Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
G wendoline knew Abigail’s soiree was going to be a grand affair. At least, she’d like to think it was her friend’s event, even when it was hosted by her father, the Marquess of Soulden.
The family’s stately townhouse was made more elegant by the sophisticated decorations. One might think that the marquess had solicited the help of someone skilled in décor, but it was his daughter who made all the plans. Gwendoline knew this about her friend, and she was proud of her.
Laughter and pleasant chatter echoed through the ballroom. Gwendoline couldn’t help but appreciate how a mood could depend on the host or hostess. With a well-meaning hostess like Abigail, the festivities proceeded peacefully, as expected.
Gwendoline stood near the edge of the ballroom, close to the walls, just like she used to do when she was younger and more afraid. Tonight was less about shrinking away and more about watching everyone. She held a crystal champagne flute in her hand and took sips so that she didn’t look too still or suspicious.
This gathering was certainly different from the many others she had attended. She wasn’t merely a spectator or a guest, but also someone better. No, she was definitely not a pawn this time.
Gwendoline Redmond was a duchess. She was no longer Timothy’s impoverished cousin or an orphan. Even though her marriage to Damian had increased her confidence, it wasn’t what made her secure. She somehow no longer felt the need to cower. She was no longer ashamed of being on the side, looking like a wallflower. She knew what she was. She was aware of what she was not.
The air was filled with various scents—all pleasant for now. Comforting beeswax candles. Expensive perfumes. Usually, Gwendoline couldn’t take them all in. Tonight, though, she reveled in them. And she would show the ton just how much she did.
She made her move, mingling with the guests. She said her hellos and smiled politely even though her husband was not at her side. She wanted them to see her as an individual, not just a part of a pair.
“Isn’t that the Duchess of Greyvale?” she heard a lady whisper.
“Yes. That’s the one who eloped with the rake,” her friend replied.
“But how long had they been married? Wasn’t she with child?”
“Perhaps that explains the wide hips and large bosom,” the friend commented maliciously, not even hiding the fact that she was watching Gwendoline.
In another time or place, Gwendoline would have run to her room and cried her heart out. Not tonight. She was no longer a pawn.
“Wasn’t she just drinking champagne?”
“Yes. It may be her fourth flute now.”
Liar.
“Your Grace,” another lady greeted. She had a smile on her face, but Gwendoline could see that it was forced. She felt her stomach turn sour. “How lovely to see you here. We, uh, weren’t expecting you to attend.”
Gwendoline had judged the event too soon. She thought it would all be pleasantries.
“And you as well, Lady Ethel,” she replied, keeping her tone polite but distant.
She wouldn’t give them more excuses to say terrible things about her. She wouldn’t let them. She had learned how to navigate social circles with care. It was like a dance. She used to stumble, but now she had learned the steps.
She distanced herself from the group, telling herself they weren’t worth her time. She was there for a reason. Yes, she was there to support Abigail, but she was also there to watch out for Timothy.
Across the room, Damian stood silently. He was as discreet as a ghost. While Gwendoline had learned to distance herself from the wallflower that she was, her husband had learned to blend in. It was necessary.
Then, Oliver Audley approached him. They engaged in conversation. It seemed to be something serious, given Damian’s expression, but it could be anything. Her husband could look grave even among his closest friends on an ordinary day.
Finally, he seemed to notice her watching him. His expression softened. A small smile played on his lips as he continued watching her. She smiled back. She couldn’t help it. Even Oliver had to turn around to see who his friend was looking at. His mouth formed the words, “Of course,” and he made sure she could see it.
A tap on her shoulder burst her blissful bubble. Startled, she turned around to find Abigail standing there, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Come with me,” Abigail urged—or rather commanded.
Gwendoline felt like she didn’t have a choice but to follow. It wasn’t like she wouldn’t do it. Command or request, Abigail’s invitation was tempting.
Abigail led her out of the crowded ballroom.
They ended up in a sitting room not too far from the main hall. The dim lighting, highlighted by flickering flames, was a welcome respite for Gwendoline.
Knowing her friend well, Abigail closed the door behind them. Then, she turned to her with a grin. “You’ve changed, Your Grace.”
“Have I?” Gwendoline asked, blinking. It wasn’t what she had expected her friend to tell her. “Even if I had, call me Gwen like before. That doesn’t need to change.”
“You have. Gwendoline Landon would have found an excuse to leave the ballroom much earlier. Tonight, I could see that there was hesitation in your eyes. You only followed me because I’m your friend. There’s strength in you—and confidence. They’re lighting you up. I love that for you, my dear.”
Gwendoline couldn’t help but blush. She thought she was done revealing her emotions through something she couldn’t control. Turned out she was wrong.
“I suppose I have learned to adapt,” she admitted softly. “I needed to. While I’m more secure now, being Damian’s wife presents more complications.”
“Ah.”
“It’s not simple,” Gwendoline rephrased, flushing again.
“I don’t imagine life with a wealthy and handsome reformed rake can be simple,” Abigail said with a laugh. Gwendoline’s heart soared upon hearing the soft, melodic sound. “It suits you, though. I like seeing you glow as you should. You look marvelous!”
“Apparently, I look like I’m with child. Have you listened to the gossip?” Gwendoline realized that she still had difficulty accepting compliments.
Abigail merely laughed. “Don’t listen to those brainless chits. They have nothing in their lives that they particularly like. So, they use other people’s stories to entertain themselves. They talk about you. You’re more important,” she reassured her earnestly.
“Thank you, Abigail. I’m grateful that your family has sent us invitations for this soiree even though scandal has been following me of late.”
“It’s our pleasure, Your Grace. Really.”
Abigail’s use of the honorific didn’t dampen the mood. Gwendoline relied more on her friend’s gentle eyes and wide smile than the two formal words that emphasized her rise in station.
“And His Grace…” Abigail continued thoughtfully. “He seems… softer. Happier even. He seemed so unhappy even when he drowned himself in drink and jumped from one woman to another.”
Gwendoline’s chest tightened at the reminder of Damian’s past. She knew she had no reason to be jealous of any of those women, but she couldn’t help but wonder about them. What were they like?
Abigail was right. There were more days when Damian seemed happier. His posture was no longer stiff. Whenever Gwendoline massaged his back, he relaxed under her fingers.
“He’s… complicated,” she admitted after a pause. “But I am getting to know him better. We are finding our way.”
“Good,” Abigail murmured, reaching for her friend’s hand. “Do remember that you deserve only the best, my friend. You deserve happiness.”
Her simple but profound words hung between them, making Gwendoline raise her hand to her neck unconsciously. Her hand slid down her chest, and she realized that her heart had been racing. Damian made her heart race. She had thought it was the excitement of working together to bring Timothy down. Now, she wondered if she had been wrong all along.
“Thank you for seeing the best in me and making me see that I truly deserve a better life, Abigail,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Abigail pulled her into a warm embrace.
Even in this position, Gwendoline could feel her friend smiling. Their short conversation spoke to their years of friendship.
“Now, let’s return to the soiree before they wonder where we’ve gone. Or, let them wonder. I’d love to hear the stories they will come up with!”
Gwendoline laughed as they made their way back to the ballroom. The movement from silence to noise was startling, but she no longer let these things affect her. She made the rounds, talking to as many people as possible. After she had talked to them, she saw some curious and even slightly disgusted faces transform into something else—something more pleasant.
To fight prejudice and lies, there should be no more hiding. She danced through the night with Damian or in groups. Every now and then, his hand would brush hers lightly or touch her arm. He would ask if she needed anything to eat or drink. It was his way of showing that he cared—that he was near.
“Are you all right, Gwen?” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes,” she replied, looking up at him. “I am.”
And for the first time in a long time, she truly meant it. She didn’t know if Damian felt the same way because Timothy didn’t come to the soiree at all.