Twelve

Gwendolyn

18 November 1814

The next two days, I could not seem to get the insufferable Hunter Matthews out of my head. He had commandeered a perfectly satisfying evening of cards with his manly presence and somehow enchanted my friends into thinking he posed no harm. Just this morning on our customary walk, Julia, who was aware of my suffering with Josiah, asked about my wedding progress and all Davina could say was, "The marquess is simply dashing."

I fisted my hands at my side and paced vexingly in my bedchamber, passing by my easel and blank canvas. Nearby, my paints were stacked in an orderly fashion according to color and my horse, minx, and rabbit hair art brushes were methodically arranged from fine to coarse, simply waiting for me to engage. Julia had recently passed along a new poem, but my hindrance did not stem from my materials… I struggled to focus. Drat that man, for not only had he audaciously consumed my mind, but he has also stripped me of the joy of my favorite pastime as well.

"Lady Gwendolyn?" Charles appeared in the doorway.

"Yes?" I almost hesitated with fear each time he presented himself. What horrid gift might the marquess bestow next? A donkey? An elephant? Something that slithered from the menagerie?

"You have a guest, my lady."

I froze. Would he dare come in person?

"Who—who is it?"

"Lady Wendle."

I sighed. Thank goodness.

I approached the parlor, composing myself before I entered. I hadn't seen my aunt since last June. Mother said she arrived in London a few days ago, a significantly early appearance for her. She usually made her debut after the Season's events were in full swing.

"Aunt Meredith!" I practically ran to her, lightly kissing her cheek. In recent years, my favorite aunt had been widowed and became quite wealthy, having inherited all from her husband. And despite being alone, she seemed happy as far as I could tell. Something I sorely desired.

"My darling Gwen, how pale you look. Are you well?"

I glanced over at my mother as she observed our exchange.

"I am quite well, thank you." If only we were alone, I could disclose the truth to Aunt Meredith. I yearned for her advice, especially on the subject of an unwanted husband.

She arched a quizzical brow. She knew me nearly as well as I knew myself and, while she most likely suspected the falsehood, she ignored it. She reached for my hands and gave them a firm pat. "I have come to offer my assistance for the wedding, love. These affairs never manage themselves you know." She winked mischievously.

I groaned inwardly. The very thing I hoped to prevent.

She narrowed her eyes this time. "Why the mournful countenance, my dear? You are about to marry into one of the finest families in all of England." She nudged me knowingly. "And from what I hear… the young lord cuts a dashing figure, to boot." She snorted with her characteristic laugh, causing a few strands of her fiery red hair to wobble and loosen.

My mother wrinkled her nose and her lips tightened into an indignant frown. As sisters-in-law, they were significantly different from one another.

My traitorous thoughts flew to the impeccable suit Hunter wore two nights' past. Indeed, he wore his ensemble well. His shoulders spread considerably broader than his brother's, but I doubted there was little else to notably distinguish the man.

I thought this knowing full well that wasn't true.

Not one time out in society had I witnessed Lord Devon deliberately flirt or encourage another woman. But then again, I had only seen him in a few select circumstances, the Season with all its potential debauchery still lay ahead of us.

"He is a Matthews," I mumbled. "There is little to celebrate."

"Well, he may not be the Lord Matthews you were meant for, but he is a passable replacement, is he not?" Aunt Meredith blinked several times as she waited for my answer.

"He is not." I slumped into the chair beside my aunt while my mother clicked her tongue against her teeth and shot me a silent warning.

"Gwendolyn is quite a dreary lot as of late." Mother inhaled through her nose as she rang her bell for tea. "She cannot see the man beyond the name."

"There is no man beyond the name!" I snapped a bit too loudly.

"Hush dear." Mother waved her hand. "You do not want the servants to hear you. You are quite aware the damage a tongue wag can do."

I folded my arms over my chest and protested. "How is it, Mother, that everyone somehow overlooks the detail that my affianced died in a duel, endeavoring to protect his lover! His married lover!"

Mother's cheeks paled, though she ignored me.

Aunt Meredith reached over and spoke pointedly, "Yes, but he is not the man you are marrying."

"No, it's his twin brother. You don't think they are alike in nearly all aspects? They shared the same womb, for heaven's sake." I knew my tantrum balanced precariously between immaturity and fear. But thus far, my attempts to find a way out of this marriage had failed miserably.

"Have you given him a chance to prove himself differently?" Aunt Meredith would not relent.

"They are not different, I assure you."

"Where is your evidence?"

"I am working on it, then I will reveal why I should not marry into that family."

"Hmm." Aunt Meredith gave me a curious look.

Charles appeared at the door and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Charles?" My mother pulled her eyes away from me and my aunt.

"Lady Gwendolyn has a delivery."

All eyes shot toward the doorway, and I held my breath.

When the footman stepped inside, he held an enormously round block of cheese.