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Standard disclaimer.
"Cousin Will," Gwen said a month later, fiercely pursuing him down the grand staircase, "Stop running away. I want a word with you."
Will didn't slow his pace.
"Not while you're chasing me like Attila the Hun."
"Tell me why you did it." She reached the bottom step at the same time he did and swung around to block his escape. "Kindly explain what deranged mode of thinking, caused you to bring a pig into the house!"
Cornered, he resorted to honesty.
"I wasn't thinking. I was at James Potter's farm, and he was about to cull the piglet, because it was undersized."
"A common practice, as I understand it," she said curtly.
"The creature looked at me," Will protested. "It seemed to be smiling."
"All pigs seem to be smiling. Their mouths are curved upwards."
"I couldn't help it. I had to bring him home."
Gwen shook her head disapprovingly, as she looked at him.
The twins had already bottle-fed the creature, with a formula of cow's milk, whisked with raw egg, while Cassandra lined a basket with soft cloth, for it to sleep in.
Now, there was no getting rid of it.
"What do you intend for us to do with the pig, once it's full-grown?" Gwen demanded.
Will considered her question.
"Eat it?"
She let out an exasperated huff.
"The girls have already named it Hamlet. Would you have us eat a family pet, Mr. Pendragon?"
"I would, if it turned into bacon." Will smiled at her expression. "I'll return the pig to the farmer when it's weaned," he offered.
"You can't..."
He forestalled her, by lifting his hand in a staying motion.
"You'll have to badger me later, I've no time for it now. I'm leaving for Alton Station, and I can't miss the afternoon train."
"Train? Where are you going?"
Will dodged around her, heading to the front door.
"I told you yesterday. I knew you weren't listening."
Gwen glowered and followed him, thinking it would serve him right, if bacon was eventually declared off-limits, in the Pendragon household.
They paused beside the front receiving room, where workmen pulled up flooring planks and tossed them aside with noisy clatters.
Elsewhere, the sound of incessant hammering peppered the air.
"As I explained yesterday," Will started, raising his voice, to be heard above the infernal racket, "I'm visiting a man in Wiltshire, who's taken over a tenancy, to experiment with modern farming methods."
"How long will you be away?"
"Three days," he said cheerfully. "You'll scarcely have time to miss me before I'm back."
"I wouldn't miss you, no matter how long you were gone."
But she looked over him with concern, as the butler helped him don his hat and coat.
When he returned, she thought, they would have to take in his clothes again...he had lost at least another stone.
"Don't forget to eat while you're away," she scolded. "You'll soon be mistaken for a scarecrow, if you keep missing your dinner."
The constant exercise of riding across the estate lands, walking the fields, helping a farmer repair a gate or retrieve a ewe that had jumped a garden wall, had wrought considerable changes in Will.
He'd lost so much weight, his garments hung on his frame.
The bloat had melted from his face and neck, revealing a firm jawline and hard profile. And all the time spent outdoors, had imparted healthy color to his complexion.
He appeared years younger, an air of vitality replacing the look of sleepy indolence.
He leaned down, to press a light kiss on her forehead.
"Good-bye, Attila," he said affectionately. "Try not to browbeat everyone in my absence."
After Will's departure, Gwen headed to the housekeeper's room near the kitchen.
It was washing day, the dreaded occasion, when the household laundry was sorted, boiled, washed, rinsed, and hung in a drying room, attached to the scullery.
Together, she and Mrs. Winterbourne would take inventory and order fabric.
They had only just begun to discuss the need for new aprons for the housemaids, when the butler, appeared.
"I beg your pardon, milady." His tone was measured, but the wrinkles and crags of his face, had scrunched in dissatisfaction. "A tenant and his wife...Mr. and Mrs. Wotten...are asking to meet with Mr. Pendragon. I explained that he was away, but they won't leave. They claim their need is urgent. I thought it best to inform you, before I have a footman remove them."
Gwen frowned.
"No, you mustn't do that. The Wotten's wouldn't call without good reason. Please show them into the receiving room and I'll meet them there."
"I feared you would say that," he said dourly. "I must protest, milady, that as a widow in mourning, your peace and quiet should not be disturbed."
A crash from the upstairs caused the ceiling to rattle.
"My stars!" the housekeeper exclaimed.
Gwen fought back a laugh and glanced at the butler, with both brows raised.
"I'll show the Wotten's in," he said in resignation.
The moment Gwen entered the receiving room, she saw that the young couple were distraught.
Mrs. Wotten's eyes were swollen and tear-glazed, while her husband's face was pale with anxiety.
"I hope no one is ill or injured?" Gwen asked.
"No, milady," Mr. Wotten replied, while his wife bobbed a curtsy.
He twisted his cap back and forth, as he explained, that one of his hired workers had encountered a pair of trespassers, who had identified themselves as representatives of the railway company.
"They said they was surveying the land," Mr. Wotten continued, "And when I asked by whose leave, they said Lord Pendragon himself gave them permission."
His voice turned unsteady.
"They said my farm would be sold to the railway company. I went to Mr. Carleon, but he knows naught about it." His eyes flooded. "My father left this farm to me, milady. They're going to put tracks on it, and plow under my fields, and turn me and my family out of our home, without so much as a farthing..."
He would have continued, but Mrs. Wotten had begun to sob.
Shocked, Gwen shook her head and said,
"Mr. Pendragon mentioned nothing of this, and Lord Pendragon would not do such a thing, without first discussing it with his brother. I am certain this claim is baseless."
"They knew my lease was up," Mr. Wotten said, his eyes haunted. "They knew exactly when, and they said it wouldn't be renewed."
That gave Gwen pause.
'What the devil is Arthur up to? Surely, he could not be so heartless and cruel, as to sell a tenant's farm, without notifying them.'
"I will find out," she said firmly. "In the meantime, there is no need for distress. Mr. Pendragon is firmly on the side of the tenants, and he has influence with Lord Pendragon. Until he returns...in only three days...my advice, is to carry on as usual. Mrs. Wotten, you really must stop crying...I'm sure such distress, isn't good for the baby."
After the Wotten's had departed, taking little apparent comfort from her reassurances, Gwen hurried to the study and sat at the large desk.
Fuming, she reached for a pen, uncapped a bottle of ink, and proceeded to write Arthur a scathing message, informing him of the situation and demanding to know what was going on.
For good measure, she added a none-too-subtle threat of legal action, on behalf of the Wotten's.
Even though there was nothing a lawyer could do, since Arthur had the right to sell any portion of his estate, it would certainly seize his attention.
Folding the message, she tucked it into an envelope and rang for the footman to take it to the telegraph office, of the local postmaster.
"I'd like this dispatched right away," she told him. "Tell the postmaster that it's a matter of the utmost urgency."
"Yes, milady."
As the footman departed, the housekeeper appeared at the threshold.
"Lady Pendragon" she said, looking vexed.
"Mrs. Winterbourne," Gwen said, "I promise, I haven't forgotten about the washing book or the aprons."
"Thank you, my lady, but it's not that. It's the workmen. They finished plumbing the master bathroom."
"That's good news, isn't it?"
"So I would think...except, now they've begun to convert another upstairs room, into an additional bathing room, and they must run a pipe beneath the floor of your room."
Gwen jumped to her feet.
"Do you mean to say, there are men in my bedroom? No one mentioned anything of the sort to me."
"The master plumber and carpenter both say, it's the only way it can be done."
"I won't have it!"
"They have already pulled up some of the flooring, without so much as a, by-your-leave."
Gwen shook her head in disbelief.
"I suppose it can be tolerated for an afternoon."
"My lady, they say it will take several days, most likely a week, to put it all back to rights."
Gwen's mouth fell open.
"Where am I to sleep and dress, while my bedroom is torn apart?"
"I've already directed the maids to take your belongings to the master bedroom," the housekeeper replied. "Lord Pendragon has no need of it, since he is in London."
That did nothing to improve Gwen's mood.
She hated the master bedroom...the place she had last seen Liam, before his accident. Where they had argued bitterly, and she had said things she would regret, for the rest of her life.
Dark memories lurked in the corners of that room, like malevolent nocturnal creatures.
"Is there any other room I might use?" she asked.
"Not at the moment, my lady. The workmen have pulled up the floors in three other rooms, as well as yours."
The housekeeper hesitated, understanding the reason for Gwen's reluctance.
"I'll direct the maids to air out a bedchamber in the east wing and give it a good cleaning...but those rooms have been closed for so long, it will take some work to turn it out properly."
Sighing, Gwen dropped back to her chair.
"Then, it seems I'll have to sleep in the master bedroom tonight."
"You'll be the first to try the new copper bathtub," the housekeeper said, in a tone she might have used, while offering a bonbon to a sullen child.
Gwen smiled wanly.
"That is some consolation."
As it turned out, Gwen's bath in the copper tub was so lovely and luxurious, that it almost made up for having to sleep in the master bedroom.
Not only was it deeper than any bath she'd ever been in before, it was crowned with a full roll edge, upon which she could rest her head comfortably.
It was the first bath she'd had ever taken, in which she could lean back and submerge herself, all the way up to the neck. It was heavenly.
She stayed in the bath for as long as possible, lazing and half floating, until the water began to cool.
Then, Cora, her lady's maid, came to wrap her in soft Turkish towels and settle a clean white nightgown over her head.
Covered with goosebumps, Gwen went to sit in an upholstered chair by the fire and discovered that her ombré shawl, had been draped over the back of the chair.
She pulled it over her lap, snuggling beneath the soft cashmere.
Her gaze went to the stately bed, with its carved wooden canopy, mounted on four elaborately turned posters, and that one glance, was enough to destroy all the good, the bath had done.
She had refused to sleep in that bed with Liam, after the debacle of their wedding night.
The sound of his slurred, angry voice, emerged from her memories.
Do what you're told, for God's sake. Lie back and stop making this difficult… Behave like a wife, damn it!
Gwen shuddered.
Those words and the very last ones he spoke to her, would never leave her memory.
In the morning, Gwen was exhausted, and her sore eyes were undercut with dark shadows.
Before she went out to the stables, she went to find the housekeeper at the spice cupboard.
"Mrs. Winterbourne, forgive me for interrupting you, but I'd like to make certain, that you'll have a new bedroom readied for me by this evening. I can't stay in that master bedroom ever again...I'd sooner sleep in the outhouse with a herd of feral cats."
The housekeeper glanced at her in concern.
"Yes, my lady. The girls have already begun cleaning a room, overlooking the rose garden. They're beating the carpets and scrubbing the floor as we speak."
"Thank you."
Gwen felt her spirits improve, as soon as she reached the stables.
A morning ride always seemed to restore her soul to rights.
Entering the saddle room, she removed the detachable skirt of her riding habit and hung it on a wall bracket.
It was customary for a lady to wear chamois or wool breeches, beneath a riding skirt, to prevent chafing. And it was not at all proper, to wear only the breeches, as she was doing.
However, she hadn't yet broken Ahmad to sidesaddle. She had chosen to train him while riding astride, which would be far safer, if the horse tried to unseat her.
So, a picturesque riding skirt, with its masses of flowing fabric, was apt to catch on tack or low tree branches, or even become entangled with the horse's legs.
Gwen remembered the first time she had walked out to the paddock in breeches. She had felt more than a little embarrassed, when the stablemen had stared at her with such astonishment, one might have thought, she'd walked out there naked.
However, Mr. Bloom, who was more concerned with safety, than propriety, had instantly given her his approval.
Soon, the stablemen had grown accustomed to the sight of her unconventional appearance, and now, they seemed to think nothing of it.
No doubt, it helped that her figure was so slight, she could hardly be accused of tempting anyone.
Ahmad was supple and responsive during their practice, moving in half circles and serpentine patterns. His transitions were seamless, and his focus perfect.
Gwen had decided to take the Arabian outside the paddock, for a ride in an enclosed pasture, and he did so well, that she extended the morning session.
Glowing and pleasantly tired after the exercise, Gwen returned into the house and bounded up one of the back staircases.
Nearing the top, she realized, she had forgotten her detachable skirt at the stables. She would send a footman to fetch it later.
As she headed towards the master bedroom, she was obliged to stop and flatten against a wall, as a trio of workmen proceeded through the hallway, their arms laden with copper pipes.
Noticing her breeches, one of the workmen nearly dropped the pipes, and another told him curtly, to put his eyes back in his head and carry on.
Blushing, Gwen hurried into the master bedroom and went directly to the open door of the bathroom, since Cora was nowhere to be seen.
Despite her objections to the expense of indoor plumbing, she had to admit, that it was lovely to have hot water, without having to ring for the maids.
After entering the bathroom, she closed the door firmly.
A startled yelp escaped her, when she saw that the tub was occupied.
"Dear God!"
Her hands flew up to cover her face.
But the image of Arthur Pendragon, the Earl of Winchester, wet and naked, had already been burned into her brain.
Stay safe!