Chapter Seventeen
The first thing Gwen noticed upon entering the lavish drawing room was the smell. Lemon oil, fresh cut flowers, and the indefinable scent of wealth. Ingrained-in-the-bones-of-the-house wealth, much reminiscent of Reggie’s family home.
Then her eyes fell on a man standing before a massive marble hearth.
The duke. He could be no one else. Not nearly as tall as Gideon, but similarly broad shouldered, he boasted a headful of sandy-colored hair nearly the shade of his heir’s, salted with silver.
He and Lord Ashwood the younger stood together, apparently engaged in a heated conversation.
“Poor Grayson. What has he done to provoke the old man now?” Gideon muttered as if to himself before raising his voice to be heard across the large room. “Good evening.”
“Good evening, Gideon. Good of you to make time for your family.” The modulated feminine voice came from a petite, silver-haired woman whose presence Gwen had not at first noticed, primarily because she stood near to one of the chamber’s floor-to-ceiling oriel windows, swathed in shadow.
“Your Grace,” Gideon said to her with a polite nod.
“Gideon, at last,” the duke intoned with considerably more warmth than his wife. He crossed the room with ground-eating strides. “Thought you’d never arrive.”
Gideon’s mouth twitched as he led Gwen toward his father. “I beg your pardon, sir. I could’ve sworn you bid me arrive promptly at half-past seven. It’s only twenty past the hour now.”
As Gwen noted earlier, Gideon’s coloring differed dramatically from that of his father and brother.
Where they were fair skinned, his complexion boasted a rich olive undertone.
They each had an abundance of straight, sandy-brown hair, he had a thick head of wavy brown hair, interspersed with streaks from the sun.
Seeing Gideon and his father together, however, the family resemblance struck her. They had the same strong forehead, same broad cheekbones, same obstinate, squared jaws. Even more telling was the vivid green-gold of their eyes.
Lord Ashwood spared his wife a glance, one brow arching, before shifting the entirety of his attention to Gwen. “Always such a stickler for details, is my son.”
The duchess glided into position at the duke’s side. She wore an elegant gown fashioned of silk in subdued hues. Her hair, bound in a tight, intricate weave atop her crown, emphasized her angular bone structure and sharp jawline. She fixed Gideon with a cool smile.
Gideon gave no indication of having noticed the chilly reception by his stepmother. “Your Graces, allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Gwendolyn Devereux.”
Gwen lowered into a deep curtsy.
“A pleasure to meet you, at last,” the duke said, clasping one of her hands between both of his as she straightened. Warmth and welcome radiated from his brilliant eyes.
Then, something caused his breath to hitch.
The ring, Gwen realized. He stared, momentarily transfixed.
He looked toward Gideon, his expression a conflagration of joy and sentimentality, relief and, oddly, satisfaction.
He nodded once at his eldest son, and Gideon acknowledged the gesture with a small smile.
Gwen’s stomach promptly pitched. Blood of the Saints.
In displaying his mother’s ring on her finger, Gideon had indeed lent credence to their farce.
But he’d also raised the bar of expectation concerning their union to an untenable height.
Clearly the duke saw Gideon’s gift as a sign that his son’s commitment to Gwen far surpassed the usual business-arrangement basis for marriage amongst the upper crust.
How would he feel when he learned he’d been misled? Panic threatened to overwhelm her.
No. She did not have the luxury to indulge in a fit of the vapors. With an effort of will, she reminded herself the priority here was keeping Gideon’s neck from the hangman’s noose, and that meant portraying a convincing couple.
“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace,” she said. “I have heard so much about you and the duchess.”
“Have you?” The duchess’s question held a trace of sardonic amusement. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Devereux,” she added, her tone reminiscent of one used by polite strangers making each other’s acquaintance.
Without awaiting a reply, Lady Ashwood’s gaze slid to Gideon. “It is good to see you, Gideon. Your father and Grayson have been beside themselves with worry these last months with your extended absence.”
“As you can see, I had an excellent reason for my delay,” Gideon said, his expression unreadable, save for the tick of a muscle in his jaw.
“So it would seem.”
Grayson joined their party, hands clasped behind him. “Gideon.” He sent his older brother a polite smile before shifting his attention to Gwen. To her, he nodded politely, almost abashedly. “Mrs. Devereux, we meet again.”
She smiled, gratified the outright suspicion with which he had viewed her to date no longer burned in his caramel eyes. “Good evening, Lord Ashwood.”
“Come. Let us sit and get acquainted,” the duke suggested, gesturing in a wide sweep toward a large seating area.
As everyone settled into his or her respective seat, the duke’s eyes shifted briefly toward the open door. A moment later, an older footman appeared, carrying a silver salver topped with five filled crystal champagne flutes.
The footman distributing the champagne sent Gideon a fond grin when out of sight of the duchess. It seemed Gideon was universally loved by both his staff and his father’s. She was not surprised.
Gideon’s father lifted his glass. “To my eldest son and his lovely bride. May the two of you have many happy years together.”
Everyone drank. Gwen forced a smile, tamping down hard on the guilt trying once again to emerge.
“Grayson tells me you met my son aboard one of his ships bound for Calcutta,” the duke said.
“That is correct, Your Grace. My late father, Mr. Thomas Wolsey, and I traveled there on business.”
“I see. I understand he passed recently. My condolences.”
“Thank you,” she said, as a sharp stab of grief pierced her.
“Wolsey, you say? Any relation to Lord Wolsey of Cheshire County?”
“Lord Wolsey is my father’s brother,” she replied.
“Good man,” the duke said. “Though I thought Grayson told me your family haled from the north.”
“Northumberland, yes. My parents moved there after they married. My mother relished neither the fast-paced city life of London, nor what she called ‘the urbanizing trend’ in Cheshire. She preferred rural life and my father doted on her. When Elliott Hall was advertised for sale, he bought it for her. His profession allowed him the freedom to live wherever he chose, you see.”
At the duke’s inquisitive look, she explained. “My father was an esteemed editor. He also served as a consultant in the rare book trade. In fact, his expertise is what led us to Calcutta. He was commissioned by a collector to authenticate one such book.”
“What was the name of the book?” Lady Ashwood asked, almost before Gwen had finished speaking.
Gwen answered without hesitation. “Shakespeare’s First Folio, Your Grace.”
“And was it authentic?” she asked. “I must say, it seems a bit tedious to travel all the way to India on such a task.”
“Sadly, no. As to the rest, my father did not mind the travel aspect of his career.”
“I see. How fortuitous that he received the timely commission that caused you to sail aboard Gideon’s ship in particular. Grayson tells us you were also his…” she paused for no discernible reason, “houseguest for a time. A convenient arrangement.”
Gwen got the vague sense the duchess alluded to something.
When the duke’s hard gaze fell on his wife, she was certain of it, though she couldn’t for the life of her guess the woman’s inference.
“Indeed. At the conclusion of our voyage, Gideon was kind enough to extend the invitation to my father and me for the duration of our stay. Have you visited his home in Calcutta, Your Grace? It’s quite splendid.”
The duke answered on the duchess’s behalf. “My wife has no interest in visiting the far east. For one thing, she abhors sea travel. Makes her sick. Grayson, too, I’m afraid. He takes after his mother in that regard.”
From the corner of her eye, Gwen noted Grayson’s shoulders hunching markedly.
Gideon shifted, flicking a brief glance toward his brother. “True, making it all the more impressive that he’s an accomplished sailor. We took lessons together as lads,” he added for Gwen’s benefit. “Capsized more than our fair share, of course. As I recall, Grayson swam circles around me.”
The duke nodded. “Took to water like a fish,” he agreed, shooting Grayson a lopsided grin.
Grayson’s shoulders relaxed. He sent Gideon a grateful look when their father’s attentions shifted away from him. Gideon appeared not to notice. Gwen was not fooled and she was more than a little moved.
Just as when they were boys, Gideon defended his younger brother to their father. No wonder Grayson adored Gideon. Apparently, the feeling was mutual.
The duke continued speaking. “I have had the opportunity to pay an extended visit, and I quite agree with your summation. No surprise, there. Gideon does nothing in half measure. Speaking of which, I’m sure he pulled out all the stops when he proposed.
” His expectant glance shifted between Gwen and Gideon.
Gwen hoped her frozen expression did not give her away. They had never discussed the manner of their so-called engagement.
Gideon wrapped one arm lightly around her shoulders.
“He is teasing you, my dear. He knows I am not one given to spectacle.” Addressing his father, he added, “The betrothal and wedding all happened rather quickly. One moment we were two strangers, meeting for the first time, the next we were wed.” He gazed down at her, his eyes brilliant with mischief.
“The day Gwen agreed to become my wife was undoubtedly the luckiest of my life to date.”