Gwen walked through the front door at Drakestone clutching the small container of cuttings in one hand and untying the sash of her cape with the other. She’d hurried away from Bray, in hopes of not having to answer any more questions about what had happened between her and the duke. After His Grace had left, Bray had quizzed her before they started home, but the only thing she’d fessed up to was that she had mistakenly hit the duke, and she’d admitted that only under duress. Their subsequent encounter on the ground was none of Bray’s concern.
Or anyone’s. As far as she was concerned, that would remain private forever. She hoped the duke felt the same way. Besides, what could she have told Bray? She was still trying to figure out for herself why for a few fleeting seconds she’d wanted the rake to kiss her. And why, when she’d told him no, he hadn’t tried to force a kiss on her, which was more than she could say for Mr. Standish. And why, even now, just thinking about the weight of the duke’s body on hers made her feel warm and tingly.
She dropped her cape on a side table and rushed up the stairs and down the corridor to Sybil’s room. Sybil sat on the bed dressed in a white night garment, leaning against what looked to be a mountain of pillows, surrounded by their three blue-eyed, blond-haired sisters. Louisa, the oldest and who was married to Bray, sat on the bed beside her. Lillian, who had just turned sixteen, was sitting on the foot of the bed and Bonnie, the youngest at seven, stood beside her.
“Sybil, I was so worried about you,” Gwen said, walking into the room. “Don’t ever leave this house without someone knowing again.” She placed the basket on the night table and gave her sister a long, gentle hug.
“Thank you for bringing the holly and mistletoe,” Sybil said, “but I don’t think I’m going to be able to decorate the house now. I fell and hurt my knee.”
“I heard,” Gwen said, suddenly feeling wretched. “How is your leg feeling now?”
“It hurts,” she answered. “Do you want to see it?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Don’t touch it,” Sybil said, pushing the covers aside and pulling her gown up to mid-thigh.
The knee and ankle were definitely swollen.
“What happened?”
Sybil looked at Louisa. “Do I have to tell the story again?”
Louisa smiled. “No, I’ll tell her everything later. I think you’ve told the story enough times for one day.”
Gwen put her hands on her hips. “And I think I should know right now since I’m the one who went out into the cold this morning to look for you.” She could have added that because of it she had also suffered greatly the stinging agony and the seductive thrills of meeting the disarming Duke of Hurst.
But she had no desire to reveal that to anyone.
“You were the one out looking for her because you like to get up earlier than the rest of us,” Lillian argued.
“I’m glad you brought my basket home, but it looks like you broke it when you hit that gentleman on the head with it.”
Gwen glanced at the basket and grimaced. “I’ll make sure you get another.”
“Yes.” Louisa added inquisitively, “What is this about you attacking someone who was helping Sybil and then insisting she come home and send help for you? What was going on?”
Gwen first looked at her oldest sister and then glanced at Lillian, Bonnie, and Sybil, too. This would not be easy to explain, so the least said the better.
“Nothing really,” she fibbed. “It was all a mistake that was quickly cleared up when Bray arrived and I found out the gentleman is not Mr. but His Grace.”
Gasps sounded all around.
“You struck a duke with a basket?” Louisa asked.
“You’re in big trouble,” Bonnie declared.
“But he told me his name was Crispin,” Sybil complained.
“What’s going to happen to you?” Lillian asked. “Will you be punished?”
“No, no. Of course not,” Gwen answered. “I apologized to him and it’s all forgotten, so there’s no need to mention it again. To anyone. Ever.”
“I can’t believe you really hit a duke?” Louisa said. “What could have caused you to do such a thing?”
Gwen didn’t know if she needed to clarify what had happened or somehow try to defend herself. She really didn’t want to do either. After sucking in a deep breath, she said, “At the time I didn’t know he was a duke. Besides, I didn’t hit him very hard.” That might have been more than a slight prevarication. The scratch under the duke’s eye was more of a wide red scrape and it wasn’t little. “And I wouldn’t have hit him at all if Sybil had not been where she shouldn’t have been and fallen out of that tree,” Gwen said, hoping to take some of the pressure off herself by putting it where it rightly belonged, on Sybil’s slender shoulders.
“You hit Crispin with the basket hard enough to hurt him,” Sybil argued. “I saw the welt on his cheek and it was big.”
Every set of eyes in the room went to the broken basket sitting on the night table. Gwen threw her shoulders back. She had to change the subject.
“Sybil, he is Your Grace,” Gwen corrected. “You can’t call him Crispin.”
“But he told me that was his name,” she said. “I don’t have to call Bray Your Grace and he’s a duke.”
“That is because Bray considers himself your brother,” Louisa added. “He gave you permission to call him Bray. He is family and family members have rights others don’t have.”
“And, Bonnie,” Gwen said, turning to her youngest sister, “you must remember that, too, in case you are below stairs and get to meet him when he comes to dinner tonight.”
More gasps flew around the bed.
“He’s coming to dinner tonight?” Sybil asked.
“I want to meet him,” Bonnie said.
“Me, too,” Lillian echoed. “I’m happy to call him Your Grace.”
“I will, too,” Bonnie added. “I promise.”
“Well, I guess he’s not too upset with you for striking him if he accepted your invitation to dinner,” Louisa said, giving Gwen a look that said she knew there was more to this story. “It was the least you could do.”
Gwen could see the wheels of romance turning in Louisa’s mind. Wanting to put a stop to her thinking, Gwen said, “I didn’t invite him. I wouldn’t have. Bray invited him to thank him for helping Sybil. He said you would want him to.”
“And he’s right. It’s the polite thing to do.”
“Someone will have to carry me downstairs so I can thank the duke myself,” Sybil insisted.
“Not tonight, you won’t,” Louisa said. “There will be no going below stairs for you.”
“Why?” Sybil complained. “I’m the one who met him first.”
“Two reasons,” Louisa said. “One, you left the house without permission and without anyone knowing. There must be a punishment for that. Two, you won’t be going anywhere for anything until you can bend that knee without it hurting.”
“It’s not fair I can’t see him. I’m hurt and no one cares.” She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.
“Be that as it may,” Louisa said, rising from the bed. “I am mistress of this house and you will not go below stairs until I say you can.”
“You wouldn’t be going down anyway, Sybil,” Bonnie told her. “It’s not family night. It’s guest night and we’re not allowed to eat with guests.”
“I know we don’t dine with them, silly goose,” Sybil retorted. “But we can meet the guests.”
“I’m not a silly goose. You are,” Bonnie shot back at her sister, and then stuck out her tongue.
Louisa turned away from the two arguing girls and said to Gwen, “Is there anything you and I should talk about?”
Her sister seemed so sincere that for a moment Gwen was tempted to throw herself in Louisa’s arms and tell her about the way the duke had stirred up feelings of holding hands, and warm hugs, and delicious kisses, but in the end she said, “No, no. Everything is fine. I just want to forget this whole incident and I’m sure the duke feels the same way.”
“That might be difficult for me to do. Your dress is smudged and you have bits of grass in your hair. I’m sure you didn’t look that way when you left the house this morning.”
Gwen quickly brushed at her dress with one hand and her hair with the other. “It’s very windy out,” she said, deciding that would be enough of an answer. “I should go change. And thank you for inviting Mr. Tweedy to dinner tonight. He’s such a gentleman.”
She inhaled deeply and gave her sister a forced smile. Gwen started to walk past her, but Louisa stayed her by touching her upper arm. “When Mr. Standish was inappropriate you failed to tell me until long after the incident. If something has happened, I want to know now.”
Gwen tried not to bristle. Her sister always meant well. “If I need your help, I will call on you. Louisa, please remember that you are my sister, not my mother.”
“I’ve had to be both to you all these years,” Louisa insisted.
“But I am a grown woman now. It’s time for you to be only my sister. I made it through my first Season—heartbroken at the time but relatively unscathed—and I learned a few things along the way. I think I can make it through Christmastide on my own, too.” She smiled again and this time it wasn’t forced. “Now don’t worry about me.”
Gwen reached over and gave her sister a hug before rushing away.