Chapter 25
Greystone House was ablaze with light. Lanterns lined the steps, the windows glowing so brightly she could see silhouettes drifting past the curtains. Carriages clogged the entire street, their wheels crunching over gravel while footmen bustled about, trying to keep the arrivals in order.
Gwen sat across from Howard and her mother, her fingers clenched in her lap. Every turn of the carriage wheel tightened the knot in her stomach.
“Remember yourself,” Howard said suddenly, as if he had heard her thoughts. “You will behave, Gwendoline. You will curtsy when you ought to. You will smile when spoken to. You will not attract attention.”
“Yes, My Lord,” she replied quietly.
Cordelia glanced at her, eyes swimming with worry. “Gwen, try to enjoy yourself if you can. It has been so long since you were in company.”
Howard snorted. “Enjoyment is not the purpose of this night. Repair is. We are here because His Grace has remembered his humanity and extended us the courtesy of an invitation. Do not waste it.”
Gwen bit the inside of her cheek.
As their carriage reached the top of the queue, she saw them. A cluster of familiar crests and colors, all converging on the steps.
The Barkers. The Chestertons. The Lillards. Three families she had known from previous Seasons, all respectable, all highly regarded. Her breath caught when she saw the Lillards in particular.
The Dowager Duchess of Lillard had declared last year that she would never invite a scandal into her home. Yet here she was, at Greystone House, on the same night as Gwen.
This is no ordinary dinner.
Gwen’s heart skipped a beat. Victor had arranged this. Not simply for amusement. Not merely for appearances. He had assembled families whose good opinion mattered. Families whose daughters might marry well. Families whose presence would make the evening appear entirely innocent.
If she could detach herself from Howard for even an hour, she could speak to her friends, to her allies. She might find a thread to follow. A path away.
Hope flared.
The carriage halted. The door opened. Cold air rushed in.
A footman bowed. “The Viscount and Viscountess Fenwick. Lady Gwendoline Reeves.”
Howard descended first, tall and puffed up with self-importance. He turned, offered a hand to Cordelia, then to Gwen. His fingers bit into her glove with unnecessary force.
“Remember,” he hissed, “you do not leave my sight.”
Gwen stepped onto the path, lifting her skirts just enough to avoid the worst of the damp. Music floated through the open doors—a waltz. Conversation spilled in warm waves. The house smelled of beeswax, flowers, and spice.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Inside, the main hall was awash with light. Chandeliers sparkled with crystal. Tall vases of roses flanked the staircase. Footmen moved with quiet efficiency, directing guests toward the drawing room.
Howard handed their cloaks to a servant, then turned to her. “You will remain with us.”
“Yes,” Gwen answered automatically.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “If you stray, if you disappear for even a minute, you will regret it.”
Her skin crawled.
He was not finished.
“Your future husband will be visiting us in two days,” he continued softly. “We will discuss settlements and expectations. I expect you to be obedient. You will be married before the month is out. You will not embarrass me again.”
She felt as if the floor shifted beneath her feet.
“Who is he?” she whispered.
“That is none of your concern,” Howard replied. “It is enough that he exists. You should be grateful. I have done more for you than you deserve.”
She said nothing as they entered the drawing room.
Gwen saw them at once. Arabella, in a pale pink gown, her eyes shadowed with restlessness. Eleanor, in elegant dove grey, her expression neutral, assessing, always thinking three steps ahead. Both stood with their parents, talking to another couple.
Their eyes found her at the same moment. Surprise, then relief, then concern flickered across their faces.
Gwen stopped herself from going to them, though her body ached to hurry across the room. Howard’s hand pressed against her back, steering her toward the Dowager Duchess of Greystone.
The Dowager Duchess stood near the fireplace, a queen surveying her court. She wore deep blue silk, and her hair was arranged in exquisite precision beneath a jeweled comb. She turned as they approached, a practiced smile already in place.
“Fenwick,” she greeted politely. “Lady Fenwick. Lady Gwendoline. I am pleased you could join us.”
“We are honored by your hospitality, Your Grace,” Howard said, bowing deeply. “Your son is most kind.”
The Dowager Duchess’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. “Kindness is not always his first instinct, but he knows his duty where Society is concerned.”
Gwen’s heart beat faster. Her gaze slid past the Dowager Duchess, searching.
Where is Victor? He cannot be far. He must be somewhere in this room or the next.
The Dowager Duchess noticed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Lady Gwendoline, how good it is to see you amongst company again. You have been missed this Season.”
Gwen curtsied. “You are very generous to say so, Your Grace.”
The Dowager Duchess tilted her head. “You must not stand with us old creatures all evening. There are young people here. Friends of yours. The Barkers, I believe. You should join them and enjoy the evening. That is the point of a dinner party, is it not?”
Gwen opened her mouth, hope rushing in, but Howard interjected at once. “Lady Gwendoline is perfectly comfortable at my side.”
The Dowager Duchess turned her cool, aristocratic gaze upon him. “Nonsense. A girl of her age should be seen among her peers, not hanging on the sleeve of her stepfather like he was her governess.”
Howard’s jaw tightened. “We have rules in our household.”
“And I have rules in mine,” the Dowager Duchess replied smoothly. “One of them is that guests do what I tell them to. Lady Gwendoline, go and find your friends. You may fetch them if you like.”
The last sentence was added almost lazily, as if it were an afterthought, but Gwen heard the careful construction.
To fetch them, she must first leave. To obey the Dowager Duchess was to disobey her stepfather.
It was a lifeline delivered in silk.
Howard’s nostrils flared. For a moment, Gwen thought he would refuse, that he would reassert his authority. Then he seemed to remember that he was standing in the house of a duke and was speaking with the Dowager Duchess herself.
“Very well,” he said tightly. “You may go and greet your friends, Gwendoline. Briefly. Then you will return.”
Gwen curtsied. “Yes, My Lord.”
She did not move too quickly. That would be too obvious. Too eager. She walked across the room at a measured pace, nodding politely to those she passed, careful to keep her steps smooth.
Every part of her throbbed with urgency.
She needed to reach Arabella and Eleanor.
She needed to find Victor.
She needed to get out.
“Gwen,” Arabella breathed, the moment Gwen came close enough. “You are here!”
Eleanor inclined her head, her eyes roaming over Gwen’s face. “You look pale. And your cheek…” She frowned. “Are you unwell?”
Gwen resisted the urge to lift her hand to the fading mark. “I am fine,” she lied. “It is only the heat.”
Arabella did not believe that for a second. Her lips pressed into a line. “Tell us everything. At once.”
“Not here,” Eleanor hissed. “There are too many ears. Come. We will pretend we are admiring the paintings.”
They drifted toward a quieter corner where a large landscape hung. From a distance, they appeared to be studying the rolling hills and serene sky. Up close, their voices were scarcely more than breath.
“What happened?” Eleanor asked.
Gwen swallowed. The memory still felt raw, like touching a bruise. “He was waiting. He shouted. He accused. Then he discovered that I had started the rumors.”
Arabella’s hand flew to her mouth. “How?”
“A gentleman at his club heard you both talking,” Gwen explained. “He thought you were boasting. He told Howard that I had orchestrated my own scandal.”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly. “Men and their clubs.”
Arabella flushed. “We never meant to. We thought we were safe there. I am so sorry, Gwen.”
“It is done.” Gwen shrugged. “There is no sense in apologizing.”
“What did he do?” Eleanor asked.
Gwen hesitated. Her cheek seemed to burn under their gaze.
“He was angry,” she said softly. “He struck me. Then he locked me in my room and informed me that he would find me a husband. He has apparently succeeded. My future husband will call in two days to discuss the marriage. He intends for the wedding to take place before the month’s end.”
Arabella’s eyes filled with tears. “He hit you?” she whispered. “Gwen…”
Eleanor’s hand tightened on her fan. “I ought to strangle him with his own cravat.”
Gwen gave a small, brittle laugh. “I would quite like to see that.”
“This is not humorous,” Arabella protested.
“No,” Gwen agreed. “It is not.”
Eleanor’s tone turned practical. “You cannot marry the man he chooses. You must refuse.”
“I have no power to refuse,” Gwen said. “Not in his house. Not without money. Not without any place to go.”
“You have your aunt,” Eleanor reminded her.
Gwen shook her head. “He knows about her now. He will watch me more closely. He will not allow me to vanish a second time.”
Arabella glanced around, as if expecting Victor to appear behind one of the potted palms. “And what of the Duke? He escorted you back, did he not? You mentioned it in your letter.”
Gwen looked down at her gloved hands. “He did.”
“And?” Arabella prompted.
“And nothing,” Gwen said, a little too quickly. “We stopped at an inn. We argued. We talked. He brought me back. It is done.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “That is not nothing.”
“It is enough,” Gwen replied. “He has made his position clear. Our arrangement is over. He does not intend to see me privately again.”
Arabella’s eyebrows drew together. “But you care for him?”
Gwen’s throat tightened. “Yes.”
“Gwen,” Arabella whispered, her eyes shining. “You are in love with him.”
The words lodged somewhere deep inside Gwen, as if rooted there. “I know,” she mumbled.
Silence stretched between them, full of the things left unsaid.
Eleanor broke it. “Does he know?”
Gwen let out a shaky breath. “He suspects that I feel something. He is too perceptive not to. But he does not want it. He told me very plainly that he does not intend to marry me. That our… acquaintance was never about marriage.”
Arabella made a wounded sound. “He said that?”
“Yes.” Gwen nodded. “And he was right to do so. He is a duke. I am a woman with a damaged reputation and an abusive stepfather. I am a complication. A danger. He cannot afford to tie himself to me. His mother would never allow it. Society would devour us both.”
Eleanor studied her with compassionate severity. “Do you truly believe him incapable of caring?”
Gwen’s chest ached at the memory of Victor’s hands cradling her face. Of his voice coaxing comfort and pleasure in the dark. Of his confession about the cold courtyard. Of his laughter when she had teased him. Of the way he had held her in that bed as if she were something precious.
“I do not know what he is capable of,” she said softly.
Arabella shook her head. “You cannot simply surrender to Howard’s plans. You cannot tie yourself to a stranger because a frightened man commands it.”
“You think I have not fought?” Gwen asked sharply.
Eleanor lifted a placating hand. “We know you have. We know you would still be in that locked room if you had not kept fighting.” Her gaze softened. “But you are tired.”
“Yes,” Gwen whispered. “So I have decided that it is best to obey. At least for now. If I do as Howard says, perhaps he will cease watching me. Perhaps I will get another chance to run. But if I defy him openly again, he will crush every small freedom I have left.”
Arabella sniffed. “You cannot marry a man you do not love.”
Gwen gave a sad, small smile. “Many women do. My mother did. Twice.”
“That is a poor argument,” Eleanor scoffed. “Your mother is miserable.”
“I know,” Gwen replied. “Which is why I refused to marry for so long. Which is why I spread the rumors. Which is why I went to Victor in the first place. I have been fighting this battle for years, and I am losing it.”
Arabella caught her hand, squeezing hard. “We will help you.”
“You have already tried,” Gwen said. “And you nearly ruined yourselves in the process. I will not drag you further into my disasters.”
“You would do the same for us,” Arabella protested.
“Yes,” Gwen said simply. “But that is my choice to make. I will not make it for you.” She looked between them, her heart overflowing with love and grief.
“I cannot have Victor. I cannot save my mother. I cannot stop Howard. The only thing I can do is decide how much of myself I will sacrifice. I would rather give up my wishes than my friends.”
Eleanor’s eyes shone with unexpected tears. “You are braver than you think.”
“No.” Gwen shook her head. “I am cornered.” She took a steadying breath. “I will meet this suitor. I will smile and curtsy and nod. I will listen to whatever terms are laid before me. And I will pretend my heart is not breaking. That is what my mother did. It is what women learn to do.”
Arabella opened her mouth again to protest. But before she could, a familiar low voice spoke behind them.
“Lady Gwendoline,” Victor greeted. “Miss Barker. Miss Arabella.”
Gwen’s heart leapt into her throat, and she slowly turned around.
Victor stood only a few paces away, striking in black and white, his expression neutral, his eyes unreadable.
Her entire body went still. Whatever she had just told her friends about surrendering to fate, about doing as Howard wished, about letting go of impossible hopes, evaporated instantly.
Because hope had just walked into the room.