The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor) Page 4

  “I thought you wished to know everything there is to know about Garret and Tempest?” Gray’s mild tone did nothing to disguise the pointed nature of his question.

  “That’s what I said,” Win snapped, then caught himself. He was not normally a surly sort. Even in the days immediately following the fire, when even the best natured of men might well be surly, he had managed to regain his usual good humor. But a blazing inferno was a flickering match when compared to that woman. He could lay the blame for his current mood squarely at the sturdily shod feet of Lady Garret.

  “What you said was that you wish to know everything about Lady Garret, not Garret and Tempest.”

  “You must have misheard me.” Win waved off the comment.

  “My hearing is excellent.”

  “Then I misspoke. You can’t blame me. The woman lingers in one’s mind. Lurking. Ready to pounce at the first opportunity.”

  “Like an unrepentant melody?”

  “More like the taste of a new dish that one isn’t certain one likes because it’s so obviously good for the digestion.”

  Gray laughed.

  Win paused in mid-step and glared at him. “This is not amusing. We are trusting this woman, and her eccentric Mr. Tempest, with the future of Fairborough Hall. If we muck it up, generations yet to come will look back at this very moment. They will say, ‘There, that’s when it happened.’” He shook a pointed finger at his cousin. “‘That’s when that idiot viscount handed the rebuilding of Fairborough Hall off to that overbearing female.’ I shall be known throughout all eternity as the man who allowed a woman to destroy his family’s heritage.”

  Gray choked back yet another laugh. “You’re being absurd.”

  “Am I?” Win said darkly. “We shall see. One never does give due credence to a prophet in his own time, you know.”

  “You’re blowing this out of all proportion. I thought you would get over it by now. If anything you’re more overwrought today than after you met with her yesterday.”

  “I’ve had time to think. Mark my words, Gray, that woman is—well, I don’t know what she is exactly beyond annoying and superior and condescending and far too intelligent—for a woman, that is.” Win narrowed his eyes. “Do you know she has surveyors and men taking measurements at the hall even as we speak?”

  Gray gasped. “Oh no, not that. Do you mean to tell me the vile woman is . . .” He paused for dramatic emphasis. “Efficient? Competent? Even, dare I say it, organized?”

  Win glared at the other man. For a moment he wished they were boys again and he could take his cousin outside and thrash him thoroughly. Or rather attempt to thrash him, as they had always been evenly matched.

  “You’re just irritated because she got the upper hand with you yesterday.”

  “I allowed her to have the upper hand.” Win sniffed. “It was part of my plan.”

  Gray grinned. “You don’t have a plan.”

  “No, but if I did this would be part of it.” He resumed pacing, but it didn’t quite help his concentration as it usually did. No doubt because the library at Millworth Manor was not where he usually paced.

  His family had arranged to lease the manor through the summer as it was no more than a half hour ride from Fairborough Hall. The owners, Lord and Lady Bristow, had decided to travel the Continent together in an effort to reacquaint themselves with one another after a lengthy separation. A separation in which most of the world believed Lord Bristow to be dead and, apparently, Lady Bristow simply wished he was.

  “I am not used to dealing with women in matters of a business nature. Women should not be involved in business.”

  “I thought she explained that to you.”

  “She did, but . . .” Win shook his head. “Something about her explanation struck me as being . . . not a lie exactly, more like a half-truth. The woman is definitely hiding something.”

  “You said that yesterday.”

  “It cannot be said often enough.”

  “And you know this because you are so very good at recognizing when a woman is hiding something?”

  “Well, I should be, shouldn’t I?”

  “One would think,” Gray said under his breath in a not too subtle allusion to Win’s three engagements.

  Gray had been out of the country for years and had not witnessed firsthand his cousin’s previous failures to wed. Although they corresponded regularly, Win had never written in detail about his ill-fated betrothals. He had made no mention of the third at all. Since Gray’s return to England a few months ago, the cousins had spent long hours, with the appropriate libation in hand, discussing the various incidents, as well as all else that had happened in their respective lives. Win was able now to see the humor inherent in each engagement: the lady who had decided she would much rather marry a man with better prospects, the female who had considered him entirely too lighthearted to be a suitable husband and the very sweet young woman who was unfortunately in love with someone else.

  “I did think you liked intelligent women.”

  “I do, under most circumstances.” Win paused. He much preferred women who were clever and witty. Who could match him barb for barb. Although he had long considered the idea that that might have been where he had made his mistakes in the past. A less intelligent woman was far more likely to agree with him, to see things his way. Still, in his experience, women who weren’t clever weren’t especially interesting either. Did he really wish to spend the rest of his life bored out of his mind? “What I dislike is a woman who makes me feel stupid. Who looks at me in a pitiful manner as if I were a child who can barely understand two words.”

  “I see.” Gray was obviously once again holding back laughter. At least one of them was amused by all this. “Then you found her annoying because she is more intelligent than you and took no pains to hide it?”

  “She is most certainly not more intelligent. Possibly as intelligent but definitely not more. It’s ridiculous to even think such a thing. She is a woman after all.” As much as Win liked women in general the very idea of a woman being more intelligent than a man was absurd.

  “I wouldn’t let Aunt Margaret hear you say that.” Gray shuddered.

  “Because I am indeed an intelligent man, I would never allow her to do so,” Win said in a lofty manner, then thought for a moment. “It was the surprise, I think. Lady Garret caught me unawares. I simply wasn’t prepared for a woman—for her. I shall be better prepared for our next meeting.”

  “Then you wish to continue with Garret and Tempest?” Gray studied him closely. “In spite of the indomitable Lady Garret?”

  Win blew a resigned breath and sank into the chair that matched Gray’s. “I don’t see any other option.”

  “We could hire someone else, you know.”

  “No one else can take this on in as timely a manner.” Win shook his head. “I don’t want Fairborough Hall moldering in disrepair for the next six months. I want rebuilding to begin as soon as possible.” He aimed an accusing look at his cousin. “Pity you won’t be here to keep an eye on the work with me.”

  “I am sorry, Win, but I do have to return to America. There are matters I need to settle before I can again make England my home.”

  Gray had left some eleven years ago to make his fortune, and make it he had. His varied investments in shipping and railroads and imports had made him almost obscenely wealthy. Win had followed his lead and had vastly increased the Elliott family fortunes as well.

  “I will make every effort to conclude my business as quickly as possible. I plan to be gone no longer than a month and less if all goes well.”

  “Hopefully, we should be nearing completion by your return and you will have missed it all.”

  “With any luck at all.” Gray grinned. “But Lady Garret did say she could not guarantee completion by late June and I intend to be back by then.”

  “Their references were excellent,” Win said under his breath. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Gray or himself.r />
  “Then it seems to me dealing with Lady Garret is a small enough price to pay,” Gray said slowly.

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  Gray leaned forward and met his cousin’s gaze firmly. “What is it about this woman, Win? You’ve always been very good at handling women. In spite of any number of misdeeds I can name, there wasn’t a single governess who came through this house that didn’t vow you were the most delightful charge she had ever had. Growing up, you managed to avoid consequences of questionable behavior by dint of little more than your charming nature and your irresistibly wicked smile. It drove me quite mad, I can tell you.”

  “My apologies,” Win said wryly.

  “Why, I can recall seeing you wrap even the most formidable mothers of fresh-faced virgins around your little finger. And that despite an already somewhat wicked reputation.”

  “Well . . .” Win smiled modestly. What could he say? His cousin was right.

  “The fine art of managing women has been a skill, no, a talent, even a natural gift of yours since you were a boy. Women of any age have always been putty in your hands. As long as you don’t ask them to marry you, that is.” Laughter gleamed in Gray’s eyes.

  Win snorted back a laugh. “That does seem to be my undoing.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t know why I found Lady Garret so annoying. I did make every attempt to be most charming and even, perhaps, a bit flirtatious. She would have none of it.”

  “No doubt that is precisely why you found her annoying.” Lady Lydingham, Camille, swept into the library and the cousins rose to their feet at once.

  Camille’s parents owned Millworth Manor, and while they had invited the Elliott family to stay as their guests in their absence, Win’s father had insisted they lease the manor instead. He was well aware of the costs of maintaining a country house. Camille and Gray had been engaged since Christmas. Win was fairly confident this was one wedding that would indeed take place, although why they were waiting until autumn to wed made no sense to him. The more time one gave a woman to ponder anything—especially marriage—the more time she had to reconsider. Still, in hindsight, in his experience, that had ultimately been for the best.

  “Are you helping Winfield reach a rational, intelligent conclusion?” Camille moved to Gray’s side and Win suspected would have kissed him in a most improper manner had Win not been present. From the look in Gray’s eyes, he thought the same. “Or has his absurd and unreasonable dislike of Lady Garret vanquished all possibility of rational, intelligent behavior?”

  “You know me so well, Camille.” Win flashed her a smile.

  “You are a dashing devil, one does have to give you that,” Camille said in a reluctant manner although, until recently, Camille had barely spoken to him at all. “I can’t imagine any woman not falling prey to your dubious charms.”

  “And what of me?” Gray cast her an offended look. “Am I not a dashing devil with dubious charms?”

  “You always have been, Grayson,” she said in an overly prim manner as if now, having decided to marry him, she should observe certain rules of society. But there was a subtle gleam in her eye when she looked at Gray that hinted that her thoughts were anything but proper.

  “I do wish you would stop looking at him like that.” Win glared at his cousin’s intended.

  “Like what?” Innocence rang in Camille’s voice belying the wicked look in her eyes.

  “Like he was a cake and you had a passion for sweets!” Win huffed.

  “I like it.” Gray cast his fiancée a wicked smile of his own.

  “Oh, but I do have a passion for sweets,” Camille said with a pleasant smile.

  Win stifled a groan. Not that he wasn’t happy for his cousin; he was delighted that Gray and Camille had found one another again after years apart. And delighted as well that Gray was so annoyingly happy. Admittedly he might be a touch envious that Gray had found what Win had not, but now was not the time to dwell on what he didn’t have.

  “She’s a Hadley-Attwater, you know,” Camille said abruptly.

  Gray frowned in confusion. “Who?”

  “Lady Garret, of course. She’s the youngest of the Hadley-Attwater brood.” She glanced at Win. “Weren’t you friends with one of the sons?”

  “Sebastian.” He nodded. “Sir Sebastian now. We had some grand times together before he went off to explore the world. I haven’t seen him in years.” Perhaps it was time to renew that acquaintance. “What else do you know about his sister?”

  “Nothing really.” Camille shrugged. “I don’t know her at all save to nod a greeting to in passing. Beryl would know more.”

  “And isn’t that surprising?” Gray murmured.

  Win bit back a grin. Beryl was Camille’s twin and she was not at all fond of Gray. If there was one thing Win didn’t envy his cousin about it was his future sister-in-law. Not that Win and Beryl hadn’t always gotten on well together. Indeed, Beryl might well have been his first fiancée had things worked out in a different manner. But though he did enjoy sparring with the lady even now, they never would have suited. That was a marriage that would have been disastrous for them both. One would surely have killed the other.

  “Beryl makes it a point to know whatever there is to know. It can be most beneficial. And what she doesn’t know, she knows how to find out.” She studied Win curiously. “Do you really want to know everything there is to know about Lady Garret?”

  “About Garret and Tempest,” Gray said.

  Camille raised a disbelieving brow.

  “Indeed I do. About both the firm and the lady.”

  “If that is the case . . .” Camille smiled as if she and Win were now somehow coconspirators. “Beryl has hired an excellent investigator in the past. I should be happy to give you his name.”

  Gray’s gaze shifted between his fiancée and his cousin. “I must confess, there is something about the two of you in agreement that is not in the natural order of things.”

  “Nonsense. I am most appreciative of your assistance, Camille.” Win’s jaw tightened. “Only a fool fails to know precisely with whom he is dealing. And, while I may be many things, I am not a fool.”

  Even if Lady Garret disagreed.

  Chapter 4

  “What do you think?” Miranda’s gaze scanned the drawing she had clipped to the mechanical drafting table John had purchased when he started the firm.

  “Well . . .” Clara studied the rendering for Fairborough Hall thoughtfully. “If Lord Stillwell does indeed want his house returned to its original state, I would say you have come fairly close. However . . .” She leaned closer and narrowed her eyes. “There are differences, aren’t there?”

  “One can’t possibly duplicate a three hundred-year-old structure exactly. One has to make allowances for progress.” Miranda tried and failed to hide a note of pride in her voice. While in some ways reconstruction of an old building was easier than building anew, in many others it was more of a challenge. Especially when your charge was to recreate the past. “We are nearing the twentieth century after all.”

  “And is Lord Stillwell a progressive sort?”

  “Lord Stillwell is a twit.”

  “Be that as it may . . .” Clara choked back a laugh. “He is a twit with a great deal of money.”

  “Which makes him a valued client although no less of a twit.”

  “I do so appreciate the manner in which you speak your mind.” Clara chuckled.

  “I do so appreciate that you allow me to do so.” Miranda returned the other woman’s grin. She did tend to keep her thoughts to herself when around others, especially her family. Life was so much easier that way.

  But the blatant honesty she and Clara shared was a mark of their friendship. A friendship that neither woman could have foreseen. Indeed, they would never have met at all, and certainly never have become friends, had it not been for the deaths of Miranda’s husband and Clara’s brother. Her brother’s demise, combined with her recent discovery that her fiancé was not the m
an she’d thought he was, had left Clara wanting a change in her life. It was she who had approached Miranda about employment with Garret and Tempest. Now, she was the only person completely in Miranda’s confidence.

  “Other than that unfortunate business about his being a twit, how did you find Lord Stillwell?” Clara’s eyes shone with curiosity. “Aside from a brief conversation when you returned from Fairborough, you’ve not stepped foot in the office. And even then you were preoccupied. We’ve had no time to talk since your meeting with him.”

  “Admittedly, I’ve been consumed with this.” Miranda’s gaze returned to her drawing. It had long seemed wise to do what work she could in the privacy of her own home. While her employees certainly knew the truth about who the firm’s true architect was—and had probably known even before John’s death—by unspoken agreement, her position was not flaunted. In the four days since her initial meeting with Lord Stillwell, she’d only spoken to Clara once and that had been brief. “Lord Stillwell wishes to have Fairborough rebuilt as quickly as possible. And, as he is paying us twice our usual fees, I should like to accommodate him as much as is possible.” She slanted a look at the other woman. “His glowing recommendation would serve us well in the future.”

  “Nor do I have the least doubt we shall earn that. Now . . .” An impatient note sounded in Clara’s voice. “Tell me about the man himself. I am dying to know what he is really like. He’s rumored to be quite handsome and charming.”

  “And it would appear he knows it,” Miranda said in a wry manner. She skirted between her desk and Emmett’s and settled in her usual chair.

  The room was entirely too small for both desks and the mechanical table, but it was private. The remainder of the Garret and Tempest offices consisted of a small reception room, with a desk for Clara, and a much larger room with wall-to-wall windows along one side, providing excellent light for the draftsmen. It was on the top floor of a commercial building on a quiet street in Holborn, an area neither fashionable nor disreputable.