Thank you for your continued kind support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
"Good heavens. This is the worst yet," came the voice of a most displeased duchess, in the morning room the following day
"Let me see," Gwen said, as she leaned forward on her yellow-striped chair.
The duchess held up her knitting needles and from one of them dangled, a grayish, shapeless lump, with no conceivable function and the resemblance of a dead rat.
"It is rather hideous," Gwen had to admit.
"Wrong. It is hideous." The duchess clucked her tongue. "Hideous. Back to your diction exercises, girl. We've made great strides, but those H's must be clear, by tomorrow night. We can't have you curtsying before 'Is Royal 'Eyeness', now can we?"
"I shouldn't be going anywhere near the Prince Regent at all."
Just the thought made her stomach twist.
There was to be a ball at Carlton House, the Prince Regent's own residence, tomorrow.
The duchess had seized the invitation, as Gwen's last and best chance, to make a splash in the London society.
"Even if I can say proper H's, I don't belong in a palace. Your grace, I wish you'd abandon the idea."
"I'm not abandoning anything. It's our only remaining chance, after last night."
When Gwen had appeared at breakfast that morning and the duke hadn't, the duchess concluded, that her Vauxhall hopes had been for naught.
Though her assumptions about the intervening hours might be faulty, she had the end result correct.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Gwen said. "I've told you and told you, he won't marry me."
"Perhaps not willingly."
The duchess resumed her seat and began furiously working her needles again.
"But he will be forced to propose tomorrow. That was the bargain. If I make you the toast of London, he promised to marry you."
Gwen shook her head.
"You must accept reality, your grace. It's just not possible."
"It is. I know it looks unlikely. But this is the point, where we rally and make a triumphant finish. Diction this morning. I have a dancing master coming by the house later. We'll practice your curtsy and greetings, too. I've bought you a set of lovely chimes, to replace your water goblets. And of course, I've ordered the finest gown available. I'm not surrendering."
She held up her hideous knitting.
"I can't."
With a resigned sigh, Gwen cracked open the Bible.
"Holy," she read aloud. "He. Hath. Hosanna."
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a familiar figure entering the room.
'Oh, hell.'
Arthur.
So many impulses flooded Gwen.
She wanted to fly to him, hug him, shake him, kiss him, even tackle him to the carpet.
But she didn't know how, she'd even look at him, without giving everything away.
Though she needn't have worried, because, the duchess was too mortified, to notice her reaction.
The woman jumped to her feet, with that ghastly gray rat still dangling from her knitting needles, with nowhere to hide it.
The duke frowned at his mother's actions, then, dropped his gaze to the knitting.
"What on earth is that?"
A very good question and one Gwen hoped the duchess would now be forced to finally, honestly, answer.
"This?" the duchess asked.
"Yes. That."
"I will tell you exactly what this is." She lifted her chin, then turned to Gwen. "It's exceedingly poor handiwork. Very bad indeed, Miss Campbell. I expected better of you."
At that, she cast the entire mess of yarn, into the coal grate.
Gwen rolled her eyes and looked at the Bible.
"Hypocrite," she pronounced softly, with perfect diction.
Ignoring her, the duchess smoothed her hands down the front of her gown.
"Well, what is it?" she asked her son.
"I need to tell you something."
Hope bloomed in Gwen's chest.
Perhaps he'd changed his mind, and had seen the benefit of revealing his painful secrets and unburdening his heart.
She looked up from the Bible to send him an encouraging look. 'Please. You'll feel so much lighter,' she said internally.
But he didn't even turn her way.
"I've sent your amethysts to the jeweler for repair," the duke told his mother smoothly. "The clasp broke while Miss Campbell was wearing them last night."
Gwen released her breath, frustrated. There went her hopes of honesty.
The duchess' eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
"It broke?"
"Yes." He tweaked a button on his cuff. The ducal calm was in top form this morning. "You'll have them back in a few days."
'Of course she will,' Gwen thought.
Just as soon as the jeweler had time to recreate the entire piece, in meticulous detail, so the duchess would never know the difference.
What an absurd amount of effort.
'Why didn't he just tell her the jewels had been stolen?' Gwen thought. She would feel much better if he had.
"You're certain it can be repaired?" the duchess asked. "Perhaps I should have a look at it myself."
"No need. Just a simple matter of mending the clasp."
"Ha!," Gwen interjected.
When the duke and duchess swung on her with questioning gazes, she pointed one finger at the Bible page and added,
"...llelujah."
Why didn't anyone in this family simply talk to each other?
For the entire season, they'd been residing in the same house, dining at the same table...and all the while, holding these deep secrets.
The duchess was desperate for creatures to comfort.
Meanwhile, her own son needed a great deal of comforting.
Gwen was caught in the middle. She was everyone's confidante, but sworn to secrecy on all sides. This was miserable.
They were privileged in so many ways...wealthy, well-placed, well-regarded among their peers, but mostly, they were just so damned lucky, to have each other.
Only their aristocratic reserve was in the way.
"Hogwash," she muttered.
Arthur snapped his fingers at her.
"Verse."
"Hmm?"
"Chapter and verse." He craned his neck, looking over her shoulder. "I should like to know where, precisely, in St. Paul's letter to the Ephesians, he uses the word 'hogwash.' "
Gwen twisted in her chair, shielding the Bible from his view.
"It's penciled in the margin." He wasn't the only one who could prevaricate.
"Someone scribbled in the family Bible?" The duchess arched a brow at her son.
"What?" he said. "It wasn't me. You know I never read the thing."
"Hmph." The duchess rang the bell, and when the housemaid appeared, she instructed her to bring every servant into the room.
Once they were all lined in a perfect row, from the butler down to the scullery maid, her grace addressed them.
"Someone has vandalized the Holy Scriptures. Let the offender come forward."
No one came forward, so of course. Gwen did.
"I made it up," she said, rising from her chair. "And there's more you should know, your grace. The duke's keeping something from you."
The room went utterly silent.
And the look Arthur sent her...it chilled her to the marrow. It was a hard glare brimming with anger and betrayal. Don't you dare, that look said.
She knew in that moment, if she broke her word to him and revealed the truth of his daughter, he would never forgive her.
It wouldn't matter that he cared for her, or what pleasure they'd shared last night. He would excise her from his life completely, even if it felt like slicing off his own arm.
Gwen swallowed hard.
"The amethysts," she whispered. "The duke is good to shield me, but he's not telling the whole truth, your grace. The clasp didn't break on its own. A thief tore it from my neck."
The assembled servants gasped.
"Oh, Miss Campbell," the housekeeper said. "You weren't hurt, were you?"
"No," she assured all of them, grateful for their concern. "No, I'm fine. But my reputation took a few blows. I might have chased after the thief, shouting blasphemy all through the pavilions of Vauxhall. And the necklace is gone."
She turned to the duchess.
"I'm so sorry. But I feel much better, having told the truth. As they say, confession is good for the soul. While we're all assembled here, perhaps, there are other secrets weighing heavy on our minds. Matters that would benefit from fresh air and sunlight."
She looked from Arthur to the duchess and back.
'For the love of God. Just talk to each other,' she screamed internally.
"You're right," someone said. "Miss Campbell is right. I've done wrong and I must confess."
In the corner, the cook was wringing her apron. Tears rolled down her floury cheeks.
"Last month, her grace ordered turbot for dinner. Well, I searched and searched the market, and there weren't any turbot to be had."
She buried her face in her apron.
"I served you cod. I sauced it heavily, so no one could tell. But I've felt terrible about it ever since."
Gwen went to the crying woman's side and offered a sympathetic pat.
"There there. I'm certain her grace will be forgiving."
"I let a cinder fall on the drawing room carpet," one of the housemaids blurted. "It burnt a hole."
"But don't you feel better now, for having the truth out in the open?" Gwen asked.
The housemaid sniffed and raised her head.
"I do, Miss Campbell. I truly do. It's like a weight's been lifted."
"I'm so glad. No one should live under the burden of secrets."
Young Margaret the scullery maid spoke up, eager to have her part.
"I saw Lawrence in the pantry, fumbling with a housemaid!"
The duchess straightened her spine.
"Lawrence?"
The footman in question paled.
The duchess addressed the housemaids sternly.
"Which one of you was it? Step forward now."
Three of them did, simultaneously. When they looked around the room and realized they weren't alone, they each turned on Lawrence with vicious glares.
Poor Lawrence twisted under their anger.
"I...I..." He thrust his chin forward. "Harrison wears a corset!"
If he meant to divert attention from himself, he succeeded. All around the room, eyebrows soared.
Poor Harrison. His cheeks went beet red.
"It's not a ladies' corset. A butler must cut a respectable figure."
For a long, uncomfortable moment, no one had anything to say.
And then...
"I'm not French."
This came from Frieda.
"What?" the duchess exclaimed. "Impossible."
"I'm not. I'm n-not."
The lady's maid gave her confession in halting, poorly enunciated English. Her accent was even more common than Gwen's, and she had a painful stammer.
"I knew I'd never f-f-find a lady's maid post, speaking as I do. So I let on, that I was French and full of airs, so's I wouldn't have to talk. My real name's Fl-Fl-Flora. I'm so sorry. I'll pack me things."
She fled the room in tears.
The duchess went after her. "Frieda or, Flora...whoever, you are, wait!"
In their absence, a stunned silence filled the morning room.
The duke clapped his hands together.
"Well. Thank you, Miss Campbell. This has been a most illuminating morning."
Gwen put a hand to her temple. 'Oh, Lord.'
The doorbell rang and no one moved.
"Here's a thought," Arthur said. "Why don't I answer that?"
Harrison shook himself and lurched into motion.
"Your grace, allow me."
But Arthur held up a hand.
"No, no. I confess, I have long harbored a deep secret...yearning to answer my own door."
As he left the room, Gwen dashed after him.
"I'm sorry. I had no idea all that would happen. But don't you see? This house is full of secrets, and it's making everyone unhappy. No one more than you. You need to disclose your sorrows, and open your heart."
"The only thing I'm opening right now, is the front door."
He strode to the entrance and yanked on the door handle. When he saw the visitors standing outside, he muttered,
"Brilliant. Just what this morning needs."
Gwen froze in disbelief.
On the doorstep stood not one, but two familiar people.
The woman she'd known in Spinster Cove, as Miss Nanette Hereford Payne. And her husband...Lord Percival Payne.
"I knew it," Miss Nanette said, pushing passed the duke, to catch Gwen in a desperate hug. "Never fear, Gwennie. We've come to save you."
Having opened the door, Arthur took on the duty of closing it.
As he did so, he felt extremely sorry, that these two visitors were on the wrong side.
"It's been too long, Pendragon." Payne offered a hand and a genial smile.
'Not long enough,' Arthur thought. For his part, he could have lasted a week or two more.
Lady Payne looked up at him, eyes burning with fire, behind those wire-rimmed spectacles.
"You revolting trilobite."
'Charming,' the duke thought. And here he had been, wondering what Payne saw in the girl.
"If only I hadn't left my reticule at home," she said bitterly.
He hadn't the faintest idea what that signified, but he supposed, this wasn't a conversation to conduct in the entrance hall.
He showed them to his study...it was one room he felt certain, would not be occupied by a sobbing housemaid.
Ringing for tea seemed a chancy prospect.
He poured Payne a brandy and made the offer of a cordial drink to the ladies. Another episode in today's adventures in self-sufficiency.
"Gwen, what's happened?" Payne's excitable wife asked. "What's he done to you?"
"My lady, he's only employed me. I'm in this house working, as a companion to his mother, the duchess."
"Oh, really." Lady Payne's voice was rich with skepticism. "And where is the duchess now?"
"She's upstairs," Arthur said. "Dealing with a small crisis of the house staff."
"So," she huffed. "Servants in this house are often unhappy." She slid her gaze between Gwen and Arthur. "Am I to believe nothing untoward has happened between you?"
"You're to believe it's none of your concern," he answered. "Why are you so suspicious of me?"
"I'm not suspicious. My dislike of you, is formed on abundant evidence. I've been to that ghastly pleasure palace you keep." She turned to Gwen. "Do you know he has a den of iniquity in the country?"
Gwen shook her head.
"No, my lady. It wouldn't be my business to know that."
Arthur frowned.
Why had she become so docile and compliant all of a sudden?
This was hardly the same Gwen he knew. Certainly not the same Gwen who had pressed him back against his bed last night and dragged her tongue over every inch of his chest.
"It's called Winterset Cottage. I was there last year," his bespectacled inquisitioner continued, speaking to Gwen. "Percy and I stopped there for one night, on our journey elsewhere. Oh, it was disgusting." She shuddered.
"Not so disgusting, that you declined my hospitality," the duke said, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms. "And if you'll forgive me for saying it, Lady Payne, I'm not sure you have the moral high ground in this particular tale."
"What can you mean?"
"By your own admission, you'd run away from your family with a scandalous rake. And, might I add, lied to my face about your identity. I seem to remember Payne introducing you as Orestina, some sort of long-lost Alpine princess and cold-blooded assassin, who spoke not a word of English. I mean...really. An Alpine princess-assassin. And you call me depraved?"
She sat tall, indignant.
"You made inappropriate overtures to me. And you suggested Percy wager my favors in a game of cards. What can you say to that?"
He spread his hands.
"Alpine. Princess. Assassin."
She fumed at him.
"I admit, that the scene you wandered into, was one of flagrant vice. I'm just pointing out, that you were hardly the saint in the lion's den. Isn't it conceivable that we've all changed in the past year?" he asked.
"People don't change that much," she said. "Not in essentials."
"Well, that's where you're wrong," he replied angrily. "In essentials."
He stalked toward the window.
This conversation was making him angry, and a little bit afraid.
It had been a full year, since he has engaged in anything like Lady Payne described.
His heart and his life had fundamentally changed. And no one saw it. Not Payne, whom he'd once thought of as a close friend. Not even his own mother.
Society still linked him with opulent debauchery, and those assumptions would color the way they were interpreted, by anyone close to him...including Gwen.
So this was the price he paid for a misspent youth.
Last autumn, he'd wanted nothing more than to give his daughter a respectable life.
Perhaps, it was best she hadn't lived to feel the brunt of his failure. She would have been ashamed to be his.
The duke tossed back a large swallow of brandy, feeling it burn all the way down.
Lord Payne approached him and spoke in confidential tones.
"Listen, Arthur. My wife can be protective, but we're truly not here to grill you on your life choices. We're just concerned for Gwen. I spent many dark nights in that village tavern. It's not much of a stretch, to say her friendly smile and quickness with a pint, saved my life a time or two. She's a sweet girl, and she means well."
Arthur bit back a curse.
"You don't know her at all. You never took the time to learn anything about her."
"I know her family situation. I know she hasn't anyone to look out for her."
"She does now," Arthur said. The words came from his gut.
Payne's eyebrows lifted meaningfully.
"Oh, does she?"
"Yes."
"And you're certain that's what she wants?"
"She's an intelligent, free-thinking adult. Ask her."
With a gruff sigh, the duke moved away from his conference with Lord Payne and addressed Gwen.
"Miss Campbell, if you are concerned about my personal history, or unhappy with the terms of our arrangement...if you want to leave this house for any reason at all...I will write you a bank draft this moment, and you can go with Lord and Lady Payne."
Gwen's gaze alternated back and forth, between him and their visitors, as though she were giving it close, thoughtful consideration.
'Good God,' Arthur blanched. Perhaps, she did want to leave him.
"Well?" he asked again, somewhat hoarsely this time. "Do you want to go?"
Gwen halfheartedly wished she had the strength to say yes. It would be the easiest way.
She and Arthur would have to part eventually, and the parting would only grow more difficult.
But she couldn't go this morning. Because she loved him.
She loved him, and she couldn't let him go just yet.
"No, your grace," she said. "I want to stay."
"Well, then." He turned to Lady Payne. "I assume you're satisfied."
Lady Payne didn't even speak to him, instead, she approached Gwen.
She pushed a small square of paper into her hand.
"Here is our calling card. I've written our direction on the back, and Lady Radcliff's as well. If you need anything...anything at all...you can always come to us. Day or night, do you understand?"
Gwen nodded.
"You are very good, the both of you. I'm grateful for your concern."
Even if she didn't need it, it felt good to know they cared.
Stay safe!