Compromised by Christmas (4 page)

She clenched her fist and Max wondered at her
circumstances. Then he remembered that she was here to affix a
gentleman's interest. Good lord, was she here to fix his
interest?

Roxana located a bolt of plain muslin in the sea of
fabrics and headed toward it. The duke stood near the door and the
proprietor had jumped to serve him, even though buying fabric
clearly was the province of females. But the diversion gave her a
chance to check the quality and estimate how much remained. She
would need to make several more gowns in addition to the one she
had planned for Lady Julia.

After tucking her darned gloves in her reticule, she
touched a length of patterned calico. She inhaled deeply, loving
the mingled scents of wool and linen, even the faint freshness of
cotton.

The flattery of the linen draper droned on and Roxana
stopped listening to the Duke of Trent's polite inquiries about the
man's wife and daughters. Apparently he knew the townsfolk well.
Completely at ease with the shop owner's ingratiation, her escort
folded his arms and lounged against the wall.

"Would you like to see that spread out, Miss?" The
shop owner addressed her. "Fine print it is."

"It is lovely, but alas, not what I am looking for
this day." The Duke of Trent watched her. A shiver of awareness
shortened her breath. "How much is this muslin, sir?"

"Four shillings a yard," said the linen draper.

Had he had inflated the price because she had arrived
with the duke? She swallowed down her distaste at haggling in front
of him. "That is too dear. I do need quite a bit, would you take
three shillings a yard? How much do you think is left on this
roll?"

"I have another bolt in the storeroom, if you need
more." The man gave a slight nod, but did not counter with a higher
price.

"And how much for a cone of white thread?" She
unwrapped a bit of a watered silk. The whisper of the material and
the drag of it across her fingers made her wish she could afford it
and that unmarried misses weren't confined to insipid clothes. But
enacting the first part of her plan was more important than
drumming up business for a dress shop that was only a dream right
now. Without money, her dream would never be realized.

"Ten shillings, Miss."

"Would you take two guineas for the muslin roll and a
spool of thread? I should hate to delay the Duke of Trent with
measuring it all. If I find I need more, I shall return."

The duke pushed off the wall. "We have plenty—"

Roxana shot him a quelling look.

He inclined his head slightly, with the faintest hint
of a grimace. "—several errands to complete this morning."

The shopkeeper did not respond. Was he waiting for
her to sweeten the pot? Roxana wandered to the spools of assorted
trim and located a pink satin ribbon. "Oh, and another shilling for
two yards of this."

The draper nodded. "Very well, Miss."

Roxana moved to the counter, reaching for the strings
of her reticule. She hated to spend the money, money that would
have fed her family for a whole month. She had scrimped and saved
to pursue her dream, but if she accomplished her purpose she would
be able to set up a dressmaker's shop in London. With success, her
family would never go hungry or cold again.

She'd earned pennies by taking in mending and sewing
the last few years. More recently she'd fashioned gowns for her
father's tenants, Mrs. Porter and her so-called daughters. Perhaps
she had relied too much on Mrs. Porter's and her daughters'
opinions about the appropriateness of her clothing.

Smelling of bay rum and the outdoors, the duke
brushed up beside her. He removed his purse from his coat. "Allow
me."

"Oh no, you cannot," said Roxana. Part of her mind
screamed
let him pay
,
he can afford it.
Another part
said she could not allow him to pay for her clothing in any way.
She had to remain above reproach until the moment she threw her
reputation to the wind. "I thank you truly, but I wish to purchase
it myself."

"The material is for Julia's new dress, is it not?"
asked the duke.

"Not all of it. And it is my gift for her. To allow
your hospitality to extend so far as my purchases would not be
seemly, your grace."

Had she given him the slightest hint of impropriety?
Roxana pulled out the two gold coins and a shilling, plunking them
down on the counter. The Duke of Trent slid his purse back in his
pocket. His offer to pay confused her.

The linen draper measured out the ribbon and snipped
it with his shears. With a stoic face he slid the muslin off the
wood core and then wrapped brown paper around the material, the
ribbon and the cone of thread.

After the duke handed the tiger Roxana's purchases to
stow in the boot of the curricle, he moved to hand her up into the
seat. "You drive a hard bargain, do you not, Miss Winston?"

"I am sure the linen draper has still turned a
profit, your grace." Roxana stared straight ahead as she climbed
into the seat. Her father hated women who could think and might
have gotten the better of a man in a negotiation. God forgive a
girl for showing the least amount of acumen.

"Are you quite sure? How many yards were on that
roll?"

Had he seen her counting the layers? "Twenty, but
there may be fewer."

The duke turned her hand, reminding her he still held
it. He ran his thumb over the mended palm. "A hard bargain,
indeed."

Roxana snatched her hand back, mortified that he
should home in on where the reins of the pony cart had worn through
her outdoor gloves. He must have watched her closely enough to know
exactly when she was ready to deal with the shopkeeper.

"I admire anyone who can negotiate well, for I am of
the habit of paying whatever price is asked."

Her bartering did not embarrass him? A little of the
rigid tension that marked her every move in the Trent household
eased.

With an easy grace he swung into the curricle beside
her and gathered the reins. He flipped the reins, starting the
horses. "Shall we stop by the mantuamaker's place to engage her
services before we leave town, Miss Winston?"

Roxana blinked and then lowered her head. "No, I will
not need her assistance for Lady Julia's dress."

"And for your gowns, Miss Winston?"

She tilted up her chin. Did he realize the extra
yardage was for her? "I can manage to sew a few simple gowns."

He settled into driving. Not wanting to stare, she
turned her head away. December had denuded the trees and their
branches crisscrossed across the pale sky like nature's lace. She
forced herself to watch the scenery. She would by far prefer to
watch the man to her side.

Would he catch her out at her plans? Her heart beat a
little faster. He seemed very awake on all suits, too canny for her
to even think of making him the object of her deception. She
sighed. Not that she could really consider using him. She would
need Max to be her champion. Her plan would work only if her host
played his role in her little Machiavellian scheme.

After they had traveled a ways, Roxana stole a peek
at him. A bit of a smile hovered around his mouth. She hoped his
offer of friendship was sincere. She needed a friend.

He pulled the gig to a halt in front of an open
building a little away from the center of town. The acrid scent of
hot charcoal and molten metal told her this was the smithy. The
duke hopped down. "Would you like to remain here, Miss
Winston?"

That was probably the proper thing to do. Instead
Roxana reached out her hand. "I should relish the heat from the
fires, if just for a brief moment."

His brows came together for just a second before he
handed her down. Thinking of her darned gloves, she should have
stayed in the carriage, but he made no notice of them and dropped
her hand quickly, offering his arm instead.

"If you are too cold you should have said so."

"I am fine, just too curious for my own good, I
suppose. I have always been curious about how things work."
Anything she could learn of how a craftsman conducted business
could only help.

With her fingers lightly on his arm they ducked under
the low beam that supported part of a wall of the three-sided
building. She stayed well back of the furnace, where stray embers
darted into the air.

He greeted the blacksmith, again by name. She nodded
as the smith tugged his forelock in her direction.

Ducking between sledgehammers and tongs dangling from
hooks on the open ceiling beams, the duke negotiated a path through
troughs and buckets of water cluttering the dirt floor.

Roxana tried to remain inconspicuous as the duke
engaged the smith's services as farrier for the upcoming hunt.
Startled, she looked up. There was to be a hunt? How long had it
been since she'd ridden a horse? The best of her father's stable
had been sold long ago. Only a couple of draft horses remained to
pull the carts. She had not even thought of making a riding habit.
How could she have been so remiss?

The smith wiped his hands on his leather apron and
grinned. "Right good, yer grace."

"And as many of the lads as you can round up to serve
as whipper-ins. We are expecting extra guests this year."

"I know six or seven that would be right happy to be
of assistance."

"Seven or even eight would be good."

"Yer grace, my sister could use the work if'n you
need extra maids at the house. Seeing as you have so many
guests."

The duke nodded. "I'll mention it to the duchess.
Have your sister come out Wednesday next, although there may only
be kitchen or laundry work."

The smith could hardly contain his elation, although
he was properly deferential in his thanks. Perhaps the duke was not
so awake on all counts.

He did not say a word as he handed her into the
curricle and then carefully tucked the carriage robe around her.
Roxana was too aware of his hands brushing along her sides,
although without an ounce of true impropriety. Nevertheless his
tawny head bent over her lap made her thoughts stray to his
kindness. He seemed a generous man, too kind for his own good,
perhaps.

He slapped his top hat on his head and swung into the
curricle with such athletic prowess she almost forgave him for
allowing the smith to take advantage of him. For surely the smith
had asked for too much. The glee in his eyes was quite apart from
the flat expression of the linen draper whom she had met with such
a hard bargain, as the duke categorized it.

They had gone only a few yards when the duke turned
to her and said, "You can quit looking so appalled, Miss Winston.
He did not take advantage without my consent. If I wanted to be
parsimonious, I could have sent my steward."

"Oh, was I scowling? I daresay I should not allow my
opinions to be so clear." She also feared that the townsfolk were
in the habit of making a cat's paw of the duke.

"You should allow for the differences in our
positions. It is the right thing for me to appear generous to the
townspeople and those who are dependent upon my estate. Whereas you
have only to think on your interests."

That wasn't exactly true; her family depended on her
success. But she couldn't disabuse him of his assumption. No one
would understand how much they depended on her finding the means to
support them. "
Appear
generous? Are you not?"

One side of his mouth quirked up, and he leaned
forward, urging the horses to a fast trot. "I perhaps did not
phrase that correctly."

"I'm sorry. I have had every example of your
generosity and I have no business questioning it." Roxana felt
contrite. She was being overly familiar. While she craved a friend,
she could not relax her guard too much. "My only concern was that
you were being grossly misused. That your kindness . . ."
allowed others to take advantage of you, as happens to my
father.
Although with her father it was less generosity and
more gullibility. His efforts to make himself rich had bankrupted
the entire family.

The Duke of Trent twisted to look at her, his brown
eyes much warmer than they had been throughout the morning. He
really had quite fine eyes, honest and steady . . . .

"I am afraid, Miss Winston, there are those who would
say I am too parsimonious."

Roxana stared until both corners of his mouth lifted
in a self-deprecating smile.

"I hardly see evidence of that."

Everything she had seen from the moment she arrived
at the immense landscaped manor spoke of a casual disdain of
economy. The drapery and fabrics on the sofas and chairs showed no
signs of wear, the china had none of the chips of a well-used set
and there seemed to be no end to the food that was served, yet the
duchess had apologized for the meanness of the fair before the
house party started in earnest.

"I hope it is a temporary condition," he
continued.

"I am sure it must be," she managed. "You would not
have offered to pay for my material else wise."

"Ah, I did not mean to offend, but I was brought to
mind that I may have curbed Fanny's spending too much. I am in the
habit of paying for my sister's and stepmother's gowns."

"I see," said Roxana.

"Do you? For in years past, we employed more of the
townsfolk in plastering, painting and papering. I have asked that
the renovations cease. I fear that my decision may have hurt local
commerce."

Roxana digested his unexpected admission. "Why did
you stop, then?"

"I had never started. My father authorized the
renovations." He straightened to that rigid stiffness she had seen
last night at dinner and stared at the road. "I so dislike all that
dust and banging."

Roxana had the sense that he had dropped a curtain
between them. "Shall you really have a larger party this year?"