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I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own Wicked In Your Arms.
"What was she doing hiding behind a fern?" Arthur asked. He patted his neck dry with a slight grimace.
That damn lemon water was cold. He still had goose bumps.
Nigel shrugged...
"Apparently eavesdropping. Good thing you ruled her out as a potential bride. She did not appear too impressed with you."
"Nor I with her." Arthur dropped the napkin on the table. "Accident my foot, the little liar."
He looked after Gwen as she wended through the crowd... She stood shorter than most of the females present. But he easily followed her upswept black hair.
It was on the tip of his tongue to comment that she had not been what he expected, but then he realized he had not expected anything, because he had not given either of the Misses Davies a thought...
Other than to deem the pair as unacceptable bridal candidates.
He shrugged...
So she possessed fine eyes, even when spitting with temper. It mattered naught to him.
However, his gaze narrowed on her slim back and he marveled aloud, quite unable to reconcile it,
"The little hoyden tossed her drink on me..."
Low-bred or not, what female did such a thing?
To him?
Such a thing had never come close to occurring before.
"Quite so," Nigel said, sounding dangerously near laughter.
At that, Arthur sent his cousin a quick glare...
"Deliberately!" he stressed. "She deliberately doused me with her drink."
"To be fair, can you blame her? You did make the most unflattering remarks about her."
"You're assuming she overheard."
"Given her reaction to you..."
"Very well. Let's assume she overheard then." Arthur stared after the woman as if she possessed two heads. "As I recollect, nothing said was untrue."
Right away, he recalled Gwen's face those brief moments they gazed upon each other. Nothing about her had indicated a lady gently reared.
Not her bold stare...
Not her brown skin or the brown freckles upon her nose...
And certainly not her manner of speech... She spoke too directly, defiance bright in her eyes. Indeed, she was nothing at all like a demure lady.
He scratched his jaw...
"No one has ever poured a drink upon me."
"You mean after ten years of war you've never suffered a drink in the face?" his cousin asked.
"That was war, Nigel. I suffered bayonets, cannons and bullets. Dodging lemon water was not part of the routine."
"I wouldn't know of such things." Nigel plucked at a piece of lint on his sleeve. "And I don't see how you came to know, either. You're the crown prince. You should've been sequestered away and not fighting on a battlefield."
If his cousin couldn't understand his need to rally his people and lead an army against insurgents determined to overthrow the royal house of Camelot, then he wasn't going to explain it.
"You do what you have to do," he muttered. "Come, introduce me to this Lady Phillipa."
Clasping his hands together behind his back, Arthur strode across the room, all the while keeping an eye trained on the intrepid Miss Davies.
"Very well. I think she may be just the thing you're looking for. Quite pretty, too..." Nigel said.
"Pretty is not a requisite, Nigel."
"Very well." His cousin shook his head in wonder. "All business then."
Arthur's roaming gaze caught sight of Lady Barclay standing to the far side of the ballroom near one of many shadowed alcoves.
She beckoned him again with her fan... She wasn't a requisite in a wife, but he found her most desirable in a bedmate of a less permanent nature.
A slow smile curved his mouth as he feasted his gaze on the buxom matron...
With the war behind him, it was time he performed the next duty required of him. His grandfather had tasked him with such, and he would not disappoint him.
Not after everything he'd already lost... They'd both lost...
Arthur's father, his brother, his uncles and various cousins... All gone. Either to assassins or on a battlefield.
His gaze trailed Lady Barclay as she drifted passed one of the alcoves, looking over her bare shoulder several times...the invitation in her eyes unmistakable as she moved towards the threshold that would take her deeper into the house.
The memory of his grandfather, ailing and anticipating his return with a bride in tow...a proper bride...made his chest tighten uncomfortably.
It was the only thing keeping the old man alive.
Now was not the time for a dalliance... And yet, the prospect of matrimony, of taking that next step to secure his throne... To claiming what should've been his brother's, filled him with a helpless rage.
He'd do it. Of course. It was right. And it was necessary.
He always did the right and necessary thing. Nothing could distract him from his course...
However, he'd take what diversions he could.
From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a flash of black hair and a burgundy gown that had left such an unpleasant impression upon him moments ago.
However, he forced his gaze straight ahead, training his eyes on Lady Barclay...a means for him to release his frustrations, his helpless rage over the fact that his life was not his own.
His grandfather had ingrained that in him... A crown prince never served himself.
The thought settled like a heavy stone sinking into his gut.
"Let us have this introduction with Lady Phillipa in a little while. I've something to do. I won't be long."
Nigel followed his gaze to Lady Barclay's departing back with a smirk.
"Of course. Hopefully, Lady Phillipa doesn't take an early departure."
Arthur slid his gaze back to his cousin...
"See to it that she doesn't." He tugged on his cuffs. "I won't be long. I'll have that introduction... And perhaps even a private word with Lady Phillipa's father if she proves to be all that you claim. Mind you, I'd like to be back home before the snow melt. This whole business has already taken entirely too long."
Something flashed over Nigel's face, and Arthur felt a stab of guilt knowing that the palace was somewhere his cousin would never visit again.
No matter how he might wish to...
But he shook off the sentiment. He couldn't allow himself to feel responsible for Nigel, too. He had enough to worry about... An entire kingdom of people.
Besides, he'd already done more than his grandfather would condone in striking up a relationship with his ostracized cousin.
Guests parted before Arthur as he cut through the crush. He spared no one a glance as he left the ballroom...
Just the same, he was well aware that they all looked after him. Such was usual.
He was the Crown Prince of Camelot and very handsome, if the tittering females who fawned over him were to be believed.
His boots strode a straight line, his steps muffled on the runner. Hopefully, a quick tryst with Lady Barclay would aid him in feeling not so...afflicted.
Perhaps a brief assignation would let him feel again and find release from the numbness encasing him.
He shook his head at his unrealistic ponderings... They were useless dreams...
Funny that he would still allow himself to dream. That was another thing his grandfather taught him...
A prince had no right to dream anything for himself. Even if he took ease in a soft, willing body, his world would remain the same.
And as Crown Prince of Camelot, his life could never be his own.
The choices he made were not for him. His kingdom came first.
Duty and responsibilities faced him at every turn. He couldn't escape it.
After working her way through the ballroom, Gwen ensconced herself safely at another of the many buffet tables... This one tucked well away from the brute prince upon whom she'd poured her drink.
She didn't care what royal blood flowed through his veins, the man was a boor.
And she didn't regret dousing him with her lemon water. It wasn't as though she'd ruined her chances to snare herself a prince...
Recalling his severe expression, she knew entertaining such a notion was laughable.
He obviously didn't consider her eligible... Nor did she wish him to. She need only remember a few things...
His wretched voice as he spoke to his cousin, his accented tones so scathing at the mere suggestion of her as his bride, and her hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms.
She almost wished he stood before her again... She might toss something more tangible than a glass of punch at him this time...
He deserved no less.
She inhaled through her nose, immediately missing the open spaces of home as she drew in the aroma of over-perfumed bodies.
She longed for crisp, woodsy air... Verdant green hills and mountains undulating around her...
But she quickly reminded herself she couldn't return to Wales... Nothing was left for her there except more of the usual disdain.
Her papa...the one that raised her...was dead three years now... And then there is Thomas...
Well, she simply couldn't go back.
"Gwen, how many biscuits are you going to eat?"
At the exasperated voice, Gwen shook off her troubling thoughts, vowing yet again to forget the past and focus on her future.
"I lost count at twelve."
Her half sister Elizabeth shot her a beleaguered look as she slid up beside her.
"Very amusing." She plucked the frosted delicacy from Gwen's fingers as she was just about to take another bite. "Permit me to spare you that one."
Gwen moaned and tried to snatch it back...
"Weren't you just at the table over there?" Her sister gestured across the room. "Will you do nothing but eat tonight?"
"The other table ran out of biscuits," Gwen lied, trying to reclaim her food.
But Elizabeth stuffed the biscuit into her own mouth and swatted her hand when she reached towards the table to select a new one.
"We've an agenda, don't forget. We need to mingle," Elizabeth chided around her mouthful.
Candlelight struck her brown curls and made them appear as lustrous as freshly tilled soil.
Gwen sighed...
"The only thing I have to look forward to at these events...is the food. Don't deny me that."
One thing she didn't miss about living alone and fending for herself was preparing all her own meals.
It was nice having delicious fare on hand whenever she wished for it.
She didn't have to step outdoors and shoot a grouse, then pluck and clean it and cook it. That she did not miss.
"We agreed to do this together and so far I'm the only one participating in this husband hunt. I don't want Reginald scolding you again for being unsociable," her sister said.
An image of the two gossiping biddies flashed through Gwen's mind, followed quickly by that cad, Arthur. Her stomach knotted...
Even his name seemed to elevate him so very far from her... As if his bloodlines, manner, and appearance did not do that already.
If mingling at these affairs thrust her into the company of people like that, she'd rather hide... But her sister was correct. She'd snare no husband by hiding.
She knew that.
How was she to find the security and respectability she craved if she didn't marry a proper gentleman?
Elizabeth cocked her head, a glossy ringlet sliding over her shoulder...
"Were you not the one lecturing me earlier about donning a good face and finding ourselves a husband posthaste?"
Gwen twisted one shoulder in a reluctant shrug...
"Yes, that was me... But then I arrive at these horrid affairs and endure all the stares and whispering." She sighed, her mind drifting to that dreadful prince again... "We're scarcely tolerated here, Liz..."
Elizabeth waved a hand...
"That's to be expected. Have you met our father, perchance? The man with the horrid accent, wearing a cravat that's a miserable shade of plum and making a fool of himself in the card room?"
Gwen winced at the sadly accurate description, even as her sister gently gripped her arm, her touch warm through her velvet gloves...
"I suggest you do as you advised me. Find some grateful lord with a fondness for his country estate and get him down on bended knee. Once that is accomplished, we can say good-bye to all of this that we so dislike."
As she spoke, she motioned about them with a flutter of her hand.
"You're right, of course," Gwen said. She nodded and straightened her spine, sweeping an appraising eye over the ballroom.
Several gentlemen surveyed both her and her sister... Like prime horseflesh at the market.
She shook off the unwelcome sensation... Was she not judging them with the same assessing eye?
"Come then. Let's take a turn about the room," Elizabeth suggested...
Elizabeth took Gwen's arm and together they strolled... This time Gwen paid no mind when a group of debutantes in flouncy pastel gowns presented them with their backs, giving them the cut direct.
She just forced her gaze from them and lifted her chin a notch...
Who cared if a bunch of silly girls snubbed her?
She wasn't here for them, after all.
And once she was married to a respectable gentleman, all that would come to an end, anyway.
"Ah, there's the dowager's youngest grandson, Lord Gilbert." Elizabeth dipped her head close to whisper. "Father said we should show him particular attention. Let us go make ourselves amenable."
Gwen pasted a smile on her face for her sister's benefit, if nothing else. They had been acquainted for only a short while, but as the bastard daughters of the infamous Reginald Davies they had much in common.
In their brief time together they'd made up for lost years...
Raised an only child, Gwen was thrilled to learn she was not alone in the world. It was the same for her sister, but for different reasons...
The oldest of fourteen half brothers and sisters, Elizabeth was a glorified nanny and servant all rolled into one...
An ironic existence given she bore the name of a former Queen.
Gwen eyed the dowager's grandson surrounded by other gentlemen... She looked him up and down, wondering if it was too early to inquire about his living preferences.
She hoped to snare a husband who preferred country living to life in Town. She knew it would narrow her selection, but she wasn't accustomed to the crowds, to the constant fog, or the lack of fresh air.
If she wanted to see trees, she had to venture to the park.
"Come, Gwen. This isn't the time to be reticent." At that, Elizabeth tugged her along...
The two sisters idled alongside the gentlemen, waiting to be noticed without appearing to be waiting...
They did not have long to wait, for the viscount's gaze fell on them both. And his eyes lit up with recognition.
They had been introduced several evenings ago at the opera. His grandmother, the dowager, had seen to that.
He'd doubtless been apprised of his duty as sacrificial lamb.
According to Reginald Davies, the dowager was quite ready for her youngest grandson to wed either Gwen or her sister.
The oldest grandson, the duke himself, was hands-off...
The dowager duchess might have been agreeable enough to lend them her stamp of approval and support either one of them marrying her youngest grandson, but she clearly saw Gwen and Elizabeth for what they were...
Bastards with fat purses, neither of whom would be good enough for the Duke of Sussex.
They were, however, suitable for the Lord Gilbert.
Lord Gilbert eagerly stepped outside his circle of friends and performed a brief bow, settling his bright eyes on each of the sisters in turn.
"Ah, the lovely Misses Davies. Are you enjoying yourselves?"
"We're having a splendid time," Elizabeth lied charmingly.
Gwen assessed her younger half sister in her sparkling blue gown... She was really quite pretty, resembling their other half sister, Matilda, whom they had both only just met.
Fortunately for Matilda, she was happily married and needn't secure herself a husband through their father's machinations.
"I hope you both have not overly tired yourselves," the young viscount said. He wagged a finger teasingly. "I recall you each promised me a waltz."
Considering only three waltzes were to be danced this evening, this was a clear mark of his favour.
Elizabeth smiled and nodded, uttering something appropriately clever.
Gwen, however, couldn't even summon a smile.
Staring at him, she could see nothing behind his falsely bright gaze... No true excitement, no anticipation.
She could not help thinking this was all at his grandmother's behest, that he was not truly agreeable to the notion of courting her or her sister.
Did he even have a choice?
Was he simply the grand sacrifice to save his family from financial ruin?
The notion gnawed at her and soured the prospect of marrying him.
Viscount or not... Social acceptance or not... She didn't want to wed the chap and then endure his lifelong enmity.
"I have not forgotten, Lord Gilbert," Elizabeth promised.
"And you, Miss Davies?" He looked expectantly at Gwen, his expression bland and unassuming. "You've saved me a waltz, I hope?"
She gave a small nod, shaking off her grim imaginings, while trying to ignore the way his friends studied her from just beyond their little circle...
They stared openly, as if she was not a lady at all but a creature to be mocked and held to ridicule. And not just her... Elizabeth, too.
"Indeed," she heard herself replying, fighting down those familiar feelings. She wasn't that girl anymore. And this wasn't Wales.
Lifting her chin, she reminded herself that she was on her way to becoming a genuine lady now.
"I have not forgotten, either," she ended.
"Brilliant!" He nodded cheerily.
Just then one of Lord Gilbert's friends leaned his head close to the others in the group...
Covering his mouth with one hand, he muttered something low. And the group burst into laughter.
Gwen didn't hear what brought forth such merriment, but several of the popinjays glanced her way.
Familiar heat crept up her cheeks...
This really was unendurable.
Lord Gilbert frowned and sent his friends a castigating look, which only seemed to prove that they were laughing at her, and that the viscount himself knew she was a subject of scorn, but he would grit his teeth and bear courting her anyway.
It was really too much... Was there no way she could find an acceptable husband without suffering these indignities?
"If you'll pardon me, I need some air." She quickly turned away before her sister or Lord Gilbert might object, or worse, insist on joining her...
Gwen squeezed her way through the crush of bodies, heat flaming her face. Reaching a pair of French balcony doors, she saw that it was raining outside...
An incessant, sleeting winter drizzle that did not appear to be on the verge of letting up.
'Blast!'
Whirling around, she scanned the hopelessly crowded room. Then lifting her skirts, she pushed her way back through the thick press, careful to keep her head down lest she see anyone pointing or staring at her.
She'd had enough of the stares... What she needed right now was a respite, a moment alone...
A place to hide for the rest of the evening until her father decided he'd had enough of cards.
Tomorrow...
Tomorrow she would renew her hunt for a husband. In earnest. But not now...
Not tonight...
Not after that bloody prince...
Not after the viscount's leering friends...
She shook her head, almost laughing aloud as she wondered...
'Is there no nobleman who preferred a simple country existence? One who is in the market for a rich bride of low birth? Could he not take out an advertisement in the Times so that I might find him?'
Arthur/Gwen interaction in the next chapter!
Stay safe!