Chapter Eleven
IRENE WAS WISE ENOUGH to know that Lady Odelia was baiting her. She hoped, no doubt, to make Irene jealous with the mention of the other women and the suggestion that Lord Radbourne might choose one of them instead.
Irene, however, had no intention of being manipulated by Lady Odelia or anyone else.
She reminded herself that it made no difference to her whether Gideon chose another woman for his wife, though she was honest enough to admit that she had felt a twinge of what she supposed might be jealousy at the thought of him marrying another.
After all, over the course of the time she had been here, she had begun to like Gideon, and she could not help but think that if she were of a mind to marry, he might well be the man she would choose.
And it was a rather heady sensation to be pursued by so eligible and attractive a man as Lord Radbourne.
But she was not going to marry, and she was not so weak as to allow her mind to be swayed by feelings of lust or pride.
She sincerely hoped that she was not so ignoble as to wish for him not find happiness with some other woman if she herself would not marry him.
So she was determined to ignore the little barbs that afflicted her now and then when she looked at Gideon and thought of him wooing another.
She stayed steadfast in her decision to quell the vanity that had inspired her to wear prettier dresses and arrange her hair in a soft, inviting style.
There was no point in attracting Gideon’s attention; indeed, it worked against her wishes.
Moreover, she felt that returning to her old style sent an overt message to him and the matchmakers that she had no intention of trying to catch his favor.
They continued with the dancing lessons, as well as the rather stilted conversations between the three of them that were meant to improve the earl’s social skills, but Irene made sure to maintain a correct distance between herself and Gideon, as well as a rather formal tone.
She noticed a certain puzzlement in Francesca’s eyes and an irritating amusement in his, but she strove not to let his attitude bother her.
No doubt he wanted to goad her into one of their arguments.
However, she was as aware as he that their arguments always resulted in an upheaval of emotions and produced a sort of intimacy that her pleasant-but-distant attitude discouraged.
Over the course of the next few days they developed a loose schedule of working in the mornings, then stopping their lessons just before luncheon.
In the afternoons Gideon disappeared into his office or on business about the estate, and Francesca and Irene were left on their own to do as they wished—at least sometimes.
Francesca spent much of her time helping with the plans for the upcoming week, and as a consequence, Irene often found herself involved in the preparations, as well.
Since interminable conversations regarding seating arrangements, floral decorations, menus and music bored her almost past bearing—and conversations about the merits of the various possible brides for Gideon were irritating in the extreme—Irene often avoided the drawing room after lunch, secreting herself in the library with a book or occupying herself in her room with the needlepoint she had been halfheartedly working on for the past month, or writing a letter to a friend or her brother.
She would have preferred to take a long walk, but after her experience the first day she was at Radbourne Park, she had been reluctant to run the risk of running into Gideon.
However, she grew more and more restless, so on her fourth afternoon of inactivity, she decided that a walk through the gardens would be safe enough.
After all, if Gideon was locked up in his study or out looking at his lands, he would not be idling about in the gardens.
And in just a few more days the other guests would begin arriving, which Irene feared meant that she would rarely have much chance to be by herself.
She pulled her bonnet off the shelf and slipped out the back entrance onto the terrace, then down the steps into the upper garden, where she wandered onto the path, tying the strings of her hat as she went.
With no destination in mind, she randomly took whatever paths forked off, looking at the autumn flowers.
She stepped through a lattice archway, covered in ivy, and on the other side, as she turned to go through a gap in a hedge, she stopped.
There, in front of her, a small boy was crouched, intently studying the progress of a snail across the path. He whirled at the sound of her approach, looking alarmed. But when he saw her, he relaxed and stood up.
“Sorry,” Irene said, smiling reassuringly. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
“I thought you were Miss Tyning,” he told her confidentially.
He was a pleasant-looking, sturdy lad of five, with a thatch of sandy hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his snub nose.
His eyes were the same light blue as Teresa’s, confirming Irene’s guess that this must be Timothy, Teresa’s son, who had been rather inexplicably invisible since her arrival.
“She is my governess,” he went on to explain. “And she will be ever so annoyed when she wakes up and sees that I’ve gone. But it was much too pretty a day to stay inside.”
“Much too pretty,” Irene agreed solemnly.
He regarded her for a moment. “You are the lady come to marry Gideon, aren’t you?”
Irene lifted her eyebrows. “I am Lady Irene Wyngate. I am here to help his lordship, but no, I have no plans to marry him.”
“That is what Mama says. She said it would never happen. But Lady Pencully said it would. And people always do what Lady Pencully wants.”
“Indeed?” Irene smiled faintly. “I imagine they do, most of the time. But I think, this once, she will not get her way.”
“Really? I hope not. I don’t want Gideon to marry. Mama says that if he does, that will be the end of me.”
“The end of you?” Irene repeated, shocked. “Whatever do you mean?”
Again he shrugged. “I don’t know.” He paused, then confided, “I think she does not like Gideon.” He heaved a little sigh. “She does not like for me to be with him. But I like Gideon.” His face lit up as he went on. “He is my brother, you know. I didn’t have a brother until he came.”
“It’s very nice to have a brother,” Irene commented. “I have one, too.”
“Really? Is he as big as Gideon?”
“No, I do not think so. Your brother is rather large.”
“I know. He says that I will be large one day, too. I hope so. I would like that.”
“I imagine he is right. Your uncle Jasper is tall, as well.”
Timothy nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, he is. Uncle Jasper is nice. But not as nice as Gideon. He doesn’t say much to me. Mama doesn’t like Uncle Jasper, either. But I don’t think he’s bad. Do you?”
“I don’t know him well enough to say. Nothing about him struck me as bad, though. He is a little quiet and stiff.”
“Gideon is much better,” Timothy circled back to what was apparently one of his favorite subjects. “He likes to see the things I collect. Rocks and bugs and such. Sometimes in the afternoon he comes through the garden. That’s why I come down here when Miss Tyning falls asleep.”
“I see.” Irene cast a look around, her heart suddenly picking up its beat. Drat the man! Must he be everywhere? “Do you think that he will be here today?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Perhaps I should go back into the house then—so that you and your brother can have your talk.”
“He won’t mind that you’re here,” Timothy assured her. “He likes people.”
“Really?” This was a side of Gideon Irene had never noticed.
Timothy nodded. “He always talks to the gardeners and the grooms. Sometimes, when I sneak down to the kitchen for a snack, he’s down there, talking and laughing with the cooks and the footmen and all.
Except Horroughs.” The boy pulled his face into a fair approximation of the butler’s taut face. “I don’t think Horroughs likes him.”
“I’m not sure Horroughs likes anyone,” Irene commented.
Timothy giggled and began to jump, chanting, “Horroughs doesn’t like anyone. Horroughs doesn’t like anyone.”
Irene watched the boy’s antics, smiling. It was hard to imagine this cheerful, lively child being Teresa’s son. Irene hoped that he would manage to remain relatively unspoiled by his mother’s influence. At least he seemed to have disregarded her when it came to Gideon.
Because of the noise Timothy was making, she did not hear the crunch of boots along the path until they sounded right behind her. She whipped around to see Gideon stepping through the ivy-clad trellis that she had passed under a few moments earlier. He stopped when he saw her.
“Ah. Lady Irene. I wondered who Timothy was talking to.”
“Lord Radbourne.” She had delayed too long, she thought. She should have left as soon as Timothy had raised the possibility of Gideon appearing.
It occurred to her that he might think she had come this way in an effort to meet him. There were women, she knew, who spent a great deal of time making careful, precise plans to run into a man “accidentally.” The practice was particularly in use at house parties.
“I was just out for a stroll when I ran into Master Timothy,” she explained, then instantly regretted that she sounded as if she were making excuses for herself.
“I told her you might come,” Timothy said, jumping happily into the conversation. “And you did!”
“Yes, I did. I am doubly glad that I did so now, as I get to see both you and Lady Irene.” Gideon’s face softened as he looked down at the boy, and he smiled, his usual wariness falling away. “What have you got to show me today?”
Gideon squatted down beside the boy to be face-to-face with him. Timothy smiled and began to dig in his pockets, pulling forth a variety of treasure: rocks, marbles, a ha’penny, a bent and rusty nail and an old key.