Thank you for your continued interest and support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own An Offer from A Gentleman.
LADY MIDDLETON'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 7 JUNE 1815
And in other news from the masquerade ball, Miss Penelope Farthington's costume as a mermaid was somewhat unfortunate, but not, this author thinks, as dreadful as that of Mrs. Hanbury and her two eldest daughters, who went as a bowl of fruit...Pansy as an orange, Portia as an apple and Mrs. Hanbury as a bunch of grapes.
Sadly, none of the three looked the least bit appetizing.
What had his life come to, Arthur wondered, that he was obsessed with a glove.
He'd patted his coat pocket about a dozen times since he'd taken a seat in Lady Penwood's sitting room, silently reassuring himself that it was still there.
Uncharacteristically anxious, he wasn't certain what he'd planned to say to the dowager countess once she arrived. But he was usually fairly glib of tongue, so surely he'd figure out something as he went along.
With his foot tapping, he glanced over at the mantel clock. He'd given his card to the butler about fifteen minutes earlier, which meant that Lady Penwood ought to be down soon.
It seemed an unwritten rule that all ladies of the ton must keep their callers waiting for at least fifteen minutes...twenty...if they were feeling particularly peevish.
'A bloody stupid rule,' he thought irritably.
Why the rest of the world didn't value punctuality as he did, he would never know, but...
"Mr. Pendragon!"
He looked up. A rather attractive, extremely fashionable blonde woman in her forties glided into the room.
And his heart sank.
She looked vaguely familiar, but that was to be expected. They'd surely attended many of the same society functions, even if they hadn't been introduced.
Surely she couldn't be the biological mother of his mystery lady?
Unless...his mystery lady was her stepdaughter...
"You must be Lady Penwood," he murmured, rising to his feet and offering her a polite bow.
"Indeed," she replied with a gracious incline of her head. "I am so delighted that you have chosen to honour us with a call. I have, of course, informed my daughters of your presence. They shall be down shortly."
Arthur smiled. That was exactly what he'd hoped she'd do. He would've been shocked if she'd behaved otherwise.
No mother of marriageable daughters...stepdaughters included...ever ignored a Pendragon brother.
"I look forward to meeting them," he said.
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"Then you have not yet met them?"
Blast! Now she'd be wondering why he was there.
"I have heard such lovely things about them," he improvised, trying not to groan.
If Lady Middleton caught hold of this...and she seemed to catch hold of everything...it would soon be all over town that he was looking for a wife, and that he'd zeroed in on the countess' daughters.
Why else would he call upon two women to whom he had not even been introduced?
Lady Penwood beamed.
"My Victoria is considered one of the loveliest girls of the season."
"And your Penelope?" Arthur asked, somewhat perversely.
The corners of her mouth tightened.
"Penelope is, er, delightful."
Arthur smiled benignly.
"I cannot wait to meet Penelope."
Lady Penwood blinked, then covered up her surprise with a slightly hard smile.
"I'm sure she will be delighted to meet you."
A maid entered with an ornate silver tea service, then set it down on a table at Lady Penwood's nod. But before the maid could depart, however, the countess said...somewhat sharply, in Arthur's opinion...
"Where are the Penwood spoons?"
The maid bobbed a rather panicked curtsy, then replied,
"Gwen was polishing the silver in the dining room, my lady, but she had to go upstairs when you..."
"Silence!" Lady Penwood cut in, even though she'd been the one to ask about the spoons in the first place. "I'm sure Mr. Pendragon is not so high in the instep that he needs monogrammed spoons for his tea."
"Of course not," Arthur murmured, thinking that Lady Penwood must be a bit too high in the instep herself, if she even thought to bring it up.
"Go! Go!" she ordered the maid, waving her briskly away. "Begone!"
The maid hurried out, and the countess turned back to Arthur explaining,
"Our better silver is engraved with the Penwood crest."
Arthur leaned forward.
"Really?" he asked with obvious interest.
This would be an excellent way to verify that the crest on the glove was indeed that of the Penwood's.
"We don't have anything like that at Pendragon House," he said, hoping he wasn't lying. In all truth, he'd never even noticed the pattern of the silver. "I should love to see it."
"Really?" Lady Penwood asked, her eyes lighting up. "I knew you were a man of taste and refinement?'
Arthur smiled, mostly so he wouldn't groan.
"I shall have to send someone to the dining room to fetch a piece. Assuming, of course, that infernal girl managed to do her job."
The corners of her lips turned down in a most unattractive manner, and Arthur noticed that her frown lines were deep indeed.
"Is there a problem?" he asked politely.
She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively.
"Merely, that it is so difficult to find good help. I'm sure your mother says the same thing all the time."
His mother never said any such thing, but that was probably because all of the Pendragon servants were treated very well and thus, were utterly devoted to the family.
But he nodded all the same.
"One of these days I'm going to have to give Gwen the boot," the countess said with a sniff. "She cannot do anything right."
Arthur felt a vague pang of pity for the poor, unseen Gwen. But the last thing he wanted to do was get into a discussion on servants with Lady Penwood.
And so, he changed the subject by motioning to the teapot and saying,
"I imagine it's well steeped by now."
"Of course, of course." Lady Penwood looked up and smiled. "How do you take yours?" "Milk, no sugar."
As she prepared his cup, Arthur heard the clatter of feet coming down the stairs, and his heart began to race with excitement.
Any minute now the countess' daughters or stepdaughters, would slip through the door, and surely one of them would be the woman he'd met the night before.
It was true that he had not seen most of her face, but he knew her approximate size and height. And he was fairly certain that her hair was a long and dark.
But her complexion...
Surely he'd recognize her when he saw her. How could he not?
But when the two young ladies entered the room, he knew instantly that neither was the woman who'd haunted his every thought.
Both were caucasian...one of them far too blonde, and held herself with a prissy, rather affected manner. There was no joy in her aspect, no mischief in her smile.
The other looked friendly enough, but she was too chubby and her hair was too brown.
Arthur did his best not to look disappointed.
He smiled during the introductions and gallantly kissed each of their hands, murmuring some nonsense about how delighted he was to meet them.
He made a point of fawning over the thicker one, if only because her mother so obviously preferred the other.
Mothers like that, he decided, didn't deserve to be mothers.
"Do you have any other children...step children?" Arthur asked Lady Penwood, once the introductions were through.
She gave him an odd look.
"Of course not. Else I would've brought them out to meet you."
"I thought you might've had children still in the schoolroom," he demurred. "Perhaps from your union with the earl."
She shook her head.
"Lord Penwood and I were not blessed with children. Such a pity it was that the title left the Worthington family."
Arthur couldn't help but notice that the countess looked more irritated than saddened by her lack of Penwood progeny.
"Did your husband have any brothers or sisters?" he asked. Maybe his mystery lady was a Worthington cousin.
The countess shot him a suspicious look, which, he had to admit, was well deserved, considering that his questions were not at all the usual fare for an afternoon call.
"Obviously," she replied, "My late husband did not have any brothers, since the title passed out of the family."
Arthur knew he should keep his mouth shut, but something about the woman was so bloody irritating he had to say,
"He could've had a brother who predeceased him."
"Well, he did not!"
Victoria and Penelope were watching the exchange with great interest, their heads bobbing back and forth like balls at a tennis match.
"And any sisters?" Arthur inquired. "The only reason I ask, is that I come from such a large family." He motioned to the girls. "I cannot imagine having only one sibling. I thought perhaps that your daughters might have cousins or step siblings to keep them company."
It was, he thought, rather paltry as far as explanations went, but it would have to do.
"He did have one sister," the countess replied with a disdainful sniff. "But she lived and died a spinster. She was a woman of great faith," she explained. "And chose to devote her life to charitable works."
So much for that theory...
"I very much enjoyed your masquerade ball last night," Victoria suddenly said.
And Arthur looked at her in surprise.
The two girls had been so silent he'd forgotten they could even speak.
"It was really my mother's ball," he answered. "I had no part in the planning. But I shall convey your compliments."
"Please do," Victoria said. "Did you enjoy the ball, Mr. Pendragon?"
Arthur stared at her for a moment before answering. She had a hard look in her eyes, as if she was searching for a specific piece of information.
"I did indeed," he finally said.
"I noticed you spent a great deal of time with one lady in particular," she persisted.
And Lady Penwood twisted her head sharply to look at him, but she did not say anything.
"Did you?" Arthur murmured.
"She was wearing red and silver," Victoria said. "Who was she?"
"A mystery woman," he said with an enigmatic smile. No need for them to know that she was a mystery to him as well.
"Surely you can share her name with us," Lady Penwood said.
But Arthur only smiled, then stood. It was obvious he wasn't going to get any more information here.
"I'm afraid I must be going, ladies," he said affably, offering them a smooth bow.
"You never did see the spoons," Lady Penwood reminded him.
"I'll have to save them for another time," he said.
It was unlikely that his mother would've incorrectly identified the Penwood crest, and besides, if he spent much more time in the company of the hard and brittle Countess of Penwood, he might retch.
"It has been lovely," he lied.
"Indeed," Lady Penwood said, rising to walk him to the door. "Brief, but lovely."
Arthur didn't bother to smile again. He briskly walked to the door and exited.
"What do you suppose that was about?" The countess asked, as she heard the front door close behind Arthur Pendragon.
"Well," Penelope said. "He might..."
"I didn't ask you," her mother bit off.
"Well, then, who did you ask?" the girl returned with uncharacteristic gumption.
"Perhaps he saw me from afar," Victoria said. "And..."
"He didn't see you from afar!" the countess snapped as she strode across the room. And Victoria lurched backward in surprise.
Her mother rarely spoke to her in such impatient tones.
The countess continued,
"You yourself said he was besotted with some woman in a red and silver dress."
"I didn't say besotted precisely..."
"Don't argue with me over such trivialities. Besotted or not, he didn't come here looking for either of you," the countess said with a fair amount of derision. "I don't know what he was up to. He..."
Her words trailed off as she reached the window.
Pulling the sheer curtain back, she saw Mr. Pendragon standing on the pavement, pulling something from his pocket.
"What is he doing?" she whispered.
"I think he's holding a glove," Penelope said helpfully.
"It's not a..." The countess said automatically, too used to contradicting everything Penelope had to say. "Why, it is indeed a glove."
"I should think I know a glove when I see one," Penelope muttered.
"What is he looking at?" Victoria asked, nudging her sister out of the way.
"There's something on the glove," Penelope said. "Perhaps it's a piece of embroidery. We have some gloves with the Penwood crest embroidered on the hem. Maybe that glove has the same."
The countess Calliope went white.
"Are you feeling all right, Mother?" Penelope asked. "You look rather pale."
"He came here looking for her," the countess whispered.
"Who?" Victoria asked.
"The woman in silver."
"Well, he isn't going to find her here," Penelope replied. "I was a mermaid and Victoria was Marie Antoinette. And you, of course, were Queen Elizabeth."
"The shoes," the countess gasped. "The shoes!"
"What shoes?" Victoria asked irritably.
"They were scuffed. Someone wore my shoes." The countess' face, already impossibly pale, blanched even more. "It was her. How did she do it? It had to be her."
"Who?" Victoria demanded.
"Mother, are you certain you're all right?" Penelope asked again. "You're not at all yourself."
But their mother had already run out of the room.
"Stupid, stupid shoe," Gwen grumbled, scrubbing at the heel of one of the countess' older pieces of footwear. "She hasn't even worn this one for years."
She finished polishing the toe and put it back in its place in the neatly ordered row of shoes. But before she could reach for another pair, the door to the closet burst open, slamming against the wall with such force that she nearly screamed with surprise.
"Oh, goodness, you gave me a fright," she said to the countess. "I didn't hear you coming, and..."
"Pack your things!" the countess said in a low, cruel voice. "I want you out of this house by sunrise!"
The rag Gwen had been using to polish the shoes fell from her hand.
"What?" she gasped. "Why?"
"Do I really need a reason? We both know I ceased receiving any funds for your care nearly a year ago. It's enough that I don't want you here any longer."
"But where will I go?"
The countess' eyes narrowed to nasty slits. "That's not my concern, now, is it?"
"But..."
"You're twenty years of age. Certainly old enough to make your way in the world. There will be no more coddling from me."
"You never coddled me," Gwen said in a low voice.
"Don't you dare talk back to me."
"Why not?" Gwen returned, her voice growing shrill. "What have I to lose? You're booting me out of the house, anyway."
"You might treat me with a little respect," the countess hissed, planting her foot on Gwen's skirt so that she was pinned in her kneeling position. "Considering that I have clothed and sheltered you this past year out of the goodness of my heart."
"You do nothing out of the goodness of your heart." Gwen tugged at her skirt, but it was firmly trapped under the countess' heel. "Why did you really keep me here?"
The countess cackled.
"You're cheaper than a regular maid. And I do enjoy ordering you about."
Gwen hated being the countess' slave, but at least Penwood House was home.
Mrs. Walker was her friend, Penelope was usually sympathetic and the rest of the world was...well...rather scary.
Where would she go?
What would she do?
How would she support herself?
"Why now?" Gwen asked.
The countess shrugged.
"You're no longer useful to me." Poor Gwen, she looked at the long row of shoes she'd just polished. "I'm not?"
The countess ground the pointy heel of her shoe into her skirt, tearing the fabric.
"You went to the ball last night, didn't you?"
Gwen felt the blood drain from her face, and she knew that the countess saw the truth in her eyes.
"N-no," she lied. "How would I..."
"I don't know how you did it, but I know you were there." The countess kicked a pair of shoes in her direction. "Put these on."
Gwen just stared at the shoes in dismay.
They were white satin, stitched in silver. They were the shoes she'd worn the night before...
"Put them on!" the countess screamed. "I know that Victoria's and Penelope's feet are too large. You're the only one who could've worn my shoes last night."
"And from that you think I went to the ball?" Gwen asked, her voice breathy with panic.
"Put on the shoes, Gwen."
Gwen did as she was told. And they were, of course, a perfect fit.
"You have overstepped your bounds," the countess said in a low voice. "I warned you years ago not to forget your place in this world. You are a bastard, a by-blow, the product of..."
"I know what a bastard is!" Gwen snapped.
The countess raised one haughty brow, silently mocking her outburst.
"You are unfit to mingle with polite society," she continued. "And yet, you dared to pretend you are as good as the rest of us by attending the masquerade."
"Yes, I dared," Gwen cried out, well past caring that the countess had somehow discovered her secret. "I dared. And I'd dare again. My blood is just as blue as yours, and my heart far kinder. And..."
One minute Gwen was on her feet, screaming at the countess, and the next, she was on the floor, clutching her cheek, made red by the countess' palm.
"Don't you ever compare yourself to me," the countess warned.
But Gwen remained on the floor.
How could her father have done this to her?
How could he leave her in the care of a woman who so obviously detested her?
Had he cared so little?
Or had he simply been blind?
"You will be gone by morning," the countess said in a low voice. "I don't ever want to see your face again."
Gwen started to make her way to the door.
"But not until you have finished the job I have assigned you," the woman said, planting the heel of her hand against Gwen's shoulder.
"It will take me until morning just to finish," Gwen protested.
"That is your problem, not mine." And with that, the countess slammed the door shut, turning the lock with a very loud click.
Gwen stared down at the flickering candle she'd brought in to help illuminate the long, dark closet. There was no way the wick would last until morning.
And there was no way...absolutely no way in hell...that she was going to polish the rest of the countess' shoes.
She sat down on the floor, arms crossed and legs crossed, and stared at the candle flame until her eyes crossed, too.
When the sun rose tomorrow, her life would be forever altered. Penwood House might not have been terribly welcoming, but at least it was safe.
She had almost no money...she hadn't received so much as a farthing from the countess in the past seven years.
Luckily, she still had a bit of the pin money she'd received when her father had been alive and she'd been treated as his ward...not his wife's slave.
There had been many opportunities to spend it, but she had always known that this day might come. And it had seemed prudent to hold on to what little funds she possessed.
But her paltry few pounds wasn't going to get her very far.
She needed a ticket out of London, and that cost money. Probably well over half what she had saved.
She supposed she could stay in town for a bit, but the London slums were duly and dangerous, and she knew that her budget would not place her in any of the better neighborhoods.
Besides, if she was going to be on her own, she might as well return to the countryside she loved.
But Arthur Pendragon was here...
London was a large city, and she had no doubt that she could successfully avoid him for years. But she was desperately afraid that she wouldn't want to avoid him, that she'd find herself gazing at his house, hoping for the merest of glimpses as he came through the front door.
And if he saw her...
Well, she didn't know what would happen. He might be furious at her deception. He might want to make her his mistress. Or he might not recognize her at all.
The only thing she was certain he would not do, was to throw himself at her feet, declare his undying devotion and demand her hand in marriage.
Sons of viscounts did not marry baseborn nobodies. Not even in romantic novels.
No, she'd have to leave London, to keep herself far from temptation.
But she'd need more money, enough to keep her going until she found employment. Enough to...
Gwen's eyes fell on something sparkly...shoes tucked away in the corner.
Except she'd cleaned those shoes just an hour earlier, and she knew that those sparkles weren't the shoes, but a pair of jeweled shoe clips, easily detachable and small enough to fit in her pocket.
Did she dare?
She thought about all the money that the countess had received for her upkeep. Money the woman had never seen fit to share.
She thought about all those years she'd toiled as a lady's maid, without drawing a single wage.
Then she thought about her conscience, and quickly squelched it.
In times like these, she didn't have room for a conscience.
So she took the shoe clips.
And then, several hours later when Penelope came...against her mother's wishes...and let her out, she packed up all of her belongings and left.
Much to her surprise, she didn't look back.
Stay safe!