Two

Gwendolyn

( weeks prior, 24 October 1814)

I simply misjudged freedom to feel more like the breeze on a balmy summer day, or the first sip of a soothing cup of warm chocolate, yet the conflicting emotions that stirred within my breast yielded neither one of those sentiments.

The slight wrinkle above my mother's nose appeared cavernous as father's rumbling voice bellowed, "Did you hear me, Gwendolyn?"

I glanced between them both as they stood before me and nodded. What did they expect me to say?

"There is more."

This explained the tautness in the air. The thick unspoken words. How could there be more? They just informed me that my betrothed met his demise this morning.

"He, uh…" Father strode toward the window and, with every footfall, his fists clenched and unclenched. Mother's eyes shifted downward to the lace handkerchief gripped tightly in her fingers. Everything around me seemed to progress at a turtle's pace.

"Tell me." I parted my lips long enough to fill my lungs with fresh oxygen. Josiah Matthews could not humiliate me any more than he already had in the one year of our betrothal. How could his offenses I secreted away inside my mind get any worse?

"He…" Father cleared his voice. "He was bested in a duel."

I steadied myself. There were very few reasons a duel occurred, and most of them surrounded the fairer sex.

"And the woman in question?" I asked, steeling my tone.

Mother and Father exchanged looks. They could hardly keep this from me. At twenty years old, I could locate a gossip column if I must. No doubt the tongues of the beau monde were wagging, and the quills were scratching at this very moment. "Tell me."

Mother's voice cracked. "Lady Cora Braxton."

The Earl of Chutney's beautiful wife of nine months.

A fire ignited in the deepest corner of my soul. I glimpsed her once at a ball and caught only the tail end of her flirting with Josiah. Shortly thereafter, he excused himself. It took mere minutes and my overly curious mind to discover them in a compromising position. I never revealed myself to the couple or ever confessed to what I observed, but the recollection stirred a timeworn ache in my chest. Back then, I never imagined he could harm me. How na?ve I was.

"Is that all?" I inquired, affixing a tepid look on my face. "May I be excused?"

"Is that all?" Father circled around with a fierceness I hadn't seen for some time. "That man has disgraced this family immeasurably."

I pressed my teeth together. "And fortunately for us, there will not be a next time."

Father's complexion grew splotchy and red. Slamming his fist against the windowsill, he shouted, "His family should pay for risking your reputation and marring our family name!" The crystals in the three-tiered Baroque chandelier above our heads rattled with his outburst.

I agreed. However, Josiah's history of disgracing me, and my parents by relation, was hardly news. While Father hinted at other humiliations, I believed the veritable quantity of Josiah's indiscretions remained unknown. For heaven's sake, I could not even list them all.

"I am released of my obligation to him and that family. This is something to celebrate." I seized another quick intake of breath and, with a few rapid blinks, I forced the tears that threatened to fall back inside. My parents would never see me cry over that man.

Mother sniffled. "He may have ruined your chances at an advantageous marriage, Gwendolyn." Her fingers continued to tremble as she picked up her teacup. The cup clinked warily against the saucer. "Does that not trouble you?"

"I am free, Mother, and that is all that matters." I dipped into a curtsy and walked out of the parlor. Once I confirmed they did not follow me, I fled up the stairs and entered my third-floor bedchamber. Fumbling along the wall for the key, I locked the door behind me. Leaning against the wooden panel, I wilted and slid to the floor as my tears came unfurled. The ache within my breast came not from the demise of my intended, though it should have, had I any compassion for him. It came for other reasons—ones forced upon me like lies, deceit, and rejection. All were emotions I never believed I would have to endure from someone I was bound to share a life with. I should have taken pride in how I disciplined my foolish heart to be impenetrable, despite Josiah's proficiency at being both astute and cunning.

And I wept for his dear mother.

How, in a world of prying eyes and loose lips, Josiah managed to keep his secret tête à têtes from reaching her ears, I did not know. Even my own parents, who heard rumblings now and again, were unaware of the extent of his liaisons. The cunning wolf wore a gentlemen's coat, much like the sheep's clothing in the tales from Aesop's Fables. No matter how nefariously he behaved, his wit and charm earned him quick forgiveness amongst the upper class.

I reached for the handkerchief tucked in the pocket of my morning dress and wiped my eyes. Three years ago, I entered society for my first Season. At seventeen, the characterization of being young, na?ve, and fresh to the London scene befitted me, and the glamour, beauty, and appeal blinded my discernment.

I meticulously spent a lifetime preparing in decorum, simply for the purpose of marrying a man of high standing. Then, a little over one year ago, my father and His Grace, the Duke of Chilton, arranged for Josiah, and I to wed this coming March—an event touted to be the wedding of the Season.

I remember that first moment I laid eyes on Josiah, known to the peerage as the Marquess of Devon, claiming one of his father's lesser titles as the heir apparent. I, like many others, became enamored with the striking man who commanded attention in every room he entered. His clever dress and smooth demeanor drove every woman to a near swoon, and his enigmatic effect swept me along with the masses.

Despite the reasons for the lengthy engagement never being disclosed to me, Josiah's charm captivated me, and the delay did not hinder him from stealing a kiss here and there, sharing poetic words, or pursuing my time. He said all the right things, did all the right things and then, somehow, the whisperings caught up with me. Women huddled in corners of the ballrooms, hid behind painted fans at musicales, and avoided me at dinner parties, but it wasn't until the looks turned to pity that I paid more attention.

Did you see how friendly the Marquess of Devon and Lady Ophelia were last night? They were quite cozy in the corner, would you not say?

To not capture your betrothed's full attention must be quite shameful. How is Lady Gwendolyn going to keep the marquess in her bed?

Did you see the look Devon gave that young miss when she arrived? She nearly swooned on the spot. His charm does not cease .

Night after night, week after week, similar chatter regaled society. And over time, I mastered public indifference. Hours of practicing propriety in finishing school granted me the skills to erase emotion or, at the very least, orchestrate it. I learned in the most arduous way that if I was to survive the piercing shards of the peerage's razor-sharp strikes, I must appear as though they are ineffectual.

I wiped my eyes and took steadying breaths as the side door to my maid's antechamber opened and Daphne entered. "Oh, my lady," she cried and rushed over to me. "I came the moment I heard." She lifted me to my feet and led me to the edge of my bed. "He was the worst of men," she growled. "He got what he deserved."

She poured water from a pitcher into a basin and moistened a linen. Sitting beside me, she cupped my chin with one hand and wiped my cheeks with the soft fabric in the other.

In her three years of service as my abigail, Daphne had proven herself adept at keeping my confidences. No other person besides her, and my dear friend Julia, knew how much I truly abhorred Josiah Matthews.

Daphne gripped both my hands and shook them for my full attention. "Do not let him steal one more moment of your life, my lady." She squeezed. "Bury his perfidies with him."

My mind heedlessly wandered over the last year when my indifference reached proportional heights and garnered additional comment.

No wonder he must seek affection elsewhere. She is as frigid as they come.

If a man that enchanting can't thaw her, nobody can.

And the one that sealed my nickname irrevocably.

People will only ever know Lady Gwendolyn for her chilliness—the Ice Princess of London.