Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it. I do own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own An Offer From A Gentleman.
LADY MIDDLETON'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 31 MAY 1815
This year's most sought-after invitation must surely be that of the Pendragon masquerade ball, to be held Monday next. Indeed, one cannot take two steps without being forced to listen to some society mama speculating on who will attend, and perhaps more importantly, who will wear what.
Neither of the aforementioned topics, however, are nearly as interesting as that of the two unmarried Pendragon brothers, Arthur and Hugh. Before anyone points out that there is a third unmarried Pendragon brother, let this author assure you that she is fully aware of the existence of Harold Pendragon. He is, however, fourteen years of age, and therefore not pertinent to this particular column, which concerns, as this author's columns often do, that most sacred of sports...husband-hunting.
Although the Misters Pendragon are just that...merely Misters...they are still considered two of the prime catches of the season. It is a well-known fact that both are in possession of respectable fortunes. And it does not require perfect sight to know that they also possess, as do all eight of the Pendragon offspring...the Pendragon good looks.
Will some fortunate young lady use the mystery of a masquerade night to snare one of the eligible bachelors?
This author isn't even going to attempt to speculate.
Gwen! Guinevereeeee!"
As screeches went, it was enough to shatter glass. Or at least an eardrum.
"Coming, Victoria! I'm coming!"
Gwen hitched up the hem of her coarse woolen skirts and hurried up the stairs, slipping on the fourth step and only just barely managing to grab the bannister before landing on her bottom.
She should've remembered that the stairs would be slick, after all, she'd helped the downstairs maid wax them just that morning.
Skidding to a halt in the doorway to Victoria's bedroom and still catching her breath, she said,
"Yes?"
"My tea is cold."
Gwen stared blankly.
What she wanted to say was,
"It was warm when I brought it an hour ago, you lazy fiend."
What she did say however, was,
"I'll get you another pot."
Victoria sniffed.
"See that you do."
Gwen stretched her lips into what the nearly blind might call a smile and picked up the tea service.
"Shall I leave the biscuits?" she asked.
Victoria gave her pretty head a shake.
"I want fresh ones."
With her shoulders slightly stooped from the weight of the overloaded tea service, Gwen exited the room, careful not to start grumbling until she'd safely reached the hall.
Victoria was forever ordering tea, then not bothering to drink it until an hour passed. By then, of course, it was cold, so she had to order a fresh pot.
Which meant Gwen was forever running up and down the stairs.
Up and down, up and down.
Sometimes it seemed that was all she did with her life.
Up and down, up and down.
And of course, the mending, the pressing, the hairdressing, the shoe polishing, the darning, the bedmaking...
"Gwen!"
She turned around to see Penelope heading towards her.
"Gwen, I've been meaning to ask you, do you think this colour is becoming on me?"
She assessed Penelope's mermaid costume. The cut wasn't quite right for the girl, who had never lost all of her baby fat, but the colour did indeed bring out the best in her complexion.
"It is a lovely shade of green," Gwen replied quite honestly. "It makes your cheeks very rosy."
"Oh, good. I'm so glad you like it. You do have such a knack for picking out my clothing."
Penelope smiled as she reached out and plucked a sugared biscuit from the tray.
"Mother has been an absolute bear all week about the masquerade ball, and I know I shall never hear the end of it if I do not look my best. Or..."
Her face twisted into a grimace.
"...if she thinks I do not look my best. She is determined that one of us snare one of the remaining Pendragon brothers, you know."
"I know."
"And to make matters worse, that Middleton woman has been writing about them again. It only..." Penelope finished chewing and paused while she swallowed.
"...whets her appetite."
"Was the column very good this morning?" Gwen asked, shifting the tray to rest on her hip. "I haven't had a chance to read it yet."
"Oh, the usual stuff," Penelope said with a wave of her hand. "Really, it can be quite humdrum, you know."
Gwen tried to smile and failed.
She'd like nothing more than to live a day of Penelope's humdrum life. Well, perhaps she wouldn't want the countess Calliope for a mother, but she wouldn't mind a life of parties and musicales.
"Let's see," Penelope mused. "There was a review of Lady Cambridge's recent ball, a bit about Viscount James...who seems rather smitten with some girl from Scotland, and then a longish piece on the upcoming Pendragon masquerade."
Gwen sighed.
She'd been reading about the upcoming masquerade for weeks, and even though she was nothing but a lady's maid and occasionally a housemaid as well, whenever the countess decided she wasn't working hard enough, she couldn't help but wish that she could attend the ball.
"I for one will be thrilled if that James viscount guy gets himself engaged," Penelope remarked, reaching for another biscuit. "It will mean one fewer bachelor for Mother to go on and on about as a potential husband. It's not as if I have any hope of attracting his attention anyway."
She took a bite of the biscuit and it crunched loudly in her mouth.
"I do hope Lady Middleton is right about him," she ended.
"She probably is," Gwen answered.
She had been reading Lady Middleton's Society Papers since it had debuted in 1813. And the gossip columnist was almost always correct when it came to matters of the Marriage Mart.
Not, of course, that she'd ever had the chance to see the Marriage Mart for herself. But if one read Middleton often enough, one could almost feel a part of London Society without actually attending any balls.
In fact, reading Middleton was really Gwen's one true enjoyable pastime.
She'd already read all of the novels in the library. And as neither the countess or her daughters were particularly enamored of reading, she couldn't look forward to a new book entering the house.
Middleton was great fun. But no one actually knew the columnist's true identity.
When the single-sheet newspaper had debuted two years earlier, speculation had been rampant. Even now, whenever Lady Middleton reported a particularly juicy bit of gossip, people starting talking and guessing anew, wondering who on earth was able to report with such speed and accuracy.
But for Gwen, Middleton was a tantalizing glimpse into the world that might've been hers, had her parents actually made their union legal.
She would've been an earl's daughter, not an earl's bastard. And her name would've been Worthington instead of Roberts.
Just once, she'd like to be the one stepping into the coach and attending the ball.
Instead, she was the one dressing others for their nights on the town...cinching Penelope's corset or dressing Victoria's hair or polishing a pair of the countess' shoes.
But she could not...or at least, should not...complain.
She might have to serve as maid to the countess and her daughters, but at least she had a home.
Which was more than most girls in her position had.
When Gwen's father had died, he'd left her nothing. Well, nothing but a roof over her head.
But his will had ensured that she could not be turned out until she was twenty. And there was no way that the countess would forfeit four thousand pounds a year by giving her the boot.
But that four thousand pounds was the countess'.
Not Gwen's.
Gone were the fine clothes she used to wear, replaced by the coarse wool of the servants.
And she ate what the rest of the maids ate...which was whatever the countess and her daughters chose to leave behind.
Gwen's twentieth birthday, however, had come and gone almost a year earlier. And here she was, still living at Penwood Manor and still waiting on the countess hand and foot.
For some unknown reason...probably because she didn't want to train or pay a new maid...the countess had allowed her to remain in her household.
And Gwen had stayed.
If countess was the devil she knew, then the rest of the world was the devil she didn't.
And she had no idea which would be worse.
"Isn't that tray getting heavy?"
Gwen blinked her way out of her reverie and focused on Penelope, who was reaching for the last biscuit on the tray.
'Drat!' she thought. She'd been hoping to snitch it for herself.
"Yes," she murmured. "Yes, it is quite. I should really be getting to the kitchen with it."
Penelope smiled.
"I won't keep you any longer, but when you're done with that, could you press my pink gown? I'm going to wear it tonight. Oh, and I suppose the matching shoes should be readied as well. I got a bit of dirt on them last time I wore them, and you know how Mother is about shoes. Never mind that you can't even see them under my skirt. She'll notice the tiniest speck of dirt the instant I lift my hem to climb a step."
Gwen nodded, mentally adding the girl's requests to her daily list of chores.
"I'll see you later, then!"
Biting down on that last biscuit, Penelope turned and disappeared into her bedchamber.
And Gwen trudged down stairs to the kitchen.
A few days later, Gwen was on her knees, pins clamped between her teeth as she made last-minute alterations on the countess' masquerade costume.
The Queen Elizabeth gown had, of course, been delivered from the dressmaker as a perfect fit, but the countess insisted that it was now a quarter inch too large in the waist.
"How is that?" Gwen asked, speaking through her teeth so the pins wouldn't fall.
"Too tight."
She adjusted a few pins.
"What about that?"
"Too loose."
Gwen pulled out a pin and stuck it back in precisely the same spot.
"There. How does that feel?"
The countess twisted this way and that, then finally declared,
"It'll do."
Gwen smiled to herself as she stood to help her out of the gown.
"I'll need it done in an hour if we're to get to the ball on time," the countess said.
"Of course," Gwen murmured. She'd found it easiest just to say of course on a regular basis in conversations with the woman.
"This ball is very important," the countess said sharply. "Victoria must make an advantageous match this year. The new earl..."
She shuddered with distaste; she still considered the new earl an interloper, never mind that he was the old earl's closest living male relative.
"...well, he has told me that this is the last year we may use Penwood Manor in London. The nerve of the man. I am the dowager countess, after all. And Victoria and Penelope are the earl's daughters."
'Stepdaughters,' Gwen silently corrected.
"We have every right to use Penwood Manor for the season. What he plans to do with the house, I'll never know."
"Perhaps he wishes to attend the season and look for a wife," Gwen suggested. "He'll be wanting an heir, I'm sure."
The countess scowled.
"If Victoria doesn't marry into money, I don't know what we'll do. It is so difficult to find a proper house to rent. And so expensive as well."
Gwen forbore to point out that the countess didn't have to pay for a lady's maid. In fact, until she herself had turned twenty, the woman had been receiving four thousand pounds for keeping her on as a lady's maid!
The countess snapped her fingers.
"Don't forget that Victoria will need her hair powdered."
The girl in question was attending dressed as Marie Antoinette. And Gwen had asked if she was planning to put a ring of faux blood around her neck.
She had not been amused.
The countess pulled on her dressing gown, cinching the sash with swift, tight movements.
"And Penelope..." Her nose wrinkled. "...well, she will need your help in some manner or other, I'm sure."
"I'm always glad to help Penelope," Gwen replied.
The woman narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out if Gwen was being insolent.
"Just see that you do," she finally said, her syllables clipped. Then she stalked off to the washroom.
Gwen saluted as the door closed behind the countess.
"Ah, there you are, Gwen," Victoria said as she bustled into the room. "I need your help immediately."
"I'm afraid it'll have to wait until..."
"I said immediately!" Victoria snapped.
Gwen squared her shoulders and gave her a steely look.
"Your mother wants me to alter her gown."
"Just pull the pins out and tell her you've pulled it in. She'll never notice the difference."
To be truthful, Gwen had been considering the very same thing. She groaned.
If she did as Victoria asked, she would tattle on her the very next day, and then the countess would rant and rage for a week.
Now, she would definitely have to do the alteration.
"What do you need, Victoria?"
"There is a tear at the hem of my costume. I have no idea how it happened."
"Perhaps when you tried it on..."
"Don't be impertinent!"
Gwen clamped her mouth shut. It was far more difficult to take orders from Victoria than from the countess, probably because they'd once been equals, sharing the same schoolroom and governess.
"It must be repaired immediately," Victoria said with an affected sniff.
Gwen sighed.
"Just bring it in. I'll do it right after I finish with your mother's. I promise you'll have it in plenty of time."
"I won't be late for this ball!" Victoria warned. "If I am, I shall have your head on a platter!"
"You won't be late," Gwen promised.
Victoria made a rather huffy sound, then hurried out the door to retrieve her costume.
"Ooof!"
Gwen looked up just in time to see her crashing into Penelope, who was barreling through the door.
"Watch where you're going, Penelope!" Victoria snapped.
"You could watch where you're going, too," her sister pointed out.
"I was watching. It's impossible to get out of your way, you big oaf."
Penelope's cheeks stained red. And she stepped aside.
"Did you need something, Penelope?" Gwen asked, as soon as Victoria had disappeared.
The girl nodded.
"Could you set aside a little extra time to dress my hair tonight? I found some green ribbons that look a little like seaweed."
Gwen let out a long breath.
The dark green ribbons weren't likely to show up very well against Penelope's dark hair, but she didn't have the heart to point that out.
"I'll try, Penelope, but I have to mend Victoria's dress and alter your mother's."
"Oh."
Penelope looked crestfallen. And it nearly broke Gwen's heart.
The girl was the only person who was even halfway nice to her in the countess' household...except for the servants.
"Don't worry," she assured her. "I'll make sure your hair is lovely no matter how much time we have."
"Oh, thank you, Gwen! I..."
"Haven't you gotten started on my gown yet?" the countess thundered as she returned from the washroom.
Gwen gulped.
"I was talking with your daughters. Victoria tore her gown and..."
"Just get to work!"
"I will. Immediately." Gwen plopped down on the settee and turned the gown inside out so that she could take in the waist. "Faster than immediately," she muttered. "Faster than a hummingbird's wings. Faster than..."
"What are you chattering about?" the countess demanded.
"Nothing."
"Well, cease your prattle immediately. I find the sound of your voice particularly grating."
Gwen ground her teeth together.
"Mama," Penelope said, "Gwen is going to dress my hair tonight like..."
"Of course she's going to dress your hair. Quit your dillydallying this minute and go put compresses on your eyes so they don't look so puffy."
Penelope's face fell.
"My eyes are puffy?"
Gwen silently shook her head on the off chance that the girl decided to look down at her.
"Your eyes are always puffy," the countess replied. "Don't you think so, Victoria?"
At that, both Gwen and Penelope turned towards the door. Victoria had just entered, carrying her Marie Antoinette gown.
"Always," she agreed. "But a compress will help, I'm sure."
A couple hours later...
"You look stunning tonight," the countess told Victoria. "And you haven't even started getting ready. That gold in your gown is an exquisite match to your hair."
Gwen shot a sympathetic look at the dark-haired Penelope, who never received such compliments from her mother.
"You shall snare one of those Pendragon brothers," the countess continued. "I'm sure of it."
Victoria looked down demurely. It was an expression she'd perfected, and Gwen had to admit, it looked lovely on her.
But then again, most everything looked lovely on the girl.
Her golden hair and blue eyes were all the rage that year. And thanks to the generous dowry settled upon her by the late earl, it was widely assumed that she would make a brilliant match before the season was through.
Gwen glanced back over at Penelope, who was staring at her mother with a sad, wistful expression.
"You look lovely, too, Penelope," she said impulsively. The girl's eyes lit up.
"Do you think so?"
"Absolutely! And your gown is terribly original. I'm sure there won't be any other mermaids."
"How would you know, Gwen?" Victoria asked with a laugh. "It's not as if you've ever been out in society."
"I'm sure you'll have a lovely time, Penelope," Gwen said pointedly, ignoring Victoria's jibe. "I'm terribly jealous. I do wish I could go."
Gwen's little sigh and wish was met with absolute silence...followed by the raucous laughter of both the countess and Victoria.
Even Penelope giggled a bit.
"Oh, that's rich," the countess said, barely able to catch her breath. "Little Guinevere at the Pendragon ball. They don't allow bastards out in society, you know."
"I didn't say I expected to go," Gwen said defensively. "Just that I wish I could."
"Well, you shouldn't even bother doing that," Victoria chimed in. "If you wish for things you can't possibly hope for, you're only going to be disappointed."
But Gwen didn't hear what she had to say, because in that moment, the oddest thing happened. As she was turning her head towards Victoria, she caught sight of the housekeeper standing in the doorway.
It was Mrs. Walker. And when Gwen's eyes met hers, she winked.
Winked!
Gwen didn't think she'd ever seen Mrs. Walker wink...
"Gwen! Gwen! Are you listening to me?"
Gwen turned a distracted eye towards the countess.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "You were saying?"
"I was saying," the countess said in a nasty voice. "That you had better get to work on my gown this instant. If we are late for the ball, you will answer for it tomorrow!"
"Yes, of course," Gwen said quickly.
She jabbed her needle into the fabric and started sewing but her mind was still on Mrs. Walker.
A wink?
Why on earth would she wink?
Three hours later, Gwen was standing on the front steps of Penwood Manor, watching first the countess Calliope, then Victoria, then Penelope each take the footman's hand and climb up into the carriage.
She waved at Penelope, who waved back, then watched the carriage roll down the street and disappeared around the corner.
It was barely six blocks to Pendragon House, where the masquerade was to be held. But the countess would've insisted upon the carriage even if they'd lived right next door.
It was important to make a grand entrance, after all.
With a sigh, Gwen turned around and made her way back up the steps. At least, the countess had in the excitement of the moment, forgotten to leave her with a list of tasks to complete while she was gone.
A free evening was a luxury indeed.
Perhaps she'd reread a novel. Or maybe she could find today's edition of Lady Middleton.
She'd thought she'd seen Victoria take it into her room earlier that afternoon.
But as she stepped through the front door of Penwood Manor, Mrs. Walker materialized as if from nowhere and grabbed her arm.
"There's no time to lose!" the housekeeper said.
Gwen looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.
"I beg your pardon?"
Mrs. Walker tugged at her elbow.
"Come with me."
Gwen allowed herself to be led up the three flights of stairs to her room...a tiny little chamber tucked under the eaves.
Mrs. Walker was acting in a most peculiar manner, but she humoured her and followed along.
The housekeeper had always treated her with exceptional kindness, even when it was clear that the countess disapproved.
"You'll need to get undressed," Mrs. Walker said as she grasped the doorknob.
"What?"
"We really must rush."
"Mrs. Walker, you..."
Gwen's mouth fell open, and her words trailed off as she took in the scene in her bedroom.
A steaming tub of water lay right in the center, and all three housemaids were bustling about.
One was pouring a pitcher of water into the tub, another was fiddling with the lock on a rather mysterious-looking trunk, and the third was holding a towel and saying,
"Hurry! Hurry!"
Gwen cast bewildered eyes at the lot of them.
"What is going on?"
Mrs. Walker turned to her and beamed.
"You, Miss Guinevere Evangeline Roberts, are going to the masquerade!"
One hour later, Gwen was transformed.
The trunk had held dresses belonging to the late earl's mother. They were all fifty years out of date, but that was no matter.
The ball was a masquerade, so no one expected the gowns to be of the latest styles.
At the very bottom of the trunk they'd found an exquisite creation of shimmering red and silver, with a tight, pearl-encrusted bodice and the flared skirts that had been so popular during the previous century.
Gwen felt like a princess just touching it.
It was a bit musty from its years in the trunk, but one of the maids quickly took it outside to dab a bit of rosewater on the fabric and aired it out.
She'd been bathed and perfumed, her hair had been dressed, and one of the housemaids had even applied a touch of rouge to her lips.
"Don't tell Miss Victoria," the maid had whispered. "I nicked it from her collection."
"Oooh, look," Mrs. Walker said. "I found matching gloves."
Gwen looked up to see the housekeeper holding up a pair of long, elbow-length gloves.
"Look," she said, taking one from Mrs. Walker and examining it. "The Penwood crest. And it's monogrammed. Right at the hem."
Mrs. Walker turned over the one in her hand.
"HMW. Hannah Margaret Worthington. Your grandmother."
Gwen looked at her in surprise. Mrs. Walker had never referred to the earl as her father. Actually, no one at Penwood Manor had ever verbally acknowledged her blood ties to the Worthington family.
"Well, she is your grandmother," Mrs. Walker declared. "We've all danced around the issue long enough. It's a crime the way Victoria and Penelope are treated like daughters of the house. And you, the earl's true blood, must sweep and serve like a maid!"
The three housemaids nodded in agreement.
"Just once," Mrs. Walker said. "For just one night, you will be the belle of the ball."
And with a smile on her face, she slowly turned Gwen around until she was facing the mirror.
Gwen's breath caught.
"Is that me?"
Mrs. Walker nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright.
"You look lovely, darling," she whispered.
Gwen's hand moved slowly up to her hair.
"Don't muss it!" one of the maids yelped.
"I won't," she promised, her smile wobbling a bit as she fought back a tear.
A touch of shimmery powder had been sprinkled onto her hair, so that she sparkled like a fairy princess.
Her dark curls had been swept atop her head in a loose topknot, with one thick lock allowed to slide down the length of her graceful neck. And her eyes, normally a plain brown, shone like precious stones.
Although she suspected that it might have had more to do with her unshed tears than anything else.
"Here is your mask," Mrs. Walker said briskly.
It was a demi-mask, the sort that tied at the back so that Gwen would not have to use one of her hands to hold it up.
"Now all we need are shoes."
At that, Gwen glanced ruefully at her serviceable and ugly work shoes that sat in the corner.
"I have nothing suitable for such finery, I'm afraid."
The housemaid who had rouged her lips held up a pair of white slippers.
"From Victoria's closet," she said.
Gwen slid her right foot into one of the slippers and just as quickly slid it back out.
"It's much too big," she said, glancing up at Mrs. Walker. "I'll never be able to walk in them."
Mrs. Walker turned to the maid.
"Fetch a pair from Penelope's closet."
"Hers are even bigger," Gwen said. "I know. I've cleaned enough scuff marks from them."
Mrs. Walker let out a long sigh.
"There's nothing for it, then. We shall have to raid Calliope's collection!"
Gwen shuddered.
The thought of walking anywhere in the countess' shoes was somewhat creepy.
But it was either that or go without.
And she didn't think that bare feet would be acceptable at a fancy London masquerade.
A few minutes later, the maid returned with a pair of white satin slippers, stitched in silver and adorned with exquisite faux-diamond rosettes.
Gwen was still apprehensive about wearing the shoes, but she slipped one of her feet in, anyway. And it fit perfectly.
"And they match, too," one of the maids said, pointing to the silver stitching. "As if they were made for the dress."
"We don't have time for admiring shoes," Mrs. Walker suddenly said. "Now listen to these instructions very carefully, love. The coachman has returned from taking the countess and her girls, and he will take you to Pendragon House. But he has to be waiting outside when they wish to depart, which means you must leave by midnight and not a second later. Do you understand?"
Gwen nodded and looked at the clock on the wall. It was a bit after nine, which meant she'd have more than two hours at the masquerade.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."
Mrs. Walker dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
"You just have a good time, darling. That's all the thanks I need."
Gwen looked at the clock again.
Two hours.
Two hours that she'd have to make last a lifetime.
Stay safe!