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I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own An Offer From A Gentleman.
LADY MIDLLETON'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 5 MAY 1817
Although he responded in the affirmative...or so says Lady Bennington...Arthur Pendragon did not make an appearance at the annual Bennington Ball. Complaints were heard from young women and their mamas, all across the ballroom.
According to Lady Pendragon...his mother, not his sister-in-law...Mr. Pendragon left for the country last week and has not been heard from since. However, those who might fear for Mr. Pendragon's health and well-being should not fret... Lady Pendragon sounded more annoyed than worried. Last year, no less than four couples met their future spouses at the Bennington Ball. And the previous year, three.
Much to Lady Pendragon's dismay, if any matches were made at this year's Bennington Ball, her son Arthur will not be among the grooms.
There were advantages to a long, drawn-out recovery, Arthur soon discovered.
The most obvious...
Was the quantity and variety of the most excellent food brought forth from Mrs. Craven's kitchen.
He'd always been fed well at My Cottage, but Mrs. Craven truly rose to the occasion when she had someone tucked away in the sickroom.
And even better...
Mr. Craven had managed to intercept all of his wife's tonics and replace them with Arthur's best brandy.
He dutifully drank every drop. But the last time he'd looked out the window, it appeared that three of his rosebushes had died...presumably where Mr. Craven had dumped the tonic.
It was a sad sacrifice, but one Arthur was more than willing to make after his last experience with Mrs. Craven's tonics.
Another perk of staying abed...
Was the simple fact that, for the first time in years, he could enjoy some quiet time.
He read, sketched and even closed his eyes and just daydreamed...all without feeling guilty for neglecting some other task or chore.
He soon decided that he'd be perfectly happy leading the life of the indolent.
But the best part of his recovery, by far...
Was Gwen.
She popped into his room several times a day, sometimes to fluff his pillows, sometimes to bring him food, sometimes just to read to him.
And he had a feeling that her industriousness was due to her desire to feel useful. Also, to thank him with deeds for saving her from Lance Cavendish.
But he didn't much care why she came to visit; he just liked it that she did.
She'd been quiet and reserved at first, obviously trying to adhere to the standard that servants should be neither seen nor heard. But he'd had none of that. And he'd purposefully engaged her in conversation, just so she couldn't leave.
Or he'd goad and needle her, simply to get a rise out of her, because he liked her far better when she was spitting fire, than when she was meek and submissive.
But mostly, he just enjoyed being in the same room with her. It didn't seem to matter if they were talking or if she was just sitting in a chair leafing through a book, while he stared out the window.
Something about her presence brought him peace...
A sharp knock at the door broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked up eagerly, calling out,
"Enter!"
Gwen poked her head in, her shoulder-length curls shaking slightly as they brushed against the edge of the door.
"Mrs. Craven thought you might like tea."
"Tea? Or tea and biscuits?"
She grinned, pushing the door open with her hip as she balanced the tray.
"Oh, the latter, to be sure."
"Excellent! And will you join me?"
She hesitated, as she always did, but then she nodded...as she also always did. She'd long since learned that there was no arguing with Arthur, when he had his mind set on something.
And he rather liked it that way.
"The colour is back in your cheeks," Gwen commented as she set the tray down on a nearby table. "And you don't look nearly so tired. I should think you'll be up and out of bed soon."
"Oh, soon, I'm sure," he said evasively.
"You're looking healthier every day."
He smiled gamely.
"Do you think so?"
She lifted the teapot and paused before she poured.
"Yes," she said with an ironic smile. "I wouldn't have said so otherwise."
Arthur watched Gwen's hands as she prepared his tea. She moved with an innate sense of grace. And she poured the tea as if she'd been to the manner born.
Clearly, the art of afternoon tea had been another one of those lessons she'd learned from her mother's generous employers.
Or maybe she'd just watched other ladies closely while they'd prepared tea. He had noticed that she was a very observant woman.
However, they'd enacted this ritual often enough, that she didn't have to ask how he liked his tea.
She handed him his cup... Milk, no sugar... And then placed a selection of biscuits and scones on a plate.
"Fix yourself a cup," Arthur said, biting into a biscuit. "And come sit by me."
Gwen hesitated again... And he knew she'd hesitate, even though she'd already agreed to join him.
But he was a patient man. And his patience was rewarded with a soft sigh as she reached out and plucked another cup off the tray.
After she'd fixed her own cup...two lumps of sugar and just the barest splash of milk...Gwen sat in the velvet-covered, straight-backed chair by Arthur's bed, regarding him over the rim of her teacup as she took a sip.
"No biscuits for you?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I had a few straight out of the oven."
"Lucky you. They're always best when they're warm." He polished off another biscuit, brushed a few crumbs off of his sleeve, and reached for another. "And how have you spent your day?"
"Since I last saw you two hours earlier?"
Arthur shot her a look that said he recognized her sarcasm, but chose not to respond to it.
"I helped Mrs. Craven in the kitchen," she said. "She's making a beef stew for supper and needed some potatoes peeled. Then I borrowed a book from your library and read in the garden."
"Really? What did you read?"
"A novel."
"Was it good?"
She shrugged.
"Silly, but romantic. I enjoyed it."
"And do you long for romance?"
Her blush was instantaneous, her face turning a deep, dark red.
"That's a rather personal question, don't you think?"
Arthur shrugged and started to say something utterly flip, like, "It was worth a try." But as he watched her face, her cheeks delightfully darkening further, and her eyes cast down to her lap, the strangest thing happened...
He realized he wanted her.
He really, really wanted her.
He wasn't certain why this surprised him so. Of course he wanted her.
He was as red-blooded as any man. And one couldn't spend a protracted amount of time around a woman as gamine and adorable as Gwen without wanting her.
Hell, he wanted half the women he met, in a purely low-intensity, non-urgent sort of way.
But in this moment... With this woman...
It became urgent.
Arthur changed positions... Then he bunched the coverlet up over his lap... Then he changed positions again...
"Is your bed uncomfortable?" Gwen asked. "Do you need me to fluff your pillows?"
His first urge was to reply in the affirmative, then grab her as she leaned across him, and then have his wicked way with her...since they would, rather conveniently, be in bed.
But he had a sneaking suspicion that this particular plan would not go over well with her. So instead he said,
"I'm fine." Then winced when he realized his voice sounded oddly squeaky.
Accepting his answer, Gwen smiled as she eyed the biscuits on his plate, saying,
"Maybe just one more."
And he moved his arm out of the way to allow her easy access to his plate, which was, he realized somewhat belatedly, resting on his lap.
The sight of her hand reaching towards his groin...even if she was aiming for a plate of biscuits...did funny things to him... To his groin, to be precise.
And just like that, Arthur had a sudden vision of things shifting down there. So he hastily grabbed the plate, lest it become unbalanced.
"Do you mind if I take the last..."
"Fine!" he croaked.
Gwen plucked a ginger biscuit off the plate and frowned.
"You look better," she said, giving the biscuit a little sniff. "But you don't sound better. Is your throat bothering you?"
Arthur took a quick sip of his tea.
"Not at all. I must've swallowed a piece of dust."
"Oh. Drink some more tea, then. That shouldn't bother you for long." She set her teacup down. "Would you like me to read to you?"
"Yes!" he said quickly, bunching up his coverlet around his waist. She might try to take away the strategically placed plate, and then where would he be?
"Are you certain you're all right?" Gwen asked, looking far more suspicious than concerned. He smiled tightly. "Just fine."
"Very well," she said, standing up. "What would you like me to read?"
"Oh, anything," he said with a blithe wave of his hand.
"Poetry?"
"Splendid!" But he would have said the same had she offered to read a dissertation on botany in the arctic tundra.
Gwen wandered over to a recessed bookshelf and idly perused its contents.
"Byron?" she asked. "Blake?"
"Blake," Arthur said quite firmly. Because an hour's worth of Byron's romantic drivel would probably send him quite over the edge.
She slid a slim volume of poetry off the shelf and returned to her chair, swishing her rather unattractive skirts before she sat down.
Arthur frowned. He'd never really noticed before how ugly her dress was. Granted, it wasn't as bad as the one Mrs. Craven had lent her, but it certainly wasn't anything designed to bring out the best in a woman.
He ought to buy her a new dress... She would never accept it, of course, but maybe if her current garments were accidentally burned...
"Mr. Pendragon?"
But how would he manage to burn her dress?
She'd have to not be wearing it... And that posed a certain challenge in and of itself...
"Are you even listening to me?" Gwen demanded.
"Hmmm?"
"You're not listening to me."
"Sorry," he admitted. "My apologies. My mind got away from me. Please continue."
She began anew, and in his attempt to show how much attention he was paying her, Arthur focused his eyes on her lips, which proved to be a big mistake.
Because suddenly, those lips were all he could see. And he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her...
And he knew...absolutely knew...that if one of them didn't leave the room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to do something for which he'd owe her a thousand apologies.
Not that he didn't plan to seduce her... Just that he'd rather do it with a bit more finesse.
"Oh, dear," he blurted out.
And Gwen gave him an odd look.
He didn't blame her. He sounded like a complete idiot.
He didn't think he'd uttered that phrase in years. If ever.
Hell, he sounded like his mother.
"Is something wrong?" Gwen asked.
"I just remembered something," he said, rather stupidly, in his opinion.
She raised her brows in question.
"Something that I'd forgotten," he said.
"The things one remembers," she said, looking exceedingly amused. "Are most often things one had forgotten."
He scowled at her.
"I'll need a bit of privacy."
At that, she stood instantly.
"Of course," she murmured. And Arthur fought off a groan.
'Damn!' he internalize. She looked hurt. But he hadn't meant to injure her feelings.
He just needed to get her out of the room, before he yanked her into the bed.
"It's a personal matter," he told her, trying to make her feel better, but suspecting that all he was doing was making himself look like a fool.
"Ohhhhh," Gwen said knowingly. "Would you like me to bring you the chamber pot?"
"I can walk to the chamber pot," he retorted, forgetting that he didn't need to use the chamber pot.
However, she nodded and stood, setting the book of poetry onto a nearby table.
"I'll leave you to your business. Just ring the bell pull when you need me."
"I'm not going to summon you like a servant," Arthur growled.
"But I am a..."
"Not for me you're not!" he said.
The words emerged a little more harshly than was necessary, but he'd always detested men who preyed on helpless female servants.
And the thought that he might be turning into one of those repellent creatures was enough to make him gag.
"Very well," Gwen said, her words meek like a servant.
Then she nodded like a servant.
And Arthur was fairly certain she did it just to annoy him.
Then she left.
The minute she was gone, Arthur leapt out of the bed and ran to the window.
"Good," he muttered. No one was in sight.
He shrugged off his dressing gown, replaced it with breeches, a shirt and jacket, and looked out the window again.
Still no one.
"Boots, boots," he muttered, glancing around the room. Where the hell were his boots?
Not his good boots...the pair for mucking around in the mud...
"Ah, there they are."
He grabbed the boots and yanked them on.
Back to the window...
Still no one.
"Excellent!"
He threw one leg over the sill, then another, then grabbed hold of the long, sturdy branch that jutted out from a nearby elm tree.
From there it was an easy shimmy, a wiggle and a balancing act down to the ground.
And from there it was straight to the lake...
To the very cold lake...
To take a very cold swim.
"If he needed the chamber pot," Gwen muttered to herself. "He could've just said so. It's not as if I haven't fetched chamber pots before."
She stamped down the stairs to the main floor, not entirely certain why she was going downstairs, seeing as she had nothing specific to do there, but heading in that direction simply because she couldn't think of anything better to do.
She didn't understand why Arthur had so much trouble treating her like what she was... A servant.
He kept insisting that she didn't work for him and didn't have to do anything to earn her keep at My Cottage. And then in the same breath assured her that he would find her a position in his mother's household.
If he would just treat her like a servant, she'd have no trouble remembering that she was an illegitimate nobody and he was a member of one of the ton's wealthiest and most influential families.
Every time he treated her like a real person...and it was her experience that most aristocrats did not treat servants like anything remotely approaching a real person...it brought her back to the night of the masquerade...
When she'd been, for one perfect evening, a lady of glamour and grace...the sort of woman who had a right to dream about a future with Arthur Pendragon.
But he acted as if he actually liked her and enjoyed her company.
And maybe he did.
But that was the crudest twist of all, because he was making her love him...
Making a small part of her think she had the right to dream about him.
And then, inevitably, she had to remind herself of the truth of the situation. And it hurt so damned much.
"Oh, there you are, Miss Gwennie!"
Gwen lifted up her eyes, which had been absently following the cracks in the parquet floor, to see Mrs. Craven descending the stairs behind her.
"Good day, Mrs. Craven," she said. "How is that beef stew coming along?"
"Fine, fine," the woman said absently. "We were a bit short on carrots, but I think it will be tasty nonetheless. Have you seen Mr. Pendragon?"
Gwen blinked in surprise at the question.
"In his room. He was there just a minute ago."
"Well, he's not there now."
"I think he had to use the chamber pot."
Mrs. Craven didn't even blush, but it was the sort of conversation servants often had about their employers.
"Well, if he did use it, he didn't use it, if you know what I mean," she said. "The room smelled as fresh as a spring day."
Gwen frowned.
"And he wasn't there?"
"Neither hide nor hair."
"I can't imagine where he might've gone."
Mrs. Craven planted her hands on her ample hips.
"I'll search the downstairs and you search the up. One of us is bound to find him."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Mrs. Craven. If he's left his room, he probably had a good reason. Most likely, he doesn't want to be found."
"But he's ill," Mrs. Craven protested.
Gwen considered that, then pictured Arthur's face in her mind. His skin had held a healthy glow and he hadn't looked the least bit tired.
"I'm not so certain about that, Mrs. Craven," she finally said. "I think he's malingering on purpose."
"Don't be silly," Mrs. Craven scoffed. "Mr. Pendragon would never do something like that."
Gwen shrugged.
"I wouldn't have thought so, but truly, he doesn't look the least bit ill any longer."
"It's my tonics," Mrs. Craven said with a confident nod. "I told you they'd speed up his recovery."
Alas, Gwen knew better, She'd seen Mr. Craven dump the tonics into the rosebushes... And she'd also seen the aftermath.
It hadn't been a pretty sight. But how she managed to smile and nod, she'd never know.
"Well, I for one would like to know where he went," Mrs. Craven continued. "He shouldn't be out of bed, and he knows it."
"I'm sure he'll return soon," Gwen said placatingly. "In the meantime, do you need any help in the kitchen?"
The woman shook her head.
"No, no. All that stew needs to do now is cook. And besides, Mr. Pendragon has been scolding me for allowing you to work."
"But..."
"No arguments, if you please," Mrs. Craven cut in. "He's right, of course. You're a guest here, and you shouldn't have to lift a finger."
"I'm not a guest," Gwen protested.
"Well, then, what are you?"
That gave her pause.
"I have no idea," she finally said. "But I'm definitely not a guest. A guest would be... A guest would be..."
She struggled to make sense of her thoughts and feelings.
"I suppose a guest would be someone who is of the same social rank, or at least close to it. A guest would be someone who has never had to wait upon another person, or scrub floors, or empty chamber pots. A guest would be..."
"Anyone the master of the house chooses to invite as a guest," Mrs. Craven retorted. "That's the beauty of being the master of the house. You can do anything you please. And you should stop belittling yourself. If Mr. Pendragon chooses to regard you as a houseguest, then you should accept his judgment and enjoy yourself. When was the last time you were able to live in comfort without having to work your fingers to the bone in return?"
"He can't truly regard me as a houseguest," Gwen said quietly. "If he did, he would've installed a chaperone for the protection of my reputation."
"As if I would allow anything untoward in my house," Mrs. Craven bristled.
"Of course you wouldn't," Gwen assured her. "But where reputations are at stake, appearance is just as important as fact. And in the eyes of society, a housekeeper does not qualify as a chaperone, no matter how strict and pure her morals may be."
"If that's true," Mrs. Craven protested. "Then you need a chaperone, Miss Gwen."
"Don't be silly. I don't need a chaperone because I'm not of Mr. Pendragon's class. No one cares if a housemaid lives and works in the household of a single man. No one thinks any less of her. And certainly, no one who would consider her for marriage would consider her ruined." She shrugged. "It's the way of the world. And obviously it's the way Mr. Pendragon thinks, whether he'll admit it or not, because he has never once said a word about it being improper for me to be here."
"Well, I don't like it," Mrs. Craven announced. "I don't like it one bit."
Gwen just smiled, because it was so sweet of the housekeeper to care.
"I think I'm going to take myself off for a walk," she said. "As long as you're certain you don't need any help in the kitchen. And..." she added with a sly grin. "...as long as I'm in this strange, hazy position. I might not be a guest, but it is the first time in years I'm not a servant. And I'm going to enjoy my free time while it lasts."
Mrs. Craven gave her a hearty pat on the shoulder.
"You do that, Miss Gwennie. And pick a flower for me while you're out there."
Gwen grinned and headed out the front door. It was a lovely day, unseasonably warm and sunny, and the air held the gentle fragrance of the first blooms of spring.
She couldn't recall the last time she'd taken a walk for the simple pleasure of enjoying the fresh air.
Arthur had told her about a nearby pond, and she thought she might amble that way, maybe even dip her toes in the water if she was feeling particularly daring.
She smiled up at the sun... The air might be warm, but the water will surely be still freezing, so early in May.
Still, it would feel good. Anything felt good that represented leisure time and peaceful, solitary moments.
She paused for a moment, frowning thoughtfully at the horizon. Arthur had mentioned that the lake was south of My Cottage, hadn't he?
That meant a southward route would take her right through a rather densely wooded patch. But a bit of a hike certainly wouldn't kill her.
Gwen picked her way through the forest, stepping over tree roots, and pushing aside low-lying branches, letting them snap back behind her with reckless abandon.
The sun barely squeaked through the canopy of leaves above her. And down at ground level, it felt more like dusk than midday.
Up ahead, she could see a clearing, which she assumed must be the pond. And as she drew closer, she saw the glint of sunlight on water.
She breathed a little sigh of satisfaction, happy to know that she'd gone in the correct direction. But as she drew even closer, she heard the sound of someone splashing about, and realized with equal parts terror and curiosity, that she was not alone...
She was only ten or so feet from the edge of the pond, easily visible to anyone in the water, so she quickly flattened herself behind the trunk of a large oak.
If she had a sensible bone in her body, she'd turn right around and run back to the house, but she just couldn't quite keep herself from peeking around the tree and looking to see who might be mad enough to splash about in a lake so early in the season.
With slow, silent movements, Gwen crept out from behind the tree, trying to keep as much of herself concealed as possible.
And she saw a man...
A naked man...
A naked...
Arthur?
I did not get a chance to read over, so I hope this was okay. Very busy and plenty tired these days.
Stay safe!