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, 2 MAY 1817
It has oft been said that physicians make the worst patients, but it is the opinion of this author that any man makes a terrible patient. One might say it takes patience to be a patient. And heaven knows, the males of our species lack an abundance of patience.
The first thing Gwen did the following morning...was scream.
She'd fallen asleep in the straight-backed chair next to Arthur's bed, her limbs sprawled most inelegantly and her head cocked to the side in a rather uncomfortable position.
Her sleep had been light at first, her ears perked to listen for any sign of distress from the sickbed. But after an hour or so of complete, blessed silence, exhaustion had claimed her, and she fell into a deeper slumber...
The kind from which one ought to awaken in peace, with a restful, easy smile on one's face...
Which may have been why, when she opened her eyes and saw two strange people staring at her, she had such a fright that it took a full five minutes for her heart to stop racing.
"Who are you?"
The words tumbled out of Gwen's mouth before she realized exactly who they must be...Mr. and Mrs. Craven, the caretakers of My Cottage.
"Who are you?" the man demanded, not a little bit belligerently.
"Gwen...Guinevere Roberts," she said with a gulp. "I..." She pointed desperately at Arthur. "He..."
"Spit it out, girl!"
"Don't torture her," came a croak from the bed.
Three heads swiveled in that direction.
"You're awake!" Gwen exclaimed.
"Wish to God I wasn't," he muttered. "My throat feels like it's on fire."
"Would you like me to fetch you some more water?" she asked solicitously.
He shook his head.
"Tea. Please."
She shot to her feet.
"I'll go get it."
"I'll get it," Mrs. Craven said firmly.
"Would you like help?" Gwen asked timidly. Something about this pair made her feel like she was ten years old...
They were both short and squat, but they positively exuded authority.
Mrs. Craven shook her head.
"A fine housekeeper I am if I can't prepare a pot of tea."
Gwen gulped... She couldn't tell whether the woman was miffed or joking.
"I never meant to imply..."
Mrs. Craven waved off her apology.
"Shall I bring you a cup?"
"You shouldn't fetch anything for me," Gwen said. "I'm a ser..."
"Bring her a cup," Arthur ordered.
"But..."
He jabbed his finger at her, grunting,
"Be quiet," before turning to Mrs. Craven and bestowing upon her a smile that could've melted an ice cap. "Would you be so kind as to include a cup for Miss Roberts on the tray?"
"Of course, Mr. Pendragon," she replied. "But may I say..."
"You can say anything you please once you return with the tea," he promised.
She gave him a stern look...
"I have a lot to say."
"Of that I have no doubt."
Arthur, Gwen and Mr. Craven waited in silence while Mrs. Craven left the room, and then, when she was safely out of earshot, Mr. Craven positively chortled, and said,
"You're in for it now, Mr. Pendragon!"
Arthur smiled weakly.
Mr. Craven turned to Gwen and explained...
"When Mrs. Craven has a lot to say, she has a lot to say."
"Oh," she replied. She would've liked to have said something slightly more articulate, but "oh" was truly the best she could come up with on such short notice.
"And when she has a lot to say," Mr. Craven continued, his smile growing wide and sly. "She likes to say it with great vigour."
"Fortunately," Arthur said in a dry voice. "We'll have our tea to keep us occupied."
At that, Gwen's stomach grumbled loudly.
"And," Arthur continued, shooting her an amused glance. "A fair bit of breakfast, too, if I know Mrs. Craven."
Mr. Craven nodded.
"Already prepared, Mr. Pendragon. We saw your horses in the stables when we returned from our daughter's house this morning, and Mrs. Craven got to work on breakfast straightaway. She knows how you love your eggs."
Arthur turned to Gwen and gave her a conspiratorial sort of smile.
"I do love eggs."
And right at that moment, her stomach grumbled again...
"We didn't know there'd be two of you, though" Mr. Craven said.
Arthur chuckled, then winced at the pain.
"I can't imagine that Mrs. Craven didn't make enough to feed a small army."
"Well, she didn't have time to prepare a proper breakfast with beef pie and fish," Mr. Craven said. "But I believe she has bacon and ham and eggs and toast."
At that, Gwen's stomach positively growled... And she clapped a hand to her belly, just barely resisting the urge to hiss,
"Be quiet!"
"You should've told us you were coming," Mr. Craven added, shaking a finger at Arthur. "We never would've gone visiting if we'd known to expect you."
"It was a spur-of-the-moment decision," Arthur said, stretching his neck from side to side. "I went to a bad party and decided to leave."
Mr. Craven jerked his head towards Gwen...
"Where'd she come from?"
"She was at the party."
"I wasn't at the party," Gwen corrected. "I just happened to be there."
Mr. Craven squinted at her suspiciously.
"What's the difference?"
"I wasn't attending the party. I was a servant at the house."
"You're a servant?"
She nodded.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you."
"You don't look like a servant." Mr. Craven turned to Arthur. "Does she look like a servant to you?"
He shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know what she looks like."
Gwen scowled at Arthur. What he said might not have been an insult, but it certainly wasn't a compliment.
"If she's somebody else's servant," Mr. Craven persisted. "Then what's she doing here?"
"May I save my explanations until Mrs. Craven returns?" Arthur asked. "Since I'm certain she'll repeat all of your questions?"
Mr. Craven looked at him for a moment, blinked, nodded, then turned back to Gwen...
"Why're you dressed like that?"
Gwen looked down and realized with horror that she'd completely forgotten she was wearing men's clothes. Men's clothes so big, that she could barely keep the breeches from falling to her feet.
"My clothes were wet," she explained. "From the rain."
Mr. Craven nodded sympathetically.
"Quite a storm last night. That's why we stayed over at our daughter's. We'd planned to come home, you know."
Arthur and Gwen just nodded.
"She doesn't live terribly far away," Mr. Craven continued. "Just on the other side of the village." He glanced over at Arthur, who nodded immediately. "Has a new baby," he added. "A girl."
"Congratulations!" Arthur said. And Gwen could see from his face that he was not merely being polite.
He truly meant it.
Just then, a loud clomping sound came from the stairway; surely Mrs. Craven returning with breakfast...
"I ought to help," Gwen said, jumping up and dashing for the door.
"Once a servant, always a servant," Mr. Craven said sagely.
Arthur wasn't sure, but as Gwen moved away, he thought he saw her wince at Mr. Craven's words.
A minute later...
Mrs. Craven entered, bearing a splendid silver tea service.
"Where's Guinevere?" Arthur asked.
"I sent her down to get the rest," Mrs. Craven replied. "She should be up in no time. Nice girl," she added in a matter-of-fact tone. "But she needs a belt for those breeches you lent her."
All of a sudden, Arthur felt something squeeze suspiciously in his chest at the thought of Gwen-the-housemaid, with her breeches 'round her ankles.
He gulped uncomfortably when he realized the tight sensation might very well be...desire.
Then he groaned and grabbed at his throat, because uncomfortable gulps were even more uncomfortable after a night of harsh coughing.
"You need one of my tonics," Mrs. Craven said.
He shook his head frantically. He'd had one of her tonics before; it'd had him retching for three hours.
"I won't take no for an answer," she warned.
"She never does," Mr. Craven added.
"The tea will work wonders," Arthur said quickly. "I'm sure."
But Mrs. Craven's attention had already been diverted.
"Where is that girl?" she muttered, walking back to the door and looking out. "Gwen! Gwen!"
"If you can keep her from bringing me a tonic," Arthur whispered urgently to Mr. Craven. "It's a fiver in your pocket."
The man beamed.
"Consider it done!"
"There she is!" Mrs. Craven declared. "Oh, heavens above!"
"What is it, dearie?" Mr. Craven asked, ambling towards the door.
"The poor thing can't carry a tray and keep her breeches up at the same time," she replied, clucking sympathetically.
"Aren't you going to help her?" Arthur asked from the bed.
"Oh yes, of course."
She hurried out.
"I'll be right back," Mr. Craven said over his shoulder. "I don't want to miss this."
"Someone get the bloody girl a belt!" Arthur yelled grumpily.
It didn't seem quite fair that everyone got to go out to the hall and watch the sideshow while he was stuck in bed...
And he definitely was stuck there. Just the thought of getting up made him dizzy.
He must've been sicker than he'd realized the night before. He no longer felt the urge to cough every few seconds, but his body felt worn-out and exhausted.
His muscles ached also, and his throat was damned sore. Even his teeth didn't feel quite right.
But he had vague recollections of Gwen taking care of him...
She'd put cool compresses on his forehead, watched over him and even sung him a lullaby. But he'd never quite seen her face as she did so. Because, most of the time he hadn't had the energy to open his eyes.
And even when he had, the room had been dark, always leaving her in shadows, reminding him of...
Her.
Arthur sucked in a breath, his heart thumping crazily in his chest, as in a sudden flash of clarity, he remembered his dream.
He'd dreamed of her... His mystery lady...
It was not a new dream, although it had been months since he'd been visited by it.
It was not a fantasy for the innocent, either...
Arthur was no saint, and when he dreamed of the woman from the masquerade, she was not wearing her red and silver dress...
'She was not wearing anything,' he thought with a wicked smile.
But what perplexed him was why this dream would return now...after so many months of dormancy.
Was there something about Gwen that had triggered it?
He'd thought...
He'd hoped...
That the disappearance of the dream had meant he was over his mystery lady.
Obviously not.
But Gwen certainly didn't look like the woman he'd danced with two years earlier... Her hair was all wrong and she was far too thin.
He distinctly remembered the lush, curvy feel of the masked woman in his arms; in comparison, Gwen could only be called scrawny.
He supposed their voices were a bit similar, but he had to admit to himself that as time passed, his memories of that night grew less vivid, and he could no longer recall his mystery woman's voice with perfect clarity.
Besides, Gwen's accent, while exceptionally refined for a housemaid, was not as uppercrust as the mystery lady's had been.
Arthur let out a frustrated snort. He hated thinking of the mystery lady as 'her'.
That seemed the crudest of her secrets. She'd kept from him even her name.
Part of him wished she'd just lied and given him a false name. At least then he'd have something to think of her by in his mind.
Something to whisper in the night, when he was staring out the window, wondering where in hell she was.
However, he was saved from further reflection by the sounds of stumbling and bumbling in the hallway.
Mr. Craven was the first to return, staggering under the weight of the breakfast tray.
"What happened to the others?" Arthur asked suspiciously eyeing the door.
"Mrs. Craven went off to find Gwen some proper clothing," the man replied, setting the tray down on Arthur's desk. "Ham or bacon?"
"Both. I'm famished. And what the devil does she mean by 'proper clothing'?"
"A dress, Mr. Pendragon. That's what women wear."
Right at that moment, Arthur seriously considered lobbing a candle stump at him.
"I meant," he said, with what he considered saintly patience. "Where is she going to find a dress?"
Mr. Craven walked over with a plate of food on a footed tray that would fit over Arthur's lap.
"Mrs. Craven has several extras. She's always happy to share."
Arthur almost choked on the bite of egg he'd shoveled into his mouth.
"Um...Mrs. Craven and Guinevere are hardly the same size."
"Neither you and her," Mr. Craven pointed out. "And she wore your clothes just fine."
"I thought you said the breeches fell off in the hall."
"Well, we don't have to worry about that with the dress, do we? I hardly think her shoulders are going to slip through the neck hole."
Arthur decided it was safer for his sanity to mind his own business, so he turned his full attention to his breakfast.
He was on his third plate when Mrs. Craven bustled in.
"Here we are!" she announced.
Gwen slunk in, practically drowning in the woman's voluminous dress. Except, of course, at her ankles...
Because, although Gwen was short, Mrs. Craven was shorter.
Mrs. Craven beamed.
"Doesn't she look smashing?"
"Oh, yes," Arthur replied, his lips twitching.
And Gwen glared at him.
"You'll have plenty of room for breakfast," he said gamely.
"It's only until I get her clothing cleaned up," Mrs. Craven explained. "But at least it's decent." She waddled over to Arthur. "How is your breakfast, Mr. Pendragon?"
"Delicious!" he replied. "I haven't eaten so well in months."
Mrs. Craven leaned forward and whispered,
"I like your Gwen. May we keep her?"
Again, Arthur almost choked...
On what, he didn't know, but it happened nonetheless.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Mr. Craven and I aren't as young as we used to be. We could use another set of hands around here."
"I, ah, well..." He cleared his throat. "I'll think about it."
"Excellent!" she said, then crossed back to the other side of the room and grabbed Gwen's arm. "You come with me. Your stomach has been growling all morning. When was the last time you ate?"
"Er, sometime yesterday, I should think," came Gwen's reply.
"When yesterday?" the woman persisted. And Arthur hid a smile under his napkin, for Gwen looked utterly overwhelmed. But Mrs. Craven tended to do that to a person.
"Er, well, actually..." Gwen stuttered out. And Mrs. Craven planted her hands on her hips...
Arthur grinned... Gwen was in for it now.
"Well, are you going to tell me that you didn't eat yesterday?" Mrs. Craven boomed.
Poor Gwen, she shot a desperate look to Arthur. But he replied with a don't-look-to-me-for-help shrug.
Besides, he rather enjoyed watching Mrs. Craven fuss over her. He'd be willing to bet that the poor girl hadn't been fussed over in years.
"I was very busy yesterday," Gwen hedged.
And Arthur frowned.
She'd probably been busy running from Lance Cavendish and the pack of idiots he called friends.
However, Mrs. Craven shoved her into the seat behind the desk.
"Eat!" she ordered.
Arthur watched as Gwen tucked into the food. It was obvious that she was trying to put on her best manners, but eventually, hunger must've gotten the best of her, because after a minute she was practically shoveling the food into her mouth.
It was only when he noticed that his jaw was clamped together like a vise that he realized he was absolutely furious.
At whom, he wasn't precisely certain. But he did not like seeing her so hungry.
They had an odd little bond, he and the housemaid.
He'd saved her and she'd saved him... Although, he doubted his fever from the night before would've killed him.
If it had been truly serious, he would still be battling it now.
But she had cared for him and made him comfortable and probably hastened his road to recovery.
"Will you make certain she eats at least another plateful?" Mrs. Craven asked Arthur. "I'm going to make up a room for her."
"In the servants' quarters," Gwen said quickly.
"Don't be a silly. Until we hire you on, you're not a servant here."
"But..."
"Nothing more about it," Mrs. Craven interrupted.
"Would you like my help, dearie?" Mr. Craven asked.
His wife nodded, and in the next moment the couple was gone.
Gwen paused in her quest to consume as much food as humanly possible, to stare at the door through which the Craven's just disappeared.
She supposed they had considered her one of their own, because if she'd been anything but a servant, they would never have left her alone with Arthur.
Reputations could be ruined on far less.
"You didn't eat at all yesterday, did you?" Arthur asked quietly.
She shook her head.
"Next time I see Cavendish," he growled. "I'm going to beat him to a bloody pulp."
If she was a better person, she would've been horrified, but Gwen couldn't quite prevent a smile at the thought of Arthur further defending her honour.
Or of seeing Lance Cavendish with his nose relocated to his forehead.
"Fill up your plate again," Arthur said. "If only for my sake. I assure you that Mrs. Craven has counted how many eggs and strips of bacon were on the platter when she left... And she'll have my head if the numbers haven't gone down by the time she returns."
"She's a very nice lady," Gwen said, reaching for the eggs.
The first plate of food had barely touched upon her hunger, so she needed no further urging to eat.
"Mrs. Craven is the best," Arthur said, even as Gwen expertly balanced a slice of ham between a serving fork and spoon and moved it to her plate.
"Indeed. How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Pendragon?"
"Very well, thank you. Or if not well, then at least a damn sight better than I did last night."
"I was very worried about you," she said, spearing a corner of the ham with her fork and then cutting a piece off with her knife.
"It was very kind of you to care for me."
She chewed, swallowed, then said,
"It was nothing, really. Anyone would've done it."
"Perhaps," he said. "But not with such grace and good humour."
Gwen's fork froze in midair...
"Thank you," she said softly. "That is a lovely compliment."
"I didn't... Er..."
He cleared his throat. And Gwen eyed him curiously, waiting for him to finish whatever it was he wanted to say.
"Never mind," he mumbled.
Disappointed, she put a piece of ham into her mouth.
"I didn't do anything for which I ought to apologize, did I?" he suddenly blurted out, making her spat the ham out into her napkin.
"I'll take that as a yes," he muttered.
"No!" she said quickly. "Not at all. You merely startled me."
His eyes narrowed.
"You wouldn't lie to me about this, would you?"
Gwen shook her head as she remembered the single, perfect kiss she'd given him...
He hadn't done anything that required an apology, but that didn't mean that she hadn't.
"You're blushing," he accused.
"No, I'm not."
"Yes," he said. "You are."
"If I'm blushing," she replied pertly. "It's because I'm wondering why you would think you had any reason to apologize."
"You have a rather smart mouth for a servant," he said.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. She had to remember her place.
But that was hard to do with this man... The one member of the ton who had treated her...if only for a few hours...as an equal
"I meant it as a compliment," Arthur said. "Do not stifle yourself on my account."
Gwen said nothing.
"I find you rather..." He paused, obviously searching for the correct word. "Refreshing."
"Oh." She set her fork down. "Thank you."
"Have you plans for the rest of the day?" he asked.
She looked down at her huge garments and grimaced.
"I thought I'd wait for my clothes to be readied, and then I suppose I'll see if any of the nearby houses are in need of housemaids."
He scowled at her.
"I told you I would find you a position with my mother."
"And I do appreciate that," she said quickly. "But I would prefer to stay in the country."
Arthur shrugged the shrug of one who has never been thrown one of life's great stumbles.
"You can work at Thistle Hall, then. In Kent."
Gwen chewed on her lower lip...
She couldn't exactly come out and say she didn't want to work for his mother because she'd have to see him...and probably on a regular basis.
Besides, she couldn't think of a torture that would be more exquisitely painful.
"You shouldn't think of me as your responsibility," she finally said.
Arthur gave her a rather superior glance.
"I told you I would find you a new position."
"But..."
"What could there possibly be to discuss?"
"Nothing," she grumbled. "Nothing at all."
Clearly, it was no use arguing with him.
"Good." He leaned back contentedly against his pillows. "I'm glad you see it my way."
In the next second, Gwen stood.
"I should be going."
"To do what?" Arthur asked.
She felt rather stupid as she said,
"I don't know."
He chuckled.
"Have fun with it, then."
With that, her hand tightened around the handle of the serving spoon.
"Don't do it," he warned.
"Do what?"
"Throw the spoon."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she said tightly.
He laughed aloud.
"Oh, yes you would. You're dreaming of it right now. You just wouldn't do it."
Gwen's hand was gripping the spoon so hard it shook...
And Arthur was chuckling so hard his bed shook...
But she remained rooted...
Then Arthur smiled.
"Are you planning to take that with you?" he asked.
'Remember your place,' she silently screamed at herself. 'Remember your place.'
"Whatever could you be thinking," Arthur mused. "To look so adorably ferocious? No, don't tell me," he added. "I'm sure it involves my untimely and painful demise."
Slowly and carefully, Gwen turned her back to him and put the spoon down on the table.
She didn't want to risk any sudden movements... One false move and she knew she'd be hurling it at his head.
Arthur raised his brows approvingly.
"That was very mature of you."
Gwen turned around slowly...
"Are you this charming with everyone or only me?" she asked.
"Only you." He grinned smugly. "I shall have to make sure you take me up on my offer to find you employment with my mother... You do bring out the best in me, Miss Guinevere Roberts."
"This is the best?" she asked with obvious disbelief.
"I'm afraid so."
She just shook her head as she walked to the door. Conversations with Arthur Pendragon could be exhausting...
"Oh, Guinevere!" he called out.
She turned around.
And he smiled slyly.
"I knew you wouldn't throw the spoon."
What happened next was surely not Gwen's fault...
She was, she was convinced, temporarily and fleetingly possessed by a demon. Because she absolutely did not recognize the hand that shot out to the small table next to her and picked up a stump of a candle.
True, the hand appeared to be connected quite firmly to her arm, but it didn't look the least bit familiar as it drew back and hurled the stump across the room...
Straight at Arthur Pendragon's head.
She didn't even wait to see if her aim had been true. But as she stalked out the door, she heard him explode with laughter.
Then she heard him shout out,
"Well done, Miss Roberts!"
And she realized that for the first time in years, her smile was one of pure, unadulterated joy.
Stay safe!