Chapter 18
Once again ensconced in her mistress’s chamber at the smaller Edendale townhome, Rosalind shook out the deep blue velvet gown that she admired above all the others. She laid it flat over the bed and brushed any stray ripples from the fabric. Thankfully, due to the brief nature of this trip, they had left Gwendolyn’s troublesome pups at home, and they would not be mussing it this time.
Perhaps someday Rosalind might own a gown like this. One never knew. She had worked hard to better herself. She could read and write a bit, spoke a dash of French, knew her way around manners and fashions. Hadn’t Sir Allen of Ellsworth begun his life as a country villager much as Rosalind herself? Yet he would soon be a duke. A duke! Life was a mountain stream, full of the most amazing twists, turns, and plunges into the unknown.
But the thought of plunges pulled her attention toward Lady Gwendolyn, who was still caught in her deep abyss. Although her imprisonment had ended more than a week ago, one would never know it from the look of her.
She sat hunched over a small writing desk with her features hanging low. Crumpling a piece of paper in her hand, she let out a moan and tossed it over her shoulder.
Rosalind picked up the paper and held it toward her mistress. “Are you quite finished with this, then?”
“I have written nothing that might help.”
“I told you the list was worthless.” Rosalind did not need to read it to know what it said, for they had discussed the issue over and again throughout the last days. “You would never survive the sedate lifestyle of a nun, forest outlaws end up hanging from the gallows, and I shall not suffer you to dive headlong from the tower.”
“But what is left for me, Rosalind? Wherever shall I go from here?”
“For tonight you thank the good Lord that you are free from your imprisonment and of the proper class to enjoy a dinner at the grand castle. The duchess seems to like you. Perhaps you shall find an ally there.”
“I am certain Duchess Adela has bigger concerns than my future. Like her deceased husband and her upcoming nuptials.” Gwendolyn moaned again and buried her face against her knees.
“I know your heart is broken. But look at it from a different angle. For the first time in your life your heart is also awakened. Go, eat, socialize. All the nobles of the region shall be there. Perhaps you will meet someone new.”
“Do you truly think so?” Gwendolyn’s eyes pleaded with Rosalind for reassurance.
“Of course. Allen was your first infatuation. We all must have one. And we all must cleanse that first girlish impulse from our hearts to search for something more lasting and true. Now that you’ve experienced attraction, you will most assuredly be more open to it in the future.” Rosalind would do well to take her own advice.
Gwendolyn cocked an eyebrow. “I notice how neatly you dance about the word we both know to be true. Love. Before word of his engagement reached us, I was deep in the throes of falling in love with Sir Allen.”
Rosalind nodded to the gown. “Come and dress. It shan’t be long now.”
“Do not avoid this issue.” Gwendolyn stood and approached nonetheless.
“’Tis just that I do not in fact know that you’re in love.” Rosalind tugged off Gwendolyn’s casual kirtle over her head. “Love does not happen in an instant. That sort of love is the stuff of fairy stories. If you ask my opinion, you do not know him well enough to be in love with him.”
Gwendolyn glared at Rosalind as she prepared the blue velvet.
“Arms,” Rosalind ordered and tossed the gown overtop Gwendolyn.
From beneath the thick fabric emerged Gwen’s retort. “Well, ’tis a good thing I did not ask your opinion.” Then her head poked through the hole.
“Turn around.”
Gwendolyn did as instructed and leaned against the bedpost. Rosalind pulled the laces down the back much tighter than she recalled doing previously. Her mistress had lost weight between her imprisonment and her melancholy mood, but she still appeared lovely with her well-toned curves.
Finally secured tightly in the dress, Gwendolyn turned back to Rosalind, her eyes beseeching once again. “I do know Sir Allen. I know that he is honest and forthright. I know that he is virtuous and kind. I know that he is the only man, besides my brothers, who has ever treated me like an equal worthy of respect. What else would you have me know?”
Rosalind had no answer to that. Romantic fancy aside, Gwendolyn’s reasoning was quite sound. No need to point out he was no longer available, for Gwendolyn knew that all too well. Instead Rosalind made a few small adjustments to the gown and added a low-hanging belt of gold around her mistress’s hips. “Perfect. And this color is ideal for a castle still in mourning.”
Gwendolyn brushed her hand over the costly velvet. “This is my favorite gown. I almost do not hate it.” She gave a wry smile.
“Go and show your mother. See what she thinks of the belt. I wanted to give the gown a different look this time. Too bad we did not have the opportunity to make a new one.”
Gwendolyn waved the notion away as she headed toward the door. “Neither nuns nor outlaws have need of more gowns.”
“Nor dead women splattered upon the courtyard.” Rosalind wiggled her brows.
At that Gwendolyn laughed outright and turned down the hall.
Only then did Rosalind allow her mind to verbalize the thought that had been screaming from the edges of her consciousness for the past hour.
Sick!
Her stomach ached and her limbs felt weighted with lead. How she longed to lie upon Gwendolyn’s feather mattress and sink into oblivion. Why could she not shake this annoying ailment? At least she had managed not to pass it along to Gwendolyn. She could not let her mistress, nor more importantly Lord or Lady Barnes, know how ill she had been this past week. Servants were not allowed such luxuries as sickness, and she could never hurt her mother and siblings by losing this much-needed income.
She spied under the bed to make sure the chamber pot remained nearby in case she lost the contents of her stomach.
Rallying herself, she straightened the jars and pins upon the table in preparation for Gwendolyn’s hair and face. Just another hour and the family would be gone for the evening. Then Rosalind could rest.
By some small miracle she had managed to escape indictment over the tournament incident. It seemed Lord and Lady Barnes had been too upset with Gwendolyn to give much thought to a mere maid, and if anything, seemed to consider her a steadying force.
However, Rosalind might well bring destruction down upon herself.
She could not go home to her mother in defeat. She would not lose her position in this family. She would hold tight to her future, to the bright path she had chosen. Beyond all that, she would not give up the chance to see Sir Hugh and snuggle into his strong arms and press her lips to his once again.
Gwen glanced nervously about the ornate room with its tall pillars. This one was smaller than the great hall, where the feasts had been held, yet far more elaborately bedecked. Enormous tapestries in deep earthy tones hung from ceiling to floor, covering most of the walls, and a roaring fire blazed in a mammoth hearth. But none of that could warm her chill-cold soul.
Tonight she would see Allen for the first time since his engagement, and she knew not how she would bear it.
“Do not just stand there like a ninny.” Her father gave her a shove from behind. She stumbled through the giant archway onto the polished marble floor.
She turned and frowned at him. “I was collecting myself.”
“The only thing you need to worry about collecting is a powerful son-in-law for me.”
How was everything always about Father? As if he were the earth about which the sun and moon spun. Gwen stopped herself from shaking her head. Perhaps a lesson on the mythical Narcissus was in order, but she would not be the one to deliver it.
“We are in no rush, my love.” Mother rubbed Father’s arm and attempted to smooth his mood.
“Please excuse us. I need to speak with Lord Fulton.” Reginald led his mousy wife, Katherine, even more a shadow of herself than usual, away.
But Gwen ceased to pay attention to them. There he was. Across the room. With his hand pressed to the small of the duchess’s back. Dipping his head close to the lovely lady to better heed her.
Gwen’s stomach seized into a tight knot. She managed not to clutch her belly. Instead she merely winced and took a deep breath.
When first she met Allen and he had such a strange effect upon her, she had feared some sort of sickness had struck her. Now she knew for certain. She was indeed sick. Love was the most soul-crushing malady of them all. What a fool she had been to fall under its spell. She blinked back tears and pulled herself up straight and tall.
Father smiled her way. It seemed that since choosing the hulking Gawain for her, he had abandoned his quest to shrink her into oblivion. As if he had read her mind, he said, “Where is that Gawain tonight? I am anxious for you to renew your acquaintance. Be sure to sit by him at dinner. That shall allow you ample time to converse. You will like him, I am sure. He and I are much alike.”
At that moment a flash of black headed in her direction. A subdued but still gracious Duchess Adela held out her hands as she approached Gwen.
Gwen moved to meet her and took her hands with a squeeze. “Your Grace.”
“There you are,” the duchess said. “Sir Allen, I believe you have met my friend Lady Gwendolyn.”
“Indeed.” Coming up behind her, Allen offered a tight smile that seemed to hide a pained expression.
“Nice to s-see you again, Sir Allen,” Gwen stuttered. Pain sliced through her head to match the look on his face and complement the growing ache in her stomach.
“I have been hoping to speak with you.” The duchess shifted to include Gwen’s parents in the conversation. “Good evening, Lord Barnes, Lady Barnes. I am so glad you could make it. Your daughter is quite the breath of fresh air about this place. I have been thinking ever since the tournament, and I would appreciate it if you would consider lending her to me for a while as an attendant. Right now, of all times, I could use a cheerful companion.”
What was that small flicker in Gwen’s heart? Hope? She could not dare to hope, so she snuffed it out. And none too soon, based on her father’s countenance.
His face flushed bright red. “I . . . well . . . of course. . . .”
“What my husband means to say,” Mother interrupted with easy charm, “is that Gwendolyn is already past marriageable age. I am afraid with him being gone so oft, we neglected her in this area, and would not wish to do her any further injustice.”
“Oh, I see.” Disappointment tinged the duchess’s voice, but Allen seemed to relax a bit.
During that brief moment of hope, Gwen had not thought so far as to realize that being the duchess’s companion would put her in close proximity to Allen on a regular basis as well. But it would still have been better than marriage to Gawain.
“Do not misunderstand.” Mother reached out to touch the duchess’s arm. “You are welcome to her through the time of her engagement, and if her husband approves, perhaps after that as well.”
The duchess smiled. “That would be lovely. Gwendolyn, do you ride? I realize many ladies do not, or at least do not confess to it, but I have been desperate for a gallop through the woods since my husband’s death and require a companion to do so. I had a feeling you might not be a stranger to horses.”
Father’s vein pulsed, but Gwendolyn answered nonetheless. “Since you asked, my brothers took me out riding a time or two.”
“Or two hundred?” The duchess’s merry laugh reached out to Gwen. “Yes, I am well versed in such stories.”
What a cheerful lady the duchess was, even now in her grief. To Gwen’s dismay, she realized that Allen would be blessed to marry this woman.
“And she plays the pipe,” Father added in desperation. “Do not forget she plays the pipe.”
“Indeed, I remember. Would you play for us tonight?” the duchess asked.
Gwen looked around the room. This selective gathering was still fairly large, but a performance would soothe her father. Not to mention sweep her away to that magical place, as her music always did. “I could do that, I suppose, if time allows.”
“It shall.” The duchess smiled her assurance.
“You should have told me you wished to ride,” Allen said to the duchess. “I could have taken you.”
“Well, it might not be proper until we are wed.” The duchess had to tip up her head to meet Allen’s gaze. “But perhaps the three of us might all go together on the morrow. What say you to that, Gwendolyn?”
Gwendolyn’s throat grew dry and tight. “A ride. Tomorrow. How . . . how lovely. Perhaps I shall bring my maid along as well.” For she would desperately need the moral support.
“Perhaps we shall take our bows and try a little hunting while we are out there.” The duchess winked.
“And she embroiders. Trim!” Father pointed to the embellishments sewn upon Gwen’s collar somewhat pathetically.
Just then Gawain came crashing into the room with his too-bold energy and his too-loud voice. “Your Grace.” He flung the words to the duchess, and just as quickly turned his attention to Gwen.
“So there is the lovely lady.” He snatched her hand up for a kiss, his glossy black hair falling across it, and she wished to spit upon him in return. “I hope you will be dining with me tonight.”
“I assume so,” was the most polite response she could conjure.
“Dear me.” Duchess Adela pressed a hand to her cheek. “I am afraid you must forgive me, for I made other arrangements. Lady Gwendolyn, I wish for you to sit at our table, and I prepared for my knight, Sir Randel Penigree, to escort you. I hope that will not cause any trouble.”
“Of course not,” Father ground out from between clenched teeth.
Gawain simply glowered.
“How kind of you,” Mother said. “What an honor you do our daughter.”
The duchess wrapped an arm around Gwen’s waist and hustled her away from the uncomfortable scene. She whispered up to Gwen’s ear, “I assumed you might wish to be rescued from that oaf, but if I am wrong, it is not too late to correct the situation.”
Relief flooded Gwen. “No, you are absolutely correct.”
“Then allow me to introduce you to Sir Randel. He is the most good-hearted knight in my employ, and I suspect perfect for you.”
“Oh, we have known each other since . . . ” But as they approached the pleasant man leaning against the long ornate table, Gwen was not sure she knew him at all.
Where were the big feet? The gangly neck? The awkward nose? Though of course the face was familiar, it seemed Randel had grown into his features to a degree she had not anticipated. And although he had a more slender build than Allen, he stood to nearly the same height. He wore his dark brown hair cropped close, as always, but his skin was now smooth rather than spotted. In one aspect he remained entirely familiar though; his warm brown eyes still glowed with kindness and intelligence.
How had she not noted these changes before? She had seen him several times over the past year. And of course at the recent tournament and feast, but she had been intent only on outrunning him.
“Sir Randel,” the duchess said, “may I present your dinner companion, Lady Gwendolyn Barnes.”
Randel swiveled from the duchess to Gwen and back, and then a smile burst forth upon his face to rival Allen’s grin of pure sunshine. “What a wonderful surprise. And this meets with your approval, Lady Gwendolyn?”
“Absolutely.” Gwendolyn offered a warm smile in return. Indeed, how could she resist?
“We shall leave you two to get acquainted while we greet more of our guests.” The duchess bustled off with Allen. He offered one backward glance of support before they melted into the crowd.
Randel scratched his head. “You need not feel stuck with me, you know.”
“And you need not feel obliged to offer for my hand just because my brother asked you to, you know,” Gwen retorted with a saucy quirk of her brow.
The hollows of Randel’s cheeks turned an attractive shade of plum, quite different than Father’s ugly red flush of anger. Randel’s face might not be as strongly chiseled as Allen’s, but Mother had been correct. He was quite nice to look at.
“Um . . . I am not sure what to say to that. Are you not supposed to feign oblivion to such issues?” He chuckled and shuffled his foot like a young lad, reminding Gwen that he was only two years her senior. The same age as Allen.
Maintaining a steady gaze, she awaited his answer. She would not play the coquette with Randel. Either he would like her for her true self or not at all.
He met her gaze. “I confess your brother spoke with me, but I did not approach your father out of obligation.”
“Then why?”
Randel glanced away, but then focused on her again. “Gwennie . . .”
His use of her childhood name softened her, and without forethought she melted from her determined stance into a decidedly more feminine silhouette.
“Gwennie, I have always admired you, always adored you as a sister. Surely you know that. But over the last few years, those feelings have shifted. I might have approached you sooner had I not felt certain you would laugh in my face.”
Though tickled by his statement, she restrained herself from laughing now. “Smart of you.”
He shook his head. “But when Hugh came to me and told me your father was determined to see you wed, I realized how important it would be to you to find a man who would allow you to remain your real self and not attempt to domesticate you.”
Gwen gulped down a lump in her throat. She had not expected any of this. “Smart indeed.” And direct. So very direct—precisely as she preferred.
“I’ve always thought you something of a hero, and I would not see you changed.”
Now she had no idea what to say. Perhaps she had underestimated Randel on every account.
“I know you do not feel for me in that way.” He reached out and took her hand. “I know you have always thought me silly and weak, but I have grown up as well. Let us start anew and see where this relationship might take us. What say you to that?” He bowed and offered a gallant kiss upon the back of her hand.
Although the kiss did not overwhelm her with a shower of tingles, gentle warmth flowed through her at his touch. The warmth of lasting friendship and heartfelt appreciation. Perhaps Rosalind had been right. She barely knew Sir Allen. But she did know Randel—at least his heart, if not this new more handsome form. Perhaps she should give him a chance.