Chapter Eighteen #2
She inhaled lightly.
Of course she had. Her heart wanted James. It had always been waiting for James.
James. Not Andrew.
But how could she admit this to anyone after all this fuss?
Besides, this was the most important decision of her life.
She had a process. She made lists. Her sacred lists. It would not take her long to write down the strengths and faults of Andrew and James and then rank them in importance.
She had approached her matchmaking attempts in the same manner and had an entire folder filled with lists about the prospective brides and their compatibility with James.
She refused to consider those particular lists as failures, because they hadn’t been.
James had been purposely undermining her every match because he wanted to be matched with her.
That was a point in his favor, was it not?
After setting down each man’s strengths and weaknesses, she would then peruse the results, think on them, sleep on them—if necessary, spend several days sleeping on them—before making up her mind about…
Well, she knew which of them she wanted to marry.
Her heart began to twist painfully, as though rebelling over her attempted use of logic to determine a result she had already made. But how could she toss away decades of independence, and a longstanding friendship and betrothal with Andrew, because of a single night with James?
Well, it was also months of working closely with James, too.
Now thoroughly muddled, Gwendolyn settled in the parlor with Fiona and Agatha to await the men. She decided to spend time with Andrew first because she had not seen him in all these years.
As for James, she knew him fairly well by now.
But how was she to rate his behavior? Her presenting lovely young ladies to him and his calmly shooting down each possibility was not good form on his part, was it?
And how was she to rate his obvious jealousy over Andrew’s sudden appearance at Milbury Hill?
“Was it not apish of him to chase after me and Andrew?” she grumbled, wriggling uncomfortably under Fiona’s stern stare.
“He was protecting you. Aren’t we all in agreement that Andrew should not have taken you off the Milbury property?”
“He merely thought to find a quiet, shady spot,” she said in mild protest, for Fiona did have a point. “We weren’t far from here when James caught up to us.”
Fiona frowned. “Not far? You were on the road to Brighton. What was he to think?”
Ah, James must have given Fiona his version of events while she was upstairs changing into dry clothes. How else would she have known the details?
Which meant James must have come downstairs already.
But where was he now? For that matter, where was Andrew? Hopefully the pair were not coming to blows because of her.
No, she would have heard furniture toppling or vases shattering.
Besides, James was never going to behave in an unseemly fashion while his sons were around.
Although they were presently on the beach with Fiona’s husband, who was doing his best to distract them.
Still, James was not going to risk upsetting the lads.
“We had stopped beside a stream to talk,” Gwendolyn replied. “Andrew wasn’t carrying me off anywhere. What else did James tell you?”
“Nothing more. He returned upstairs to see that Andrew was properly attended to. Do you think for a moment Andrew would have shown James this same courtesy?”
“Yes, he would have,” Gwendolyn shot back, for this was what she found most frustrating about everyone’s comments.
True, her betrothed had not behaved well over the years. He’d made little effort to get back in contact with her despite knowing how much she had loved and missed him. But this did not mean he was an unfeeling ogre.
After all, he had not been spending his time in taverns or cavorting with ladies of ill repute.
Was it not a point in his favor that he had been helping desperate families regain what had been lost to them throughout the French upheavals?
He was now Viscount Winterbrook because of his valiant efforts.
The two men marched in with frowns on their faces, looking as though they were ready to come to blows at any moment.
Gwendolyn shot to her feet, knowing they had to be separated fast. “Andrew, escort me into the garden where we may continue our discussion in private.”
Andrew cast James a triumphant smirk.
“But we shall remain in full view of everyone,” she added. “I mean it, Andrew. You are not in my good graces. I assure you, I am not going to leap into your arms.”
That took the gloating grin off his face.
James cast her a questioning look.
She avoided his glance because she had no answers for him yet.
Gwendolyn walked into the garden with Andrew, but they had just settled on one of the stone benches near the rose beds when he turned to her with a scowl.
“What is going on between you and Milbury? Have I been wasting my time all these years by dreaming of you, working toward a brighter future for us?”
“I am his matchmaker and I only came down here to assist him in planning a house party, but that is neither here nor there. It is your behavior that is in question, not mine. I searched high and low for you for years, made countless trips to the War Office, hospitals, scoured the death lists, begged your family for information. Why did you never seek me out? How were you planning a brighter future for us when you never once asked me what I wanted?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I assumed you wanted me.”
“I did,” she replied, her heart painfully hitching once again because she had loved him so desperately ever since they were children. But she wasn’t feeling the same breathless euphoria when looking at him now.
Perhaps her anger and resentment were clouding her judgment. This was why she needed time away from both men, time to rid her mind of all clutter and consider them dispassionately.
Not that she meant to go about it coldly. She just needed some room to breathe.
Andrew was on his feet and pacing in front of her. “What do you know of Milbury? You are piling all this judgment on me, but what of your perfect marquess? In hindsight, I may have made some mistakes. But what about him? Has he told you all his secrets?”
“What secrets?” she said in a huff. “He’s told me everything I need to know about him.”
Andrew gave a bitter laugh and paused in front of her with his hands on his hips. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She got to her feet and scowled at him. “He’s a widower and doing an excellent job of raising his children on his own. He’s smart, considerate. Compassionate. He knows how to be a good husband. He and his first wife had a strong and abiding love marriage.”
“So you think he intends to have the same with you? If that is so, then ask him about Cordelia.”
“Who?
Andrew threw his head back and laughed. “I knew it—he never said a word about her. Oh, this is so precious.”
Gwendolyn’s stomach sank to the floor. Suddenly, she did not feel so confident of herself. “Who is she?”
“Oh, no. I am not going to answer that for you. I’ll leave it to your sainted Milbury to explain. Ask him, Gwen. Ask him and see his face go ashen when he realizes you’ve learned of her. His ugly, dark secret.” He shook his head and laughed again. “You think he is so perfect.”
“I never said he was.”
“You may not have said it, but until this very moment, you believed it. Well, he isn’t.
He has been lying to you all along. Once he tells you about Cordelia, you won’t want anything to do with him.
Not ever again.” He let out a breath. “But I will take you back once you know that Milbury has no place in your life. I will take you back and we can get on with our lives because we were meant to be together.”
Her insides churned, for she was riled and overset.
What had James not told her?
Andrew crossed his arms over his chest, his expression smug. “Go on, Gwen. Ask him. I’ll wait out here for your return.”
She did not want to give him the satisfaction. But now that he had raised the matter, she had to know the truth.
Who was Cordelia? And why hadn’t James ever said anything about her?