Chapter Twenty-Four
Gwen sipped her champagne and glanced about the drawing room in search of a destination.
Lady Amelia and Lady Georgina had joined the duke, Grayson, and the Floyds’ conversation. She started to move in their direction when she noticed Lady Mary, Brice’s wife, across the room, sitting alone on a blue velvet sofa apart from the crowd.
During the afternoon, Gwen had gained an impression of the lady as a shy, good-tempered sort who lacked the social polish one typically found amongst the nobility. As she still bore the moniker lady despite having married a mister, her father must be or have been a peer.
Gwen meandered forward, trying to imagine Brice wooing sweet Mary. She was hardly the sort of woman a society-minded man like him would choose to display on his arm. She more pictured him with someone like the stately Mrs. Trent whom she had nearly convinced herself had been Gideon’s mistress.
She chuckled to herself recalling the moment, on the night she met the duke and duchess, when she’d relayed Mrs. Trent’s message for Gideon. Everyone present had reacted so strangely, and suddenly, she knew the woman was Gideon’s mistress.
Then, Grayson mentioned running into Mrs. Trent’s husband. Knowing Gideon’s recent mistress was a widow like herself, his revelation had greatly relieved her mind. She could only guess Gideon’s brother and father simply did not like Mrs. Trent any better than Gwen had upon meeting her.
In any case, she did seem more the sort of companion Brice Tyrell’s taste would run to than did his wife. Mr. Tyrell had either married Lady Mary to gain entry into the noble class, or, more likely, his bride had come with a bucket of money as her dowry.
As to why Lady Mary married Mr. Tyrell, Gwen decided she had married for love. She would be putty in the hands of the elegant and charming Mr. Tyrell.
The round-faced, curly haired lady looked up with a weary smile at Gwen’s approach.
“How are you, Lady Mary? Not too fatigued after our tour of the vast gardens today?” Gwen asked.
“Good evening, Lady…I mean Mrs. Devereux. My feet do hurt something awful,” she admitted.
“Mine, too,” Gwen said. “I’ll join you.” She lowered to sit beside Mary.
Mary smiled in shy welcome. “You’re very pretty, and nice, too. I like you much better than…” Her face colored. “Oh, dear. Brice told me not to mention her.”
“It’s all right. Say whatever you like. I promise not to breathe a word of our conversation to anyone.”
She beamed. “I told Brice you seemed nice. I told him the duchess don’t…doesn’t flummox you like she does me.”
“And what did he think of that?”
“He laughed. He said the duchess could frighten the leaves off a tree.”
“She’s only a woman, flesh and blood like you and me.” With weaknesses and hurts, Gwen thought with a twinge of guilt. Perhaps she judged Lady Ashwood too harshly. One never knew what trials another suffered, and it was never good to assume. Like Reggie, like she herself to a lesser extent.
“Lady Tyrell, did you know my husband’s late wife?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I did. Can’t say I liked her much.
Far too uppity. She spent a great deal of time with Brice and me the summer before she and Gideon married.
And Lord Ashwood, of course. He was courting her, or so everyone said.
” She got a faraway look, as if remembering.
“I never had the feeling he was truly sweet on her, however, no matter that Brice insisted he was.”
Georgina had mentioned the rumor that Grayson had been courting Fannie that summer.
“Darling—Mary, I’ve been trying to get your attention.” Gwen glanced up to see Brice Tyrell nearly upon them.
Mary leapt to her feet. “Yes, my love?” Her cheeks flushed a hot pink.
Gwen unfolded her taller frame from the sofa, frustrated by Mr. Tyrell’s untimely interruption.
“I thought you might like to join me. You know we shan’t be seated beside one another at supper, and already we’ve spent most of the day apart.”
“Oh,” she breathed, clearly in her husband’s thrall. “I would like that above all else.”
Perhaps it was Gwen’s imagination, but the brief apologetic grin he aimed at her seemed a tinge smug. “You don’t mind, Mrs. Devereux, I hope?”
“Of course not,” she replied.
He tucked his wife’s hand into the crook of his arm, already steering her back toward the other guests. “Tell me, what did the two of you find to talk about?” he asked, his voice cajoling.
Noting the woman’s hesitation, Gwen acted on impulse.
She sprang forward taking up a position on Mary’s other side to link arms with her.
“Oh, you know how it is, Mr. Tyrell. We women have so many shared interests. The latest fashions, the society section of the paper…” Seeing the dubious look on his face when she’d mention the newspaper, she blurted, “Kittens.”
Taking Mary’s chuckle, and Mr. Tyrell’s disapproving sniff, as a good sign, she went on. “Kittens do so enjoy unraveling balls of yarn, and their tiny claws can be surprisingly sharp.” She held her breath as she waited to see if her gambit paid off.
“They can be,” Mary agreed. “Once I brought one I found ’round the docks into our home. Papa shouted when he saw it, startling the poor, wee thing and it climbed up Mama’s lace curtains, quick as you please.”
She met Gwen’s eye briefly, and, Gwen could swear, something like understanding passed between the two of them. Perhaps Lady Tyrell was not so simpleminded.
“Yes, well, good,” he said. “I’m pleased the two of you have so much in common.”
As Mr. Tyrell had so aptly pointed out to his wife, spouses rarely had occasion to sit beside one another at dinner parties. Gwen found herself situated near the duchess between Gideon’s brother and Lord Culver.
She forked up a bite of mushroom fricassee and glanced with longing toward Gideon seated at the opposite end of the table near the duke, between Lady Tyrell and Amelia.
Throughout the multi-course meal, Gwen heard Amelia’s, Lady Mary’s, Gideon’s, and the duke’s laughter ringing out, a testament to the fact they were all enjoying themselves.
Lord Ashwood, to his credit, was all that was charming and kind, a marked improvement from his initial treatment of her.
She could not hold his initial distrust against him.
He had been, in effect, looking after his brother’s interests.
He had not believed Gwen and Gideon were married because he knew his brother too well.
Lord Culver had a naturally stoic demeanor which seemed to magically vanish whenever his wife, Amelia, was near.
During the multi-course meal, he split his attention between Gwen and Mrs. Floyd, with whom he seemed to be on particularly good terms. Clearly he and Amelia had spent time with Mr. and Mrs. Floyd.
What would it be like to have a husband whom she loved, who also loved her, and friends to spend time with?
Gwen squelched the tiny burst of self-pity, silently chiding herself.
She had much to be grateful for. She had ample friends now, and although, at her age, she would likely never remarry, she had her new publishing business, and as such, an unending source of books to edit and authors to nurture to look forward to.
Nevertheless, imagining her future without Gideon in it did not seem nearly so exciting as it had before Gideon had entered her life.
“How are you finding Averly, Gwen?” Grayson asked in a low voice, scooping up a bite of fricassee.
It seemed he did not wish to invite his mother into their conversation and had taken the opportunity to engage Gwen when Brice, seated on the duchess’s other side, commanded his mother’s full attention.
“Very impressive,” she said. “Lady Ashwood arranged a tour of the gardens for us today. Later we took tea in the library. I do love a large and well-stocked library.”
Grayson smiled. “Library, eh? There’s more fun to be had, I assure you.
Gideon and I had a grand time as boys, roaming these drafty halls, giving our tutors fits.
” He chuckled, and Gwen realized he was attractive in his own right.
He did not have the swarthy good looks of his brother, but he had a well-balanced face, straight white teeth, and eyes that sparkled with intelligence and good humor.
“I have been wanting to apologize,” he said, his expression growing serious. “For my behavior, early on.”
She sent him a gentle smile. “Truly, my lord, there is no need. You care deeply for your older brother. Anyone can see that. He would do the very same thing to your hapless wife in your unanticipated absence.”
After a beat of silence, a crack of laughter burst from Grayson’s lips.
He drew up his serviette to dab at the corner of one eye, heedless of the inquiring look of his mother.
“Touché. I’ll tell you this. I had only to see you together once to know the two of you suit one another.
More than that, you bring something out in Gideon I thought never to see again.
A lightness not in attendance for far too long. I thank you.”
Gwen’s face throbbed with heat. No doubt she had turned beet red, as her skin was wont to do at the least provocation.
Gideon’s brother would likely assume his words had embarrassed her and not guess the truth—that she was increasingly dread-filled over what would happen when his family learned of the deception the two of them had crafted. She doubted even knowing the why of it would lessen the sting.
Several hours later, Gideon sank back into the corner of the sofa in his father’s den, his legs propped on the table before him, arms crossed over his chest. He eyed the closed door to the corridor and half listened to the disjointed conversations going on around him.
To his right, the duke, Mr. Tyrell—Arnold—and Grayson engaged in a hushed argument. At the crux of the issue was his brother’s wish to take on more of the ducal estate’s responsibilities, and thereby take some of the burden off of their father.