Gwen awoke with a sense of guilt to find an unblinking Buttercup on the bed beside her, staring as if to criticize her for what she had done the previous night.
“Do not look at me that way.”
Buttercup’s slender snout twitched, and she whined in the back of her little throat, before rising to drop onto the floor and run out the door. Perhaps the dog needed the necessary, Gwen mused. She had certainly left in a hurry.
Gwen flopped over onto her back and thought about what she had done. Would it injure her father’s pride if he knew she had disclosed the truth of the Yorkshire property to Aidan? He had asked her a direct question, and she was poor at obfuscation. Her inherent honesty had the confession leaving her lips without fully intending to do so, but Aidan was bound to discover the truth at some point.
Being a member of high society was frustrating. There were so many constraints on behavior. The property belonged to Papa. It was his to sell. Why that had to be an embarrassment was ridiculous, but after the sale of that estate, her father had only the small London estate where they lived. In the eyes of thebeau monde, that barely made him a landowner.
And everyone knew that there was nothing more important, more lauded, than being a landowner.
She supposed it was fortuitous that she was to marry. If word that the property had been sold got out, she would have been even less desirable than before. Their connections were weak, their wealth limited, and now her father only owned the one property.
Gwen suspected why her father was selling off his assets, but he had been close-lipped about it, even to her.
“Do not concern yourself, Gwendolyn. I know what I am doing.”
Gwen turned over, watching as Octavia opened the drapes to reveal the morning light. She hoped he did, but what could she do but trust him? For years, her father had insisted that the right man would come along, and somehow, he had been proved right.
“Word of your wedding is out,” announced Octavia.
Gwen looked up at her lady’s maid, whose head appeared to precariously balance on her shoulders from this angle. Sighing, Gwen pushed herself into a seated position to lean against the headboard.
“Apparently, it’s a love match,” Octavia continued.
Gwen huffed a laugh. “That is a bit rich. We only just met the night of the …” She waved a hand, unwilling to state the details.
“I have it on good authority that Lady Astley is telling everyone that Lord Abbott is smitten with your red hair.”
Gwen frowned, disconcerted. “Does he have a history of chasing women with red hair?”
Octavia shook her head. “He has no reputation in regard to women. Lord Abbott returned from his Grand Tour a couple of months ago, and until the ball, his name had not been linked with anyone.”
Noticing that Gwen had raised an eyebrow at her, Octavia shrugged. “I checked again. No history of redheads. No history at all.”
Gwen swallowed, staring down at her hands. “Do you think … that he is genuinely enthralled with me?”
Octavia leaned down and gave her a hug. “I do.”
“Would it be so! Imagine if we could be faithful partners and have many children together. Gareth would be an uncle, our family would grow, and Papa would have grandchildren. We have all been so lonely since Mama—” Gwen broke off, her throat thick with tears. “I could teach them?—”
The maid straightened up. “Just like Mrs. Smythe did.”
Gwen swiped the tears from her lashes, nodding. “Just so.”
“It’s well deserved, you hear! All these Seasons, I knew you were a catch. We were just waiting for the?—”
“Right man.” They said it together, before looking at each other and chuckling.
“Mr. Smythe said he would appear. The master said there’d be a gentleman who was overcome by your magnificence, and the perfection of your mind, and would fall at your feet … and he was right.”
“Papa is an eternal optimist.”
Octavia grinned, baring her crooked teeth. “What’s the alternative, Gwendolyn Smythe?”
Gwen pulled a face, trying to think. “To be an embittered old bat?”
A shout of laughter followed. “That’s right! The alternative is to be Lady Astley.”
