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Standard disclaimer.
I would want to live here.
Those words echoed in Gwen's thoughts, as she continued to speak to Arthur.
A few seconds later, a cheeky smile blossomed on her face, as her next thoughts shifted to a sore subject.
"Of course," she continued pointedly, "I would be far more disposed, to take up residence in Hampshire, were I ever allowed to ride again."
The statement was met, with a barely suppressed laugh.
"I'll have a groomsman saddle Stargazer for you, this very morning," he said.
"Oh, thank you," she said sardonically. "Two days before the house party ends, you're giving me permission to ride. Why now? Because, I slept with you last night?"
A lazy grin curved Arthur's mouth, and his hand moved stealthily over her hip.
"You should have slept with me weeks ago, then, I would have given you, full run of the estate."
Gwen bit the insides of her cheeks, to keep from smiling back at him.
"I see. So, in future, in our marriage, I will be obliged to barter my sexual favors, whenever I want something from you, right?"
"Not at all. Although..." A teasing light appeared in his eyes. "Your favors do seem to put me in an agreeable disposition."
The Earl was flirting with her, relaxed and bantering in a way, that she had never seen him before.
Gwen would wager, that few people would recognize the dignified Earl of Westcliff, in the man, who was lounging on the carpet with her.
And as he shifted her more comfortably in his arms, and drew his hand along her calf, ending with a gentle squeeze of her narrow ankle, Gwen was aware of a delight, that went far beyond physical sensation.
Her passion for him, seemed to dwell within her very bones.
"Would we get on well together, do you think?" she asked dubiously, daring to play with the knot of his necktie, loosening the gray watered-silk fabric with her fingertips. "We're opposites in nearly every regard."
Inclining his head, Arthur nuzzled the tender inside of her wrist, his lips brushing the blue-tinted veins, that lay like fine lacework beneath her skin.
"Heavens knows. I have come to believe, that taking a wife who is exactly like myself, would be the worst conceivable decision I could make."
"Perhaps you're right," Gwen mused, letting her fingertips curl into the gleaming close-cut hair, at the side of his head. "You need a wife who won't let you have your way all the time. One who..."
She paused with a little shiver, as his tongue touched a delicate spot, near her inner elbow.
"...Who," she continued, struggling to gather her thoughts, "Would be willing to take you down a notch, when you become too pompous..."
"I am never pompous," Arthur said, drawing the edge of her gown away, from the vulnerable curve of her throat.
Her breath hitched, as he began to kiss the wing of her collarbone.
"What would you call it, when you carry on, as if you always know best, and anyone who disagrees with you is an idiot?"
"Most of the time, the people who disagree with me, do happen to be idiots. I can't help that."
A breathless laugh escaped her, and she let her head rest back on his arm, as his mouth traveled to the side of her neck.
"When shall we negotiate?" she asked, surprised by the throatiness of her own voice.
"Tonight. You'll come to my room."
She gave him a skeptical glance.
"This wouldn't be a ruse to lure me into a situation, in which you would take unscrupulous advantage of me, would it?"
Drawing back to look at her, Arthur answered gravely.
"Of course not. I intend to have a meaningful discussion, that will put to rest, any doubts you may have about marrying me."
"Oh."
"And then, I'm going to take unscrupulous advantage of you."
Gwen's smile was compressed between their lips, as he kissed her.
She realized, that it was the first time she had ever heard Arthur make a rakish remark.
He was usually too straitlaced, to exhibit the kind of irreverence, that came so naturally to her. Perhaps, this was a small sign of her influence on him.
"But for now..." Arthur said, "I have a logistical problem to solve."
"What problem?" Gwen asked, shifting a little, as she became aware of the aroused tension of his body beneath her.
He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her lips, lightly massaging, shaping her mouth. And as if he couldn't help himself, he stole one last kiss.
The deep, yearning strokes of his mouth, caused her lips to tingle, the sensation spilling and sliding all through her, and she was left breathless and weak in his arms.
"The problem, is how to take you back upstairs," Arthur whispered, "Before anyone else sees you in your nightgown."
It was unclear, whether Daisy had been the one to 'spill the beans', as they said in New York, or whether the news had come from Isabelle, who had perhaps, been informed by her husband of the scene in the study.
All Gwen could be certain of, as she joined the other wallflowers, for a mid-morning luncheon in the breakfast room, was that they knew.
She could see it in their faces...in Elena's abashed smile, and Daisy's conspiratorial air, and Isabelle's studied casualness.
Gwen blushed and avoided their collective gaze, as she sat at the table.
She had always maintained a cynical facade, using it as a defense against embarrassment, fear, and loneliness...but at the moment, she felt unusually vulnerable.
Isabelle was the first to break the silence.
"What a dull morning it's been so far." She lifted her hand to her mouth, with a gracefully manufactured yawn. "I do hope someone can manage to enliven the conversation. Any gossip to share, by chance?"
Her teasing gaze was fixed on Gwen's discomfited expression.
A footman approached, to fill Gwen's teacup, and Isabelle waited until he had left the table, before continuing.
"You've made rather a late appearance this morning, dear. Didn't you sleep well?"
Gwen slitted her eyes, as she stared at her gleefully mocking friend, while Elena choke on a mouthful of tea.
"As a matter of fact, no."
Isabelle grinned, looking entirely too cheerful.
"Why don't you tell us your news, Gwen, and then, I'll share mine? Though I doubt that mine will be half as interesting."
"You seem to know everything already," Gwen muttered, trying to drown her embarrassment with a large draft of tea, but succeeding only in burning her tongue.
She set her cup down and forced herself to meet Isabelle's gaze, which had softened in amused sympathy.
"Are you all right, dear?" Isabelle asked kindly.
"I don't know," Gwen admitted. "I don't feel at all like myself. I'm excited and glad, but also, somewhat..."
"Afraid?" Isabelle murmured.
The Gwen form a month ago, would have died by slow torture, rather than admit to one moment of fear, but she found herself nodding.
"I don't like being vulnerable to a man, who is not generally known for his sensitivity or soft heartedness. It's fairly obvious, that we're not well-suited in temperament."
"But you are attracted to him physically, right?" Isabelle asked.
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Why is that a misfortune?"
"Because, it would be so much easier to marry a man, with whom one shared a detached friendship, rather than...than..."
All three young women leaned towards her intently.
"R-rather than what?" Elena asked, wide-eyed.
"Rather than flaming, clawing, lurid, positively indecent passion," Gwen finished.
"Oh my," Elena said faintly, drawing back in her chair, while Isabelle grinned and Daisy stared at her with enraptured curiosity.
"This from a man, whose kisses were 'merely tolerable'?" Isabelle asked.
A grin tugged at Gwen's lips, as she looked down into the steaming depths of her tea.
"Who would have guessed, that such a starched and buttoned-up sort, could be so different in the bedroom?"
"With you, I imagine he can't help himself," Isabelle remarked.
Gwen looked up from her cup.
"Why do you say that?" she asked warily, fearing for a moment, that Isabelle was making a reference, to the effects of her perfume.
"The moment you enter a room, the Earl becomes far more animated. It is obvious, that he is fascinated by you. One can hardly have a conversation with him, as he is constantly straining to hear what you are saying, and watching your every movement."
"Does he?" Pleased by the information, Gwen strove to appear nonchalant. "Why have you never mentioned it before?"
"I didn't want to meddle, since there seemed a possibility, that you preferred Lord Gwaine's attentions."
Gwen winced and leaned her forehead on her hand.
She told them about the mortifying scene between herself, Arthur and Gwaine that morning, while they reacted with sympathy and shared discomfort.
"The only thing that prevents a feeling of compassion for Lord Gwaine," Isabelle said, "Is the certain knowledge, that he has broken many hearts and caused many tears in the past...and therefore, it is only just, that he should know how it feels to be rejected."
"Nevertheless, I feel as if I misled him," Gwen said guiltily. "And he was so nice about it. Not one word of reproach. I couldn't help but like him for it."
"Be c-careful," Elena suggested softly. "From what we've heard of Lord Gwaine, it doesn't seem in character, that he should concede so easily. If he approaches you again, promise that you will not agree to go somewhere alone with him."
Gwen stared at her concerned friend with a smile.
"Elena, you sound positively cynical. Very well, I promise. But there is no need to worry. I don't believe that Lord Gwaine is foolish enough, to make an enemy of someone as powerful as the Earl."
Desiring a change of subject, she turned her attention to Isabelle.
"Now that I've shared my news, it's time for yours. What is it?"
With her eyes dancing, and the sunlight moving over her light satiny hair, Isabelle looked all of twelve years old.
Her gaze darted to the side, to confirm that they were not being overheard, as it was a delicate subject.
"I'm almost positive that I'm expecting," Isabelle whispered. "I've had signs recently...queasiness and sleepiness...and this is the second month, that I seem to have missed my courses."
They all gasped with delight, and Daisy surreptitiously reached across the table, to squeeze her hand.
"Dear, that is the most wonderful news! Does Mr. Hunt know?"
Isabelle's smile turned rueful.
"Not yet. I want to be absolutely certain when I tell him. And I want to keep it from him, as long as possible."
"Why?" Gwen asked.
"Because, as soon as he knows, he will be so overprotective, that I won't be allowed to go anywhere on my own."
Knowing what they did of Percy Hunt and his passionate absorption with all things Isabelle, the wall-flowers silently agreed.
Once he learned of the coming baby, he would hover over his pregnant wife like a hawk.
"What a triumph," Daisy exclaimed, keeping her voice low. "A wallflower last year, a mother this year. Everything is turning out beautifully for you, dear."
"And Gwen is next," Isabelle added with a smile.
Gwen's raw nerves stung, with a mixture of pleasure and alarm at the words.
"What is it?" Daisy murmured to her sotto voce, while the other two conversed excitedly about the coming baby. "You look worried. Are you having doubts? I suppose that is only natural."
"If I marry him, we're guaranteed to fight like cats and dogs," Gwen said tensely.
Daisy smiled at her.
"Is it possible, that you are dwelling too much on your differences? I have a suspicion, that you and the Earl may be more alike, than you know."
"In what ways could we possibly be alike?"
"Just consider it," her younger sister advised with a grin. "I'm sure you'll come up with something."
Having summoned both his mother and sister to the Pendragon parlor, Arthur stood before them, with his hands clasped behind his back.
He found himself in the unfamiliar position of trusting his own heart, rather than following the dictates of reason.
That wasn't at all like a Pendragon.
The family was renowned, for its long line of coldly practical antecedents, with the exception of Alyssa and Morganna.
Arthur, for his part, had followed the typical Pendragon pattern...until Guinevere Sweetly had entered his life, with all the subtlety of a hurricane.
Now, the commitment he was making to a headstrong young woman, was bringing him a sense of peace, he had never known before.
An amused grimace, tugged at the small muscles of his face, as he wondered how to tell the countess, that she would finally have a daughter-in-law...who happened to be the last girl, she would ever have selected for the position.
Morganna sat in a nearby chair, while the countess, as always, occupied the settee.
And Arthur could not help but be struck by the difference in their gazes...his sister's warm and expectant, his mother's flat and wary.
"Now that you have roused me from my midday rest," the countess said tartly, "I beg you speak your piece, my lord. What news have you to deliver? What matter is so imperative, that I must be summoned at so inconvenient an hour? Some inconsequential missive, about that ill-begotten brat of your sister's, I suppose. Well, out with it!"
Arthur's jaw hardened.
All inclinations to break the news in a gentle fashion, had vanished at the uncharitable reference to his nephew.
Suddenly, he took great satisfaction, in the prospect of informing his mother, that every single one of her grandchildren, including the future heir to the title, would be half American.
"I'm sure you will be pleased to learn, that I have heeded your advice and finally chosen a bride," he said smoothly. "Although I have not yet made a formal proposal to her, I have good reason to believe, that she will accept when I do."
The countess blinked in surprise, her composure faltering.
Morganna stared at him with a wondering smile. There was a sudden wicked enjoyment in her eyes, which inclined him to think, she had guessed at the identity of the unnamed bride.
"How lovely, Arthur," she said. "Have you finally found someone who will tolerate you?"
He grinned back at her.
"It would seem so. Though I suspect, it would behoove me to hasten the wedding plans, before she comes to her senses and flees."
"Nonsense," the countess said sharply. "No woman would flee from the prospect of marrying the Earl of Westcliff. You possess the most ancient title in England. On the day you marry, you will bestow on your wife, more peerage dignities, than any uncrowned head on the face of the earth. Now, tell me whom you have decided on."
"Miss Guinevere Sweetly."
The countess made a disgusted sound.
"Enough of this witless humor, Arthur. Tell me the girl's name."
Morganna wriggled with delight.
Beaming at Arthur, she leaned closer to her mother and said in a loud stage whisper,
"I think he's serious, Mother. It really is Miss Sweetly."
"It cannot be!"
The countess looked aghast. One could practically see the capillaries bursting in her cheeks.
"I demand that you renounce this piece of insanity, Arthur Pendragon, and come to your senses. I will not have that atrocious creature as my daughter-in-law!"
"But you will," Arthur said inexorably.
"You could have your pick of any girl here, or on the continent...girls of acceptable lineage and bearing..."
"Miss Sweetly is the one I want."
"She could never fit into the mold of a Pendragon wife."
"Then the mold will have to be broken," he challenged.
The countess laughed harshly, the sound so ugly, that Morganna clenched the arms of her chair, to keep from clapping her hands over her ears.
"What madness has possessed you? That Sweetly girl is a mongrel! How can you think of burdening your children with a mother, who will undermine our traditions, scorn our customs, and make a mockery of basic good manners? How could such a wife serve you? Good God, Arthur!"
Pausing, the enraged woman labored to catch her breath.
Glancing from Arthur to Morganna, she exploded,
"What is the source of this family's infernal obsession with Americans?"
"What an interesting question, Mother," Morganna said drolly. "For some reason, none of your offspring can stand the thought of marrying one of their own kind. Why do you suppose that is, Arthur?"
"I suspect the answer would not be flattering to any of us," came his sardonic reply.
"You have a responsibility to marry a girl of good blood," the countess cried, her face twisting. "The only reasons for your existence, are to further the family lineage and preserve the title and its resources for your heirs. And you have failed miserably so far."
"Failed?" Morganna interrupted, her eyes flashing. "Arthur has quadrupled the family fortune since Father died, not to mention, improving the lives of every servant and tenant on this estate. He has sponsored humanitarian bills in Parliament and created employment for more than a hundred men, at the locomotive works, and moreover, he has been the kindest brother one could ever..."
"Morganna," Arthur murmured, "There is no need to defend me."
"Yes, there is! After all you have done for everyone else, why shouldn't you marry a girl of your own choosing...a spirited and perfectly lovely girl, I might add...without having to endure Mother's silly speeches about the family lineage?"
The countess trained a vicious gaze on her youngest child.
"You are ill-qualified to participate in any discussion of the family lineage, child, in light of the fact, that you scarcely qualify as Pendragon. Or, must I remind you...you were the result of a single night's dalliance, with a visiting footman? The late Earl had no choice but to accept you, in lieu of being labeled a cuckold, but still..."
"Morganna," Arthur interrupted his mother's tirade tersely, extending a hand to his sister, who had turned white.
The news was far from a surprise to her, but the countess had never dared to voice it openly until now.
Rising to her feet, Morganna came to him at once, her eyes blazing in her pale face.
Arthur curved a protective arm around her back and pulled her close, as he murmured in her ear.
"It's best if you leave now. There are things that must be said...and I won't have you caught in the crossfire."
"It's all right," she said, with only a slight tremor in her voice. "I don't mind the things she says. She's lost the power to hurt me long ago."
"But I mind them on your behalf," he replied gently. "Go find your husband, Morganna, and let him comfort you, while I deal with the countess."
Morganna looked up at him then, her face much calmer.
"I'll go find him," she said. "Though I don't need comfort."
"Good girl." He kissed the top of her head.
Surprised by the show of affection, she chuckled a little and stepped back from him.
"What are you whispering about?" the countess demanded testily.
Arthur ignored her, as he walked his sister to the door, and closed it quietly behind her.
When he turned to face the countess, his face was grim.
"The circumstances of Morganna's birth, do not reflect on her character," he said. "They reflect on yours. I don't give a damn if you chose to dally with a footman, or even if you bore his issue...but I mind very much, that you should shame your daughter for it. She's lived beneath the shadow of your wrongdoing, for her entire life, and paid dearly for your past indulgences."
"I will not apologize for my needs," the countess snapped. "In the absence of your father's affections, I had to take my pleasures where I found them."
"And you let Morganna take the brunt of the blame." His mouth twisted. "Though, I saw the way she was maltreated and neglected as a child, I could do nothing to protect her at the time. But now I can. There will be no further mention of this subject to her. Ever. Do you understand?"
Despite the quiet timbre of his voice, his volcanic fury must have communicated itself to her, for she did not protest or argue. She only swallowed hard and nodded.
A full minute passed, as both of them marshaled their emotions into order.
The countess was the first to launch an offensive.
"Arthur," she said in a controlled manner, "Has it occurred to you, that your father would have despised that Sweetly girl and everything she represents?"
Arthur stared at her blankly.
"No," he said at length, "It has never occurred to me."
His late father had been absent from his thoughts for so long, that he hadn't thought to wonder, what his impression of Guinevere Sweetly might be.
The fact that his mother supposed it would matter to him, was astonishing.
Assuming that she had given him cause for second thought, the countess pressed on with increasing determination.
"You always desired to please him," she continued, "And you often did, though he rarely acknowledged it. Perhaps, you won't believe me when I say that underneath it all, your father had only your best interests in mind. He wished to mold you into a man, who was worthy of the title...a powerful man who would never be taken advantage of. A man like himself. And for the most part he succeeded."
The words were intended to flatter Arthur. But they had the opposite effect, striking him like an axe blow to the chest.
"No, he didn't," he said hoarsely.
"You know what kind of woman he would want to sire his grandchildren," the countess said. "The Sweetly girl is unworthy of you, Arthur, unworthy of your name and your blood. Imagine a meeting between the two of them...her and your father. You know how he would have loathed her."
Arthur suddenly imagined Gwen confronting his devil of a father, who had awed and terrified everyone he had ever encountered.
There was no doubt in his mind, that Gwen would have reacted to the old Earl, with her customary flippancy. She would not have feared him for a second.
At his continued silence, the countess spoke in a softer tone.
"Of course she has her charms. I can well understand the attractions, that those of the lower order can hold for us...they sometimes appeal to our desire for the exotic. And there is no surprise in the fact, you, like all men, crave variety in your female pursuits. If you want her, then by all means have her. The solution is obvious...after you both have married other people, you and she may have an affair, until you tire of her. Our kind always finds love outside of marriage...it is better that way, you will see."
The room was unnaturally quiet, while Arthur's mind seethed, with soul-corroding memories and bitter echoes of voices, long since silenced.
Though he despised the role of a martyr and had never cast himself in that light, he could not help but reflect, that for most of his life, his own needs had gone largely unaddressed, as he shouldered his responsibilities.
Now, he had finally found a woman, who offered all the warmth and enjoyment, that had been so long overdue him...and damn it all, he had a right to demand the support of family and friends, no matter what private reservations they might have.
His thoughts ventured into darker territory, as he considered the earliest years of his life, when his father had sent away anyone, for whom he had felt an attachment.
'To keep him from being weak. To keep him from being dependent on anyone other than himself.'
It had established a pattern of isolation, that had ruled his entire life, until now. But no longer.
As for his mother's suggestion, that he have an affair with Gwen, when they were both married to other people, the idea offended Arthur down to the bottom of his soul.
It would be nothing but a perverse imitation, of the honest relationship that they both deserved.
"Listen well," he said, when he could finally trust himself to speak. "Before this conversation began, I was fully determined to make her my wife. But were it possible to increase my resolve, your words just now, would have done it. Do not doubt me when I say, that Guinevere Sweetly is the only woman on this earth, whom I would ever consider marrying. Her children will be my heirs, or else the Pendragon line stops with me. From now on, my overriding concern is her well-being. Any word, gesture, or action, that threatens her happiness, will meet with the worst consequences imaginable. You will never give her cause to believe that you are anything, but pleased by our marriage. The first word I hear to the contrary, will earn you a very long carriage ride away from the estate. Away from England. Permanently."
"You can't mean what you are saying. You are in a temper. Later, when you have calmed yourself, we will..."
"I'm not in a temper. I'm in deadly earnest."
"You've gone mad!"
"No, my lady. For the first time in my life, I have a chance at happiness...and I will not lose it."
"You fool," the countess whispered, trembling visibly with fury.
"Whatever comes of it, marrying her will be the least foolish thing I've ever done," Arthur replied, and took his leave of her with a shallow bow.
Stay safe!