Fluttering her eyes, Gwen attempted to clear the cobwebs and catch up to her flying thoughts. “Is what true?”
“You’re betrothed? To Lord Moreland’s heir?”
Gwen groaned, pulling the coverlet over her head to bury her face in her pillow. Last night had not been a dream, she surmised.
“Well? Are you to wed?” Octavia was relentless, clearly far too secure in her role as Gwen’s confidante these past seven years, so there were no boundaries to be observed between them. The thin servant of about forty years of age was hopefully pragmatic, sometimes crotchety, frequently crass in the privacy of Gwen’s bedroom, and she knew not where the class lines lay, but Gwen did not care because Octavia was always loyal and a close friend after so many years together.
“If Lord Moreland does not raise an objection and forbid the match, then I suppose I am to wed.”
“You allowed a gentleman to lay his hands upon you?”
Gwen groaned once more, burrowing farther into her pillow.
“And he kissed you? On the lips?”
“Go away!” Gwen recalled that she had champagne the night before, after her father had announced the betrothal and called for their guests to celebrate into the early hours.
Champagne!That must be why her head felt so dull this morning.
“I’m so impressed!”
Gwen frowned into her downy cushion, then slowly raised her head to scowl at Octavia. “Impressed?”
“You landed your gentleman by compromising him!”
Gwen tilted her head, her scowl altering into disbelief. “I did not compromise him! He laid his hands on me!”
Octavia shook her head, which was just a wee too big for her reed-thin body, not listening to a word Gwen was uttering. “I knew you could do it. I told everyone belowstairs that Gwendolyn Smythe is not destined to be on the shelf. Our mistress will take action to make sure it dinnit happen. The right man will notice her and she’ll get married, I told ’em.”
Gwen pulled a face. There it was again—the right man. Had everyone in her household been waiting for the arrival of the right man?
“That is sentimental claptrap! What is a right man?”
Octavia turned bulbous blue eyes to regard her in amazement, quirking her head as if to exclaim. “The man who realizes that you’re an original, of course. Lord Abbott is the one! Why else would he’ve followed you onto the terrace if not to pursue you?”
Gwen stared at Octavia, thunderstruck by what the maid had just voiced. Had Lord Abbott followed her onto the terrace? Gwen had been around the corner from the ballroom, in the deserted section outside her father’s study. How had he discovered her there unless he had followed her?
She shook her head. “That does not make sense! Why would Lord Abbott follow me?”
Octavia straightened up, her fists coming to rest on her waist, to scold Gwen from her towering position. The lady’s maid was a short woman, but she towered over reclining Gwen in an intimidating manner. “Because you’re a beautiful young woman. An original. He recognized your worth.”
Gwen pulled the coverlet back over her head. “That is ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not! Those girls at school were repugnant little arses. You should not heed the mockery of silly little children.”
“Not children. Married ladies of thetonwho are fond of reminding me of my shortcomings at every turn.”
Octavia snorted. “More like married tarts of theton! And who’re they to know? Their husbands keep mistresses on the side while they pretend all’s well. The footmen told me of the goings-on in the little drawing room down the hall.”
“So, Lord Abbott will marry me and discard me to seek his pleasure elsewhere.”
“Nay, this is different! Lord Abbott was so besotted, he trapped himself in marriage to taste your lips. This will be a love match!”
Gwen moaned in despair. “Sodding hell! That is what people will say. They will say this is a love match before they bray like hyenas at Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe marrying a future viscount.”
Silence fell. After several long moments, Gwen lowered the coverlet to find Octavia stewing. “I wish you’d stop paying heed to those women. They’re not experts on what a gentleman might be seeking. They’re only experts on what their mothers tell ’em because they’ve no minds of their own.”
Gwen twisted her lips in denial. “They are experts. On how to get married.”
