The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) Page 3

  “Only the center section of the house suffered serious damage,” he said. “I believe I mentioned that in my letters. Neither of the wings burned although there was considerable damage from smoke. The items I sent you were in the library, which, fortunately, needs little more than cleaning. We have been doing nothing but cleaning for the last few weeks.” He smiled in a wry manner. “We don’t seem to be progressing very quickly.”

  “When you say ‘we’ I assume you mean servants and workers you have hired?”

  “Yes and no. We have hired a great number of people to assist our servants in the cleaning. But this is my home, Lady Garret, the home of my parents and my cousin. My father will allow only a select few to work in the library—by his side, I might add. His books and his collection of rare manuscripts are entirely too dear for him to turn them over to someone else. My mother feels the same about the artwork, furniture and family heirlooms that survived. We are not averse to physical labor in this family under circumstances such as these. Throughout its long history, the Elliott family has done what was necessary in times of trouble.” He wasn’t sure why he felt it necessary to explain, but, for whatever reason, he did.

  “Sometimes when we lose something of importance what we have left becomes even more precious.”

  “So it would seem.”

  They reached the front entry and the temporary door that had been erected to keep out unwanted intruders—human or otherwise. “I should warn you, while we have accomplished a great deal, it’s still something of a mess inside. We had a carpenter from the village inspect the floor and he pronounced it sound, but you should watch your step.” He opened the door.

  “If you would be so kind as to hold these.” She thrust the tube and her satchel at him and he had no choice but to take them. She picked up her skirts to step over the threshold. She wore the sturdiest, and possibly ugliest, shoes he had ever seen. “Are you staring at my ankles, Lord Stillwell?”

  “I am scarcely in the habit of staring at the ankles of a woman I have only just met, Lady Garret,” he said with all the indignation he could muster, even though he had long thought a nicely turned ankle to be most provocative. And he had never hesitated to consider an ankle when the opportunity arose, whether he knew the lady or not.

  “Ah, but your reputation precedes you, my lord,” she said mildly.

  “One cannot believe everything one hears.” He resisted the urge to snap.

  Certainly, in his younger days he had been prone to misbehavior and even now, he did enjoy a rousing good time in the companionship of like-minded gentlemen and indeed, whenever possible, he availed himself of the charms of a beautiful and willing woman, but he wasn’t the rogue he once had been. He simply didn’t have the time. And it was somewhat irritating to be considered so. He was thirty-three years of age, managed his family’s business interests and property, and did so in a most successful manner. The Elliott family fortunes had more than prospered under his hand. Why, even his father was pleased with the man Win had become. That this overly sensible woman with her sturdy shoes had—

  “One never can, my lord.” She started into the house, paying him no attention whatsoever. It was most annoying.

  “As much as it pains me to admit it . . .” He stepped to her side. “I was not looking at your ankles as one can barely see them being blinded by the sight of the most horrendous shoes I have ever seen.”

  “I am not going to a ball,” she said absently, her gaze scanning what was once the center part of the house. She turned toward him, opened the satchel—which required a bit of juggling on his part as she made no effort to take it from him—dug around in what looked to be a bottomless pit of a bag and withdrew a notebook and pencil. “And these are eminently practical for the task at hand.”

  “God save us all from practical shoes on the feet of a lovely woman,” he said under his breath.

  “I daresay God has more to worry about.” She stepped farther into the house, then stopped and wrote something in her notebook. He tried to get a glimpse of what she’d written, but she shifted and hid the notebook from his sight. He wasn’t sure if her movement was deliberate or not. Regardless, that too was annoying.

  “This was the entry hall. The main stairway was immediately in front of us.” He glanced upward. “As you can see the fire burned through the first and second floors, the attic and the roof. The roof was—”

  “Do forgive me, Lord Stillwell, but I can indeed see the extent of the damage. In addition, your correspondence was quite specific on that score. Beyond that, the plans and drawings you sent give me an excellent picture as to what was lost. This center portion of the manor housed the ballroom and various parlors on the first floor, mostly servants’ quarters on the upper floors and an assortment of offices for your staff on the ground floor.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “So if you would be so good as to refrain from comment for a few moments, perhaps I can get on with my work.” She smiled in a polite yet distinctly dismissive manner.

  “Are you telling me to shut up?”

  “Of course not, my lord.” Again, her attention turned away from him. “That would be rude.”

  He stared at her. This would not do. This would not do at all. “Perhaps I should speak with Mr. Tempest directly.”

  “Who?” she said absently, scribbling something.

  “Mr. Tempest? Your late husband’s partner? The man I assume will be designing the house.”

  “Oh” She hesitated. “That Mr. Tempest.”

  He huffed. “Who did you think I meant?”

  “Well, I suspect he has a father.”

  “Why on earth—”

  “And possibly a brother as well, no doubt.”

  “Why would I want to speak with his father or his brother?” he said sharply.

  She shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “They why would you—”

  “Clarification, my lord. I don’t wish either of us to be confused as to precisely what you want.” She glanced at him as if there were no doubt in her mind as to exactly who would be confused.

  “What about Mr. Tempest?”

  “What about him?”

  He clenched his teeth and resisted the urge—no, the need—to raise his voice. Or perhaps to scream. He was not, under ordinary circumstances, given to displays of temper. Indeed, he considered himself rather a jovial sort. The type of man much more inclined toward laughter than fits of anger. But then he had never come up against Lady Garret before. She would try the patience of even the saintliest of men. “I think I should speak to him about the rebuilding.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” She gazed upward at the missing floors and roof, then jotted down another notation.

  He forced himself to take a calming breath. “Why not?”

  “Mr. Tempest is quite brilliant and considers himself an artist. He never meets with clients. Indeed, he’s extremely reclusive and scarcely ever makes an appearance in public. Why, I myself have only dealt with him through notes and, of course, his drawings and plans. Oh, how does he put it?” She thought for a moment. “He feels it hinders his creativity, interferes with his muse he says, to deal with the more mundane aspects of a project. Or the world for that matter.”

  “Mundane?” he sputtered. He never sputtered. This blasted woman had him sputtering. “I would not call the reconstruction of Fairborough Hall mundane.”

  “Nor would I. So you needn’t give it another thought as you won’t be dealing with Mr. Tempest but with me or perhaps Mr. Clarke.” She paused to take another note, then looked at him. “Is that a problem?”

  “Well, I—”

  “You were sent references and our reputation is excellent. I should think that would be enough.” Lady Garret nodded and continued her inspection of the damaged building.

  She had him there. He and Gray had both made inquiries and had found nothing but glowing recommendations as to the work of Garret and Tempest. It was a small firm but well
respected.

  He trailed after her, not unlike a dog on a leash, and managed to keep his mouth shut for a good minute or two. Admittedly, it was not in his nature to silently follow after a woman. “You do understand, I wish Fairborough Hall to be returned to its original state?”

  “You mentioned that in your correspondence.”

  “And rebuilding must proceed as quickly as possible?”

  “You mentioned that as well.”

  “Time is of the essence,” he said firmly. “Every year in late June, Fairborough plays host to a Midsummer Ball. It’s rather difficult to have a ball without a ballroom.”

  “One would think.”

  “It’s to be exceptionally important this year as it will celebrate the Queen’s Jubilee.” He lowered his voice in a conf i-dential manner. “In addition, I have it on very good authority that Queen Victoria herself might wish to attend.”

  “She would not find this at all amusing,” Lady Garret murmured.

  “So you can see why haste is of the utmost importance. The other firms . . .” The moment the words left his mouth he realized his mistake.

  Lady Garret stopped and turned toward him. “The other firms?”

  There was nothing to be done for it then but to confess. “Yes, well, we did inquire as to the availability of other firms.”

  “Oh?”

  He chose his words with care although, at this point, it would make no difference. “Most were not able to even begin work until late in the summer.”

  “I see.”

  “Those that could were unwilling to take on a project of this nature, given the urgency we require.” So much for having the upper hand. It was never wise in business to let whomever one negotiated with know they were one’s only valid option. Obviously, his sense of discretion evaporated in the face of a sensible woman in sturdy shoes. “They could not guarantee the project would be completed—”

  “Nor can I, Lord Stillwell,” she said firmly. “This is an enormous undertaking and the time in which you wish to have it accomplished is insufficient.” She snapped her notebook shut and stepped closer to him. He held out the satchel obediently. Good Lord, she had him trained! “We would certainly bring all our resources to bear, and do everything humanly possible, but I cannot—I will not—guarantee completion by late June.” She slipped the notebook and her pencil into the bag, took it and the tube from him and nodded. “Good day, my lord.” She started toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to London, of course,” she said over her shoulder. “It seems pointless to linger as we cannot accomplish what you require.”

  “Wait.” The woman had him as surely as if she had reached between his legs and grabbed him firmly by his privates.

  She paused in mid-step. He really didn’t have a choice and she knew it. “I shall double whatever you intend to charge for your services.”

  “Not including the actual cost of construction, of course.”

  He winced. “Of course.”

  “Even without a guarantee?”

  He could practically feel her hand tighten and he had the most ridiculous desire to shift his weight from foot to foot. He couldn’t see her face, but he was certain there was an all-too-smug smile curving her lips. He heaved a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes. Some progress is better than nothing, I suppose.”

  She turned back to him, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Are you quite certain, my lord?”

  “At the moment, I’m not quite certain of my own name.” He stepped closer and once again relieved her of her bag and tube. “You’re very good at this sort of thing, aren’t you?”

  “Am I?” She opened the satchel and retrieved her pencil and notebook. “I really can’t say. I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”

  “You may rest assured, Lady Garret, you’re very good at it.” His voice was a bit sharper than he had intended, but there was nothing he liked less than losing. And while he wasn’t sure what game they had just played there was no doubt in his mind he had lost it. “I’ve agreed to pay you twice your usual commission without any guarantee as to completion, you have me carrying your things and . . .”

  “And?”

  “And . . . and I will not say another word unless you require it of me.”

  “Excellent, then let us return to the task at hand.” She cast him the first genuine smile of the day. Her eyes were definitely brown with little specks of gold. Really quite lovely. She started off again, then looked back at him. “Oh, and I do thank you for the compliment.”

  He shrugged. “As I said, you’re very good at this.”

  “That too, but a few minutes ago you referred to either me or my feet as lovely.”

  “Oh.” Damnation, he had forgotten about that. “Yes, of course.”

  “Goodness, my lord.” She shook her head. “A compliment does tend to lose its effectiveness if it’s just something one says.”

  “I shall keep that in mind.”

  “My, you are a rogue, aren’t you?” she added under her breath.

  Win stifled a frustrated sigh and resigned himself to following behind her and keeping his mouth shut. She had already made up her mind about him based on nothing more than gossip, a reputation he had very nearly grown out of and an insincere compliment. Even if, in that one moment when she’d been more amused than efficient, she had been far lovelier than he had first thought and he suspected her feet were lovely as well. Not that he planned to find out for himself. Not that he cared. Not about her smile or the color of her eyes and certainly not about her feet. Still, it did appear that this woman was about to become part of his life for the foreseeable future. He was putting his heritage in the hands of her Mr. Tempest after all.

  For the next hour or so, he followed her like a well-trained puppy, answering her questions without additional comment. It was a pity, really; he was quite good at witty conversation. He considered it something of an art. Yet another of his charms that would be wasted on Lady Garret.

  He did have to admit, she was much more intelligent than he would have expected. Not that he didn’t generally appreciate intelligence in a woman. Why, there was nothing he enjoyed more than verbal dueling with a clever woman. But that was different. Lady Garret’s questions were to the point and displayed knowledge of architecture and construction he would have found impressive even in a man. The woman might well know what she was doing, which made her all the more annoying and surprisingly a matter of some curiosity. There was obviously more to Lady Garret than first appeared.

  At last he escorted her back to the carriage for the return ride to the train station. He handed her the satchel and tube—she never did reveal what was in the blasted thing. He assumed it contained the drawings and plans he had originally sent to her, but for all he knew she had simply lugged it along to appear more efficient. Not that she needed help in that respect.

  “I have all I need for the moment, Lord Stillwell,” she said, accompanied again by her polite smile. “Tomorrow, there will be men here to take accurate measurements.”

  “I sent you measurements and I assure you they are quite accurate.”

  She raised a brow.

  He forced a weak smile. “But of course you will want your own. What is it they say? Measure twice, cut once?”

  “Quite right.” She nodded. “Once those are in hand, I daresay I will have detailed plans ready for your approval by next week.”

  “You mean Mr. Tempest will have the plans ready?”

  “Isn’t that what I said?”

  He started to correct her, then thought better of it. “Yes, of course.”

  She paused before climbing into the carriage and glanced past him for a final look at the manor. “You were right, my lord.”

  “Was I?” He brightened. It would be nice to be right about something in this woman’s eyes. “About what?”

  “You were extremely fortunate, all things considered.” Her voice softened. “It’s a grand house and it will be
my—our—honor to bring it back to its former glory.”

  “Thank you, Lady Garret,” he said simply, surprised at the pleasure her comment brought him. “We have a house in the city, of course, but Fairborough Hall is—well, it’s been my family’s true home for generations. I hope it will be home for those generations yet to come.”

  “We shall make certain of it.” Her brisk manner had returned. She climbed into the carriage and he closed the door after her. “Oh.” She leaned slightly out the window. “There was one other thing you were right about.”

  “Twice in one day?” he said wryly. “Whoever would have imagined?”

  “Not I.” For the second time today, a genuine smile curved her lips. Amusement glittered in her eyes and the most charming dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. “But, practical though they may be, my shoes are indeed the most horrendous ever created.” She leaned back in the carriage seat and signaled to the driver. “Good day, my lord.”

  “Good day, Lady Garret.”

  The carriage rolled off and Win stared after it thoughtfully. He did like to know who he was dealing with. After all, this woman—and her elusive Mr. Tempest—had the future of Fairborough Hall in their hands. He was not about to put the fate of his family’s home in the keeping of a woman about whom he had more questions than answers.

  While he considered himself an excellent judge of character, he had long ago faced the fact that that particular skill was only accurate in regard to men. He had no idea how to correctly assess the character of women, a lesson painfully learned through the course of three failed engagements. But even he could see there was definitely much more to the prim, efficient Lady Garret than one might at first suspect. Some of her comments simply did not ring true. This was a woman who was hiding more than she revealed.

  Which only raised the question of what did she have to hide?

  And what would it take to find out?

  Chapter 3

  “I want to know everything there is to know about Lady Garret.” Win paced the floor of the library at Millworth Manor.