Chapter Six #3
“I’ve just kissed you, Gwen,” he said with a soft growl that fanned the flames her butterflies were still desperately trying to douse.
“So what if you did? It was only to prove a point to me.”
He gave her nose another light tweak. “Ah, yes. The conundrum of the pointed nose.”
“I ought to cosh you over the head for that ridiculous excuse,” she said with a light laugh, “although it was quite inspired and I must give you credit for your creativity. I cannot wait to hear what you will come up with next.”
“Well, there shall never be excuses regarding you. I always enjoy your company,” he said, and cast her a surprisingly affectionate smile. “Take that as a given.”
She suppressed the urge to eep again.
Something had decidedly shifted between them. The air around them suddenly felt charged, and she could not look at Milbury without her heart melting.
He was looking at her differently, too. Gone was his air of detached amusement, replaced with whatever look that was…hot enough to put a fiery blush in her cheeks and ignite her body from head to toe.
Perhaps they both needed to take a step back.
But she always enjoyed his company, even when he was being dense, stubborn, and determined to thwart her at every turn. Also, she adored his boys. They were fun and had a lively curiosity, although that curiosity occasionally got them into trouble.
“I have nothing pressing to do here,” she said with a casual shrug. “All right, I’ll join you and your sons.”
“Excellent.” He rose and held out his arm to her, a strong, solid arm. “They’ll be pleased. So will I.”
She left him in the entry hall while she ran upstairs to her bedchamber to fetch a pelisse and her reticule.
Her maid had just tidied her room and now held the gown she had worn last night, a lovely silk in the color of robin’s-egg blue, over the crook of her arm.
“M’lady, I was just going to take this gown downstairs to refresh it.
Do you have need of me?” she asked, noticing Gwendolyn fumbling through her wardrobe to find a pelisse to complement the camel-colored muslin gown she was presently wearing.
“No, Agatha. I’m just… Ah, here it is.” She withdrew a dark brown pelisse. “I’ll be out for much of the day with Lord Milbury and his children.”
Agatha, a cheerful and pleasant woman with fiery red curls, cast her an assessing grin.
Gwendolyn laughed. “Oh, no. Do not give me that look. I am helping him out in his search for a wife, that is all. To that end, he has invited me to Milbury Hill for what will likely turn into an entire month. It is his estate near Brighton, and I know you have family there.”
“Am I to come with you?” Agatha’s face lit up and she smiled brightly. “Oh, ever so gladly, Lady Gwendolyn! I shall start packing our things right away.”
Gwendolyn smiled, for this would work out nicely all around.
Agatha was more than a lady’s maid to her, for she was clever, good-natured, and sensible.
They were only a few years apart in age, Agatha being slightly older—although not always wiser, because she had an eternally optimistic and romantic soul that would lead her into trouble if she weren’t careful.
Not that Agatha was promiscuous or flighty. Not at all. She was not only a good and reliable maid, but… Did Gwen need anyone other than Agatha to accompany her to Milbury Hill? Perhaps she would elevate Agatha to a companion and have her serve as her chaperone.
Yes, that would work out perfectly. No need to bring along a sour-faced old woman who smelled of rosewater.
“Wait, m’lady,” Agatha said as she was about to walk downstairs. “Your gloves. And let me have a look at you.”
She dragged Gwendolyn over to the mirror. Gwendolyn stared back at herself. “Why must I look at myself? Is this muslin I am wearing too plain?”
It was an understated color but sublimely elegant, with just the right amount of silk and lace trim. And was this not something Milbury would appreciate?
“Not at all, m’lady. It is perfect, but you need a little something extra.” Agatha darted to her bureau and removed a jewelry box from her top drawer. “This is perfect.”
She withdrew a silver teardrop necklace and clasped it around Gwendolyn’s neck. The teardrop fell in such a way that it subtly drew one’s eye toward her bosom.
“Lord Milbury will notice and appreciate the lovely way you are put together,” Agatha insisted. “He never dresses garishly himself, and does not appear to like ladies who do.”
Yes, Milbury was all about allowing his strength of character to mark his presence, never relying on his clothes to make a statement about him. He had been drawn to his late wife for this same reason, often describing her as a “quiet” beauty, and this was what had immediately caught his attention.
Gwendolyn smiled at her reflection, liking this gown and not going to change out of it, whether or not Agatha approved.
But something had changed between her and Milbury. She wasn’t certain what it was exactly.
He hadn’t meant anything by their kiss. However, it had meant something to her.
What was she to do about it?