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I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own An Offer From A Gentleman.
LADY MIDDLETON'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 13 JUNE 1817
Ooh la la, such excitement yesterday on the front steps of Lady Pendragon's residence on Bruton Street!
First, Phoebe Hanbury was seen in the company of not one, not two, but THREE Pendragon brothers, surely a heretofore impossible feat for the poor girl who is rather infamous for her wallflower ways. Sadly though, but perhaps predictably so for Miss Hanbury, when she finally departed, it was on the arm of the viscount, the only married man in the bunch.
If Miss Hanbury was to somehow manage to drag a Pendragon brother to the altar, it would surely mean the end of the world as we know it. And this author, who freely admits she would not know heads from tails in such a world, would be forced to resign her post on the spot.
But if Miss Hanbury's gathering wasn't enough gossip, not three hours later, a woman was accosted right in front of the town house by the Countess of Penwood, who lives three doors down. It seems the woman, who this author suspects was working in the Pendragon household, used to work for Lady Penwood. And Lady Penwood alleges that the unidentified woman stole from her two years ago and immediately had the poor thing carted off to jail.
This author is not certain what the punishment is these days for theft, but one has to suspect that if one has the audacity to steal from a countess, the punishment is quite strict. The poor girl in question is likely to be hanged, or at the very least, find herself transported.
And so, the previous housemaid wars reported last month in this column, seem rather trivial now.
Arthur's first inclination the following morning was to pour himself a good, stiff drink. Or maybe three...
It might've been scandalously early in the day for spirits, but alcoholic oblivion sounded rather appealing, after the emotional skewering he'd received the previous evening at the hands of Guinevere Roberts.
But then he remembered that he'd made a date that morning for a fencing match with his brother Hugh. Suddenly, skewering his brother sounded rather appealing, no matter that he'd had nothing to do with his wretched mood.
That, Arthur thought with a grim smile as he pulled on his gear, was what brothers were for.
"I've only an hour," Hugh said as he attached the safety tip to his foil. "I have an appointment this afternoon."
"No matter," Arthur replied, lunging forward a few times to loosen up the muscles in his leg. He hadn't fenced in some time and the sword felt good in his hand. He drew back and touched the tip to the floor, letting the blade bend slightly. "It won't take more than an hour to best you."
His brother rolled his eyes before he drew down his mask, even as Arthur walked to the center of the room.
"Are you ready?"
"Not quite," Hugh replied, following him.
However, Arthur lunged.
"I said I wasn't ready!" his brother hollered as he jumped out of the way.
"You're too slow," Arthur snapped.
Hugh cursed under his breath, then added a louder,
"Bloody hell!" for good measure. "What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing," Arthur nearly snarled. "Why do you ask?"
Hugh took a step backward until they were a suitable distance apart to start the match.
"Oh, I don't know," he intoned, sarcasm evident. "I suppose it could be because you nearly took my head off."
"I've a tip on my blade."
"And you were slashing like you were using a sabre," Hugh shot back.
Arthur gave a hard smile.
"It's more fun that way."
"Not for my neck!" Hugh passed his sword from hand to hand as he flexed and stretched his fingers. He paused and frowned. "You sure you have a foil there?"
Arthur scowled.
"For the love of God, Hugh, I would never use a real weapon."
"Just making sure," Hugh muttered, touching his neck lightly. "Are you ready?"
Arthur nodded and bent his knees.
"Regular rules," Hugh said, assuming a fencer's crouch. "No slashing."
Arthur gave him a curt nod.
"En garde!"
At that, both men raised their right arms, twisting their wrists until their palms were up, foils gripped in their fingers.
"Is that new?" Hugh suddenly asked, eyeing the handle of Arthur's foil with interest.
Arthur cursed at the loss of his concentration.
"Yes, it's new," he bit off. "I prefer an Italian grip."
Hugh stepped back, completely losing his fencing posture as he looked at his own foil with a less elaborate French grip.
"Might I borrow it some time? I wouldn't mind seeing if..."
"Yes!" Arthur snapped, barely resisting the urge to advance and lunge that very second. "Will you get back en garde."
Hugh smiled and Arthur just knew that he had asked about his grip simply to annoy him.
"As you wish," Hugh murmured, assuming position again. They held still for one moment, and then Hugh said,
"Fence!"
Arthur advanced immediately, lunging and attacking, but his brother had always been particularly fleet of foot, and he retreated carefully, meeting his attack with an expert parry.
"You're in a bloody bad mood today," Hugh said, lunging forward and just nearly catching him on the shoulder.
But Arthur stepped out of his way, lifting his blade to block the attack.
"Yes, well, I had a bad..." He advanced again, his foil stretched straight forward. "...day."
Hugh sidestepped his attack neatly.
"Nice riposte," he said, touching his forehead with the handle of his foil in a mock salute.
"Shut up and fence!" Arthur snapped.
Hugh chuckled and advanced, swishing his blade this way and that, keeping Arthur on the retreat.
"It must be a woman," he said.
Arthur blocked his attack and quickly began his own advance.
"It's none of your damned business."
"It is a woman," Hugh said, smirking.
Arthur lunged forward, the tip of his foil catching his brother on the collarbone...
"Point," he grunted.
Hugh gave a curt nod.
"Touch for you." They walked back to the center of the room. "Are you ready?" he asked.
Arthur nodded.
"En garde. Fence!"
This time, Hugh was the first to take the attack.
"If you need some advice about women..." he said, driving Arthur back to the corner. "...I will gladly give you."
Arthur raised his foil, blocking Hugh's attack with enough force to send his younger brother stumbling backward.
"If I need advice about women," he returned. "The last person I'd go to would be you."
"You wound me," Hugh said, regaining his balance.
"No," Arthur drawled. "That's what the safety tip is for."
"I certainly have a better record with women than you."
"Oh really?" Arthur asked sarcastically. He stuck his nose in the air and in a fair imitation of Hugh said, "I am certainly not going to marry Phoebe Hanbury!"
Hugh winced.
"You shouldn't be giving advice to anyone," Arthur said.
"I didn't know she was there."
Arthur lunged forward, just barely missing his shoulder...
"That's no excuse. You were in public... In broad daylight. Even if she hadn't been there, someone would've heard and the bloody thing would've ended up in Middleton."
Hugh met Arthur's lunge with a parry, then riposted with blinding speed, catching him neatly in the belly.
"My touch," he grunted.
Arthur gave him a nod, acknowledging the point.
"I was foolish," Hugh said as they walked back to the center of the room. "You, on the other hand, are stupid."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Hugh sighed as he pushed up his mask.
"Why don't you just do us all a favour and marry the girl?"
Arthur just stared at him, his hand going limp around the handle of his sword. Was there any possibility that his brother didn't know who they were talking about?
He removed his mask and looked into his brother's dark eyes and nearly groaned.
His brother knew...
He didn't know how he knew, but he definitely knew. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised... Hugh always knew everything. In fact, the only person who ever seemed to know more gossip than Hugh was their sister Catherine.
And it never took her more than a few hours to impart all of her dubious wisdom to Hugh.
"How did you know?" Arthur finally asked.
One corner of Hugh's mouth tilted up into a crooked smile.
"About Gwen? It's rather obvious."
"Hugh, she's..."
"A maid? Who cares? What is going to happen to you if you marry her?" Hugh asked with a devil-may-care shrug of his shoulders. "People you couldn't care less about will ostracize you? Hell, I wouldn't mind being ostracized by some of the people with whom I'm forced to socialize."
Arthur shrugged dismissively...
"I'd already decided I didn't care about all that," he said.
"Then what in bloody hell is the problem?" his brother demanded.
"It's complicated."
"Nothing is ever as complicated as it is in one's mind."
Arthur mulled that over, planting the tip of his foil against the floor and allowing the flexible blade to wiggle back and forth...
"Do you remember Mother's masquerade?" he asked.
Hugh blinked at the unexpected question.
"A few years ago? Right before she moved out of Pendragon House?"
Arthur nodded.
"That's the one. Do you remember meeting a woman dressed in red and silver? You came upon us in the hall."
"Of course. You were rather taken with..." Hugh's eyes suddenly bugged out. "That wasn't Gwen!"
"Remarkable, isn't it?" Arthur murmured, his every inflection screaming understatement.
"But... How..."
"I don't know how she got there, but she's not a maid."
"She's not?"
"Well, she is a maid," Arthur clarified. "But she's also the bastard daughter of the Earl of Penwood."
"Not the current..."
"No, the one who died several years back."
"And you knew all this?"
"No," Arthur said, the word short and staccato on his tongue. "I did not."
"Oh." Hugh caught his lower lip between his teeth as he digested the meaning of his brother's short sentence. "I see." He stared at him. "What are you going to do?"
Arthur's sword, whose blade had been wiggling back and forth as he pressed the tip against the floor, suddenly sprang straight and skittered out of his hand...
He watched it dispassionately as it slid across the floor, and didn't look back up as he said,
"That's a very good question."
Arthur was still furious with Gwen for her deception, but neither was he without blame... He shouldn't have demanded that she become his mistress.
It had certainly been his right to ask, but it had also been her right to refuse. And once she had done so, he should've let her be.
He hadn't been brought up a bastard, and if her experience had been sufficiently wretched so that she refused to risk bearing a bastard herself...well, then, he should've respected that.
If he respected her, then he had to respect her beliefs.
He shouldn't have been so flippant with her, insisting that anything was possible, and that she was free to make any choice her heart desired.
His mother was right; he did live a charmed life. He had wealth, family, happiness... And nothing was truly out of his reach.
The only awful thing that had ever happened in his life was the sudden and untimely death of his father, and even then, he'd had his family to help him through.
It was difficult for him to imagine certain pains and hurts because he'd never experienced them.
And unlike Gwen, he'd never been alone.
What now?
That was the important question. He had already decided that he was prepared to brave social ostracism and marry her.
The unrecognized bastard daughter of an earl was a slightly more acceptable match than a servant, but only slightly. London society might accept her if he forced them to, but they wouldn't go out of their way to be kind.
He and Gwen would most likely have to live quietly in the country, eschewing the London society that would almost certainly shun them.
But it took his heart less than a second to know that a quiet life with her, was by far preferable to a public life without her.
Did it matter that she was the woman from the masquerade?
She'd lied to him about her identity, but he knew her soul. When they kissed, when they laughed, when they simply sat and talked...she had never feigned a moment.
The woman who could make his heart sing with a simple smile, the woman who could fill him with contentment just through the simple act of sitting by him while he sketched... That was the real Gwen.
And he loved her.
"You look as if you've reached a decision," Hugh said quietly.
Arthur eyed his brother thoughtfully. When had he grown so perceptive?
Come to think of it, when had he grown up?
He had always thought of Hugh as a youthful rascal, charming and debonair, who had never had to assume any sort of responsibility.
But when he regarded his brother now, he saw someone else...
His shoulders were a little broader, his posture a little more steady and subdued. And his eyes looked wiser. That was the biggest change.
If eyes truly were windows to the soul, then Hugh's soul had gone and grown up on him when he hadn't been paying attention.
"I owe her a few apologies," Arthur said.
"I'm sure she'll forgive you."
"She owes me several as well. More than several."
Arthur looked at his brother, he could tell he wanted to ask, "What for?" but to his credit, all Hugh said was,
"Are you willing to forgive her?"
And at that, Arthur nodded.
That prompted Hugh to reach out and pluck his foil from his hands...
"I'll put this away for you."
Arthur stared at his brother's fingers for a rather stupidly long moment before snapping to attention.
"I have to go," he blurted out.
Hugh barely suppressed a grin.
"I surmised as much."
Arthur looked up at his brother and then, for no other reason than an overwhelming urge, he pulled him into a quick hug.
"I don't say this often," he said, his voice starting to sound gruff in his ears. "But I love you."
"I love you, too, big brother." Hugh's smile, always a little bit lopsided, grew. "Now get the hell out of here!"
Arthur smiled widely, tossed his mask at his brother and strode out of the room...
"What do you mean, she's gone?"
"Just that, I'm afraid," Lady Pendragon said, her eyes sad and sympathetic. "She's gone."
The pressure behind Arthur's temples began to build; it was a wonder his head didn't explode.
"And you just let her go?"
"It would hardly have been legal for me to force her to stay."
He nearly groaned... It had hardly been legal for him to force her to come to London, but he'd done it, anyway.
"Where did she go?" he demanded.
His mother seemed to deflate in her chair.
"I don't know. I had insisted that she take one of our coaches, partly because I feared for her safety but also because I wanted to know where she went."
Arthur slammed his hands on the desk.
"Well, then, what happened?"
"As I was trying to say, I attempted to get her to take one of our coaches, but it was obvious she didn't want to, and she disappeared before I could have the carriage brought round."
Arthur cursed under his breath... Gwen was probably still in London, but London was huge and hugely populated. It would be damn near impossible to find someone who didn't want to be found.
"I had assumed," his mother started delicately. "That the two of you had had a falling-out."
Arthur raked his hand through his hair, then caught sight of his white sleeve.
"Oh, Jesus," he muttered. He'd run over here in his fencing clothes. He looked up at his mother with a roll of his eyes. "No lectures on blasphemy just now, Mother. Please."
Her lips twitched.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Where am I going to find her?"
The levity left his mother's eyes.
"I don't know, Arthur. I wish I did. I quite liked Gwen."
"She's Penwood's daughter," he said.
His mother frowned.
"I suspected something like that. Illegitimate, I assume?"
He nodded.
His mother opened her mouth to say something, but he never did find out what, because at that moment, the door to her office came flying open, slamming against the wall with an amazing crash...
Georgina, who had obviously been running across the house, smashed into her mother's desk, followed by Morgana, who smashed into Georgina.
"What is wrong?" Lady Pendragon asked, rising to her feet.
"It's Gwen," Georgina panted.
"I know," her mother said. "She's gone. We..."
"No!" Morgana cut in, slapping a piece of paper down on the desk. "Look!"
Arthur tried to grab the paper, which he immediately recognized as an issue of Middleton, but his mother got there first...
"What is it?" he asked, his stomach sinking as he watched her face pale.
She handed him the paper...
He scanned it quickly, passing by bits about the Duke of Ashbourne, the Earl of Mansfield and Phoebe Hanbury, before he reached the section which had to be about Gwen.
"Jail?" he said, the word mere breath on his lips.
"We must see her released," his mother said, throwing her shoulders back like a general girding for battle.
But Arthur was already out the door...
"Wait!" his mother yelled, dashing after him. "I'm coming, too."
Arthur stopped short just before he reached the stairs...
"You are not coming!" he ordered. "I will not have you exposed to..."
"Oh, please," his mother returned. "I'm hardly a wilting flower. And I can vouch for Gwen's honesty and integrity,"
"I'm coming, too," Morgana said, skidding to a halt alongside Georgina, who had also followed them out into the upstairs hall.
"No!" came the simultaneous reply from her mother and brother.
"But..."
"I said no," Lady Pendragon said again, her voice sharp.
Georgina let out a sullen snort.
"I suppose it would be fruitless for me to insist upon..."
"Don't even finish that sentence," Arthur warned.
"As if you would let me even try."
He ignored her and turned to his mother.
"If you want to go, we leave immediately."
She nodded.
"Have the carriage brought round, and I'll be waiting out front."
Ten minutes later, they were on their way...
Hey, I had an early day. Thus...
Again, Happy New Year to all. Stay safe!