Page 26 of A Winter’s Romance
L ord Windon arose the following morning in the best of moods, having enjoyed the sleep of the virtuous and victorious. His generous spirit had won the day, both for Miss Tyndall and Mr. Benchley and, if he was not mistaken, for himself. Miss Stowe had shown a marked preference for his company, and he had never been so bewitched in his life. Not even halfway through the night he had come to a blinding conviction that no matter what she looked like, Miss Stowe was his ideal, and the only thing for it was to make her his wife.
No more did he wish for a pretty face to adorn his arm—he had found a lady to cherish and protect, and if she would consent to make him the happiest of men, she could dashed well wear whatever she pleased. He did enjoy when she dressed up, but he had to admit that the skinned-back hairstyle had grown on him, at least when tendrils of hair escaped to wisp enticingly about her face. If this was madness, then he had to admit he was quite content to be mad.
“A pleasant evening, sir?” inquired Gripson as he settled his lordship’s coat over his broad shoulders.
“The best yet, by Jupiter,” replied Windon, his hands busily tying his neckcloth.
“Am I to wish you joy, sir?”
“Not today, but soon. Must go home and tell Mama, then return to sweep her off her feet.” Windon dusted his hands together, envisioning Miss Stowe’s warm brown eyes widening and filling with delight at his offer.
“Miss Tyndall is a lucky young lady, if I may be so bold, sir.”
Windon’s eyes flicked to Gripson’s in the mirror. He was not a quick thinker, but he noted the ironical set of his valet’s lips and said, “She is, Gripson. Set to marry her neighbor. Love match—been attached for years. Practically arranged it myself.”
The brows rose a fraction and Gripson said, “Then it is a different lady, sir?”
“Certainly, jackanapes! Can’t marry an engaged lady! Girl for me is Miss Stowe, the lady we brought from the inn. Turns out she’s Miss Tyndall’s cousin. Governess here.”
The valet blinked, slowly. “The governess? I beg your pardon, my lord—I fear I do not comprehend the matter. You came in pursuit of the young lady of the house, but now you intend to make an offer for the governess?”
Windon gazed blandly at him in the mirror, a little tight about the mouth, and then his lips widened into a grin. “Precisely, Gripson. Seems to me you are up to all the rigs.” He stood and tugged down his cuffs. “I shall depend upon you to prepare Mama for me. Don’t want her to have an attack of the vapors. ”
Then he strode to the door and opened it, whistling as he went down the hall. He found Miss Tyndall alone in the breakfast parlor, but he had scarcely assimilated that she had an air of despair about her when she jumped up and grasped his hand.
“Oh, Lord Windon, thank goodness you are here! I have just had the most horrid shock.”
“Lady Tyndall’s not nixed the engagement!” he exclaimed, indignant.
She shook her head. “No, no! It is worse! She has sacked Prudence!”
“Sacked—” In utter astonishment, Windon sank into the nearest chair. “Beg pardon, can’t stand.”
Miss Tyndall obligingly sat as well and poured him a cup of tea, spooning sugar into it as she hastened to explain. “Mama has just told me. Oh, it is too vexing! She insists it is because Prudence is a terrible governess, but it is plain as day it is all over her having attended the ball—which was my idea! Prue worried she would be sacked, but I convinced her, and now I wish I had held my tongue! I was certain I could keep her from losing her position, and I spoke to my papa particularly about it yesterday, but Mama must not have consulted him, because she packed Prudence off this morning and she is gone!”
“Gone.” Windon was having difficulty seeing straight. Was this another symptom of insanity? He felt as though the walls were closing in on him.
“It was to be the faerie-tale ending, too! Fred and I, and you and Prue! It was all worked out to a T. Drat Mama’s prejudice! I am not even on the marriage mart anymore, and yet she could not stand to see Prudence make a better match! My sweet, kind, good Prue, who deserves the world! Oh, it is too vexing.”
“Vexing.”
Miss Tyndall paused, staring at him, her brow furrowing. All at once, she remembered the sugar and saw that she had spooned half the sugar bowl into his tea. With an impatient huff, she pushed away the dish and snapped her fingers at him.
“Windon! Are you going to simply sit there and repeat all I say? I tell you, Prudence is gone this hour and more! You must be on your way if you are to catch her!”
“Catch her—” At last he blinked and looked into her eyes. “Catch her? You know where she’s gone?”
“Certainly I know! She has only one other friend in the world—her old governess, Miss Dickerson at Dimstock. Mama put her on the stage from the Black Bull at eight this morning. It must be halfway to York by now!”
“Good God!” Windon jumped up. “Must go after her! Call my carriage—no, take my horse—no, must have some way to bring her back.”
“For heaven’s sake, take the horse and go after her. It will be faster than a carriage, and you may hire a vehicle after you’ve got her. Besides,” Honoria said, smiling rapturously, “it’s far more romantic to ride after her ventre à terre !”
“Assuredly!” he said, much struck, then turned and ran out of the room. But after a thought, he returned, swooping upon the basket of rolls and grabbing out two. Putting one in his mouth, he took Miss Tyndall’s hand and pumped it, then ran out again.
He was mounted and riding Calliope down the lane in five minutes. The miles to the Black Bull were accomplished in no time, and he swung down to assure himself that Miss Stowe had boarded the stage heading toward York. This was corroborated by the innkeeper, who watched him leap up into his saddle and tear off down the road with great interest, and the cause of this flight was the subject of much speculation the rest of the day.
As he rode, Windon had leisure to consider what he was about, and it occurred to him more than once that he was being foolish beyond permission. What gentleman in his right mind would ride ventre à terre after a governess? But he comforted himself that he was not in his right mind—he had resolved some days ago that he was indubitably insane, and could not be held to the same reasonable expectations as the ordinary gentleman.
The miles flew by, therefore, in rapt contemplation of his true love, and after a few false hopes raised by the sight of antique carriages with unusually large bodies ahead of him, he came at last to a hill, up which was lumbering what could only be the stage. On his sweating horse, he cantered by, peering into the stage windows for a glimpse of his quarry, but he could not be sure she was within. Nevertheless, he reined in at the top of the hill, leaving room for the stage to stop on level ground, and positioned Calliope so she was blocking the road.
The coach soon topped the hill, and the coachman drew up and, with many curses at him, demanded to know his business.
“Beg pardon, must speak with one of your passengers!”
“Very irregular, sir, and not what I’m used to from the Quality—if you is Quality!” growled the coachman, eyeing Windon’s many-caped greatcoat with disdain.
Awake on all suits, Windon withdrew half a crown and tossed it to the coachman. “Won’t take a minute, word of honor. ”
The coachman caught the coin and bit it, then, satisfied, jerked his head in the direction of the coach door. Windon dismounted, handing Calliope’s reins to the guard, and hastened to the door, wrenching it open and peering inside. There, wedged between a large woman with a chicken tucked on her lap and a youth with adenoids, was Miss Stowe. He nearly burst with relief.
She gaped at him. “My lord! What—”
“I’ve come to take you home, Miss Stowe.”
“Home? But I have no home—did not you hear?”
“Heard some fustian about you being sacked, but that ain’t what I mean.” He reached over and took her hand. “Come out of there—can’t talk with all these people gawping at us.”
Miss Stowe, blinking in astonishment, said, “But they will go on without me. My trunk—”
“If it’s filled with more of those frightful governess’s gowns, think no more of it. Buy you whatever you like—only come out now. Coachman is giving me a look like murder.”
She acceded to his request, but whispered fiercely, “I cannot go back to Randley, sir! My aunt is furious with me. There is nothing to be done with her—even Lord Tyndall did not stop her!”
“Don’t intend to stop her,” said Windon, drawing Calliope and Miss Stowe to the side of the road to allow the stage to move on. “Got another idea of where you’ll reside.”
She blinked at him. “You know of another position? Oh, Lord Windon! That—that is most kind. I am not very good at being a governess, but if you mean to help me, I must do my best. Heaven knows there is nothing else I am fit for.”
“I’ve another idea altogether,” he said, taking her hands and looking with some trepidation into her eyes. “Not sure how you’ll take it, but got a notion you’ll be pleased.”
She was returning his gaze, her brown eyes warm and not without a hint of longing. “You are so very kind, sir. I will try to be pleased.”
He huffed. “Dash it, Miss Stowe! Don’t want you to try! Want to make you delirious with delight!”
“Very well, sir,” she said, a trifle tartly, “but I warn you, taking charge of my horrid little cousins did not inspire such a feeling, and I doubt very much that being—what, a lady’s companion?—would either!”
“Not a bit of it! Couldn’t imagine anything more depressing! Thought—thought you could be something else. A—a gentleman’s companion.”
She wrenched her hands away. “Sir! Just what are you insinuating?”
“No! Beg pardon! Slip of the tongue—”
“It certainly was!” She turned from him, crossing her arms over her chest. “And now I cannot even get away from you, for the stage is gone and you did not bring a carriage. Just what were you proposing to do with me, sir? No, I do not wish to know.”
She picked up her skirts and was about to march away from him down the hill, but he grasped her arm to stop her. “Prudence—Miss Stowe—all a mistake! Could cut out my tongue—usually have a way with words. Don’t go.”
She stopped but only cast a derisive glance over her shoulder.
Taking his hat in his hands, Windon turned it nervously. “Miss Stowe, what I meant to say—want you to be my companion. That is, want you to marry me.” She turned completely to stare at him, and her incredulity nearly unmanned him. “Know it’s not the thing—only really been acquainted a fortnight! But knew you were the woman for me when I came upon you in the stable—dashed brat caterwauling, you covered in dust and your hair skinned back—”
“As I recall, you chastised me for looking a fright!”
“Yes, but—must forgive that, Miss Stowe—quite a shock!” She began to turn away again but he rattled desperately on. “Fact is, haven’t stopped thinking of you since! Not even another beauty put you from my mind, and every time I saw you, even in those horrid gowns, I wanted more and more to be with you. New experience to me.” He shifted from side to side. “Never could think past a pretty face before you.”
She was blinking at him, her brow furrowed, but at least she had not run off. He took courage and stepped nearer, gazing pleadingly into her eyes again. “Only wanted to take care of you after that. Cherish and protect, you know. Nothing much I could do, though. Dashed annoying you were held off from me, and obliged to run after those two brats. Well, Henry’s not so bad, but that Anne!” He shuddered. “Hope none of our girls will be like her.”
A surprised huff escaped Miss Stowe, and she said, “Lord Windon, I have not given my answer.”
He colored. “Beg pardon—only, got it in my head you wasn’t opposed to my company. Must have dreamed too vividly of the future—possibility of it, that is.”
They stood a minute in silence on the side of the road, Calliope nibbling at stray grasses poking up from the snow that dusted the verge. Windon hardly dared look at Miss Stowe, for he fancied she could see into his soul—much like her ancestors in the gallery at Randley—and he dreaded that she would not like what she saw. He had been a frippery fellow all his life, after all, with no real goodness to recommend him. He did not like to think what he would do if she refused him.
At last, she said, “I must warn you, sir, that I do not always look pretty, even when I am not obliged to dress as a governess.”
“Nothing I know better! That is—” He swallowed. “Don’t signify. Always beautiful to me.”
She colored and peeped up at him with her lovely brown eyes. “And you do not imagine Lord and Lady Dewsbury will object? I am hardly equal to your station—having been employed, you know.”
“Equal to Miss Tyndall, aren’t you, and she’s a baron’s daughter! Besides, Mama and Father won’t object—been after me to form a lasting passion for years.”
She blushed afresh and lowered her eyes, putting her hands behind her back. “Well, sir, I suppose I cannot—” She stopped, looking up and raising her chin. “No!”
Windon’s heart was in his throat. “N-No?”
“You said, sir,” she continued, “that you wished to make me delirious with delight, so I will not suppose. I will rejoice!” She clasped her hands and gave a little jump. “Yes! Yes, Lord Windon, I will marry you!”
He had only time for a sharp, relieved intake of breath before her arms were about his neck and she was hugging him and bouncing up and down, her bonnet falling to hang down her back. His arms closed about her waist and he lifted her up, her delight infusing him so that he swung her around twice before setting her down. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her rosebud lips, finding them as delicious as he had suspected they were, and he could not bring himself to stop tasting them for quite some time.
When at last they drew apart, they looked with some amazement on each other before Windon remarked, “You look a fright, and dashed beautiful, too.”
“You’re mussed as well, but I own I do like it,” she said with a mischievous smile, taking the hat from his hand and placing it on his head at a rakish angle. “What a pair we are.”
He grinned, taking her gloved hands and kissing them. Feeling their coldness, he said, “Better get on our way. Expect you’re half frozen.”
She laughed and agreed, then paused at sight of Calliope huffing in the chilly air. “Why didn’t you bring the carriage? Were you so diffident that you did not think I’d come back with you?”
“Not in the least—that is, couldn’t be sure. But had to ride ventre à terre , you know. Faster, and Miss Tyndall thought it more romantic.”
“To be sure,” Prudence said happily. “You must put me across your saddle bow now, like a true hero.”
He looked thoughtful. “Yes. Ought to carry you there, too, but the ground is so uneven I’d likely pitch us both into the snow.”
She giggled and looped her arm through his as they walked down the hill to a stile where he could mount and pull Prudence up in front of him. He took advantage of her nearness to kiss her soundly again, then set Calliope off down the road toward Randley.
“Shall get a conveyance at the nearest inn, but I’m afraid we must go back to Randley for the night,” he said. “Won’t trouble you, though. Lady Tyndall can hardly toss my affianced wife out on her ear, can she? ”
Prudence huffed. “She may still try, but I’m sure Honoria will aid me. She will have to lend me nightclothes, at any rate! How odious of you to have left my trunk on the stage.”
“Full of your governess’s gowns! Horrid drab things, the lot of them. Good riddance.”
“And if I liked them?” she inquired with an imperious look.
He raised a brow but shrugged. “Buy you more. Lady Windon may wear what she likes. Sure I’ll get used to it.”
She laughed, putting her arms around him and briefly laying her head on his chest. “Never fear, my lord, I’ll not put you to the trouble. Somehow, I do not believe I shall miss them at all.”