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Of course Dara had questions for Gwendolyn when she walked in the door, the most immediate one being, “Did Mr. Steele make
an appearance?”
Gwendolyn took her time removing her bonnet and gloves. She handed them to Molly, who waited to carry them upstairs, because
apparently she was interested in the answer as well. Even Herald lingered. Carefully Gwendolyn said, “I met Lady Orpington’s
nephew. Mr. Curran.”
“Oh,” Dara said brightening. “That is interesting. I didn’t know she had a nephew. However, was Mr. Steele there?”
“Mr. Curran was the only man in the room.” Gwendolyn didn’t like her little fib, except she was tired of Dara dictating what
she should and shouldn’t do.
In truth, Gwendolyn often deferred to Dara. She kept the peace by going along... but not on this matter. She would not
let Dara interfere when her heart was involved, a heart that Mr. Steele wished to reject.
Fortunately, Dara didn’t press the matter. In stead, her active mind leaped to, “What did Lady Orpington want?”
“To invite me to Colemore for their house party next week.”
If an earthquake had shaken the very foundations of the house, Dara could not have acted more astounded. “Colemore?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
Her sister danced a jig. “Gwendolyn, this is spectacular. The people you will meet! The opportunities. I am so happy for you.
The Marquess and Marchioness of Middlebury are the very cream of the cream. They are even more important than Lady Orpington.
Did you know that a member of the Chaytor family rode with William the Conqueror? They say that he was the Conqueror’s right
hand, and many of the laws and rites we accept today were designed by him. They say he even helped lay out London’s streets.
No one outranks them, not even the House of Hanover.”
“They are more important than the king?” Gwendolyn said, not believing it.
“Oh, yes. Their bloodlines are pure.”
Gwendolyn made a dismissive noise. “I find it disturbing, Dara, when you talk about people as if they are broodmares.” She
started for the back sitting room. Of course her sister followed.
“In many ways we are,” Dara opined.
Gwendolyn hummed an answer. Herald had followed them and asked, “Tea? Sherry?”
“Definitely sherry,” Gwendolyn said. She went into the room and sat in a rocker chair. She closed her eyes. Her knee had brushed Mr. Steele’s thigh repeatedly during their journey. Except for the almost kiss in Dublin, she had never been so close to him. His shaving soap had a hint of spice. The scent of it would be what she dreamed about.
“Just to be certain I understand,” Dara said, interrupting Gwendolyn’s thoughts, “ you have been invited to the Colemore house party?” She was perched on the settee adjacent to the rocker.
“Yes. Lady Orpington will pick me up on Wednesday.”
“I don’t mean to sound as if I’m doubting you are worthy. You know that. But why? Out of the goodness of her heart?”
“She wants me to be her whist partner.” Gwendolyn told her sister of her ladyship’s desire to best Lady Middlebury while Herald
brought in sherry and poured a glass for each. He withdrew from the room. Great-Aunt Tweedie had gotten the sisters in the
habit of an afternoon sherry now that, because of Michael, they had the money to enjoy it.
“She could not have found a better partner,” Dara said. “How did she know of you?”
“Mr. Steele.”
Dara scowled as if this was what she feared. “Mr. Steele?”
“Yes, the invitation to the house party is the one he told me to expect.”
Dara sat still a moment. “I thought,” she said carefully, “that Lady Orpington’s invitation was the one to which he referred?”
“It was,” Gwendolyn answered breezily. “But then she invited me to Colemore as her partner.”
There was another heavy silence. Then—“And he was not at Lady Orpington’s?”
Gwendolyn did not hesitate this time in saying, “He was not.”
Her sister studied her. Gwendolyn ignored the accusing stare by focusing on her glass of sherry. She might need a second one
if Dara kept this up.
Dara broke the silence. “So, what is this Mr. Curran like? Do you think he has possibilities? If so, I can see what I can
learn about him.” Dara was very good at research. She devoured the social columns for tidbits on the illustrious people. That
was how she knew every detail of Viscount Morley’s prospects.
“None whatsoever,” Gwendolyn replied, because it was the best answer. She set her empty sherry glass on a side table and stood.
“I believe I shall go read.” It seemed the only sensible thing to do after such a frustrating conversation with Mr. Steele.
“Read? Oh, no, we have work to do. We must plot out what you shall be wearing. For one, you will need a habit,” Dara said,
proving to Gwendolyn that there were times when her younger sister did know best. “You have been saying you wish you could
ride. I imagine the Colemore stables have excellent horseflesh, and you will want to look your best. Have you heard of Lord
Ellisfield?”
“I have not.”
“He is the Middlebury heir and, I believe, around five and thirty.”
“Have we met him around London?”
“He doesn’t attend balls or take part in the Season,” Dara said. “However, he is one of the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom. They say he is very handsome. I have never met him, but when so many gossips make that claim, it is probably true.”
“Dara—”
“I know. You are not interested. But there may be someone at Colemore who will spark your interest, and you will wish to look
your best.”
Gwendolyn thought of Mr. Steele, and she smiled. “Where do you suggest we start?”
“You need a new day dress and, of course, several for country dinners. Of course, a new shawl or two can liven a dress.” Dara
reached for their small collection of The Lady’s Magazine stacked on a side table . It had fashion plates of the latest styles. The sisters used them as a pattern for their dresses in spite of them being a
year or two out of date. However, they lived in London. They noted what was all the rage and gave it a bit of their own individual
flair. For example, Gwendolyn preferred white and light pastel colors. She kept her designs simple, and it worked for her.
A few hours later, Tweedie found them with their heads together, sketching out a riding habit with gold-covered buttons and
braiding that would have made any officer envious.
In two days’ time, Michael returned home from his trip to Ireland to see that the riding habit was almost finished.
He was impressed with the news that Gwendolyn would be off to Colemore. “If you have the chance,” he said, “encourage Lord Middlebury to see to his duties in the Lords. His presence is much missed. Occasionally he sends Ellisfield, but not often enough.”
Dara lit up at the mention of Lord Ellisfield. “Making Michael’s request will give you the opportunity to catch Lord Ellisfield’s
attention. He’ll definitely notice you then.”
“Do you think either he or his father will listen to me?” Gwendolyn wondered.
“He hasn’t listened to any of our entreaties,” Michael answered. “You may have more sway. Especially in that blue habit.”
“ Marine blue,” she corrected him, but she knew he was right. She wore the habit well. Dara had even insisted they purchase a hunting
hat that was a feminized version of the one men wore. Gwendolyn had spent a morning sewing a gold ribbon band and pheasant
feathers to it. She adored the outfit’s sporting look.
Through all their preparations, Lady Orpington sent daily invites for Gwendolyn to play cards. This meant that Dara cut and
sewed the dresses practically herself. She didn’t complain. For all of Dara’s managing ways, she was truly quite generous
and wanted what was best for Gwendolyn.
And so it was that by Wednesday, Gwendolyn had a wardrobe that would do her proud. She couldn’t wait for Mr. Steele to see
her in the riding habit.
For travel, she chose a day dress of green-and-lavender sprigs on a light amber background that brought a glow to her skin.
She wore an emerald pelisse over it.
Her ladyship sent a coach for Gwendolyn’s luggage and Molly early that morning. Her ladyship’s personal coach arrived at ten o’clock sharp.
Gwendolyn took a moment to introduce Lady Orpington and Mrs. Newsome and even Magpie to Dara and Tweedie, and then, with much
waving and Dara’s calls for them to enjoy safe travels, they were off.
They were barely to the end of the street before Gwendolyn asked, “Where is Mr. Curran? I thought he would be traveling with
us.”
She had not seen Mr. Steele since their coach ride together.
“Nicholas?” Lady Orpington made a dismissive sound. She was busy directing Mrs. Newsome on how to set up the traveling card
table while holding Magpie up and out of the way. Apparently they would play whist all the way to Colemore. “He’ll be along.
You know how gentlemen are. They like to ride ahead.” The table up, she plunked Magpie into Mrs. Newsome’s lap, right on her
knitting. “You shall play the two hands against Vera and me.”
“But he will be joining us?” The thought had struck Gwendolyn the night before that Mr. Steele might change his plans. She didn’t want
that to happen. Not until he’d seen her in the riding habit. Her purpose might be to play cards, but her goal was to bring
the man to his knees, if at all possible.
“I suppose he will be joining us,” Lady Orpington answered. “Now, shall we play cards?”
Gwendolyn sighed and agreed.
They would be on the road for a good six hours. Colemore was in Kent. It wasn’t that far, but Magpie required numerous stops. Gwendolyn began to wonder if there was something very wrong with the dog. “No, she just likes to wee,” a slightly flustered Mrs. Newsome assured her. “Since Charles’s death, the world revolves around this dog, and Magpie takes full advantage. I’m surprised she doesn’t expect to be spoon-fed. My cousin would do so.”
They stopped by a winding brook for a lunch set up by the footmen. There were a table, chairs, white linens, and an excellent
repast of cold chicken, fruit, cheese, and bread. It was all washed down with a sweet cider.
On the road after such a repast, Lady Orpington opened a book, and both she and Magpie promptly fell asleep over it. Mrs.
Newsome had returned to her knitting, although she didn’t seem to be much further along on the brown blanket than she had
been last week. She stopped often to pick out stray Magpie hairs.
Gwendolyn’s intention was to stay alert for Mr. Steele... although she had not been sleeping well. The card playing, the
dressmaking, the adventure of her trip, coupled with the mystery that was Mr. Steele kept her awake at night. Even if she’d
been tired when she’d turned to her bed, all the what-ifs had kept her awake.
Until now.
It must have been the movement of the coach. She didn’t even remember dropping off into a deep sleep. It had just happened. One moment she was watching Mrs. Newsome’s fingers work her knitting needles, and in the next... she was riding a horse alongside a coach rolling through the woods. She was wearing the new habit, but her main concern was,
where was Mr. Steele? She’d expected him to be in the coach, but no one was there. And then she heard his low, rumbling voice,
and she tried to turn toward him —
Gwendolyn came awake with a small gasp for air that sounded suspiciously like a snort. A ladylike snort, but a snort all the
same.
She was scrunched in the corner of the coach. Her head had been bent at an awkward angle, and she feared that her mouth had
been gaping open.
Glancing around, she groggily realized that the coach wasn’t moving, and her two companions weren’t with her.
Gwendolyn sat up and then heard Lady Orpington say, “You may ride inside with us.”
“I’m fine on my horse.” The speaker was Mr. Steele.
The sound of his voice had not been a dream. He was here, and Gwendolyn’s immediate fear was that he had looked in the coach
and seen her sleeping as if she was some fishmonger’s wife dozing in the sun.
She attempted to check her appearance. Her first action was to be certain she no longer had drool on the corner of her mouth.
Some pins had come loose in her hair. She began pushing them in—
“Miss Lanscarr, you are awake.” Mrs. Newsome had poked her head in the coach. “Mr. Curran is here. Come join us. We were just taking a moment to stretch our legs and to give Magpie another break before we set off again.”
“Yes, of course.” Gwendolyn still sounded somewhat dazed. She reached for her bonnet from a hook on the wall and put a foot
out on the step beside the coach.
Lady Orpington was already walking down the road away from the coach with Mr. Steele at her side. His back was to her. A footman
followed with Magpie on a leash. The dog was not being obedient. Lady Orpington was oblivious.
Mr. Steele did not glance Gwendolyn’s way.
“Would you care to walk a bit with me?” Mrs. Newsome asked.
Her question made Gwendolyn realize she was staring at Mr. Steele’s retreating figure and probably with an anxious expression
on her face. Embarrassed to be so discombobulated, she nodded to the kind older lady and tied the ribbons of her bonnet under
her chin.
Mrs. Newsome didn’t wait but began walking in the opposite direction Lady Orpington had taken. Gwendolyn hurried to catch
her.
Mr. Steele was here. He’d finally arrived... and he was ignoring her. Gwendolyn knew that as clearly as she knew her own name. Even though
Lady Orpington had given her a nod, Mr. Steele hadn’t glanced in her direction, not even to say hello. Assuredly Lady Orpington’s
nephew Mr. Curran would have done so. It was only the polite thing to do.
In fact, his rudeness incensed Gwendolyn. Yes, he’d said that there was nothing between them, but that was not true . She’d caught the way he looked at her when he didn’t think she was watching. Granted, they hadn’t been around each other often—
“You can do much better,” Mrs. Newsome said in her perpetually pleasant voice.
“Much better than what?” Gwendolyn grumbled, knowing what she meant.
Apparently Mrs. Newsome understood that as well, because she didn’t explain. Instead she said, “We shall be at Colemore in
an hour or so. You will make a good impression. You are a lovely young woman but also a self-possessed one. Very few people
can hold their own around my cousin. She is quite imperial.”
“That is true.”
“However, you don’t bow to her. At the same time, you treat her with respect. She thinks highly of you. I do, too.”
Gwendolyn murmured a thank-you. The Lanscarr sisters had been bred to be well-behaved.
And then Mrs. Newsome said, “If you want Nicholas, you need to push him away.”
“That seems counterproductive.”
“Most men are counter-everything. Or at least, that has been my experience. Miss Lanscarr, it is not my place to offer advice,
but I feel I must. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and that is not where it belongs. First, Nicholas is—” She paused as
if searching for a word, then said, “Well, he might be a good man, but he seems rather feral.”
The description startled Gwendolyn. “What does that mean?”
“It means he believes he doesn’t need anyone. That happens sometimes when people are forced to rely on their own instincts. It is not an uncommon trait amongst men. They become either jaded or too confident in their own opinions. Sometimes both.”
“But feral?”
“Born in the wild. Left to his own devices. Same difference, wouldn’t you agree?” She didn’t wait for an answer but said,
“You and Nicholas met before he entered into this arrangement with my cousin. You are not strangers to each other.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The way his expression softened when he saw you sleeping in the coach. If it is any consolation, he’d been looking for you.”
The information was comforting and panic-inducing at the same time. “I was not at my best.”
Mrs. Newsome laughed. “You looked charming.”
“My mouth was open. I was sleeping with my mouth open.”
“Yes, it is very human.” She paused before saying, “But don’t make the mistake of thinking he is the only man for you. Because
he has a purpose in mind. Until he gets what he wants, there is no room for anyone in his life.”
Her words echoed Mr. Steele’s warning.
Coming from her, they also made sense. She was telling Gwendolyn to be wise.
And yet every fiber of Gwendolyn’s being rejected them.
“Be careful, Miss Lanscarr. I see our Nicholas’s attraction. He’s handsome and, yes, a touch dangerous. That is an allure, is it not? But he lives on the fringes of Society for a reason. If you pursue him, you might catch him, and you may regret doing so.”
Gwendolyn studied the ground, noticing the clover growing along the road among the grass. The toe of her walking shoe kicked
a gray pebble. She looked over to Mrs. Newsome. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because my cousin and I are growing fond of you. You have given her hope to reclaim her husband’s honor. I have not seen
her this animated since before his death. I, too, want you to defeat Lady Middlebury.”
“Because?”
It was Mrs. Newsome’s turn to look away, her expression pensive as if she debated something. Then she said, “You will understand
when you meet Lady Middlebury. My cousin makes excuses for her old friend, but the truth is, she is unkind. She isn’t a comfortable
woman.”
Gwendolyn frowned, uncertain of what she meant, but then Lady Orpington called out, “Come, Vera. We must be leaving.”
Turning, Gwendolyn saw that Mr. Steele was already mounted. The horse was a bay without a touch of white. Mr. Steele was dressed
in a black riding jacket and black breeches with black boots. This was the man she knew. One who liked to blend into the shadows.
And yet he appeared the perfect picture of a Corinthian and his beast. The horse pranced as if anxious to go. Mr. Steele held
his seat, as relaxed as if the horse was standing still.
Of course he would be an excellent rider.
One more thing to admire about him.
At her shoulder, Mrs. Newsome said quietly, almost urgently, “Also, I, too, once loved a man who wouldn’t promise to commit to me. At the time, I believed I loved him enough for both of us. I knew he cared about me as much as he could any other person.”
“Did it work?”
“Well, he married me.”
“And?”
“I loved him. Although I don’t believe he was ever happy or content. Too many demons surrounded him.”
“Where did that leave you?”
“Here, doing my cousin’s bidding. He left me because I wasn’t enough.” Mrs. Newsome took Gwendolyn’s arm, and they started
back to the coach.
When they were still not in earshot of the coach, Mrs. Newsome leaned close to Gwendolyn and whispered, “I always wished he’d
been fully mine. I regret I did not choose more wisely. Commitment is important, Miss Lanscarr. Commitment is all. Remember
that.”