Thank you for your continued support.
Standard disclaimer.
"Arthur! Arthur, no!"
Gwen skittered to a halt in the doorway, having hastily dressed in yesterday's discarded frock.
"Don't do this," she called. "He's your oldest friend. You don't want to hurt him."
"Oh, I want to hurt him," Arthur said evenly. "I want, very much, to hurt him."
She couldn't deny, that after hearing Leon's cruel words, watching him squirm, conveyed a particular sort of pleasure. But it had to stop there.
"Arthur, please."
With cautious steps, she approached the men.
"His life isn't worth one-tenth of yours. Your mother is in the house somewhere. You don't want her to see this. And if nothing else moves you, think of the servants. There would be a horrific mess."
"Do you hear that, Leon? That's the lowly barmaid pleading for your life. The woman you insulted...begging me to spare your loathsome skin. I think you ought to thank her."
Through gritted teeth, he added,
"Now!"
Leon nervously cleared his throat.
"Thank you."
"Thank you, Miss Campbell," the duke demanded. "And make me believe it."
"Thank you, Miss Campbell," Leon repeated. "I owe you my loathsome skin."
Arthur inhaled through his nose, then, slowly exhaled.
After a long moment, he shoved away, and both swords clattered to the floor.
Lord Leon slumped to the ground with relief and incidentally, Gwen felt like doing the same.
"When next you see her," Arthur said, giving Leon a light kick in the ribs, "You will greet her with respect and address her by her rightful name...as her grace, the Duchess of Bradford."
At that, Gwen's knees truly buckled.
"What?" she asked.
"What?" Leon echoed. "Arthur, we had a pact."
"For God's sake. Leave off about that stupid pact. We were nineteen. At that age, we thought midnight grouse hunts, were a grand idea, too."
He crossed the room to Gwen and took her hands in his.
"I can't let you leave today."
But she shook her head with vigor.
"No, no. Arthur, I can't stay. My sister. I promised her."
"I'll take care of her," he promised. "I'll take care of you both...always. From this moment on, you will never need to work again. Never need to be anxious or fearful. I will take care of everything."
'Oh, Lord,' Gwen thought and shook her head.
"But you must stay with me and see this through. If you retreat today, the gossips will claim their victory." His thumb caressed her hand. "We can have a future together, but we must seize it now. We can be married today."
"Today? Are you mad?" An incredulous look masked Gwen's features.
"Not at all. I'm not mad...only about you. There are only a few men in England, who could procure a special license on such short notice. I'm one of them. We'll marry today, and tonight you'll appear in public, as the Duchess of Bradford. No one will dare to talk about you, just on the basis of a rumor, in the scandal sheets. You're beautiful and gracious and clever, and you have that whole silly etiquette book memorized. We'll show them all tonight. You can do this."
She wanted to believe him. She really did. But how could she, when she could see very well, the reaction of his own supposed best friend.
"She will never be one of us," Leon said. "Not even if you marry her. You know it, too, Arthur. Be honest with yourself, and with her. The gossip will be savage. You will lose almost all of your social connections."
He struggled to his feet.
"It gives me no pleasure to say this...but I'm trying to be your friend."
"You are not my friend," Arthur grated out. "Get the hell out. And pray I don't send my second with a challenge tonight."
"I am your second," Leon said, as he left the room. "You don't have anyone else."
'See?' Gwen wanted to shout. It was happening already. Perhaps Leon wasn't much of a loss, but there would be others.
And she didn't want to see Arthur estranged from all his friends.
As for her, there was no question, she must go home, tonight.
If she didn't come back as promised, Danielle would feel betrayed and abandoned.
She couldn't live with herself then. She'd sworn to never make her sister feel that way again.
She had to end this now. In no uncertain terms.
The duchess entered then, dressed in gray silk, enlivened by a collar of sapphires and diamonds.
"What on earth is going on?" she demanded, her keen gaze sweeping the room. "Arthur, explain this commotion."
"Leon's a jackass. And I'm in love with Guinevere."
"Well," the duchess said, after a moment's pause. "I already knew both of those things. Neither quite explains the state of my salon."
Arthur's eyes never left Gwen's. "I'm going to marry her."
"No, your grace," Gwen countered. "He's not."
The duchess arched a brow.
"Does that mean I cast the deciding vote?"
"No," Arthur and Gwen said in unison.
But she seemed unconvinced.
"We'll see."
Gwen drew the duke aside and whispered,
"Arthur, this just can't happen."
"Why can't it?"
"How many times must I point out the obvious? You are a duke. I am a serving girl."
"You won't be a serving girl tonight. You will be a duchess. A beautiful, poised woman, who can hold her head high anywhere. And I will be the proudest man alive to stand at your side."
"But what pride will I have, when I'm pretending to be someone I'm not?"
"I'm not asking you to pretend."
"Yes, you are." Her voice faltered. "You told me I wasn't a 'someone' to you. You called me perfect, said you wouldn't change a thing."
"Yes, but..."
"But what? You don't mean to stand before all of London's Quality and tell them you're in love with me...a serving girl with a coarse, yeoman farmer for a father and a simple-minded sister, do you?"
He didn't answer. Which was answer enough.
"No. You want to dress me up in a fine gown, throw your name over me like a cloak, and pretend this barmaid everyone's gossiping about, just doesn't exist. As if you're ashamed of me."
She pressed a hand to her chest.
"I can't hide the truth of who I am."
"I am asking you to live the truth of who you are. The full truth." His tone was impatient now.
He took her by the shoulders and gave her a mild shake.
"There is so much more to you, than a common serving girl, Guinevere. Inside you, there's a remarkable woman, who soaked up poetry and squirreled away etiquette lessons, turned cruelty into dreams and plans...because, she knew she was meant for better things. I saw that woman the first day we met. I don't know why you won't let the world see her, too."
"You would chastise me for hiding secrets? For not living the truth? You, with that locked room upstairs?"
The color drained from Arthur's face. He darted a gaze at his mother, then lowered his voice.
"This has nothing to do with..."
"Of course it does." She retreated a step. "You're asking me to trust, that you'll love me openly. That you'll never be embarrassed or resentful of my origins, or my family. How can I believe those promises, when you won't tell your own mother...about her?"
The duchess stepped forward.
"Arthur, who is she talking about?"
"No one."
Gwen gasped in shock.
"You would deny her? She's not even a 'someone,' but a 'no one'?"
He drilled her with a fierce look.
"You gave me your word. You promised. Stop this now, Guinevere, or I can never trust you again."
She felt a twinge of guilt.
She had indeed given her word, and she knew she was pushing him towards a dangerous edge.
But someone had to.
After today, she'd never have another chance.
"You never told a soul she existed, Arthur. Then she died, and your heart splintered into a thousand pieces, and still you didn't say a word. How am I to believe that you'll protect me and my sister? How am I to trust that Danielle won't be hidden away in some locked, shameful room?"
"How dare you suggest that I'm ashamed of her."
"Prove you aren't, then! For God's sake...love shouldn't be a secret. You gave her a name, and you can't even use it."
His eyes flashed an angry shade of blue.
"Did you love her?"
"You know I did. Still do."
She raised her voice.
"Then say her name."
"Mary." His angry shout echoed throughout the room.
And Gwen went very still, absorbing the quiet swell of his fury.
She knew he would never forgive her for this. But at least, at long last, he might be able to heal.
"Her name was Mary," he said. "Mary Annabel Pendragon. Born the fourteenth day of last October, died the following week. She lived all of six days, and I loved her more than my own life."
He turned away from her, leveling a small table with a single, savage kick.
"God damn it!"
"Oh..." The duchess pressed a hand to her mouth and Gwen rushed to her side, afraid the older woman might collapse.
She helped her to the nearest chair.
"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."
She said it over and over again. Words of regret, apology, and condolence. But she knew they couldn't be enough.
"I'm sorry. But I've come to care so deeply for you both, and I can plainly see how you love each other. How you're hurting each other, too. Please, you can hate me forever, but talk to each other."
Arthur stared out the window, emotionless.
"I'll call for the coach to be readied. You can leave within the hour."
"I didn't want it to end this way. I hoped we could part as..."
"As friends?" He tapped one finger against the window glass. "If you don't believe that I'd change anything, give up everything, move heaven and earth to keep someone I love, even if it's only been a week...then you don't know me at all."
He fixed her with cold blue eyes.
"It seems I was wrong about you, too."
Reeling backwards, Gwen fled the parlor. Then, she turned and ran down the corridor, headed for the entrance hall.
"Gwen!" the duchess called after her. "Wait!"
But she only ran faster.
What more could be said?
Nothing would change.
When she reached the front door, she wrenched it open and darted through.
Outside, a crowd greeted her with a roar.
'Good heavens.'
The square was jammed with carriages and people, all of them thronged about the steps of Bradford House, craning their necks for a look.
A look at her, apparently.
Lord Leon hadn't been exaggerating. The word was all over London, and now all of London had converged on the duke's front step.
"There she is! That's her!"
"Miss Campbell!" a man shouted. "Is it true you're a barmaid?"
"Five pounds for an interview for the Prattler!"
Gwen cowered in the doorway. She couldn't go back inside and face Arthur again.
But this crowd churned with enough curiosity and excitement to pulverize her.
Even if she managed to escape these people, where would she go? She had no money. No possessions, save the clothes on her back.
She wasn't even wearing shoes.
"Gwen!" A familiar voice filtered through the din. "Gwen! It's me, Mrs. Radcliff."
Her heart leaped.
Shading her brow with both hands, she scanned the crowd, until she saw a friendly wave, from a gloved hand, and a halo of red hair.
'A friend. Thank God.'
As Gwen pushed towards her, people grabbed at her disheveled clothing and jostled for a glimpse of her face.
She felt buffeted about like a cork.
At last, she and Mrs. Radcliff made their way to each other.
"Oh, Lady Radcliff. I can't...I don't know how to..." Overwhelmed, she clapped a hand to her mouth.
Lady Radcliff folded her in a protective hug.
"It's all right, dear. It's all right. You're coming home with me."
Stay safe!