Thank you for your support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
Arthur's smile vanished, as soon as he left the master bedroom.
With no destination in mind, he wandered along the hallway, until he reached a connecting space, with an inset window niche.
It led to a cramped circular stair, that spiraled upward to servants' rooms and garrets.
The ceiling was so low, he was obliged to duck his head to pass through.
A house as old as Hampshire Priory, had undergone multiple expansions over the decades, the additions creating odd and unexpected nooks.
And he found the effect less charming, than other people might have...eccentricity, was not something he valued in architecture.
Lowering to sit on a narrow step, he braced his forearms on his knees and bent his head, letting out a shaky breath.
It had been the most exquisite torment he had ever suffered, standing there with Gwen pressed against him.
She had trembled like a newborn foal, straining to stand.
He'd never wanted anything in his life, as much as he'd wanted to turn her to face him, and take her mouth, with long, searching kisses, until she melted against him.
Groaning faintly, he rubbed the inside of one of his wrists, where a glow of heat lingered, as if he'd been branded by her touch.
What had his valet started to say about her?
Why had she refused to sleep in the master bedroom, after Liam's death?
The memory of her last argument with her husband, must have something to do with it...but, could it be something more?
Perhaps, the wedding night had been unpleasant for her. Privileged young women were often kept in ignorance about such matters, until they were married.
Arthur certainly didn't care, to speculate on his cousin's prowess in the bedroom.
But even Liam would have known, to treat a virgin with care and patience, wouldn't he?
He would have known enough, to soothe and seduce a nervous bride, and ease her fears, before taking his own pleasure, wouldn't he?
The thought of the two of them together...Liam's hands on Gwen...sent an unfamiliar, poisonous feeling through Arthur.
Holy hell! Was it...jealousy?
He'd never been jealous over a woman.
Cursing beneath his breath, he stood and raked his hands through his damp hair. Brooding over the past, wouldn't change the fact, that Gwen had belonged to Liam first.
But she would belong to him last.
Gathering his wits, he walked through the Priory, investigating the changes that had taken place, since his last visit.
Activity was rampant in the house, with many rooms in various stages of disrepair and construction.
So far, repairs on the estate had required a small fortune, and it would take ten times that, before all was said and done.
Arthur ended up in the study, where ledgers and bundled papers, had been piled high on the desk.
Recognizing his brother's precise, compact handwriting, he picked up a report, of what Will had learned about the estate so far.
It took two hours to read the report, which was more thorough, than he would have ever expected. And it didn't appear to be finished by half.
Apparently, Will was visiting every tenant farm on the estate, making detailed notes about each family's problems and concerns, the conditions of their property, their knowledge and views of farming techniques.
Sensing a movement, Arthur turned in his chair and saw Gwen in the doorway.
She was dressed in widow's weeds again, her hair pinned in a braided coil, her wrists encircled with demure white cuffs and her cheeks a deep dark red.
Arthur could have devoured her in one bite.
Instead, he gave her a neutral glance, as he rose to his feet.
"Skirts," he said, in a tone of mild surprise, as if it were a novelty to see her in a dress. "Where are you going?"
"To the library for a lesson with the girls. But I noticed that you were in here, and I wondered if you'd read Mr. Pendragon's report."
"I have. I'm impressed by his dedication. Also, rather astonished, since Will advised me to sell the estate, lock, stock, and barrel, just before he left London."
Gwen smiled and studied him with those tip-tilted eyes and he could see tiny rays in the light brown irises, like gold threads.
"I'm very glad you didn't," she said softly. "I think, perhaps, he might be too."
All the heat from their earlier encounter, came rushing back so fast, it hurt. And Arthur felt his flesh rising with a swift ache, beneath the layers of his clothes.
For once, he was profoundly grateful, for the concealment of his suit coat.
Gwen reached for a wood-cased pencil on the desk, but the graphite lead had worn down to a dull stub.
"Sometimes I wonder..." she trailed off. Picking up a pair of scissors, she began to sharpen the pencil with one blade, scraping off thin layers of wood.
"What is it?" Arthur asked huskily.
She concentrated on her task, sounding troubled as she replied.
"I wonder what Liam would have done with the estate, if he hadn't passed away."
"I suspect he would have turned a blind eye, until there were no decisions left to make."
"But why? He wasn't a stupid man."
A latent impulse of fairness moved Arthur to say,
"It has nothing to do with intelligence."
Gwen paused and gave him a puzzled glance.
"Hampshire Priory was Liam's childhood home," Arthur continued. "I'm sure it was painful for him to confront its decline."
Gwen's face softened.
"You're confronting it, though, aren't you? You've changed your entire life for it."
Arthur shrugged casually.
"It's not as though, I had something better to do."
"It's not easy for you, however." A faintly apologetic smile whisked across her lips. "I don't always remember that."
Lowering her head, she resumed her work on the pencil.
Arthur watched Gwen, helplessly charmed by the sight of her, scraping away like an industrious schoolgirl.
"At this rate," he said after a moment, "You'll spend all day doing that. Why don't you use a knife?"
"Lord Gemswick would never allow it...he said scissors were safer."
"Just the opposite. I'm surprised you never lost a finger. Here, set those down."
He reached across the desk, to retrieve a silver penknife, resting in the inkwell tray.
He unfolded the blade and gave it to Gwen, handle first.
"Hold the knife like this." He rearranged her fingers, disregarding her protests. "Always direct the pencil away from your body, as you sharpen it."
"Really, there's no need...I'm better with scissors..."
"Try. It's more efficient. You can't go through life doing this the wrong way. The wasted minutes could add up to days...weeks."
An unexpected giggle escaped her, as if she were a young girl being teased.
"I don't use a pencil that often."
Arthur reached around her, his hands engulfing hers. And she let him. She stood still, her body wary, but compliant.
A fragile trust had been established, during their earlier encounter. No matter what else she might fear of him, she seemed to understand, that he wouldn't hurt her.
The pleasure of holding Gwen, washed through Arthur in repeated waves.
She was petite and fine-boned, the delicious fragrance of roses rising to his nostrils.
He'd noticed it, when he'd held her earlier. It wasn't a cloying perfume, but a light floral essence, swept with the sharp, freshness of winter air.
"All it takes is six cuts," he said near her ear.
She nodded, relaxing against him, as he guided her hands with precision.
One deep stroke of the blade, neatly removed an angled section of wood. They rotated the pencil and made another cut, and then a third, creating a precise triangular prism.
"Now, trim the sharp edges," he gently commanded.
Both concentrated on the task, with his hands still bracketing hers, using the blade to chamfer each corner of wood, until they had created a clean, satisfying point.
And after one last luxurious inhalation of her scent, Arthur released Gwen slowly, knowing that for the rest of his life, a single whiff of a rose, would bring him back to this moment.
Gwen set aside the knife and pencil, and turned to face Arthur.
They were very close, not quite touching, not quite separate.
She looked uncertain, her lips parting, as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't think of what it should be.
Meanwhile, Arthur's control began to fray, thread by thread, in that electric silence.
And he found himself leaning forward by degrees, until his hands were anchored on the desk, on either side of her.
His actions forced Gwen to lean back, gripping his forearms, to maintain her balance.
With baited breath, he waited for her to protest, to push him, tell him to move back. Instead, she stared at him, as if mesmerized, her breath coming in fits and starts, whilst her grip began to tighten and ease on his arms, like a cat kneading its paws.
Lowering his head, Arthur touched his lips to her temple. He could sense her bewilderment...the force of her unwilling attraction to him.
Dimly aware, that he was burning through the last few shreds of self-control, he forced himself to straighten and take his hands from the desk.
He began to move away, but Gwen stayed with him, still clinging to his arms, her gaze unfocused.
'God...this was how it would be,' he thought. Her body following his without effort, while he lifted and filled her...over and over again.
Every heartbeat drove Arthur closer to Gwen.
His hand lifted to the side of her face, tilting it upward, while his other arm drew around her.
He watched her lashes lowered, settling in dark crescents against her soft caramel skin. But confusion had etched a delicate apostrophe of tension between her brows, and he kissed the fine notches there, before bringing his mouth to hers.
He expected her to protest, to push him away, but instead, she went pliant, making a little pleasured sound, that sent burning chills down his spine.
Both his hands came to her face, gently adjusting the angle of her jaw, as he coaxed her lips apart.
Then, he began to search her, wringing sensation and sweetness, from her innocently responsive mouth. But her tongue retreated instantly at the first touch of his.
Burning with lust and tender amusement, Arthur slid his mouth to her ear.
"No," he whispered, "Let me taste you...let me feel how soft you are inside..."
At that, he kissed her again, slow and ruthlessly gentle, until her mouth clung to his and he felt the answering touch of her tongue.
Then, her hands inched up his chest, her head tilting backwards, as she surrendered helplessly.
The pleasure was unimaginable, and as unfamiliar to Arthur, as it must have been to Gwen.
Suffused with an agony of need, he moved his hands over her, caressing and trying to grip her closer.
He could feel the movements of her body, within the rustling dress...firm, sweet flesh, trussed, in all those stiff layers of starch, laces and boning.
And damn it, he wanted to tear it all from her. He wanted her vulnerable and exposed to him, her private skin naked beneath his mouth.
But as he took her face in his hands, so his thumbs could stroke her cheeks, he felt a smudge of moisture.
A tear...
He went still.
Lifting his head, he stared down at her, while their panting breaths mingled. Her eyes were wet and bewildered.
She raised her fingers to her lips, touching them tentatively, as if they'd been burned.
Silently, he berated himself, knowing that he'd pushed her too far, too soon.
Somehow, he managed to let go and backed away, putting a crucial distance between them.
"Guinevere..." he began gruffly. "I shouldn't have..."
But alas, she fled before he could say another word.
The next morning, Arthur took the family coach to meet Will's train.
The market-town of Alton, was bisected by a long main street, lined with prosperous shops, neighborhoods of handsome houses, a bombazine cloth factory, and a paper mill.
Unfortunately, the sulfurous stench of the paper mill, always announced itself, well before the building came into view.
The footman huddled closer to the station building, taking refuge from the biting November wind. And feeling too restless to stay still, Arthur paced along the platform, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black wool greatcoat.
Tomorrow, he would have to return to London. The thought of that silent house, so crowded with furniture and yet so empty, filled him with revulsion.
But he had to stay away from Hampshire.
He needed distance from Gwen, or he wouldn't be able to stop himself from seducing her, long before she was ready for it.
He was playing a long game, and he couldn't let himself forget that.
'Bloody mourning period.'
Arthur was obliged to curtail his pacing, as the platform became crowded with people, holding tickets, and others waiting to greet the arriving passengers.
Soon their conversation and laughter were drowned out, by the approach of the locomotive, a thundering, hissing beast, that sped forward with impatient clattering and chugging.
After the train had stopped, with a metallic screech, porters carried trunks and valises off the train, while arriving and departing passengers, milled in a roiling crowd.
People collided, as they headed in a multitude of directions.
Objects were dropped and hastily retrieved. Travelers became separated and had to search for each other, their names calling out in the cacophony.
Arthur pushed passed the confluence of bodies, looking for his brother. Not finding him, he glanced back at the footman, wondering if he had caught sight of Will.
The servant gestured and shouted something, but his voice was lost in the clamor.
As Arthur made his way to the footman, he saw him talking to a stranger wearing baggy clothes, the kind of good quality, but ill-fitting castoffs, that a clerk or tradesman might wear.
The man was young and slim, with heavy blonde hair, which needed cutting. He bore a striking resemblance to Will, how he looked, at his days at Oxford, especially the way he smiled, with his chin tilted downward, as if reflecting on some private joke.
In fact...
'Holy hell!'
It was his brother. It was Will.
"Arthur," Will exclaimed with a surprised laugh, reaching out to shake his hand heartily. "Why aren't you in London?"
Arthur was slow to gather his wits. Will looked years younger...healthy and clear-eyed, as he'd never thought to see him again.
"Guinevere sent for me," he finally said.
"Did she? Why?"
"I'll explain later. What's happened to you? I hardly recognize you."
"Nothing's happened. What do you...oh, yes...I've lost a bit of weight. Never mind that though, I've just arranged to purchase a threshing machine."
Will's face glowed with pleasure and at first, Arthur thought he was being sarcastic.
'My brother,' he thought, '...is excited over farming equipment.'
As they proceeded to the coach, Will described his visit to Wiltshire and talked animatedly, about what he had learned from an agriculturist, who was practicing modern techniques on his model farm.
With a combination of deep drainage and steam power, the man had doubled the yield on his land, using less than half the labor.
Furthermore, the agriculturist wanted to acquire the latest machinery and was willing to sell his equipment at a bargain.
"It will require some investment," Will admitted, "But the returns will be exponential. I have some estimates to show you..."
"I've seen some of them. You've done impressive work."
Will shrugged nonchalantly.
Then, they climbed into the coach and settled into the fine leather seats.
"You seem to be thriving at Hampshire Priory," Arthur remarked, as their vehicle began to move.
"The devil knows why. There's never a moment's peace or privacy. A man can't sit and think, without being jumped on by some overexcited dog, or harassed by gabby females. And there's always an emergency...something breaking, exploding, or collapsing..."
"Exploding?"
"One explosion. The laundry drying-room stove, wasn't properly ventilated...no, don't be alarmed...a brick wall absorbed most of the force. And no one was injured. The point is, the house is perpetually topsy-turvy."
"Why don't you come back to London, then?" Arthur asked.
"I can't."
"If it's because of your plan, to visit every tenant family on the estate, I don't see the need/"
"No, it's not that. The fact is...Hampshire Priory suits me. Damned if I know why."
"Have you developed an attachment for...someone?" Arthur asked skeptically, his soul icing over, with the suspicion that Will wanted Gwen.
"All of them," Will admitted readily.
"But not one in particular?"
Will blinked.
"A romantic interest in one of the girls, you mean? Good God, no. I know too much about them. They're like sisters to me."
"Even Guinevere?"
"Especially her." An absent smile crossed Will's face. "I've come to like her," he said frankly. "Liam chose well for himself. She would have improved him."
"He didn't deserve her," Arthur muttered.
Will shrugged.
"I can't think of a man who would."
At his words, Arthur clenched his hand, until the scab over his knuckle pulled so tight, they stung.
"Does she ever mention Liam?" he asked.
"Not often. I can't imagine a more dedicated effort to mourn someone, but it's obvious that her heart isn't in it," Will said.
Noticing Arthur's sharp glance, he added,
"She knew Liam for a mere matter of months and was married to him for three days. Three days! How long should a woman grieve for a man she scarcely knew? It's absurd for society, to insist upon a fixed mourning period, without regard to circumstance. Can't such things be allowed to happen naturally?"
"The purpose of society, is to prevent natural behavior," Arthur said dryly.
Will grinned.
"Granted. But Gwen isn't suited to the role of drab little widow. She has too much spirit. It's why she was attracted to a Pendragon in the first place."
The amiable relationship between Will and Gwen, was immediately obvious, upon his and Arthur's return to Hampshire Priory.
She came to the entrance hall, while the butler was still collecting their hats and coats, and propped her hands on her hips, viewing Will with mock suspicion.
"Have you brought back any farm animals?" she asked.
"Not this time." He smiled and went to kiss her forehead.
And to Arthur's surprise, she accepted the affectionate gesture, without protest.
"Did you learn as much as you'd hoped?" she asked.
"Ten times more," Will said promptly. "On the subject of fertilizer alone, I could regale you for hours."
Gwen laughed, but her expression became remote, as she turned to Arthur.
"My lord."
Annoyed by the stilted acknowledgment, Arthur nodded in return.
It appeared, that she had decided to hold him at arm's length and pretend the kiss had never happened.
"The Earl claims that you sent for him, my lady," Will said. "Should I assume, that you pined for his charming company, or was there another reason?"
"After you left, there was a crisis with the Wotten's," Gwen told him. "I informed the Earl of the situation and asked what he knew about it. So far, he's insisted on being mysterious."
"What happened to the Wotten's?" Will asked, looking between his brother and Gwen..
"We'll discuss it in the library," Arthur said. "My Lady, it's unnecessary for you to be present. However..."
"I will be present." Gwen's brows lowered, defiantly. "I gave the Wotten's my personal assurance, that everything would be sorted out."
"They shouldn't have come to you," Arthur said bluntly. "They should have waited to speak to my brother or Mr. Carleon."
"They went to Mr. Carleon first," she retorted, "And he knew nothing about the situation. And Mr. Pendragon wasn't here. I was the only person available."
"From now on, I would prefer you, not to make yourself available, when it comes to discussing leaseholds. You should limit yourself, to whatever it is, the lady of the manor is supposed to do...bring them baskets when people are ill, and so forth."
"What a smug, condescending..." Gwen began.
"Are we to stand here squabbling in the entrance hall?" Will interceded hastily. "Let's pretend to be civilized and proceed to the library."
He pulled Gwen's arm over his and accompanied her from the entrance hall.
"I wouldn't mind sending for some tea and sandwiches," he said. "I'm starved, after riding on the train. You're always telling me to eat, remember?"
Arthur strode after them, only half listening to the conversation.
Scowling, he focused on the sight of Gwen's arm tucked into Will's and that unfamiliar poisonous jealousy returned, coiling thickly in his chest.
'Why was he touching her? And why was she allowing it?'
"...and Mrs. Wotten couldn't speak for weeping," Gwen said indignantly. "They have four children, and her elderly aunt to look after, and if they were to lose the farm..."
"Don't worry," Will interrupted, with a soothing murmur. "We'll sort it all out. I promise."
"Yes, but if Earl Pendragon made such an important decision, without saying anything..."
"Nothing's been decided yet," Arthur said stonily, following the pair.
Gwen glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed.
"Then, why were there railroad surveyors on the estate land?"
"I prefer not to discuss my business affairs in the hallway."
"You gave them permission to be there, didn't you?" She tried to stop and face him, but Will tugged her inexorably towards the library.
"I wonder if I should have Darjeeling tea?" Will mused aloud. "No, perhaps something stronger...Ceylon or pekoe...and some of the little buns with the cream and jam. What were those, Gwen?"
"Cornish splits," she replied testily.
"Ah. No wonder I like them. It sounds like something, I once saw performed at a dance hall."
They entered the library and right away, Gwen tugged at the bell-pull beside the door and waited until a housemaid appeared.
After requesting a tea tray and a plate of sandwiches and pastries, she went to the long table, where Arthur had unrolled a map of the estate lands.
"Well, did you?" she asked.
He gave her an ominous glance.
"Did I what?"
"Did you give the railway men permission to survey your land?"
"Yes," he said flatly. "But they didn't have permission to talk to anyone about it. They should have kept their mouths shut."
Her eyes flashed in anger.
"Then, it's true? You've sold the Wotten's farm?"
"No, and I don't intend to."
"Then what..."
"Gwen," Will broke in gently, "We'll be here all night, if you don't let him finish."
She scowled and fell silent, watching, as Arthur weighted the corners of the map with various objects, to keep it from moving off the table.
Taking up a pencil, Arthur drew a line across the east side of the estate.
"Recently I met with the director of the London Ironstone railway," he said. And for Gwen's benefit, he explained, "It's a private company, owned by a friend. Thomas Hill."
"We're in the same London club," Will added.
Arthur viewed the map critically, before drawing a parallel line.
"Hill wants to reduce the distance on London Ironstone's existing Portsmouth route. He's also planning to relay the entire sixty-mile line, start to finish, with heavier rails, to accommodate faster trains."
"Can he afford such a project?" Will asked.
"He's already secured one million pounds."
Will uttered a wordless exclamation.
"Precisely," Arthur said, and continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "Of all the prospective plans for the shortened route, the natural gradient is best across this area."
He shaded lightly between the parallel lines.
"If we were to allow London Ironstone, to cross the eastern perimeter of the estate, we would receive a large annual sum, which would go far, towards easing our financial problems," he added.
Gwen leaned over the table, staring intently at the pencil markings.
"But this is impossible," she said. "According to what you've drawn, the tracks would run, not only across the Wotten's farm, but at least, three other leaseholds as well."
"Four tenant farms would be affected," Arthur admitted, quietly.
A frown grooved Will's forehead as he studied the map.
"The tracks appear to cross two private drives. Which means, we would have no access to the east side," he said.
"The railroad would build occupation bridges at their own expense, to keep all parts of the estate connected," Arthur said.
And before Will could comment, Gwen stood and faced Arthur across the table. She looked stricken.
"You can't agree to this. You can't take the farms away from those families."
"The solicitor confirmed that it's legal," Arthur challenged.
"I don't mean legally, I mean morally. You can't deprive them of their homes and their livings. What would happen to those families? All those children? Even you couldn't live with that on your conscience."
Arthur gave her a sardonic glance, annoyed that she would automatically assume the worst about him.
"I'm not going to abandon the tenants. I fully intend to help them find new situations..."
Before he had even finished, Gwen was shaking her head.
"Farming is what these people have done for generations. It's in their blood. Taking away their land would break them."
Arthur knew, this was exactly how she would react...people first, business second. But that wasn't always possible.
"We're discussing four families out of two hundred," Arthur said. "If I don't strike a deal with London Ironstone, all the Hampshire Priory tenants may lose their farms."
"There has to be another way," Gwen insisted.
"If there were, I'd have found it," he said, a little defiantly.
She knew nothing of all the sleepless nights and exhausting days he'd spent searching for alternatives.
There was no good solution, only a choice between several bad solutions, and this was the least harmful.
Gwen stared at Arthur, as if she'd just caught him snatching a crust of bread from an orphan.
"But..."
"Don't press me on this," he snapped, losing his patience. "It's difficult enough, without a display of adolescent drama."
Gwen's face went ashen. Without another word, she turned and strode from the library.
Will sighed and glanced at Arthur.
"Well done. Why bother reasoning with her, when you can simply crush her into submission?"
Before Arthur could reply, his brother had left to follow Gwen.
Stay safe!