Chapter 5
Five
“Quality is not an act, it is a habit.”
Aristotle
Gwen opened one eye to find that morning had long since arrived. A thought, not yet formed, tickled the back of her mind. Something about the ball …
She turned over, settling down again to return to sleep. The night had been long, and she was far too exhausted to rise just yet.
Her eyelids flew open.
The vague, niggling thought erupted into vivid memory.
“Stuff!”
Across the room, a blur of movement resolved into Octavia Hanning, her lady’s maid, who came bustling into view as if she had been standing vigil for the slightest sign of Gwen’s waking.
“Is it true?”
Gwen fluttered her lashes, trying to shake free the cobwebs and catch up to Octavia’s breathless urgency. “Is what true?”
“You are betrothed? To Lord Moreland’s heir?”
Gwen groaned, pulling the coverlet over her head and burying her face in her pillow. Last night had not, as she had half-hoped, been a dream.
“Well? Are you to wed?” Octavia pressed, clearly too secure in her post after seven years to respect any notion of boundaries.
The thin, sharp-featured woman in her early forties was a mix of dry wit and crusty pragmatism, entirely lacking deference when behind closed doors.
Gwen would not have changed her for the world.
Octavia was her stalwart. Practical, loyal, and entirely her own woman.
“If Lord Moreland does not raise an objection and forbid the match, then I suppose I am to wed.”
“You let a gentleman put his hands on you?”
Gwen groaned again, burrowing deeper into her pillow.
“And he kissed you? On the lips?”
“Go away!” Gwen mumbled. She recalled now that her father had uncorked champagne in celebration after announcing the betrothal to their guests, who had then lingered well into the early hours.
Champagne.
That would account for the dull ache behind her eyes.
“I’m so impressed!”
Gwen frowned into her downy sanctuary, then slowly lifted her head to glare at her maid. “Impressed?”
“You landed your gentleman by compromising him!”
Gwen scowled, her disbelief sharpening. “I did not compromise him! He laid his hands on me!”
Octavia shook her head, a trifle too large for her reed-thin frame, not listening to a single word Gwen had uttered.
“I knew you could do it. I told everyone belowstairs that Gwendolyn Smythe is not destined to be left on the shelf. Our mistress would see to it herself, she would. The right man would come along and notice her, and she’d wed, I told ’em. ”
Gwen pulled a face. There it was again. The right man. Had everyone in her household been awaiting the mysterious arrival of this mythical paragon?
“That is sentimental claptrap! What even is a right man?”
Octavia turned those round, watery blue eyes on her with exaggerated amazement, tilting her head as if Gwen were the simpleton. “The man who sees you for the original you are, of course. Lord Abbott is the one! Why else would he’ve followed you onto the terrace, if not to pursue you?”
Gwen gaped. The suggestion rocked her. Had he followed her? She had been well removed from the ballroom, beyond the gallery near her father’s study. How would he have found her unless he had followed?
“That does not make sense,” she murmured. “Why would Lord Abbott follow me?”
Octavia straightened her back, fists planted on her narrow hips. From Gwen’s prone position, the maid looked like a colossus preparing for battle. “Because you’re a beautiful young lady! An original. He recognized your worth.”
“That is ridiculous,” Gwen mumbled, pulling the coverlet over her head once more.
“No, it ain’t! Those girls at school were repugnant little arses. You ought not pay them any heed.”
“Not just schoolgirls. Married ladies of the ton, fully grown, who take every opportunity to remind me of my supposed deficiencies.”
Octavia snorted with disdain. “More like married tarts of the ton. And what would they know? Their husbands all keep mistresses while they pretend nothing is amiss. The footmen told me what was going on in the little drawing room down the hall.”
Gwen groaned. “So Lord Abbott will marry me and then discard me once he tires of being proper.”
“Nay!” Octavia flung her arms. “This is different. Lord Abbott was so besotted, he trapped himself into marriage for a taste of your lips. That is love if I ever saw it.”
“Dash it all!” Gwen cursed, clutching her pillow. “That is exactly what people will say. That it is a love match and then laugh like hyenas that Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe, snared a future viscount.”
A long silence fell. Gwen peered out cautiously to find Octavia stewing.
“I wish you’d stop listening to those women,” the maid finally muttered. “They are not experts on what a gentleman might want. They’re only experts on repeating what their mothers taught them, because they have no minds of their own.”
Gwen gave a bitter twist of her mouth. “They are experts. At getting married.”
“Well, you’re getting married!”
“Because of the scandal! Because Lord Abbott feels honor-bound to do the right thing. If not for that, I would still be a pitiable spinster.”
“You’re no spinster. You’re a young woman of value, and your mama would be proud of you.”
Gwen’s jaw tightened. “She would not be proud that I have trapped a man into marriage.”
Octavia sighed and pushed at Gwen’s hip until she rolled slightly, making room on the bed before plopping down beside her. “Mrs. Smythe would understand. She would say that in a single magical moment, the right man found you. And fate took its course.”
Gwen fell silent again, her thoughts turning inward, saddened and sobered by the ache that came whenever she thought of her absent mother.
Octavia Hanning had tended to the Smythe women for many years and was now practically a member of the family.
Through Gwen’s long, often lonely years, Octavia had stood faithfully at her side.
Being a young woman of sharp intellect and scholarly bent had rendered Gwen something of an oddity to both the men and women of her class, but Octavia had always been her champion.
“I know not what happened,” Gwen admitted, her voice wistful. “One moment I was simply wishing for someone with whom to share the glory of the heavens, and the next … Lord Abbott was beside me. Then, before I understood what had passed, we embraced … and half the ballroom stumbled upon us.”
Octavia nodded sagely. “I think Lord Abbott is a good man.”
Gwen blinked. “Why do you say that?”
“There is no gossip about him. He finished at Oxford, went on his Grand Tour, and since returning has caroused with his friends, as gentlemen do. But he’s not visited any widows or courtesans, nor danced with any young ladies.”
The vast and intricate network of belowstairs gossip never ceased to astonish Gwen. Octavia often knew more about noble families Gwen had barely encountered.
“And his family?”
“Lord and Lady Moreland have a spotless reputation. No paramours on either side, and all accounts say they are sincerely devoted to one another.”
Gwen nodded thoughtfully, her thoughts turning to the viscount. How would Lord Moreland react upon learning his heir was to wed her?
“And what of his sister? The one who caused a stir in the scandal sheets?”
Octavia gave a grunt. “We’re all a bit muddled over that.
The Abbott servants don’t like to talk about their household.
Miss Abbott claimed she was with Lord Filminster on the night of the coronation—when he was nearly arrested, mind you—but there’s been no whispers of improper conduct in any house she’s visited.
Not much known contact with Lord Filminster either, which makes the suddenness of it all …
” She waved her hands together in a lewd gesture, her meaning unmistakable.
“They wed within days. And the servants at Ridley House? Tight as a drum. They’ll say nothing. ”
Gwen reflected on this in silence. Either the servants were frightened into silence or the baron and his new wife inspired such loyalty that no gossip could escape.
It was a curious thing to imagine marrying into such a family, one she had never encountered. Lord Abbott himself was still a stranger. A breathtaking stranger with commanding lips, passionate eyes, and a scholar’s mind, but a stranger all the same.
“Do you know,” she asked softly, “why Lord Abbott was at the ball?”
Octavia shook her head, causing little tendrils of her mousy brown hair to escape the knot at her nape.
“The footmen are amazed. Dennis said he might have seen Lord Abbott and another gentleman enter with Lord and Lady Hays, but no one knows for certain. There has been no talk of Lord Abbott seeking a bride, so his presence at your father’s ball is the subject of much speculation. ”
Gwen frowned, her brows drawing together as she sat upright against the pillows. “And this ball is not even part of the Season. Most families have already gone to their country seats for the summer since the coronation celebrations ended. Papa scheduled it now precisely to save on expenses.”
Octavia clapped her hands together, her grin infectious and bright. “What does it matter how he came to be here? The end result is what counts. You’re finally to wed. You’ll be a beautiful bride, entering into a powerful family. And one of your little ones will inherit the viscountcy one day!”
Gwen’s heart squeezed. A vision rose unbidden in her mind of a small boy with tousled chocolate curls and inquisitive brown eyes, clutching a book of Latin verse as he asked his mama to explain Manilius.
A wave of tender yearning stole through her, curling around her spine and nestling somewhere deep in her chest.
Yes, marriage to Lord Abbott might have arisen from scandal, but if it led to children, to love and companionship, to sharing her thirst for knowledge, it could be a blessing in disguise.