Thank you for your interest and support. I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own An Offer From A Gentleman.
Almost two years after the Pendragon Masquerade Ball...
LADY MIDDLETON'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 30 APRIL 1817
It has now been a total of three years since any of the Pendragon siblings have wed. And Lady Pendragon has been heard to declare on several occasions, that she is nearing her wit's end. Arthur has not taken a bride. And it is the opinion of this author, that as he has attained the age of thirty...he is far past due. But neither has Hugh, although, he may be forgiven his tardiness, since he is, after all, merely six-and-twenty.
The dowager viscountess also has two girls about which she must worry. Catherine...who is nearly one-and-twenty. And although she has received several proposals, she has shown no inclination to marry. Then there is Georgina...who is nearly twenty. Coincidentally, both girls share a birthday. But she, too, seems more interested in the season than she does in marriage.
This author feels that Lady Pendragon does not need to worry , though. It is inconceivable that any of the Pendragons might not eventually make an acceptable match. Besides, her two married children have already given her a total of five grandchildren. Surely that is her heart's desire.
Alcohol and cheroots. Card games and lots of hired women...
It was just the sort of party Arthur Pendragon would've enjoyed immensely when he was fresh out of university.
Now, he was just bored.
He wasn't even certain why he'd agreed to attend. More boredom, he supposed.
The London season of 1817 had thus far, been a repeat of the previous year. And he hadn't found 1816 terribly scintillating to begin with.
To do the whole thing over again...was beyond banal.
He didn't even really know his host, one Lance Cavendish. It was one of those friend of a friend of a friend situations. And now he was fervently wishing he'd remained in London.
He'd just gotten over a blistering head cold, and he should've used that as an excuse to cry off, but his friend...whom he hadn't even seen in the past four hours...had prodded and cajoled, and finally, he had given in.
Now, he heartily regretted it.
He walked down the main hall of Cavendish's parents' home. Through the doorway to his left he could see a high-stakes card game in process.
One of the players was sweating profusely...
"Stupid idiot," Arthur muttered. The poor bloke was probably just a breath away from losing his ancestral home.
He noticed the door to his right was closed, but he could hear the sound of feminine giggling, followed by masculine laughter, followed by some rather unattractive grunting and squealing.
This was madness.
He didn't want to be here.
He hated card games where the stakes were higher than the participants could afford. And he'd never had any interest in copulating in such a public manner.
He had no idea what had happened to the friend who had brought him here, and he didn't much like any of the other guests.
"I'm leaving," he declared, even though there was no one in the hall to hear him.
He had a small piece of property not so very far away...just an hour's ride, really. It wasn't much more than a cottage, but it was his. And right now it sounded like heaven.
But good manners dictated that he find his host and inform him of his departure, even if Mr. Cavendish was so sotted that he wouldn't remember the conversation the next day.
After about ten minutes of fruitless searching, however, Arthur was beginning to wish that his mother hadn't been so adamant in her quest to instill good manners in all of her children.
It would've been a great deal easier just to leave and be done with it.
"Three more minutes," he grumbled. "If I don't find the bloody idiot in three more minutes, I'm leaving."
Just then, a pair of young men stumbled by, tripping over their own feet as they exploded in raucous laughter.
Alcoholic fumes filled the air, and Arthur took a discreet step back, lest one of them was suddenly compelled to cast up the contents of his stomach.
On him.
For he had always been fond of his boots.
"Pendragon!" one of them called out.
And Arthur gave them a curt nod in greeting. They were both about five years younger than he was, and he didn't know them well.
"Tha's not a Pendragon," the other fellow slurred. "That's a...why, it is a Pendragon! Got the hair and the nose." His eyes narrowed. "But which Pendragon?"
Arthur ignored his question.
"Have you seen our host?" he asked.
"We have a host?"
"Course we have a host," the first man replied. "Cavendish. Damned fine fellow, you know, t'let us use his house..."
"Hiss parents' house," the other one corrected. "Hasn't inherited yet, poor bloke."
"Even so! His parents' house. Still jolly of him."
"Have either of you seen him?" growled Arthur.
"He's outside," replied the one who previously hadn't recalled that they had a host. "In the front."
"Thank you," Arthur said shortly, then strode past them to the front door of the house.
He would head down the front steps, pay his respects to Cavendish, then make his way to the stables to collect his phaeton.
And he would barely even have to break his stride...
'I need to get away from here,' thought Guinevere Roberts.
It had been almost two years since she'd left London...
Two years since she'd finally stopped being the countess Calliope's slave...
And two years since she'd been completely on her own...
After she'd left Penwood House, she'd pawned the countess' shoe clips, but the diamonds the woman had liked to boast about, had turned out not to be diamonds at all, but rather simple paste, and they hadn't brought much money.
She'd tried to find a job as a governess, but none of the agencies she'd queried was willing to take her on.
She was obviously well educated, but she'd had no references, besides, most women did not like to hire someone quite so young and pretty.
Gwen had eventually purchased a ticket for a coach to Wiltshire, since that was as far as she could go, while still reserving the bulk of her pin money for emergencies.
Luckily, she'd found employment quickly, as an upstairs maid for Mr. and Mrs. Silas Cavendish.
They were an ordinary sort of couple, expecting good work from their servants but not demanding the impossible.
And after toiling for the countess for so many years, she found the position at Cavendish's to be a positive vacation.
But then their son had returned from his tour of Europe, and everything had changed...
Lance was constantly cornering her in the hall, and when his innuendo and suggestions were rebuffed, he'd grown more aggressive.
She had just started to think, that maybe she ought to find employment elsewhere, when Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish had to left for a week, to visit Mrs. Cavendish's sister in Brighton.
Lance, seizing the opportunity, took it upon himself, to throw a party for two dozen of his closest friends.
It had been difficult to avoid his advances before, but at least she had felt reasonably protected. He would never dare attack her while his mother was in residence.
But with Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish gone, he seemed to think that he could do and take anything he wanted.
And his friends were no better.
Gwen knew she should've left the grounds immediately, but Mrs. Cavendish had treated her well, and she didn't think it was polite to leave without giving two weeks' notice.
After two hours of being chased around the house, however, she decided that good manners were not worth her virtue.
And so, she'd told the...thankfully sympathetic...housekeeper that she could not stay.
She packed her meager belongings in one small bag, stole down the side stairs, and let herself out.
It was a two-mile hike into the village, but even in the dead of night, the road to town seemed infinitely safer than remaining at the Cavendish's home.
Besides, she knew of a small inn where she could get a hot meal and a room for a reasonable price.
She'd just come around the house and had stepped onto the front drive, when she heard a raucous shout.
She looked up...
'Oh, blast!'
It was Lance Cavendish, looking even drunker and meaner than usual.
Gwen broke into a run, praying that the alcohol had impaired Lance's coordination, because she knew she could not match him for speed.
But her flight must've only served to excite him.
Because she heard him yell out with glee, then felt his footsteps rumbling on the ground, growing closer and closer, until she felt his hand close round the back collar of her coat, jerking her to a halt.
He laughed triumphantly, and Gwen had never been so terrified in her entire life.
"Look what I have here," he cackled. "Little Miss Gwennie. I shall have to introduce you to my friends..."
Gwen's mouth went dry, and she wasn't sure whether her heart started to beat double time or stopped altogether.
"Let me go, Mr. Cavendish," she said in her sternest voice.
She knew that he liked her helpless and pleading, but she refused to cater to his wishes.
"I don't think so," he said, turning her around so that she was forced to watch his lips stretch into a slippery smile.
He turned his head to the side and called out,
"Herman! Theodore! Look what I have here!"
Gwen watched with horror as two more men emerged from the shadows. And from the looks of them, they were just as drunk, or maybe even more so, than Lance.
"You always host the best parties," one of them said in an oily voice.
And Lance puffed out with pride.
"Let me go!" Gwen said again.
He grinned.
"What do you think, boys? Should I do as the lady asks?"
"Hell, no!" came the reply from the younger of the two men.
"Lady," said the other...the same one who had told Lance that he hosted the best parties. "Might be a bit of a misnomer, don't you think?"
"Quite right!" Lance replied. "This one's a housemaid, and as we all know, that breed is born to serve." He gave Gwen a shove, pushing her towards one of his friends. "Here. Have a look at the goods."
Gwen cried out as she was propelled forward, even as she clutched tightly to her small bag.
She was about to be raped; that much was clear.
But her panicked mind wanted to hold on to some last shred of dignity. And she refused to allow these men to spill her every last belonging onto the cold ground.
The man who caught her fondled her roughly, then shoved her towards the third one.
He'd just snaked his hand around her waist, when she heard someone yell out,
"Cavendish!"
She shut her eyes in agony.
A fourth man...
Dear God, weren't three enough?
"Pendragon!" Lance called out. "Over here. Come join us!"
Gwen's eyes snapped open.
Pendragon?
Just then, a tall, powerfully built man emerged from the shadows, moving forward with easy, confident grace.
"What have we here?" he asked.
'Dear God,' Gwen thought, even as her breath hitched. She'd recognize that voice anywhere. She'd heard it often enough in her dreams.
It was Arthur Pendragon! Her Prince Charming!
A few minutes earlier...
The night air was chilly, but Arthur found it refreshing after being forced to breathe the alcohol and tobacco fumes inside.
The moon was nearly full, glowing round and fat, and a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees. All in all, it was an excellent night to leave a boring party and ride home.
But first things first...
He had to find his host, go through the motions of thanking him for his hospitality, and then informing him of his intended departure.
As he reached the bottom step, he called out,
"Cavendish!"
"Over here!" came the reply, and he turned his head to the right.
He saw Lance standing under a stately old elm with two other gentlemen. They appeared to be having a bit of fun with a housemaid, pushing her back and forth between them.
Arthur groaned.
He was too far away to determine whether the housemaid was enjoying their attentions. And if she wasn't, then he was going to have to save her, which was not how he'd planned to spend his evening.
He'd never been particularly enamored of playing the hero, but he had far too many younger sisters to ignore any female in distress.
"What have we here?" he asked, as he ambled over, keeping his posture purposefully casual.
It was always better to move slowly and assess the situation than it was to charge in blindly.
"Pendragon!" Lance called out. "Come join us, mate!"
Arthur drew close just as one of the men snaked an arm around the young woman's waist and pinned her to him, her back to his front.
His other hand was on her bottom, squeezing and kneading.
Arthur brought his gaze to the maid's eyes. They were huge and filled with terror, and she was looking at him as if he'd just dropped fully formed from the sky.
"What going on?" he asked.
"Just a bit of sport," Lance chortled. "My parents were kind enough to hire this prime morsel as the upstairs maid."
"She doesn't appear to be enjoying your attentions," Arthur said quietly.
"She likes it just fine," Lance replied with a grin. "Fine enough for me, anyway."
"But not," Arthur said, stepping forward. "For me."
"You can have your turn with her," Lance said, ever jovial. "Just as soon as we're through,"
"You misunderstand..." There was a hard edge to Arthur's voice. And all three men froze, looking over at him with wary curiosity. "Release the girl," he said.
Still stunned by the sudden change of atmosphere, and with reflexes most likely dulled by alcohol, the man holding Gwen did nothing.
"I don't want to fight you," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "But I will. And I can assure you that the three-to-one odds don't frighten me."
"Now, see here," Lance said angrily. "You can't come here and order me about on my own property."
"It's your parents' property," Arthur pointed out, reminding them all that Lance was still rather wet behind the ears.
"It's my home!" he shot back. "And she's my maid. And she'll do what I want!"
"I wasn't aware that slavery was legal in this country," Arthur murmured.
"She has to do what I say!"
"Does she?"
"I'll fire her if she doesn't."
"Very well," Arthur said with a tiny quirk of a smile. "Ask her then. Ask the girl if she wants to tup with all three of you. Because that is what you had in mind, isn't it?"
Lance sputtered as he fought for words.
"Ask her," Arthur said again, grinning now, mostly because he knew his smile would infuriate the younger man. "And if she says no, you can fire her right here on the spot."
"I'm not going to ask her," he whined.
"Well, then, you can't really expect her to do it, can you?"
Arthur looked at the Gwen. She was a fetching thing, with a short bob of dark brown curls and eyes that loomed almost too large in her face.
"Fine," he said, sparing a brief glance back at Lance. "I'll ask her."
Gwen's lips parted slightly, and Arthur had the oddest sensation that they had met before.
'Her skin...the colour...' he thought. And then, 'Nah, couldn't be.'
Because that was impossible...unless she'd worked for some other aristocratic family...
And even then, he would've only seen her in passing.
His taste in women had never run to housemaids, and in all truth, he tended not to notice them.
"Miss..." He frowned. "What's your name?"
"Guinevere Roberts," she gasped, sounding as if there were a very large frog caught in her throat.
"Miss Roberts," he continued. "Would you be so kind as to answer the following question?"
"No!" she burst out.
"You're not going to answer?" he asked, his eyes amused.
"No, I do not want to tup with these three men!" The words practically exploded from her mouth.
"Well, that seems to settle that," Arthur said. He glanced up at the man still holding her. "I suggest you release her so that Lance here may relieve her of employment."
"And where will she go?" Lance sneered. "I can assure you she won't work in this district again."
At that, Gwen turned to Arthur, wondering much the same thing.
He gave a careless shrug.
"I'll find her a position in my mother's household." He looked over at her and raised a brow. "I assume that's acceptable?"
Gwen's mouth dropped open in horrified surprise. He wanted to take her to his home!
"That's not quite the reaction I expected," Arthur said dryly. "But it will certainly be more pleasant than your employment here. At the very least, I can assure you you won't be raped. What do you say?"
Gwen glanced frantically at the three men who had intended to rape her. She really didn't have a choice. Arthur Pendragon was her only means off the Cavendish's property.
She knew she couldn't possibly work for his mother; to be in such close proximity to him and still have to be a servant would be more than she could bear.
But she could find a way to avoid that later. For now, she just needed to get away from Lance.
She turned to Arthur and nodded, still afraid to use her voice.
She felt as if she was choking inside, although she wasn't certain whether that was from fear or relief.
"Good," he said. "Shall we be off?" She gave a rather pointed look at the arm that was still holding her hostage.
"Oh, for the love of God," Arthur snarled. "Will you let go of her or will I have to shoot your damned hand off?"
He wasn't even holding a gun, but the tone of his voice was such that the man let go instantly.
"Good," he said, holding his arm out towards Gwen. She stepped forward, and with trembling fingers placed her hand on his elbow.
"You can't just take her!" Lance yelled.
And Arthur gave him a supercilious look.
"I just did."
"You'll be sorry you did this," Lance said.
"I doubt it. Now get out of my sight."
Lance made a huffy sound, then turned to his friends and said,
"Let's get out of here." Then he turned to Arthur and added, "Don't think you shall ever receive another invitation to one of my parties."
"My heart is breaking," Arthur drawled.
And Lance let out one more outraged snort, then he and his two friends stalked back to the house.
Gwen watched them walk away, then slowly dragged her gaze back to Arthur.
When she'd been trapped by Lance and his leering friends, she'd known what they wanted to do to her, and she'd almost wanted to die.
And then, all of a sudden, there was Arthur Pendragon, standing before her like a hero from her dreams.
And she'd thought maybe she had died, because why else would he be here with her unless she was in heaven?
She'd been so completely and utterly stunned, she'd almost forgotten that Lance's friend still held her pinned against him and was grabbing her behind in a most humiliating manner.
For one brief second the world had melted away, and the only thing she could see, the only thing she knew, was Arthur Pendragon.
It had been a moment of perfection.
But then the world had come crashing back, and all she could think was...what on earth was he doing here?
It was a disgusting party, full of drunkards and whores.
When she'd met him two years ago, he hadn't seemed the sort who would frequent such events. But she'd only known him for a few short hours.
Perhaps she'd misjudged him.
She closed her eyes in agony...
For the past two years, the memory of him had been the brightest light in her drab and dreary life.
If she'd misjudged him, if he was only a little better than Lance and his friends, then she'd be left with nothing.
Not even a memory of love.
But he had saved her. That was irrefutable.
Maybe it didn't really matter why he'd come to Lance's party, only that he had, and he had saved her.
"Are you all right?" he suddenly asked.
Gwen nodded, looking him squarely in the eye, waiting for him to recognize her.
"Are you certain?"
She nodded again, still waiting...
It had to happen soon.
"Good. They were handling you roughly."
"I'll be all right."
She chewed on her lower lip. She had no idea how he would react once he realized who she was.
Would he be delighted?
Furious?
The suspense was killing her.
"How much time will it take for you to pack your things?"
Gwen blinked rather dumbly, then realized she was still holding her satchel.
"It's all right here," she said. "I was trying to leave when they caught me."
"Smart girl," Arthur murmured approvingly.
Gwen just stared at him, unable to believe he hadn't recognized her.
"Let's be off, then," he said. "It makes me ill just to be on Cavendish's property."
Gwen said nothing, but her chin jutted slightly forward, and her head tilted to the side as she watched Arthur's face.
"Are you certain you're all right?" he asked.
And then she started to think...
Two years ago, when she'd met him, half of her face had been covered by a mask.
Her hair had been longer, darker and straighter than it usually was. Furthermore, she'd since cut it and sold the locks to a wigmaker.
Her previous long waves were now short curls.
And without Mrs. Walker to feed her, she'd lost nearly a stone. Also, her light brown skin was now shades darker...though still very flawless.
So when one got right down to it, they'd only been in each other's company a mere hour and a half...
Gwen stared at Arthur, right into his eyes, even as her thoughts confirmed what was happening.
And that was when she knew...
He wasn't going to recognize her.
He had no idea who she was.
And she didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.
Stay safe!