The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) (7 page)

Ha! Obviously she thought better of continuing a debate she could not possibly win. Good. If there was a score being kept—not that there was—he would have won a point. He moved closer and studied the drawings. “I quite like the way Mr. Tempest has expanded the dressing rooms and added additional water closets and bathing rooms, even in the wings. Especially those in the family quarters.”

“Even if they are not original to the house?” she said under her breath.

“Even then.”

“It did seem to make sense, while much of the building was under construction, to include and expand amenities.”

“Very clever of Mr. Tempest.” As much as he hated to admit it.

She glanced at him. “Dare I take that as a measure of satisfaction on your part?”

“You may. I confess I did not consider things like plumbing and water closets and certainly not electricity, but all in all, yes, I do find this more than acceptable.”

“Excellent.” She straightened and met his gaze firmly. “Our next step then is to hire workers, locally if possible. If you could arrange for your estate manager to meet with Mr. Clarke tomorrow, I suspect he would be most helpful in that regard.”

“Excellent idea.” He nodded. “Dare I hope Mr. Clarke’s personal difficulties have been resolved satisfactorily?”

She looked at him sharply. “You remember that?”

“I am not a cad, Lady Garret. Most would say I am both thoughtful and considerate. As well as sincere.”

She smiled as if she had doubts on that score. Obviously she was going to need some convincing.

“I can also be charming and amusing.”

“That really isn’t—”

“I never mistreat the servants or those less fortunate. I support any number of worthy charities. And I am unfailingly kind to . . . to animals and children. Why, I can bring in several children from the village who will attest to that. I usually carry sweets in my pocket to hand out when I happen upon them.”

“Oh, yes, that is good for them.”

“And dogs. I’m very fond of dogs.” He glanced around. “Even that nasty little worthless beast of my aunt’s has been known to curl up at my feet.”

“No doubt, but—”

“And should you ever meet that embarrassment to the canine world you will certainly understand why it takes the kindest of men to—”

“Lord Stillwell!”

“My apologies. There is something about that dog. . . .” He grimaced. “Neither here nor there, of course. Do go on.”

“Very well. The Mr. Clarke, Emmett Clarke, you graciously inquired after is still unavailable to oversee construction. That task will be taken up by his brother, Mr. Edwin Clarke.”

“Edwin and Emmett? Twins?”

“Not to my knowledge. They have a sister named Eloise as well.”

“Their parents were exceptionally fond of the letter E then?” He chuckled.

“I have no idea.” She looked at him as if he had grown two heads. So much for his effort at amusing conversation. “As I was saying, we have engaged this Mr. Clarke’s services in the past. He is quite knowledgeable and does an excellent job. He will be here every day during the course of the project. Is there a cottage at Fairborough or on the grounds of Millworth or perhaps something available in the village where he can reside? It would be much more convenient if he could live in the area during construction.”

Win nodded. “We can arrange something suitable.”

“Excellent. As you have agreed to the plans, work can begin next week.” She hesitated. “Oh, and I will be here as well, of course.”

Win stared. “You?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Every day?”

“I should hate to see anything go wrong and it will certainly slow progress considerably if Mr. Clarke is forced to stop work to scurry into London to clarify a point. I assure you, I am well versed on Mr. Tempest’s designs.” She studied him coolly. “So yes, I would think I shall be here very nearly every day from the first day of construction until the last.”

“I see.” If she was to be here nearly every day from next week into the foreseeable future he had best try to get on better with her. Again. He forced his most charming smile. “We have not started out on the right foot, you and I.”

“Do you think so?” Her eyes widened in feigned surprise. He didn’t believe her for an instant. “I really hadn’t noticed. I thought things were going quite well.”

He studied her for a long moment. This woman was an enigma and an annoying one at that. More so now in her refusal to admit that they were barely cordial to one another.

“Obviously I was mistaken then.” Regardless of whether she admitted it or not, they had clashed from the moment she had stepped into his life. “Do not think you have won any sort of battle here today, Lady Garret.”

“Why, my lord, I would never think such a thing.” Her voice was overly sweet and her lashes fluttered in a flirtatious manner. He ignored it.

“Good. As long as we understand one another I believe we can survive the next few months.”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“Because you haven’t, you know,” he said firmly.

Confusion crossed her face. “Won a battle, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“No, of course not.” She paused. “Unless we are engaged in a war that I was unaware of ?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Ha! There had been no outright declaration and it may not be all-out war, but there was certainly an ongoing skirmish between them, whether she wished to acknowledge it aloud or not.

“That is a relief as you don’t strike me as the kind of man used to losing. Battles or wars, that is,” she added.

“I’m not.”

“Then we do understand one another.” She cast him an unexpectedly brilliant smile and in that moment he realized he was wrong. She was far more than pretty in an ordinary way.

“Excellent.” This was much better. Satisfaction washed through him. She was at last seeing things his way.

“And you have decided upon electrification?”

“Yes, I have,” he said staunchly.

“I shall see you next week then. Good day, my lord.” She smiled, nodded and left the library. But not before he saw the distinct touch of triumph and more than a little amusement in her eyes. Her definitely brown eyes.

“Good day,” he murmured. The tiny morsel of satisfaction he had tasted a moment ago vanished with the swish of her skirts and the close of the library door.

Damnation, he hated losing a battle, a skirmish or a war—whether it was officially declared or not.

“Life changes us all, doesn’t it, Lady Garret?” Lady Fairborough sipped her tea and studied the younger woman.

“My apologies.” Miranda cast her a polite smile. She had wanted to return to London as quickly as possible, but instead found herself sitting in a parlor with Lord Stillwell’s mother making small talk, although she had the oddest feeling it was anything but small. Still, it would have been rude to turn down Lady Fairborough’s request to join her for tea. It was still early in the day and Lady Fairborough might well be her strongest ally if she ultimately needed one. “I don’t quite understand exactly what you mean.”

“Really? And I would have imagined you understood far better than most of us given the way you have stepped forward to take the reins of your husband’s business. To insure the livelihood of his employees.” Lady Fairborough nodded approvingly. “I find it quite admirable. It’s so very modern of you.”

Miranda chuckled. “I suspect your son disagrees with you.”

“He often does.” A casual note sounded in her voice. “Does it matter? What my son thinks of you, that is?”

“No, but it does matter what he thinks of Garret and Tempest. My intention is to improve our reputation, not destroy it.” Although, admittedly, it was bothersome that the blasted viscount, who was well known for his exploits with women, seemed to find her more annoying than appealing. Not that she cared. “As we will probably spend a great deal of time together, I should prefer not to waste that time arguing.”

“Oh, but there is much to be said for arguing with the right man. Especially when you can make him see the error of his ways.” She smiled in a completely wicked manner and Miranda could see the family resemblance between mother and son. “Don’t you agree?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

The older woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “Didn’t you argue with your late husband?”

“My late husband and I were usually in agreement.” Indeed, as she looked back on her years with John she could scarcely remember fighting with him at all although surely they must have on occasion. No, life with John seemed rather perfect in hindsight.

“How very interesting,” Lady Fairborough murmured.

But then Miranda scarcely ever argued with anyone about anything. Until, of course, she had crossed paths with the annoying Lord Stillwell. She did have to admit, their clashes had left her somewhat invigorated. Not that he was the right man or anything near that.

“You must forgive Winfield, Lady Garret. He is not usually so . . . so . . .”

“Stiff and stodgy and annoyed and outraged?”

“Oh, I did say that, didn’t I?” Lady Fairborough winced.

Miranda laughed. “Indeed you did. And you called him a stick-in-the-mud as well.”

“Oh dear.” She sighed. “The problem with having sons is that eventually they become men. One day they are sweet and adorable little boys and the next day they are men with all those annoying qualities men, particularly men of responsibility, tend to have.” She met Miranda’s gaze directly. “Winfield has a great deal of responsibility.”

“Does he?”

“He does indeed.” Lady Fairborough nodded firmly. “You see the plan was always to divide the family responsibilities between Grayson and Winfield, but Grayson instead went off to make his fortune in America. After a while, it was obvious to all of us that Winfield would have to carry on alone. Lord Fairborough has made a concerted effort through the years to ease him into the duties that will one day fall entirely on his shoulders. To that end, he has completely taken over the management of the family’s properties and business investments. He takes his responsibilities quite seriously.”

“So I see.”

“He has done an excellent job of it. His father is quite proud of him. And for very nearly the first time in his life, my husband is free to do the things he enjoys. He has an outstanding collection of rare manuscripts and he can now spend a great deal of his time doing whatever it is he does with them.” She leaned forward in a confidential manner. “I suspect he does little more than engage in correspondence with other collectors, either trying to purchase something new or boasting about what he has. Although there are a few manuscripts in Latin he has been trying to translate for years.” She wrinkled her nose. “Pointless, really, as he was never good at Latin. Still, one does try to support one’s husband’s pursuits, futile though they may be.”

“It is fortunate they were saved from the fire.”

“Oh my, yes.” She shuddered. “I don’t even want to think how devastated he would have been had they been destroyed. The things that we did lose were bad enough.” She paused for a long moment and Miranda wondered if she was thinking about all those family treasures that were lost. “You must understand, Lady Garret, Winfield has not been the same since the fire.”

“I suspect none of you are the same,” Miranda said slowly. “I can’t imagine how horrible it would be to lose those things that are irreplaceable.”

“Life goes on though, doesn’t it? And we must carry on to the best of our abilities.”

“Of course.”

“I never dreamed I would call Winfield stodgy or stiff.” Lady Fairborough heaved a heartfelt sigh. “But his responsibilities seem to weigh heavier on him now than they did before the fire. It’s to be expected, I suppose, but he’s always been so lighthearted and amusing and witty. Women in particular have always found him charming. Extremely so.”

“So I have heard,” Miranda said dryly.

“Are you speaking of his reputation?”

“It’s nothing more than gossip, mind you. There have been stories . . . here and there. . . .” Miranda’s voice trailed off helplessly. It was one thing to discuss a man’s amorous reputation with a friend and quite another to talk about it with his mother.

“I am well aware of them. Most of them, anyway. Although I daresay there could be those I have yet to hear of, which is probably for the best.” Lady Fairborough chuckled. “He did have a bit of a misspent youth, but then what spirited young man doesn’t?”

Miranda smiled weakly.

“However, he never acted dishonorably, he never ruined a young woman’s life and he was never involved in any sort of unforgivable scandals. As far as I know, that is, and I daresay I would know.” She shook her head. “You would be surprised at the delight some people take in telling you the most dreadful stories about your offspring. However, most of his dubious misdeeds are long behind him.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Unless you are referring to his engagements, which admittedly have not cast him in the best light.”

Miranda drew a deep breath. “One does wonder . . .”

“As is only natural.” Lady Fairborough pressed her lips together in a firm line. “But things are not always as they appear, my dear.”

“It’s been my experience that they rarely are.”

“How very wise of you to understand that.” She refilled Miranda’s cup. “The earl and I haven’t been abroad in years. We intend to travel when all is settled here.” She handed her back her cup. “Including our son.”

“What do you mean by settled?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing in particular.” She shrugged.

“Grayson is home now and will soon be wed. I simply wish to see both of my boys settled and happy.”

“As any mother would,” Miranda said cautiously.

“Have you ever considered that there is something to be said for a wicked man?”

Miranda started. “Well, I—”

“Lord Fairborough was quite wicked when we first met.” The countess stirred sugar into her cup. “I must tell you there is nothing more fun than having a wicked man.”

Miranda choked on her tea.

“And then”—Lady Fairborough flashed a smug smile—“reforming him.”

Miranda cleared her throat. “Forgive me for being blunt, but why are you telling me all this?”

“Why?” Lady Fairborough’s eyes widened innocently. “No reason in particular, I suppose. I was simply making idle chatter. The mention of Winfield’s engagements did lead me to think about wicked reputations in general and well, there you have it.” She shrugged. “It does seem like forever since I had tea with a friend.” She reached over and patted Miranda’s hand. “And I do hope we will be friends.”

Miranda smiled with relief. “I would like that.”

“Now.” The countess straightened and picked up a biscuit. “You should try the biscuits, they are excellent.”

Miranda selected a biscuit and took a bite. It was indeed very good.

“Do tell me the latest news about your family. I can’t remember the last time I saw your mother. I read your brother’s last book. I must say . . .”

The older lady chatted on and Miranda responded as needed. It was, all in all, the kind of chat she might have had with any friend or female relation although she couldn’t quite dismiss the growing conviction that Lady Fairborough wanted nothing more than for her son to find fiancée number four and for whatever reason, she considered Miranda a suitable candidate. That was certainly not going to happen.

For one thing, he didn’t especially seem to like her. Admittedly, every time he had made an attempt to be witty or charming she had cut him off. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Although there were any number of reasons. Even though she had told Clara she intended to be more amenable to his lordship’s charms she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so. Not that he had made any particular effort to charm her. Which was most annoying. But she did wish to appear professional and certainly Lord Stillwell would not flirt with her if she were a man.

Then there was that whole business about the appeal of a wicked man. She would never admit to Lady Fairborough that she had always rather wanted a man who was a bit wicked. Not that she would ever have one. She was not the type of woman to seek out a man of that nature, and they certainly didn’t fall into her lap. She was not unattractive but considered herself more ordinary in appearance than truly pretty. Rakes and rogues did not attempt the seduction of women of ordinary appearance and reserved demeanor. Which was for the best, really. She wasn’t nearly strong enough to handle such a creature and he would surely break her heart. She would much prefer to avoid that, thank you very much.

Still, his lordship had said she was the kind of woman who got what she wanted and would use whatever means necessary to do so. She’d never thought of herself that way. Indeed, she’d always thought she was rather weak-willed and acquiescent. His assessment had been surprising and most flattering, even if he obviously didn’t mean it as a compliment. Perhaps she was changing, evolving as it were. Or perhaps she already had. It was a shocking idea and oddly satisfying.

Finally, Miranda gently but firmly insisted it was time for her to take her leave if she was to return to London at a reasonable hour.

“I quite enjoyed our little chat, Lady Garret. We shall have to do it again.” Lady Fairborough accompanied her to the parlor door. “And do give my best to your mother.”

“Lady Fairborough.” Miranda chose her words with care. “Might I say something to you in the strictest confidence?”

“A secret?”

“More or less.”

Lady Fairborough shook her head in a mournful manner. “Oh, I’m afraid I’m not very good at keeping secrets. Especially if it is a particularly juicy, scandalous secret. They simply beg to be passed on. Is it? Especially juicy and scandalous, that is?”

“No, not really.” Perhaps if she underestimated the extent of the secret the older woman would be less inclined to share it. And in truth, as secrets went, this one was relatively minor. At least when compared with the pursuit of a divorce. Not that it mattered really. This particular secret’s days were already numbered. “It’s no more than mildly interesting.”

“Oh.” Lady Fairborough’s face fell. “Well, I daresay I can keep that. Please, go on.”

“My mother, and the rest of my family, have no idea of the extent of my involvement with Garret and Tempest. That I am here representing the firm.”

“I see.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And you’re afraid they will disapprove?”

“To my knowledge, there has never been a woman in my family engaged in business. I am unique in that regard. To be honest, I have no idea what my family’s reaction might be.” Without thinking, she squared her shoulders. “Not that it matters, really. Of course, now that I have taken Mr. Clarke’s place on this project they will, no doubt, learn of this eventually, but I would prefer to tell them myself.”

“Very courageous of you, my dear.” Lady Fairborough nodded approvingly. “It’s not easy to stand up to one’s family. But, of course, you haven’t done that yet, have you?”

The woman’s pleasant smile took the bite out of her words.

Miranda smiled. “Apparently I’m not as courageous as you thought.”

“Or you let your head lead your heart. It’s very sensible of you.” Her gaze locked with Miranda’s. “Or very foolish.”

 

 

“Excellent timing, Chapman.” Win closed the library door behind him and waved his visitor to the chair positioned in front of the desk in the library. “Lady Garret left a good half an hour ago.” He took his seat behind the desk and drew a deep breath. “Have you found out anything?”

“I have,” Phineas Chapman said in a mild manner that seemed at odds with the man’s reputation as a tenacious investigator. But then Win wasn’t sure what he had expected. “However, it seems there are more questions than answers at this point.”

Chapman was the stepbrother of Viscount Billingsworth. He had been raised alongside the large Billingsworth brood and was the youngest of the lot. Chapman was considered quite brilliant and had started out in scholarly endeavors. Apparently that life did not prove especially interesting and Chapman had turned his inquisitive mind to the ferreting out of secrets and locating that which had gone missing, be it an object of value or a person. He was both successful and discreet, which made him highly sought after by those in society who needed his services. Services which were, as well, not inexpensive. Win had learned all this before their first meeting from Camille, whose information as always came from Beryl. Win did like to know exactly who he was dealing with. Camille had also informed him that Chapman was quite dashing with dark hair and piercing green eyes, which was neither here nor there to Win but probably did come in handy in Chapman’s line of work.