Minx (12 page)

Dunford watched her lovingly finger the bolts of cloth and knew he had done the right thing. Taking the dressmaker aside, he whispered, "I fear my sister's wardrobe has been sadly neglected. She has been staying with my aunt who, it is apparent, possesses little fashion sense."

The dressmaker nodded.

"Have you anything that is ready to wear today? I'd like nothing better than to be rid of that thing she has on now. You can use her measurements to fashion a few more."

"I have one or two I could quickly alter to her size. In fact there is one right there." She pointed to a pale yellow day dress draped over a dressmaker's model. Dunford was just about to say that it would do when he saw Henry's face.

She was staring at the dress like a starving woman.

"That dress will be perfect," he whispered emphatically. Then, in a louder voice: "Henrietta, my dear, why don't you try on the yellow dress? We'll have Mrs...." He paused, waiting for the dressmaker to fill in the gap.

"Trimble," she supplied.

"...Mrs. Trimble make the necessary alterations."

"Are you certain?" Henry asked.

"Very."

She needed no further urging. Mrs. Trimble quickly took the dress off the model and motioned for Henry to follow her into a back room. While they were gone, Dunford idly examined the fabrics on display. The pale yellow might look good on Henry, he decided.

He picked up a bolt of sapphire-blue lawn. That might be nice, too. He wasn't certain. He'd never done this sort of thing before and had no idea how to go about it. He'd always assumed women somehow knew what to wear. Lord knew his good friends Belle and Emma were always perfectly turned out.

But now he realized they always looked so fashionable because they had been taught how by Belle's mother, who had always been the epitome of elegance. Poor Henry had had no one to guide her in such matters. No one to teach her simply how to be a girl. And certainly no one to teach her what to do as a woman.

He sat down as he waited for her to return. It seemed to be taking an interminably long time. Finally, giving in to impatience, he called out, "Henry?"

"Just one moment!" Mrs. Trimble replied. "I just need to take in the waist a bit more. Your sister is very slender."

Dunford shrugged. He wouldn't know. Most of the time she wore baggy men's clothing, and her dresses were so ill-fitting it was hard to tell what was under them. He frowned, vaguely remembering the feel of her that time he'd kissed her. He couldn't remember much—he'd been half asleep at the time—but he did recall she'd seemed quite well-formed, rather fresh and feminine.

Just then Mrs. Trimble stepped back into the room. "Here she is, sir."

"Dunford?" Henry poked her head around the corner.

"Don't be shy, minx."

"Promise not to laugh?"

"Why on earth would I laugh? Now get out here."

Henry stepped forward, her eyes hopeful, fearful, and quizzical, all at the same time.

Dunford caught his breath. She was transformed. The yellow color of the dress suited her perfectly, bringing out the gold highlights in her hair. And the cut of the dress, while certainly not revealing in any way, somehow managed to hint at the promise of innocent womanhood.

Mrs. Trimble had even changed her hairstyle, taking it out of its braid and pinning some locks atop her head. Henry was nibbling nervously on her lower lip as he examined her, and she exuded a shy loveliness that was as enticing as it was puzzling, considering he'd never dreamed she had a shy bone in her body.

"Henry," he said softly, "you look...you look..."He searched for the right word but couldn't find it. Finally he burst out with, "You look so nice!"

It was the most perfect thing anyone had ever said to her.

"Do you think so?" she breathed, reverently touching the dress. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so," he said firmly. He looked up at Mrs. Trimble. "We'll take it."

"Excellent. I can bring you some fashion plates to look at, if you'd like."

"Please."

"But Dunford," Henry whispered urgently, "this is for your sister."

"How could I give that dress to my sister when it looks so utterly charming on you?" he asked in what he hoped was a practical tone. "Besides, now that I think of it, you probably could use a new dress or two."

"I have outgrown the ones I have," she said, sounding a bit wistful.

"Then you shall have it."

"But I haven't any money."

"It's my present."

"Oh, but I couldn't let you do that," she said quickly.

"Why ever not? It's my money."

She looked torn. "I don't think it's proper."

He knew it wasn't proper but wasn't about to tell her so. "Look at it this way, Henry. If I didn't have you, I'd have to hire someone to manage Stannage Park."

"You could probably do it on your own now," she said brightly, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm.

He almost groaned. Trust Henry to disarm him with kindness. "I probably wouldn't have the time to do it. I have obligations in London, you know. So the way I see it, you save me a man's wages. Probably three men's wages. A dress or two is the least I can do, considering."

Put that way, it didn't sound quite so improper, Henry decided. And she did love the dress. She'd never felt so womanly before. In this dress she might even learn to glide when she walked, like those fashionable women-on-rollers she had always envied. "All right," she said slowly. "If you think it's the right thing."

"I know it's the right thing. Oh, and Henry?"

"Yes?"

"You don't mind if we let Mrs. Trimble dispose of the frock you wore here, do you?"

She shook her head gratefully.

"Good. Now come over here, if you please, and look at some of these fashion plates. A woman needs more than one dress, don't you think?"

"Probably—but probably not more than three," she said haltingly.

He understood. Three was all her pride would allow. "You're probably right."

They spent the next hour choosing two more dresses for Henry, one in the deep sapphire lawn Dunford had picked out earlier, and one in a seafoam green Mrs. Trimble insisted made Henry's gray eyes glow. They would be delivered to Stannage Park in a week's time. Henry almost blurted out that she would be happy to return herself if necessary. She'd never dreamed she'd hear herself think it, but she didn't mind the thought of having to make another trip into Truro. She didn't like to think she was so shallow that a mere dress could make her happy, but she had to concede that it gave her a new sense of self-confidence.

As for Dunford, he now realized one thing: whoever had picked out her hideous dresses, it hadn't been Henry. He knew a thing or two about women's fashion, and he could tell from her selections that her taste ran to a quiet elegance with which no one could find fault.

And he realized one other thing: it made him unbelievably happy to see Henry this happy. It was an amazing thing, really.

When they reached the carriage, she didn't say anything until they were well on their way home. Finally she looked over at him with knowing eyes and said, "You don't have a sister, do you?"

"No," he said quietly, quite unable to lie to her.

She was silent for a moment. Then she placed her hand shyly on top of his. "Thank you."

Chapter 7

Dunford found he was oddly disappointed when Henry came down to breakfast the next day wearing her usual men's shirt and breeches. She caught his expression, grinned cheekily, and said, "Well, you wouldn't expect me to get my only good dress dirty, would you? Haven't we made plans to hike the perimeter of the estate today?"

"You are right, of course. I have been looking forward to it all week."

She sat down and served herself some eggs from the platter in the middle of the table. "Just like a man to want to know exactly what he owns," she said loftily.

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "I am the king of my domain, and don't you forget it, minx."

She burst out laughing. "I say, Dunford, you would have made a superb medieval lord. I think there is quite an autocratic streak buried somewhere within you."

"And it's so very much fun when it surfaces."

"For you perhaps," she retorted, still grinning.

He smiled along with her, completely unaware of how that particular facial expression of his affected her. Henry felt her stomach do a little flip-flop and quickly swallowed a bite of breakfast, hoping it would settle her down.

"Hurry up, Hen," he said impatiently. "I want to get an early start."

Mrs. Simpson emitted a loud "harumph" at that, since it was, after all, already half past ten.

"I just sat down," Henry protested. "I'll probably swoon at your feet this afternoon if I don't have proper nourishment."

Dunford snorted. "I find the image of you swooning a difficult picture to accept." He drummed his fingers on the table, tapped his foot, whistled a jaunty tune, slapped his hand against his thigh, drummed his fingers on the table again...

"Oh, stop!" Henry threw her napkin at him. "Sometimes you are nothing but a big baby." She stood up. "Give me a moment to put on a jacket. It's a bit chilly out."

He stood. "Ah, what bliss it is to have you at my beck and call."

The look she gave him was mutinous, to say the least.

"Do smile, Henry. I cannot bear it when you're grumpy." He cocked his head and tried to look boyishly contrite. "Say you'll forgive me. Please. Please. Pleeeeease."

"For goodness sake, stop!" she laughed. "You must know I was never angry."

"I know." He grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the door. "But you're so much fun to provoke. Come along now, we have a great deal of territory to cover today."

"Why does it suddenly sound as if I've joined the army?"

Dunford made a little hop as he avoided stepping on Rufus. "I was a soldier once."

"Were you?" She looked up in surprise.

"Mmm-hmm. On the peninsula."

"Was it dreadful?"

"Very." He opened the door, and they walked out into the crisp sunshine. "Don't believe the stories you hear about the glory of war. Most of it is appalling."

She shuddered. "I would think so."

"It's far, far nicer to be here in Cornwall, as you say at the end of the world, in the company of quite the most charming young woman I've ever had the pleasure to meet."

Henry flushed and turned away, unable to hide her embarrassment. He couldn't possibly mean it. Oh, she didn't think he was lying—he wasn't the sort to do that. He was merely saying in his own way that they were friends, that she was the first female with whom he'd become quite so chummy. Then again, she'd heard him mention two married ladies with whom he was friends, so that couldn't be it.

Still, he couldn't possibly be forming a tendre for her. As she'd said before, she wasn't the sort of woman men wanted, at least not when they had all of London from which to choose. With a sigh, she pushed the thought from her mind and resolved simply to enjoy the day.

"I always assumed a Cornish estate would have cliffs and crashing waves and all that," Dunford said.

"Most of them do. We happen to be squarely in the middle of the county, however." Henry kicked a pebble in her path, aiming it straight, then kicked it again when she caught up with it. "You don't need to go very far to get to the ocean, though."

"I would imagine not. We should take a jaunt there soon."

Henry was so excited by the prospect that she started to blush. To hide her reaction, she fixed her gaze downward and concentrated on kicking her pebble.

They walked amiably to the estate's eastern border. "We have a fence up on this side," Henry explained as they neared the stone wall. "It's not ours, actually, but Squire Stinson's. He got it into his head that we were encroaching upon his land a few years back and put up this wall to keep us out."

"And were you?"

"Encroaching upon his land? Of course not. It's far inferior to Stannage Park. The wall does have one excellent use, however."

"Keeping the odious Squire Stinson away?"

She cocked her head. "That's a boon, certainly, but I was thinking of this." She scrambled to the top of the wall. "It's great fun to walk upon."

"I can see that." He vaulted up behind her, and they walked single file to the north. "How far does the wall stretch?"

"Oh, not far. About a mile or so. Where Squire Stinson's property ends."

To his surprise, Dunford found himself looking at her end—her rear end, to be precise. To his even greater surprise, he found he was enjoying the view immensely. Her breeches were baggy, but each time she took a step, they tightened around her, outlining her shapely form.

He shook his head in dismay. What on earth was wrong with him? Henry wasn't the sort for a dalliance, and the last thing he wanted to do was muck up their fledgling friendship with romance.

"Is something wrong?" Henry called out. "You're awfully silent."