Four
Gwendolyn
8 November 1814
Secreting out in the country at Fallswood Manor in Kent would have been preferable to remaining in Town, but Father's business associations required us to remain local despite parliament being on hiatus.
Last year, Father uncharacteristically explored investment opportunities outside his expertise with two additional peers. Despite never being privy to the details, I deduced a significant amount of information from the men's frequent visits to our home on Wimpole Street and the booming, arrogant voice of one associate, Sir Wallace Decklan. The man did not grasp the definition of a whisper. Their ventures? Rookery Breweries. Due to the fragility of the endorsement and its speculative nature, Father devoted his full attention to the undertaking. An entire year had now passed having not withdrawn to the beauty of Maidstone, and I yearned tremendously for the seclusion of Fallswood.
Before the Marquess of Devon's untimely demise, Father's associations balanced precariously on the shoulders of Lord Creighton, a fellow earl and chairman of Hoares Bank. Though Father's connections were long-standing, they were now on the precipice of dissolving because of the behavior of one insolent man and his involvement with his duplicitous lover.
The absurdity of this was that my family and I were innocent in all of this.
Josiah entertained many women, and the on dit suggested Lady Baxter was not the virtuous miss the Earl of Chutney married. Rumors claimed she never intended on consummating the marriage with a man thirty years her senior.
So why must our family pay the price for such foolishness?
With little good to call attention to in moments like this, I recognized our good fortune in the significant absence of members of the peerage, and most notably Prinny, the Prince Regent, from London. In addition, the notorious gossipmongers were certain to be in search of salacious rumors in the country and the quietness of Town brought a reprieve from being on the receiving end of every quizzing glass this side of the Thames.
"Oh, sweet Gwen." My darling friend, Lady Julia Greene, drew her hand from her muffler and wrapped her arm through mine as we walked through the solitude of Hyde Park. The light snow from the day before powdered the trees with a glistening sparkle as frozen particles stuck to the branches. The beauty of the chilled winter scene generated a mystical ambiance.
"My heart simply breaks for you." She leaned in. "It is utterly unfathomable that a woman as accomplished and beautiful as you must face such dire circumstances."
"I am a paragon of calamity." I sighed, being overly dramatic.
"If only you had wed Lieutenant Bently," she said with a sly smile. "He would have made a fine husband."
Julia referenced my youthful affection for Lieutenant William Bently. Of course, after four years at war, he could very well be Captain Bently now, but since his father's death the previous year, he may have been called home to take care of his family. No doubt I harbored a fond affection for him back then but, at the time, he considered me to be a mere child in his eyes.
"Then comes the incorrigible marquess… the man touted to be the catch of the Season," she grumbled, "Then rendered a betrayal of the highest order."
I pursed my lips when she said this and wondered just how many women caught the catch of the Season?
She led me off the well-trodden path to a more secluded corner. With earnestness in her eyes, she questioned, "What hope do the rest of us have, Gwen, if you cannot find your happy ending?"
"Josiah was not my happy ending, Jules," I snapped unfairly.
"I'm aware, but at one time you found him charming. You told me once you might find yourself in love with him once you were married."
"You know that statement preceded the truth of him. I hardly desired to be the one he was forced to be with simply for an heir. I much prefer to be the one a man treasures."
Julia pointed to a bench and urged me toward it. Brushing the flakes off the seat with her gloved hand, she invited me to sit. The thick wool of our pelisses prevented the chill from seeping through.
"Besides," I scowled, "you must stop making it sound as if I'm perfect. I am undoubtedly flawed, I promise you."
Julia went silent. Our treasured friendship spanned seven years. I knew I injured her with my curtness.
"For one…" I paused to see if she listened to my desperate attempt to win her favor again. "The birthmark on my ankle is most unsightly. You know, the one shaped like a nettle leaf. Two, I'm an oddity that paints with both hands, and three, I cannot for the life of me sneeze only once. To my eternal horror, it must be in threes."
When she smiled wider, I lovingly threaded an arm through hers. "Forgive me, Jules. I should never be cruel to you. You're my dearest friend." I tugged her closer and whispered past her bonnet. "And might I add stunningly beautiful and talented."
She smiled tentatively. Though I knew her to not be shy with me, she grappled with her self-confidence in the presence of others, which is why her greatest talent lay exclusively in the privacy of her bedchamber desk with a sheet of vellum, a stylus, a bottle of ink, and a jar of powder.
"When are you going to share your next poem with me?" I winked. "I truly adored the one about the blustery willow, and I'm nearly finished."
"But I only gave that to you last week."
"I've had plenty of time to work," I added with a frown. Though the Little Season offered sparse societal options, the invitations had slowed significantly in the two weeks since Josiah's death. I, for one, did not truly find this disappointing, but my mother clearly grieved over the misfortune of not being able to don her finest. She spent most of her days in her quarters with a persistent megrim.
With every poem Julia wrote, I immortalized it in paint. The emotion she put to words moved me similarly in color. Then, once I finished, she would take those paintings and donate them. She often tried to convince me to sell them, but she and I both knew that the daughter of an earl was not allowed to do such things, so with only the letter "G""
signifying my art, Julia shared the works anonymously throughout London and kept the destination unknown.
Julia giggled and leaned in. "I will write one to celebrate your release. The release from a lifetime of future heartache." She winked, then tapped her gloved finger against her lips. "Though I venture to say you cannot gift the painting, for it most certainly will bring you endless happiness." She laughed out loud, and I knew she had forgiven me.
I smiled in return. "I look forward to it."
Brushing my gloves over the fabric of my black skirt, I sighed. "This color is quite disheartening, is it not?" I declared. "Even in the beauty of the white winter, black conveys an ugliness that carries severe melancholy with it. I cannot wait to be rid of it."
"I assure you that you won't be forced to wear the dratted mourning attire when the Season begins, and most certainly not when you are courted by a new gentleman," she said, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Do not fret. You will once again be the belle of the ball."
"That is not what I seek, Jules."
She tilted her head in my direction. "What do you seek?"
Though I hesitated, the answer had always been the same.
"A reason to smile and laugh again."