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Standard disclaimer.
Ensconced at Radcliff House, safely away from the crowds, Gwen sat, as the lady of the house poured another cup of tea.
"What a week you've had, dear."
Gwen watched the fragrant liquid filling her porcelain cup. Lady Radcliff serving her tea...the world had turned upside down.
"It has been eventful," she replied. And the story had taken the better part of two hours to relate, from the first tossing of clayed sugar to the cold, bitter end.
Of course, she hadn't told everything, she'd left out the amorous details.
Also, the duke deserved his privacy, where his little daughter, Mary, was concerned. She'd never tell another soul about that.
"I knew Arthur was a villain," Lady Payne said, as she plucked a biscuit from the tray and took a vengeful bite.
"You're mistaken," Gwen said. "He's a good man. The best kind of man."
And she'd hurt him.
Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw his angry, betrayed expression.
The image was stamped into her memory, embossed in guilt.
Perhaps, she shouldn't have pushed, but she'd been very concerned for him.
And he was right. She was very afraid for herself.
"Did he truly propose marriage?" Lady Radcliff asked.
Gwen nodded.
"And you refused?"
She nodded again.
"You must think me a fool."
"You are not a fool." Lady Nanette Payne reached to squeeze her hand.
No. She supposed she wasn't.
In truth, she was a coward. She'd panicked and pushed him away.
His suggestions had been such madness...for the two of them, marry.
Her, become a true duchess?
An elegant lady, admired by the London elite?
It just couldn't be.
The crowd outside Bradford House knew the truth. She could still feel them tugging at her clothing, and shouting in her ears.
Arthur could claim not to care about gossip...but that was easy for a duke to say. He'd never been the object of mockery and scorn.
He didn't know how it felt, to be at the bottom of the pecking order, and if she tried to live in his world, that was exactly where she'd be. Always.
Even if she could withstand a lifetime of snide remarks and subtle cruelty, she couldn't expose Danielle to that treatment.
"You were right to refuse him," Nanette said. "But we can't let it end this way."
'We?'
Why should either of these ladies care how her week ended?
She felt lucky enough, that they'd offered her a place to gather herself and was helping to find transportation back to Spinster Cove.
But there was no we in this...only her.
"This ball tonight," Nanette said, adjusting her spectacles. "You must go."
"Why would I do that? I doubt the duke will attend."
"Even if he doesn't attend. Go for yourself. Just to let those gossips see you, undefeated and simply to prove you can."
To prove you can.
But could she, really?
Gwen shook her head.
In Spinster Cove, she'd half listened as Nanette Payne lectured the other ladies, on the most impossible topics...vast underwater caves and giant prehistoric lizards.
This latest suggestion seemed no different.
"I can't attend the ball tonight," she said. "I wouldn't even know where to go, or how to get there. And I haven't anything to wear."
"Leave all that to us," Nanette said, tapping Lady Radcliff on the arm. "We'll handle the arrangements. You need only supply the courage. Us Spinster Cove ladies band together."
"I'm not a lady, my lady."
"We would stand by you, even if you were a serving girl," Lady Radcliff said. "But I believe you've always been something more."
Gwen warmed a little.
She did have more inside of her, and maybe Arthur wasn't the only one to notice.
To be sure, she wasn't up to the standards of Lady Haughfell and her set, and she certainly was no duchess. But neither were Lady Radcliff or Lady Payne, or any of the other ladies, who sought refuge in Spinster Cove.
She belonged there.
Her heart expanded with a sense of certainty.
She knew her rightful place in the world.
She was going to have her cozy, welcoming, wonderful-smelling library, and it would be a home for any girl who needed it.
And she would have her sister...the one person who loved her wholly, without shame or reservation.
That was something, even the fourth-largest fortune in England couldn't buy.
"I want to go home," she said. "As soon as it can be managed."
"Go to the ball first," Nanette urged.
But Gwen shook her head.
"I must be back in Spinster Cove tomorrow. I promised my sister."
"You can do both. The mail coach is the fastest way home, and it doesn't leave London until after midnight. Isn't that right, Mrs. Radcliff?"
"I suppose," Lady Radcliff replied. "Gwen, if you wanted to attend the ball for an hour or two, we could still take you to the mail coach in time."
Gwen hesitated.
"My lady?" A housemaid entered the room, looking apologetic. "I beg your pardon, but there's someone here for Miss Campbell."
Gwen's heart fluttered.
"If it's the duke, I..." she started.
The maid looked confused.
"I didn't see any duke, ma'am. It's a lady caller. She's brought a good many parcels, too."
A young woman entered the sitting room, laden with a tower of boxes. Gwen couldn't even see her face, because of all the packages.
"Miss Campbell, it's m-me."
Gwen rose to her feet.
"Frieda? What are you doing here?" She helped unload the parcels from the maid's arms.
Once unburdened, Frieda dropped her gaze.
"They've s-sacked me."
"Sacked you? Oh, no."
"It's what I deserved. Her grace let me go without a reference, and I haven't any way to find a new p-post. I thought, perhaps if I readied you for the ball tonight...so's everyone would be dazzled by your beauty, and it made it to the papers...maybe, someone would hire me, anyhow."
She grabbed Gwen's arm.
"Please, Miss Campbell. It's you who'd be d-doing me a favor."
"Frieda, I'd like to help. But I don't know. Perhaps you could dress Lady Radcliff or Lady Payne."
Frieda shook her head.
"It has to be you. I want to see you do this, Miss Campbell. You've worked so hard all week. We all d-did. And then there's this. It was made for you. It won't fit anyone else."
From the largest box, she withdrew a breathtaking flash of red.
'Oh goodness.'
The gown seemed to be at least three-fourths skirt.
The bodice was small and tight, boned for stiffness and fitted with the shortest puffs of sleeves.
The skirts were like a cloud. A great shimmering, airy, fluffy cloud, of tulle overlaying satin.
Little sparkling things were affixed to the tulle by the thousands. It truly was a thing of wonder.
"Oh, Gwen," Lady Radcliff said. "If any man can look at you in that and not simply fall to his knees before you..." Her voice trailed off.
"He'll eat his own hat." Lady Payne clapped with glee. "Do it. Do it for every young woman, who ever felt scorned or overlooked. This is your chance, Gwen."
Gwen ghosted her hand over the beautiful red fabric, spangled with seed pearls and tiny crystals.
She didn't need to prove her worth to anyone.
She didn't need a lavish wardrobe, or the wealth that accompanied the title of duchess.
But she needed to wear this gown, just this once. It was made for her. Literally.
"Very well," she said. "Let's do it."
"One question," said Lady Radcliff. "Do we tell the men about this?"
"No," said Lady Payne stoutly. "Percival will steal all the credit. This is going to be our grand success. We'll show everyone what Spinster Cove ladies can do."
Gwen wasn't so certain about that 'success' part.
She still doubted that she could ever blend in, at such an event.
But after tonight, she could go home with her pride. No one could say, she wasn't brave enough to try.
"Corinthian." As the carriage rolled up before the Prince Regent's grand residence, the word just rolled from her tongue.
"What is it, Gwen?"
"Those columns on the portico. They're Corinthian."
It was amazing. This week in London, had taught her the strangest things.
What an odd assortment of lessons, she would bring home with her.
She still hadn't learned how to hide her anxiety, however. But it helped that both Lady Radcliff and Lady Payne, were clearly nervous, too.
"We're not much good with balls, either," Lady Payne confided. "Perhaps we should have warned you beforehand."
"It's all right," said Lady Radcliff. "We'll all go in as a group."
As they made their way into the entrance hall, Lady Radcliff, the tallest of them, craned her neck to look over the crowd.
"Oh, drat," she said. "They're checking names against a list."
That wasn't good news.
Gwen knew she'd been on the list earlier that week. But today's gossip had no doubt removed her from it.
Or perhaps, moved her to another list...one written in red and headed with the words, 'Not to be admitted under any circumstance.'
"You could give another name," Lady Payne suggested. "You could be me. I don't mind. Everyone will just assume, I've removed my spectacles for once and undergone a thrilling transformation."
"No." Gwen smiled. "It's kind of you, but I can't. I must be here as myself, or not at all."
When the crowd shifted, she quietly remained in place and let her friends drift away.
If this evening proceeded as disastrously as she suspected it might, she didn't want Lady Radcliff and Lady Payne, to be tainted by association.
They'd brought her this far, but she must face the rest on her own.
Surely, there was another way into the ballroom.
There must be a smaller passageway for the staff. She was a servant...she could find it.
After a few moments' surreptitious investigation, Gwen turned down a narrow corridor.
She passed near a clashing, steamy din, that must have been the palace kitchen.
When she spied a footman returning with a tray of empty glasses, she knew she needed to proceed in the direction he'd traversed...a passageway with stairs.
At the top, she listened for the sounds of chatter and music.
Turning towards the noise, she rounded a corner and reeled to a halt, when she nearly collided with a finely dressed man.
"I'm sorry," she started to apologize. "I..."
When she swept a look from his boots to his face, she gasped.
'Oh, bollocks.'
Fitted tailcoat. White gloves. An angry red line running down his left cheek...
"Lord Leon."
Arthur had been right...that wound would probably leave a scar. Not a disfiguring one. Just a thin, indelible reminder.
'Good.'
"I knew I saw you here," he said.
"Please excuse me."
When she tried to move passed him, he grabbed her arm.
"I won't let you do this. I've known Arthur all his life, and I know what's best for him, even when he doesn't."
Gwen's heart jumped.
Did that mean the duke was here?
She pulled against Leon's grasp.
"Let me go."
He didn't frighten her, but he was a man, much larger and more powerful than she was. Moreover, this was his native environment.
His friends at this event, numbered in the hundreds. She could count hers on one hand and still have a good many fingers left over.
She was out-sized, outranked and outclassed. And unless she figured out a way around him, she would remain outside the ballroom forever.
"Is it money you want?" he asked.
He released her arm and slid a bank note from his breast pocket. Gwen could just make out the writing on it.
It was five pounds.
He waved it at her.
"Take it, then. And use the servants' exit. This isn't the place for you."
That's not for you, girl.
Gwen's cheeks burned.
With those words, he wasn't Leon anymore. He was every book, that had ever been ripped from her hand. Every door that had ever been slammed on her.
She wanted to fight back, throw something...even spit in his face.
But this situation called for a different sort of phlegm.
She pulled her spine straight, lifted her chin and fixed him with a cool, direct look.
"Go to hell."
While he stood sputtering, she dashed passed him and rejoined the crowd, near the ballroom entry.
Before she could lose her nerve, she cut ahead of the queue of waiting guests.
Impolite, perhaps. But the gossips already knew her to be a serving girl...it wasn't as though, they could think much worse of her.
Gwen gave her name to the majordomo, and he announced,
"Miss Campbell of Sussex."
The ballroom went utterly silent, except for the thunder of her heart. Her hands trembled at her sides.
'Breathe,' she told herself. And then, 'Go.'
She let that transparent cord at her navel pull her forward, guiding her, as she descended the small flight of stairs.
As she walked, her gown caught the light of hundreds of candles and lamps, sending arrows of light in every direction.
Once she reached the bottom of the staircase, she sought refuge behind a cluster of potted palms and scanned the crowd for familiar faces.
Where were the Lady's Radcliff and Payne?
She knew she'd resolved to go this alone, but she didn't feel so brave anymore.
And then...there was Arthur.
He strode toward her, wearing an immaculate black tailcoat and carrying a wicked gleam in his eye. So assured, so handsome.
Oh, the flutterings.
She had flutterings all through her. They were so strong, they just about carried her away.
"I didn't think you'd attend," she breathed. "I was hoping, of course...I just wanted to see you again. To tell you I'm sorry, and that you were right. I was afraid. I'm still afraid, to be honest. I don't think I can do this at all. But if you..."
He didn't let her finish.
"You shouldn't be here."
Gwen was seized by a pulse of pure terror.
It didn't matter to her, if the rest of the gathering scorned her. But to be scorned by Arthur...if he should cast her out...
But he didn't cast her out.
He took her by the hand.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, more gently this time. "The most beautiful woman in the room, does not belong in the corner with the potted palms. Come out from there...or else, Frieda did all this for nothing."
Gwen pulled up short and stared at him.
"You. It was you. You sent Frieda. And the gown. You didn't sack her at all."
A little smile played about his lips.
"You wouldn't have come if I'd asked."
Of all the tricks. She couldn't believe it.
"I thought you were furious with me."
"I was furious with you. For about...ten minutes. Perhaps, a full quarter hour. Then I came to my senses." He tugged her forward. "Come. We have a bargain to complete. There's someone to whom, you should be properly introduced."
'Not the Prince Regent,' she prayed.
But it was worse.
Arthur steered her towards the Haughfells. All three of them...mother and daughters...united by the grim sets of their mouths and their refusal to even look at her.
What was Arthur playing at now?
"Lady Haughfell." He bowed. "What a happy coincidence. I know you've been longing to further your acquaintance with Miss Campbell. And here she is."
Sheer horror flickered across the lady's powdered face.
"I do not think..."
"But this is ideal. What better time or place? In fact..."
He took a dance card and its small attached pencil, from the older Miss Haughfell's hand.
"...Let me write down the key details. Just so, there can be no question in the scandal sheets tomorrow. Miss Campbell hails from Spinster Cove, a charming village in Sussex. Her father is a farmer, with thirty acres and some livestock..."
As Gwen looked on in amazement, Arthur narrated the entire tale for them.
His mother's kidnapping ploy, their arrival in Spinster Cove. Her appearance in the Bull Pen...sugar-dusted and muddied. His visit to her family's cottage and their eventual bargain.
He spared no detail, but told the story plainly and with good humor.
Occasionally, he noted an important fact on the dance card...Bull Pen...Thirty acres...One thousand pounds.
"You see," he said, "I brought Miss Campbell to London, to thwart my mother's matchmaking schemes. She was supposed to be a laughable failure. A hilarious joke."
One of the Misses Haughfells began to giggle and her mother smacked her wrist with a folded fan.
"No, no," Arthur said. "Do laugh, please. It's most amusing. A barmaid, receiving duchess lessons. Can you imagine? The best part was the diction training. My mother was forever drilling Miss Campbell on her H's."
"Is that so?" Lady Haughfell arched a brow. "I don't suppose she made much progress."
"Oh, but she did. Show them, Miss Campbell."
Gwen smiled.
"Hideous. Ham-faced. Hag." She looked to Arthur. "There. How was that?"
"Brilliant." He beamed at her.
"Write it down," Gwen said.
"Of course."
As he scribbled the epithets on Miss Haughfell's dance card, he went on talking.
"But, you haven't heard the funniest bit, Lady Haughfell. See, I thought I was playing a trick on my mother...and all of London...but it turns out, the joke was on me."
The lady stiffened.
"Because you have lost, what remained of your family's honor and society's good opinion?" she stiffly asked.
"No. Because I fell desperately in love with this barmaid and now cannot imagine happiness without her." He looked up and shrugged. "Whoops."
All three Haughfells stared at him in mute, slack-jawed horror.
Gwen wished she could have a miniature of their expressions, to keep in a drawer forever and pull out on dull, rainy days.
Arthur sharpened the pencil stub with his thumbnail.
"Let's make sure to put that down. It's important." He spoke the words slowly, as he inscribed them. "Desperately...in...love."
"Don't forget the 'whoops,' " Gwen said, looking over his shoulder. "That was the best part."
"Yes." He looked up, and his blue gaze caught hers. "So it was."
They stared into each other's eyes, utterly absorbed in affection and silent laughter.
The moment was perfect. He was perfect. A teasing, wonderful man.
"Is that a waltz they're playing?" the duke suddenly asked.
He stared at the marked-up card in his hand, before handing it back.
"Pity your card is full, Miss Haughfell. I suppose I'll dance with Miss Campbell instead."
With that, Arthur led Gwen to the center of the ballroom and slid one arm about her waist, fitting his hand on her back and together, they joined the waltz.
Almost immediately, other couples began to disappear.
One by one, at first.
Then two or three at the same time.
And the more alone they grew, the less self-conscious Gwen became.
Soon, it felt positively magical.
Here they were, dancing under the full weight of society's disapproval. And it felt as though, the orchestra and canopied ballroom and general resplendence of the setting, had all been arranged, just for the two of them.
"I suppose I've fulfilled my end of the agreement," she said. "I'm not going to be the toast of London tonight, nor any night."
"No. You won't."
With that, she thought he would put a stop to the dance, but he didn't. He just twirled her into turn after turn.
"I think we've done enough," she whispered. "I'm a confirmed disaster."
"Oh, yes. A comprehensive catastrophe. A beautiful, perfect failure." He pulled back to regard her. "And I could not be more proud."
His words settled, as warmly as a hug.
They both knew she could never have sustained any pretense, at gentle breeding.
Families like the Haughfells, would not have been fooled.
Instead, he'd embraced her for her true self...publicly and completely, in a manner that ensured, they'd never accept her at all.
But, by letting her fail, he'd made her a success. At long last, she was a triumph.
The serving girl, who'd conquered not society, but its most recalcitrant duke...a huntress, draped in the elusive white tiger's pelt.
Just for tonight.
Arthur swept Gwen with an adoring look.
"Radiant. Just as you were that first day."
Sha laughed.
"I'm sure, I look nothing like I did that first day."
"You do. You sparkled."
"That was the sugar."
"I'm not convinced. I think it was just you." His voice softened to a caress. "It was always you."
A lump stuck in her throat and she swallowed hard.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a few of the Prince Regent's hussars, conferring in the corner, hands on their sabers.
If they didn't leave the dance floor soon, armed guards might chase them from it. That would be a night to remember.
"We're down to minutes, I think."
"So let's make them count," Arthur said. "Here I am, a duke, waltzing with a serving girl, holding her improperly close, for everyone to see."
He shivered for effect.
"What's that I feel? Could it be the social fabric unraveling?"
Gwen's mouth twisted, as she tried not to smile.
"It's probably just the gout. I've heard dukes are gouty."
"Well, I've heard serving girls taste like ripe berries." He touched his lips to hers.
She gasped.
"Arthur."
"There. Now I've kissed you, in front of everyone. Shocking! And look, I'm going to do it again."
He stopped dancing and used those big strong arms, to pull her close, and claimed her mouth in a passionate kiss.
When they parted, he wore a sly, roguish smile.
"What would Mrs. Worthing say?"
Gwen didn't know about Mrs. Worthing, but somewhere a clock began to chime the hour and her heartbeat stuttered.
The mail coach.
"I have to leave," she said. "I must go, or I'll never make it home in time." She tugged out of his embrace. "I'm sorry. I promised my sister. You promised her, too."
She dashed away from him, streaking out of the ballroom, back through the crowded antechambers, to the portico and down the stairs...just as fast as her slippers would carry her.
"Wait!" the duke called to her, from the top of the stairs.
"Don't," she called over her shoulder. "Don't make it harder, Arthur."
"Guinevere, you can't leave yet. Not like this."
She tried to hurry, but his footfalls outpaced hers easily. 'These stupid heeled slippers.'
When she tripped again, she kicked one off and threw it over her shoulder.
Arthur dodged the flying slipper and caught her by the arm.
"Wait."
"Just let me go."
"I'm not trying to stop you," he said.
All the fight went out of her. She blinked at him.
"You're not?"
"No. I'm not." His expression turned serious. "You need to go. To go home to your sister and open that circulating library. It's your dream, and you've earned it. As for me...I have some work to do, too. I think it's time I lived up to the vaunted Bradford legacy."
"Truly?"
He nodded, solemn.
"To start, I'm going to be a man of my word. I promised to have you home by Saturday, and so I will."
This was it, Gwen realized.
He was truly letting her go.
She would return to Spinster Cove and be a shopkeeper, and he would become a respectable duke. They would be further apart than ever.
They might never meet again.
"I have my carriage and the fastest team, waiting to see you home. But first there's something I owe you."
He rummaged in his pocket.
The thought of him paying her, made her stomach turn. The words spilled from her lips.
"I can't. I can't take your money, Arthur."
"But we agreed."
"I know. But that was before, and now..." She shuddered, thinking of Leon and his five-pound note. "It would make me feel cheap. I just can't."
"Well. You must take this much, at least."
Arthur pulled a coin from his pocket and placed it in her hand. He folded her fingers over it, still breathing hard.
"For Danielle. I don't have a penny."
"Oh, Arthur," she said, as tears stung her eyes.
"I expect great things of you, Guinevere." He touched her cheek. "Do me a favor and expect the same of me? Lord knows, no one else will."
As he retreated back into his glittering, aristocratic world, Gwen opened her fingers and stared at the golden sovereign on her palm.
"Dukes and their problems."
Stay safe!