can do about the lack of sleep.”

“From all appearances, I wouldn’t say Lady Garret is sleeping well either.”

“Well, well, imagine that.” Win resisted the urge to smirk with satisfaction. So she wasn’t sleeping. That alone would make him sleep better tonight.

“Of course, your mother is keeping her busy when she’s not at Fairborough, with plans for the ball.” He paused. “You do understand it will be held at Fairborough regardless of whether it’s completed or not?”

He chuckled. “I realized that, Father, the same night I agreed to pay a bonus if the ball was held.”

“It will be the most expensive ball we’ve ever had,” his father muttered.

“But well worth it.”

Oh yes, that was good.

“I like this one, you know.”

“You liked some of the others,” Win said absently. “The first and third I believe.”

“Not in the way in which I like Lady Garret.” His father swirled the whisky in his glass. “There is something in the way you look at her. I’ve never seen you look at a woman like that before. How could I possibly not like a woman you look at like that?”

Win smiled.

“I should warn you, marrying a woman who is nearly as intelligent as you are is both challenging and infuriating. It won’t be easy.” He chuckled. “But it is a great deal of fun.”

 

 

Miranda couldn’t quite stop smiling.

She read and reread and read again the letter Winfield had had his father deliver to her. And every time she read it she could hear his voice, feel the touch of his hand and see his wonderfully wicked smile. And her heart melted.

He said he missed her. That he couldn’t wait to see her again. Couldn’t wait to talk to her. He was amusing and dear and romantic. But he didn’t mention engagements or marriage or the questions of trust that had separated them. Which would have been somewhat disconcerting had not the rest of his letter been so wonderful.

Two days later a second letter arrived via a courier. Two days after that, a third arrived. The fourth letter was awaiting her the next day when she returned to Millworth after a morning spent at Fairborough and Miranda decided enough was enough.

This was the man she wanted, the man she wished to spend the rest of her life with, and she would not let his mother’s advice or his own stubbornness stand in her way. Blasted, annoying, wicked twit of a man that he was. She’d never really gone after anything she had wanted. Past time that she did.

The ball was the day after tomorrow and that alone was excuse enough to go to London and haul him back to Millworth. As for what else she would tell him, well, that depended on whether or not he was glad to see her. Whether or not he missed her as she had missed him. In spite of his words, this was a man who was well used to charming women. And whether or not he had meant it when he had said he loved her—she thrust that thought from her mind. Miranda wasn’t at all sure she could bear it if his reluctant admission of love was something he had simply said in the heat of the moment.

“Prescott.” She glanced around the entry hall and pulled on her gloves. The butler hurried toward her. “Do be so good as to call for a carriage to take me to the train. And please hurry. I don’t want to miss the next train into London.”

Prescott’s brow rose. “London, my lady?”

“I have had quite enough of Lord Stillwell’s nonsense.” She set her chin in a firm manner. “It’s past time he stopped acting like a child.”

“But, Lady Garret—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “I know what you’re going to say, Prescott, and yes, it is a bit unorthodox and most improper, but then what about all this isn’t?”

“Yes, Lady Garret, but—”

“You’ve known him far longer than I have, but even I realize he is entirely too stubborn to admit when he’s wrong, especially when he wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“Of course, my lady, but—”

“The carriage, Prescott, if you please?” She tried and failed to keep a note of impatience from her voice. Now that she had decided on a course of action, she was eager to set it in motion.

“I should be happy to call for a carriage to take you to the train, Lady Garret.” Prescott squared his shoulders. “But if your only purpose is to fetch Lord Stillwell, I would strongly advise against it.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Why is that, Prescott?”

“His lordship returned from London this morning, my lady. He is in the library.”

“He did what?” Win rose to his feet and stared.

“He hired me to be your Mr. Tempest.” Chapman sat in the chair before the desk and smiled up at him.

Adrian had suggested this when Win had met with him and, as he did hope the man would be his brother-in-law in the near future, it had not seemed wise for Win to say he thought it was a stupid idea certain to have unexpected repercussions.

“Why?”

“He didn’t confide the why to me, Lord Stillwell. He said you would understand.”

“Indeed, I do,” Win muttered. Adrian had thought presenting Miranda with Tempest the architect would force her hand, as it were, and lead to her confessing about the true creative mind behind the reconstruction of Fairborough Hall as well as Tempest’s real financial connection to Garret and Tempest. While Win didn’t tell Adrian the idea was absurd, he really couldn’t recall exactly what had been said on either side. Miranda’s brother was exceptionally generous with his whisky and their meeting had extended well into late afternoon. Still, Win couldn’t imagine he had agreed to this, although admittedly he couldn’t be certain one way or the other. “But why you?”

“Lord Waterston said, as I already knew all the particulars and my discretion in this matter could be trusted, I was the perfect candidate, although it does seem to me there are all sorts of things that can go wrong with a scheme like this. Still . . .” He shrugged. “As there is nothing illegal about it, the whys of the matter are really not my concern.”

Win eyed the other man ruefully. “I imagine Waterston has paid you handsomely for this.”

“I certainly wouldn’t do it otherwise. It does strike me as a bit, oh, dangerous. One never knows how a woman might react when confronted with a reality she thought was fictional. Indeed, while she does know her investor as Tempest, I am fairly certain she, and her cohort Miss West, decided it would suit their deception to credit Tempest as well with being the architect. Quite clever when you think about it.”

“That’s exactly it, Chapman.” Win sat down and drummed his fingers on the desk. “One never knows how Lady Garret might react to anything, and while her brother obviously thinks this is a brilliant plan, I don’t. The Lady Garret I know is not the same as the sister Lord Waterston knows. While he had a sample a few weeks ago as to the change in his sister in recent years, I don’t think he truly realizes just how different she is from the woman she once was. That lady might well be forced into a confession by being confronted with a fiction come to life. This one probably would not. And should she ever discover the truth . . .” He shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about the consequences, but murder is not farfetched.”

Chapman nodded. “Of her brother.”

“No,” Win said sharply. “Of me. And then perhaps her brother. But I would be the one she would not be able to forgive. Therefore, I think we should abandon this particular endeavor before it goes any further. There’s no harm done yet, I suppose. Lady Garret is still at Fairborough and probably won’t be back until later today. You can be gone before she returns.”

“As much as I appreciate your argument, my lord, I’m afraid that presents some difficulties.”

“Because Waterston paid you?” Win scoffed. “I shall return his payment to him and you may keep his money.”

“That’s not the only problem.” Chapman paused. “I have worked for Lord Waterston before. The man is not entirely as he appears. I cannot simply abandon a task he has charged me with because someone else thinks it might be a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Win stared. “The fall of Rome was a mistake in comparison to this.”

“Be that as it may—”

“This is my life, Chapman,” Win said firmly. “My future. I shall deal with Lord Waterston. He is a reasonable man and I am certain, in the light of day without the undue influence of an excellent Scottish whisky, he will understand completely. But I cannot—I will not—risk the rest of—”

Without warning the door shot open and Miranda burst into the room. “Winfield!”

“Miranda!” Win rose to his feet; his heart thudded in the most absurd manner in his chest at the look in her eyes and the smile on her face. “What are you doing here?”

“I intended to go to London, but then I discovered you were here.”

“You did?” he said cautiously.

“I decided one of us was being absurd and stubborn and it really didn’t matter which one. And your letters, Winfield, your letters . . .” She shook her head and crossed the room toward him with the obvious intention of throwing herself into his arms. Thank God. She pulled up short at the sight of Chapman rising to his feet. “Oh my, I had no idea anyone else was here. I beg your pardon, I . . .”

“No apology is necessary, Lady Garret,” Chapman said with a charming smile. “In truth, I am delighted to see you.”

“Although he was just leaving,” Win said quickly, circling around the desk. He knew full well Miranda would think it impolite of him not to offer an introduction, but if he introduced Chapman as Chapman it was entirely possible that someday she would hear the name of the investigator, put two and two together and there would be hell to pay. “As we have concluded our talk.”

Miranda ignored him. “Are you?” She studied the other man curiously. “My apologies, sir, but I’m afraid you have—”

“He has to leave,” Win said firmly and attempted to steer Chapman toward the door before it was too late. “Didn’t you say you had an urgent appointment? In London?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.” Chapman neatly sidestepped Win and smiled at Miranda. “I have been remiss in my duties, Lady Garret, and for that I owe you my apologies.”

“No, no, no apologies are necessary.” Win snatched up Chapman’s hat from the chair and thrust it at him. “You do need to be going. Wouldn’t want to miss the train.”

“Nonsense.” Chapman shrugged, then took Miranda’s hand. The man was much more attractive than Win had noticed up to now. “This is far more important.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Miranda said slowly. “I’m not entirely sure—”

“To be expected, of course.” Chapman chuckled.

Miranda’s brow furrowed in confusion. “To be expected?”

Win bit back a groan. It was fast approaching too late and there was nothing he could do about it.

“It’s been years, really, since I’ve actually been in the offices.” Chapman shook his head. “It was entirely selfish of me.”

“Selfish?” Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Of course not, as we have never actually met. But you are as lovely as your late husband said you were.” Chapman glanced at Win. “Lord Stillwell, would you be so good as to introduce us, as we have only met on paper?”

“No,” Win snapped without thinking. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to delay you any further.”

Miranda stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had or would at any moment. “What on earth has gotten into you today?”

“Do forgive Lord Stillwell, Lady Garret,” Chapman said smoothly. “His confusion is entirely my fault. You see, he did not expect to meet me here today, nor did I expect to see you. But I am delighted that circumstances have prompted our meeting at long last. Once again, an oversight that is my fault.” He continued to hold her hand. It was most annoying. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

Win stared in sheer horror, a voice in the back of his head noting this must be how one felt when one was about to plunge over a cliff and there was nothing that could be done to prevent the fall. Or slow the descent.

“My name . . .” Chapman’s gaze locked onto Miranda’s and he raised her hand to his lips. “Is Mr. Phineas Tempest. And I am at your service.”

Miranda’s eyes widened, her face paled and she snatched her hand from Chapman’s. “Tempest?”

Chapman smiled in an altogether too charming manner. “We meet at last, Lady Garret.”

“You’re
my
Mr. Tempest?” A horror akin to Win’s own sounded in her voice.

Chapman chuckled. “One can only hope.”

For a long moment Miranda stared at the man. Win held his breath.

“I see,” she said slowly, considering the investigator. Win had seen that look before. Miranda was obviously trying to determine exactly who this man was and what he might want. At last, she cast Chapman a brilliant smile. “This is indeed an unexpected pleasure then. Dare I ask why you are here?”

“Recently, I have come to the realization that I have been remiss in my responsibilities.” Chapman shrugged in an offhand manner. “I’ve been quite selfish and allowed first Lord Garret and now you to bear the burden of management of the firm.”

“Have you?” Her words were measured.

“It’s past time I took a greater part in this company than simply sitting at home, creating my plans and blueprints, in my own little world.” He paused. “I’m not certain how much your husband told you about me.”

“Very little,” she said cautiously.

“Ah yes, well, not surprising, is it? It was business after all and not of interest to a lady.”

Win winced.

“Perhaps I should explain,” Chapman said.

Miranda nodded. “That would be most appreciated.”

“Shortly after your husband and I started the firm I was taken ill. I shan’t go into all the details, but it was the sort of debilitating illness that saps a man’s strength. I much preferred to keep my health difficulties quiet, which is why I led everyone to believe I was too eccentric to meet with people.” Chapman shook his head in a regretful manner. “I was able to work but only within the confines of my own home. Which is why, even after Lord Garret’s regrettable death, I was not able to assume the duties of management of the firm in the way in which I should have.”

Win couldn’t help but admire the way the lie flowed easily from Chapman’s lips. He wondered if the man had made all this up alone or if this was Adrian’s fabrication. Either way, Miranda knew it was a lie. Still, she couldn’t confront him as doing so would reveal her own deception. It was little satisfaction to know that Waterston had been wrong about his sister’s reaction to coming face to face with the
architect
she had invented. She was entirely too intelligent to call the man’s bluff. No, she was obviously going to play this out until she knew exactly what this
Mr. Tempest
wanted.

“Understandable,” Miranda murmured.

“There was a time when I assumed I would never be recovered enough to take my place in the world outside the doors of my house again let alone my full position at Garret and Tempest. But recent treatments have proven most effective.” He drew in a deep breath as if drawing strength from the very air itself. “And so here I am.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Miranda studied him closely. “But why are you here? At Millworth Manor, that is?”

“Why, I called on you in London first, which seemed appropriate, and was told that you were residing in the country at the moment. So I thought why not come and see the progress for myself, as well as pay a call on Lord Stillwell? After all, it is his home we are reconstructing.” Chapman inclined his head toward Miranda. “It did seem wise to determine if he was pleased with my work and the progress at Fairborough Hall.”

Miranda’s jaw tightened at “my work,” as well it should. Here was a complete stranger taking credit for her work and preparing to take over management of her business. Win had to give her brother credit. It was a clever, if convoluted idea. Indeed, there might well have been a time when Adrian’s youngest sister would have faltered when confronted with her own imaginary creation come to life. But this Miranda was made of sterner stuff.

“I couldn’t be more pleased,” Win said quickly.

Miranda cast him a grateful if somewhat absent glance. Apparently, Win was the last thing on her mind. Damn it all. If Chapman had not shown up, she would even now be in his arms and they would be well on their way to resolving the differences between them. Now, the idiotic actions of her well-meaning brother had put another obstacle in their path.

“I assume you wish to see the progress at Fairborough for yourself?” Miranda said. “Perhaps Lord Stillwell would care to accompany us?”

Wise of her not to offer to go with this stranger alone. Not that Win would have allowed her to do so even if she knew the true identity of the fraudulent Tempest.

“I’m afraid Lord Stillwell is right.” Chapman shook his head. “I have miscalculated the amount of time I had to linger here and I do have to return to London at once.”

“We would hate to keep you.” Win again attempted to steer Chapman toward the door.

“I shall see you in London then, Lady Garret.” Chapman smiled pleasantly.

Miranda nodded.

“I believe we have a great deal to discuss about the firm and the future.”

“Indeed we do, Mr. Tempest.” Miranda paused, obviously to choose her words carefully. “I had planned to go into London next week. Perhaps we could meet Thursday afternoon?”

“Excellent, Lady Garret. I look forward to it.” Chapman stepped toward the door.

Win breathed a sigh of relief, although his relief would be short-lived. He was going to have to tell Miranda the truth about, well, everything. Why Chapman had pretended to be Tempest. What Chapman had learned about her. Why Win had hired that blasted man in the first place. She would be furious about all of it, of course. Indeed, her deception about her work did seem to pale in comparison with all he had kept from her. But if there was to be trust between them, he would have to make a clean breast of it and hope for the best. At least he had until Thursday next.

“Good day, Lady Garret, Lord Stillwell.” Chapman nodded and reached for the door. It abruptly swung open.

“Welcome me home, cousin.” Gray strode into the room, a wide grin on his face. “I can’t say I ever want to make another trip to America and back that quickly, but there is something exhilarating about . . .” He paused in mid-step, his gaze shifting from Chapman to Miranda. “Am I interrupting?”