Minx (11 page)

And if every now and then he found himself looking at her oddly, wondering how her brown hair turned gold in the sun or why she always smelled vaguely of lemons...Well, that was only to be expected. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. His mistress had been in Birmingham for a fortnight, visiting her mother, when he left. And Henry could be rather fetching in her own unconventional way.

Not that what he felt for her was anything remotely resembling desire. But she was a woman, and he was a man, and so naturally he'd be aware of her. And of course he had kissed her once, even if that had been an accident. It was to be expected that he'd remember that kiss every now and then when she was near.

Such thoughts, however, were far from his mind as he poured himself a drink in the drawing room one evening a week after his arrival. It was nearly time for them to partake of the evening meal, and Henry would arrive any minute now.

He winced. It would be a ghastly sight. As unconventional as Henry was, she still dressed for dinner, and that meant putting on one of those hideous garments—he shuddered to call them gowns. To give her credit, she seemed to be aware they were awful. To give her even greater credit, however, she managed to act as if it didn't matter. If he hadn't grown to know her so well during the past few days, he never would have dreamed she didn't think her clothing was, if not the height of fashion, at least passably attractive.

But he had noticed how carefully she avoided looking in the mirrors that adorned the walls of the drawing room where they met before dinner. And when she found herself trapped by her reflection, she couldn't hide the pained grimace that flickered across her features.

He wanted to help her, he realized. He wanted to buy her gowns and teach her to dance and—It was stunning, this. How much he wanted to help her.

"Stealing the liquor again?" Her teasing voice brought him out of his reverie.

"It's my liquor if you recall, minx." He turned his head to look at her. She was wearing that abominable lavender creation again. He couldn't decide if it was the worst or best of the lot.

"So it is." She shrugged. "Might I have a little then?"

Wordlessly, he poured her a glass of sherry.

Henry sipped at it thoughtfully. It had become her habit to have a glass of wine with him before dinner, but no more than that. She had discovered what a lightweight she was the night he arrived. She had a sinking suspicion she would end up making calf eyes at him all through dinner if she allowed herself more than this one small sherry.

"Was your afternoon pleasant?" Dunford asked suddenly. He had spent the previous few hours by himself, poring over estate documents. Henry had gladly left him alone with the musty papers; she'd already examined them, and he certainly didn't need her to help him read.

"Yes, it was quite. I checked in on some of the tenants. Mrs. Dalrymple asked me to thank you for the food."

"I'm glad she enjoyed it."

"Oh, yes. I cannot think why we have not thought to do it before. Of course, we always send a congratulatory gift, but food for a week is much better, I think."

They sounded like an old married couple, Dunford thought with surprise. How odd.

Henry sat down on an elegant but faded sofa, tugging awkwardly at her dress as she did so. "Did you finish with those papers?"

"Almost," he said distractedly. "You know, Henry, I've been thinking."

"Have you?" She smiled impishly. "How very taxing."

"Minx. Be quiet and listen to what I have to say."

She tilted her head in a movement that seemed to say, "Well?"

"Why don't the two of us make a sojourn into town?"

She answered him with a puzzled expression. "We went to the village two days ago. Don't you recall? You wanted to meet the local merchants."

"Of course I recall. My mind is not given to forgetfulness, Henry. I'm not that old."

"Oh, I don't know," she said, her face a perfect deadpan. "You must be at least thirty."

"Nine-and-twenty," he bit out before he realized she was teasing.

She smiled. "Sometimes you're such an easy mark."

"My gullibility aside, Henry, I'd like to take a trip into town. And I don't mean the village. I think we should take ourselves to Truro."

"Truro?" It was one of Cornwall's larger towns, and Henry avoided it like the plague.

"You sound less than enthusiastic."

"I, um, I just...Well, to be frank, I just went." That wasn't entirely a lie. She'd gone two months ago, but it felt like yesterday. She always felt so awkward among strangers. At least the local people had gotten used to her eccentricities and accepted them. Most even held her in some measure of respect. But strangers were another thing altogether. And Truro was the worst. Although it was not as popular as it had been during the previous century, members of the ton still vacationed there. She could just hear them whispering unkind things about her. Fashionable ladies would laugh at her dress. Men would snicker at her lack of ladylike manners. And then, inevitably, a local would discreetly inform them that she was Miss Henrietta Barrett, but she went by the boy's name Henry, and don't you know but she parades around in breeches all the time.

No, she definitely didn't want to go to Truro.

Dunford, unaware of her distress, said, "But I've never been. Be a good sport and show me 'round."

"I-I'd really rather not, Dunford."

His eyes narrowed as he finally noticed she looked uncomfortable. To be honest, she always looked uncomfortable in those ridiculous dresses, but she looked particularly so just now. "Really, Henry, it won't be so bad as that. Will you come along as a favor for me?" He smiled at her.

She was lost. "All right."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Whatever you wish."

Henry felt her stomach roil as their coach neared Truro the next day. Good God, this was going to be awful. She always hated it when she had to go to town, but this was the first time it actually had made her feel physically ill.

She didn't even try to delude herself that her dread had nothing to do with the man sitting cheerfully next to her. Dunford had become her friend, damn it, and she didn't want to lose him. What would he think when he heard people whispering about her? When a lady made a sotto voce comment about her dress that she knew she was intended to hear? Would he be ashamed of her? Would he be humiliated to be with her? Henry didn't particularly want to find out.

Dunford was aware of Henry's nervous fidgeting but pretended not to notice. She would be embarrassed if he commented on it, and he had no wish to hurt her. Instead, he kept up a cheerful facade, commenting on the scenery as it rolled by their window and making idle comments about the affairs of Stannage Park.

Finally they arrived in Truro. Henry thought she could not feel any sicker than she did, but she soon found she was wrong.

"Come along, Henry," Dunford said briskly. "It isn't like you to dally."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she allowed him to help her down. There was a chance, she supposed, he wouldn't realize what other people thought of her. Perhaps all the ladies would have sheathed their claws for the day, and he wouldn't hear any vicious whispers. Henry lifted her chin a notch. On the off chance that none of her nightmares came true, she might as well act as if she hadn't a worry in the world.

"I'm sorry, Dunford." She shot him a cheeky grin. Her cheeky grin. He had often commented he'd never seen another like it. She hoped it would assure him she was no longer distraught. "My mind has been wandering, I'm afraid."

"And where has it up and wandered to?" His eyes flashed devilishly.

Dear God, why was he always so nice? It would make it that much more painful when he dropped her. Don't think about that, she yelled at herself. It might not happen. She willed the pain out of her eyes and shrugged carelessly. "Stannage Park, where else?"

"And what has you so worried, minx? Afraid Porkus isn't going to deliver her piglets safely?"

"Porkus is a male, silly."

He clutched his heart in mock terror. "Then there is all the more reason to worry. This could be a most difficult birth."

Despite herself, Henry smiled. "You are incorrigible."

"Being incorrigible yourself, you must have intended that as a compliment."

"I suspect you will take it as a compliment no matter what I say." She tried to make her tone a grumble, but her lips twitched.

He took her arm and began to walk. "You do know how to slay a man, Henry."

She looked over at him dubiously. Never had she counted among her achievements the ability to skillfully manipulate the opposite sex. Until Dunford, she had never been able to get one of them to think of her as a normal woman.

If he noticed her expression, he did not comment on it. They walked on, Dunford asking questions about every storefront they passed. He paused in front of a small eatery. "Are you hungry, Henry? Is this a good tea shop?"

"I've never been."

"No?" He looked surprised. In the twelve years she'd lived in Cornwall, she'd never stopped for tea and cakes? "What about when Viola was alive?"

"Viola didn't like Truro. She always said there was too much of the ton here."

"There is some truth in that," he agreed, suddenly turning to face a shop window to avoid being recognized by an acquaintance across the street. Nothing was less appealing at the moment than having to make polite conversation. He had no wish to get sidetracked from his goal. After all, he had dragged Henry out here for a reason.

Henry looked at the window display in surprise. "I had no idea you were interested in lace."

He focused his eyes and realized that he appeared to be avidly examining the wares of a shop that seemed to deal in nothing but lace. "Yes, well, there are a number of things you don't know about me," he murmured, hoping that would be the end of that.

Henry wasn't terribly encouraged by the fact that he was a connoisseur of lace. He probably draped it on all his mistresses. And she had no doubt that he'd had a few. Who was "sweetie," after all? She could understand it, she supposed. The man was twenty-nine years old. One couldn't expect he'd lived the life of a monk. And he was mind-numbingly handsome. He would certainly have had his pick of women.

She sighed dejectedly, suddenly eager to be away from the lace shop.

They passed by a milliner, a bookshop, and a greengrocer, then Dunford suddenly exclaimed, "Ah, look, Henry. A dress shop. Just what I need."

She crinkled her brow in confusion. "I think they make only ladies' clothing here, Dunford."

"Excellent." He yanked on her arm and dragged her to the doorway. "I need to buy a gift for my sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

He shrugged. "I believe I said there were a great many things you do not know about me?"

She shot him a waspish look. "I'll wait outside, then. I detest dress shops."

He had no doubt about that. "But I'll need your help, Henry. You're just about her size."

"If I'm not exactly her size, nothing will fit properly." She took a step backward.

He took her arm, opened the door, and propelled her through it. "It's a risk I'm willing to take," he said cheerily. "Ah, hello," he said, calling out to the modiste across the room. "We need to buy a dress or two for my sister here." He motioned to Henry.

"But I'm not—"

"Hush, minx. It will be easier all around this way."