by Jade Lee
Gwen looked about. The room was empty save for them. She'd already dispatched the maid who usually waited in the room to bring them glasses of lemonade. So she felt perfectly safe in confessing the truth to Miss Carson, if only to see if she could make the girl's blush flame even brighter.
"Kissing can be accomplished without benefit of marriage, you know. As for the other things, well, if one is judicious about it, one can experience quite a few delightful sensations well beyond a little kiss."
"Oh! Oh my!" gasped the girl. Then she too looked about and saw the room was empty before scooting her chair even closer. "Tell me please," she begged. "What have you done?"
Gwen bit her lip. Really, she ought not confess the things she had done. She didn't even know the girl. What if the girl was a terrible gossip? But given that Miss Carson was horribly shy, she was probably better than a monk at keeping secrets. And Gwen really did wish to share her exploits with someone.
"Well," she said, unable to keep herself from confessing. "I have kissed quite a few gentlemen. It's really pretty easy."
"Many?" gasped Miss Carson. "How many?"
"Oh, a dozen or more!" Gwen lied. Truly it had only been five gentlemen. But the kisses totaled more than a dozen so it really wasn't a big lie.
"What else have you done?"
Now that was something she had never told anyone ever. She felt her face heat with her own blush. But she had thought about it over and over, the memory burning into her thoughts even though it was a rather horrid experience.
"Oh please," Miss Carson begged. "What did you do?"
"Well, it began with a kiss," she said, her gaze dropping to her hands as she remembered. "It was the last ball of the Season and the attendance was rather thin. I took a tour of the ballroom as I do sometimes with gentleman I intend to kiss. It's easy to slip into a doorway or a spare room, especially when the attendance is too many to see everyone, but light enough that one can wander away."
"I don't know how you could manage it! I would be shaking in terror."
That wasn't the terrifying part, but Gwen didn't say that. Instead, she looked up from her lap only to encounter her reflection in a mirror. She had color in her cheeks and eyes lightly touched with kohl so as to bring out the dark texture of her lashes. Her honey blonde hair was pulled into a simple style to let the waves show and because it was easier to brush out after an ardent kiss. But she hadn't yet been kissed this evening, so everything was in place including her cosmetics.
Sadly, that's not at all what she saw when she looked into the mirror. She noticed the way the skin under her eyes appeared dark and thick despite the powder she'd applied. She saw the way her head was too large for her body and her breasts too tiny. And though it didn't show, her skin felt too thick and too thin at the same time. Thick with water retained just below the surface, and thin with the stretch that created.
It was all nonsensical, or so she told herself over and over. She looked beautiful, as always. And yet inside, she felt... she felt... well, she felt rather awful. Frightened was too strong a word for it. Anxious, perhaps, but that was something she refused to admit. Perhaps the best word was bored. Or maybe even lonely.
Yes, that's what she was: lonely. And so she went about kissing men to ease that pain. Only it never did. Sometimes it made her feel even worse.
"Milady?" whispered Miss Carson. "Are you all right?"
Gwen blinked. "Milady? Good lord, that's my mother! You must call me Gwen. And I shall call you Debra, if that's all right?"
"Of course it is!"
"Excellent!" But then she fell silent, praying that Debra forgot the original direction of their conversation or was perhaps too polite to push the question.
No such luck. The girl reached forward and touched her hand. She had strong hands which she supposed was to be expected in a country girl. And when she squeezed Gwen's fingers, Gwen squeezed back with all her might and Debra didn't so much as blink.
"Did he hurt you?" Debra asked.
"Oh goodness no! Nothing like that," she said aloud. Though inside she thought there could have been hurt. There could have been so much worse than that. "I play with the danger, you know," she said, startled that she was confessing something so personal. "I like the excitement of doing something forbidden right under all those biddies' noses! I have a chaperone at every ball, and not a one of them has stopped me from anything!"
"But what did you do?"
"I let him kiss me," she said. "In an empty room. That was the mistake, you know. The empty room part. Usually, I allow just a little touch in a hallway or in the shadows. Nothing so very private as a room."
"What happened?" The words were so breathless, Gwen almost didn't even hear the question.
"He pressed me up against a wall and... and..." She had thought about it so often since then. The man was inconsequential. He was a boor and so she told him afterwards. Indeed, after that Season, he left London never to return, which was an excellent thing indeed. But the experience of it lived in her memory. The feel of it. Of him.
"Gwen?"
"It was nothing really. He pushed himself against me and I felt it."
"It?"
Gwen grimaced. Really, she didn't think she would have to be so very explicit with a country girl. She gestured to her groin. "You know. It. A man's it. Pressed up against me. So hot and... and so very there. He pushed against me, and I could feel it through my clothes."
"Really?" Debra gasped. "Did it hurt?"
"Hurt? No! Of course not!"
"Did you..." Debra's blush appeared in full force. "Was it nice?"
Gwen released a nervous giggle, then immediately pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Oh how many nights had she lay in bed thinking about the experience, trying to find the words to describe it even to herself. "It wasn't nice," she said. "It was surprising. And interesting. And... and I want to feel it again."
Debra squealed with laughter. "And have you? I mean, did you let him—"
"Oh no! Not with him. He was a boor. And not with anyone else since. But..." She'd imagined it. And she couldn't help but imagine what it would be like with the Tall Gentleman as he was now called in her mind. He was so very big, his it would have to be equally big, wouldn't it? Would he grind it against her like the other man had? Or would he do something else?
And what if he was doing that with someone else? Someone like Debra?
"Are you going to marry the Tall Gentleman?" she blurted. "Is he your intended?"
Debra frowned. "The tall gentleman?"
"He called you by your first name."
"Edward, you mean? Yes, he is awfully tall, but... No. No, I'm not going to marry him."
Edward. His name was Edward. Well, that was rather unfortunate. Not nearly so exciting as Fabian or Alastair. But the name didn't matter. "Tell me more," she prodded. "Is he unsuitable in some way?"
"Gracious, no! He's perfectly suitable. But he's just... well, he's just Edward. A baronet now, as his father passed a little over a year ago. And mama thinks he's quite a catch, but he's..." Her voice trailed away, and the girl shrugged. She just shrugged and looked helpless. But that didn't help Gwen at all!
"He's what? Insane? Deformed? Prone to gambling or drink?"
"No, no!" cried Debra as if she were half horrified and half about to descend into giggles. "He's none of that. And that's just the thing. He's about as interesting as a boulder. I've known him since I was two. I'm friends with his sister who isn't old enough to be out yet. But now that he's a baronet and all that, his mother thought he should come look for a wife and my mama thought I needed a friend because I'm... I'm..."
"Because you're a little shy. But everyone is in a strange city when you're put out on display as we are. Everyone gets shy."
Debra beamed her gratitude at Gwen, but she didn't stop talking about Edward. Thankfully. Otherwise, Gwen would have had to find a way to pump her for more information.
"Well, I'm a bit worse than a little shy, but never mind. S
o he came up to the city with me and his mama and sister, even though Connie's not out yet. And I'm to find a husband and he's to find a wife."
"But not to each other."
The girl actually shuddered at the thought. "He kissed me once. Underneath the mistletoe. I think it was a trick by my mother because Mama thinks he's a catch."
"And how was it?"
"It wasn't a kiss at all!" huffed Debra. "It was a buss on the cheek. Mama was horribly disappointed, but I was ever so grateful. He's just so tall and so very Edward."
Debra spoke as if that answered everything, which it absolutely did not. Especially since Gwen found the idea of tall as rather intriguing, assuming other parts of his anatomy were equally tall. And as for him being Edward, well what else would he be except for himself?
"I'm afraid," Gwen said slowly, "that I need to understand this better. I think I should like to further my acquaintance with you, if you would like."
"Oh yes! Most certainly!"
"And since we are to be friends, it is only natural that I come to understand what a horrible thing it is to be an Edward."
Debra waved her hands. "It's not horrible at all. It's just him. And I don't wish to marry him."
Did the girl protest too much? Did she really want Edward but was trying to convince herself otherwise? Gwen couldn't tell, but she was determined to find out. And in the meantime, she decided to learn more things of what Debra did want in a man. If nothing else, she would learn what Edward was not. Or so went the rather tortured logic in her brain.
"Come, come," said Gwen as a pair of new ladies entered the retiring room. "Tell me what it is you are looking for in a husband. Perhaps I can assist you in that matter. After all, I know a great deal about everyone in the ton."
Debra's eyes widened in awe. "You would do that for me?"
"Of course I would," she said. "But you must be specific. What is it that you would like?"
Debra frowned as she thought deeply. Her brow furrowed and she twisted her fingers together. Then finally she looked up with an expression of satisfaction.
"You have it?" Gwen asked. "You know what you want in a husband?"
"I do," the girl pronounced. "My husband must absolutely not be tall." That was it. Apparently, a drunk lecher would be perfectly acceptable so long as he did not tower over the girl.
"Short? You wish someone short?"
"Yes. And it would be quite lovely if he had a sister."
"Well," said Gwen as she began mentally tallying gentlemen with sisters. "That leaves us with quite a long list. Perhaps we should discuss this further."
So they did. For quite a while, in fact. Enough time for Debra's clean gown to arrive and for her to change into it. In fact, by the time the two women emerged from the drawing room, there were precious few gentlemen left from Gwen's earlier entourage. Indeed, the only one who had truly waited was Baronet Edward Murray. And he, of course, had really been waiting for Debra.
Or so she thought until he extended his hand to her and asked her a question. She thought he intended to ask her to dance. That was the usual way of things. But no, his words were something altogether more thrilling.
"Lady Gwen, would you care to walk about the ballroom with me?" he asked.
And without even thinking twice about it, she said, "Oh yes, that would be lovely. Have you seen the gardens? They are breathtaking at this time of night."
Chapter 3
Edward took her arm and tried to contain his glee. Finally, the woman he had tried to approach for weeks now was smiling at him as if she had just been given a great prize. She wanted to be on his arm. She wanted to take a stroll about the ballroom with him. And perhaps she wanted a great deal more.
As did he.
Could she have fallen into his trap so easily? He experienced an equal measure of disappointment and terror. Disappointment because he had hoped that Lady Gwendolyn would be as interesting and clever as she appeared. Terror, of course, because she probably was and he would be a fool to underestimate her.
"Oh dear," she said with a dramatic sigh. "Have I got a spot on my face? Is my hair askew?"
He frowned, startled by her bizarre questions. "I beg your pardon?"
"You are staring. Perhaps it is because I am not as pretty as you hoped."
"You are well aware of your beauty, Lady Gwendolyn, and I think you are fishing for a compliment."
"Goodness, only my grandmother ever called me Gwendolyn. And only when she was very cross. You must call me Lady Gwen."
"Merely Lady Gwen?" he teased. "Not the beauteous Gwen, the radiant Gwen, the magnificent mirage of the miraculous Gwen?" Those had all been used by her beaus this very evening.
"That last one is my favorite," she said with a giggle. "I'm not sure that Mr. Graham knows the true meaning of mirage."
"Yes," he drawled. "I heard you tease him about that and he did seem rather confused."
She paused and frowned up at him. "You heard that?"
"Of course I did. I was standing directly behind Mr. Graham."
She gasped in a delightful way, her sweet mouth shaping into a perfect O of horror. Then she frowned. "You were not. I would have noticed you if you were."
"I assure you I was, and you did not."
She flushed, her eyebrows drawing together as she searched her memory. It was a measure of how distracted he was that he thought the hair of her eyebrows were sexy.
"That cannot be right..." she said, more to herself than to him. She seemed so genuinely distressed that he patted her hand.
"Do not fret. I assure you, I am well used to being forgotten."
"Now you are bamming me for sure," she said. She lifted her chin and they once again began their steady walk about the ballroom. "I cannot imagine not remembering you."
"I am very pleased by that," he said. He spoke simply and from the heart as was his nature. But she apparently found it very odd, twisting her head enough to look at his face. That necessitated him stooping down so she could see him. Though what she thought would find was beyond him. "Do I have a spot on my nose?" he asked.
Her cheeks flushed a light brighter, and she hastily looked away. "No, no of course not. I know so little about you. Tell me of your family, where you come from, how do you come to be in London."
He smiled, pleased anew by her interest and that his plan was progressing so very well. "I am not that very interesting," he said, toying with the idea of spicing up his history just to make it more interesting to her. But he tended to forget lies—or even slightly altered truths—and was always found out. So he spoke the truth and prayed that it was enough. "I'm a country baronet who has come to London in search of wife. I have one sister, a mother, and an aunt, all of whom are with me."
"And your father?"
"Passed of a fever after being kicked in the belly by his favorite goat."
She snorted, then pressed a hand to her mouth in horror. "Oh, I do beg your pardon. That is not funny at all. But the way you said it... I... well, it struck me as... I mean it seemed... Oh, I am so sorry."
He smiled at her, charmed as always. "No need to apologize. It was some years ago and yes, I have come to see the humor of it. He did love that goat, ornery beast that it was."
"And do you still have it? This ornery creature?"
"No. But it did live for a few cantankerous years afterwards."
They by-stepped another couple walking in the opposite direction, exchanging brief nods. Edward held his breath for a moment, fearing that she would stop to chat as was the normal course of things. But she did not, and soon they were moving on toward the doors that let onto the gardens.
"So you have had the running of the baronetcy for years?"
"Six."
"Oh my! That must have been very hard."
He shrugged. "It is a small estate, so not that very difficult. What I missed most was having another man in my very female household."
She giggled. "Are you buried in ribbons and bows?"
"And
dresses and fashion plates and kittens. My sister has a great fondness for the blasted creatures and would overrun the house with them if I allowed it."
"You don't like kittens?"
"They are fuzzy and adorable, but they relieve themselves everywhere, snag the furniture, and I feel just awful when I accidentally sit on one of them."
"Yes," she said with mock seriousness. "Quite the mortifying situation."
"Quite," he agreed. "So I banned them from the house. It is my only decree as Baronet. No more than two cats in the house ever."
She nodded sagely. "That sounds very fair." Then she slanted a coy glance at him. "But are you able to keep track of which two are allowed in the house and which are not? If I were your sister, I should just make pains to keep the bulk of them out of your sight. And if I failed, well then, I would make a great fuss about shooing them out, apologize to pieces, and then go blithely about my own way doing—"
"Exactly as you wish? Yes, you have my sister to a tee."
She paused just before stepping out onto the terrace, her expression surprisingly serious. "That must be very difficult for you."
He frowned. "Having kittens underfoot all the time?"
She shook her head. "Having a sister who does exactly as she pleases, no matter what you say."
He stilled, his eyes narrowing as he studied her expression. Clearly there was special meaning here, but he was loathe to guess what it was. "It does have its challenges," he said slowly.
She nodded, shifting her body to continue out the door. Her step was light and her movements easy, so he assumed she had dropped whatever it was that had made her so serious. But a moment later, she continued their conversation revealing a depth that he had not expected to see so soon.
"I know I am a great trial to my brother, Robert. He just wants what is best for everyone, myself included. But I cannot bring myself to submit to his every autocratic decree just because he thinks it is the right thing for me to do."