The Earl That Overruled My Destiny

by Hanna Hamilton

  Maybe the best he could do was salvage his own reputation. There was no elegant way to untangle himself from this.

  “You are a snake! Just like every other man in your family, and I should not be rebuked for speaking the truth! It would be worse for me to say nothing of your family’s vile treatment of my uncle and of your damaging of his sterling reputation than it would be for me to give name to the animal you are!”

  Whispers rose around them, and for the merest instant, Lady Gwendoline seemed to falter. But she didn’t mumble apologies or even attempt to appear repentant. Instead, with her head held high, she stormed away. The ton parted before her, save for Lady Florence who came to her side and followed her.

  “That was cruel,” Noah whispered.

  It had been. In hindsight.

  Caspian sighed. He watched Lady Gwendoline’s green dress as she crossed the ballroom and left. When Lord Newhost excused himself, following his daughter out, Caspian winced.

  I shouldn’t have done that.

  Chapter 3

  Richard Lockwood, the Earl of Elderdale, was a tall man who radiated strength and dependability. At least, he always had to Gwendoline, and throughout her life, Gwendoline’s father was always there for her. And at the very edge of her memory, Gwendoline remembered being a little girl and sitting on the edge of her father’s desk. She remembered bounding around his study and sketching, while he read legislation and law books. He’d been the best person in the world, but now, Gwendoline felt as though there was an abyss of time between them. She’d stopped being the perfect, little girl so long ago and had grown into a woman who was too flawed.

  No matter how hard I try. I’m just not perfect, and I feel that’s what he expects from me now.

  Although the man was nearing fifty years old, his hair remained thick and a rich light brown in color. As he paced the floor in his study, he reminded Gwendoline of an old lion. Regal and powerful.

  Gwendoline winced and dropped her gaze to her hands, clasped in her lap. And yet she made sure to keep her back straight like a proper lady would. She knew a scolding was coming, and she had no desire to anger her father further.

  “I cannot believe you would do something so foolish,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass us,” Gwendoline replied. “Lord Caspian provoked me. He wanted me to lose my temper.”

  Richard’s dark eyes flicked to his daughter, and when Gwendoline dared peek at her father, she saw only disappointment. A knot tied itself in her chest, but that same knot of distress was followed with a fiery wave of indignation.

  Even if Helena Farraday was a cruel seductress, Gwendoline’s uncle Charles hadn’t exactly emerged from what happened with his reputation intact. Richard was Charles’s younger brother, and sometimes, Gwendoline suspected that her father feared another family scandal. Charles was led too easily astray, or so Richard said. And Gwendoline felt that—if the whole mess with the Farradays had never occurred—her father would not be nearly as harsh with her as he was.

  “Then, you should not have let him affect you as much as he clearly did,” Richard replied. “I expect better of you, Gwendoline. And I don’t think I’m overreaching to claim that I—and your mother—deserve better.”

  “You do,” Gwendoline muttered.

  It was entirely pointless to argue. Her father would not hear of it; Gwendoline knew that from experience.

  “But you would have said something,” Gwendoline added. “Florrie will tell you that. She was there with me, and I know she’d agree that Lord Caspian and his friends were being unbearably uncouth.”

  “I am a man and the head of this family,” Richard replied. “You are a young lady, and it is not a young lady’s place to defend the family honor.”

  Gwendoline dug her fingers into the green silk of her dress. An image sprang unbidden to her mind. She imagined standing in the ballroom, drawing a sword, and challenging Lord Caspian to a duel. It was an utterly preposterous idea, of course. But it was one Gwendoline could imagine her father involved in. During his youth, he’d been in a couple of duels.

  It just seemed so easy to be a man. And even though he’d purposefully provoked her, Gwendoline suspected Lord Caspian would carry significantly less blame for her outburst. His wrongdoings would be ascribed as mere mischief.

  Young men were impulsive, after all. And though the Lord was nine-and-twenty, he was still young enough to have his flaws excused.

  “Doubtlessly, I’ll have to address and repair this,” Richard continued, “And I refuse to apologize to them. You have put me in an impossible position, my girl. Why can’t you simply behave as a young lady ought to behave?”

  Gwendoline once more felt a spark of anger. “And what would you have done if you were a young lady, Father?”

  “I’d have politely removed myself from the situation and have kept the family reputation in good standing, and I certainly would have refrained from raising my voice and storming out like a madwoman.”

  But her father hadn’t been there. And her father didn’t know what it was like having to keep silent and act proper all the time. Even rakes and scoundrels were afforded a little leniency, but never women.

  “You would not have stood silently there,” Gwendoline replied.

  “If that was the only way to avoid embarrassing our family’s good name, I certainly would have silently stood there.”

  But that was a lie. Gwendoline knew it. Her father was a strong-willed and outspoken man. Everyone said so.

  “I don’t know where you have gotten this rebellious nature,” her father muttered, sinking into a brocade chair, “But I expect you to learn to exhibit some control over it. You’re my only child. Surely, you realize how much depends upon you?”

  As if he’d ever let me forget it! My father only impresses the importance of my duty upon me several times a day!

  “I know,” Gwendoline said, trying to conceal the anger boiling in her blood. “I know a lot depends upon me, and I want to be a good daughter—”

  “Do you? I couldn’t tell from your recent behavior.”

  But I’m not perfect! It’s hardly fair to impress upon me how much I should hate the Earl of Elderdale and then, expect me to demurely withstand any insulted paid to my family!

  “I do,” Gwendoline muttered. “I just lost my temper. It won’t happen again, Father. I promise.”

  The man didn’t look as though he believed her. “Good night,” he said, turning his attention to the window and the brightly shining moon, dismissing her.

  Gwendoline took in a small breath. She understood a dismissal when she heard one, and no matter how angry she was, there was no point in arguing that her actions were justified. And it wasn’t as if she could argue without proving her father’s own claim—that she was too rebellious for her own good.

  But that’s fine, I don’t have to be untrue to myself and my convictions just because Father says I must be demure and quiet. I can be brave and bold, too. I just won’t let him know.

  * * *

  Ever since Gwendoline was a little girl, there was one room she was forbidden from ever entering, and that was the bedroom which had once belonged to her uncle Charles. For years, the door existed in Gwendoline’s memory as a great edifice. It was like a piece of forbidden fruit, just out of reach. And as Gwendoline lay in bed, the door loomed in her mind with an unfathomable weight.

  I should just look in there. It’s absurd that no one will even enter my uncle’s room.

  If her father discovered she’d gone into the room, Gwendoline had no doubt that he’d be angry with her. And besides, there were a number of old fairy tales explaining why young women shouldn’t enter forbidden places. But this was her own uncle, who she’d never known but who seemed to dictate so much of her life.

  I’m not going to be quiet and demure in my own home.

  Quietly, Gwendoline slipped from her bed. A candle still burned on her vanity. Gwendoline took it, watching as the flame flickered in the darkness
. A little thrill of excitement burst through her. Even if she was only doing this to disobey her father, to have some small rebellion, Gwendoline still felt like the heroine in a novel, like a young woman about to embark on some grand adventure to discover the past.

  Admittedly, such ventures seldom ended well for young ladies in novels, but if there was one thing which Gwendoline knew very well, it was that the plotlines of novels seldom matched those of the living. And she might as well look. At most, she’d likely uncover some old papers from her dear, lost uncle.

  And as long as I’m quiet, no one needs to know.

  Gwendoline gripped the bronze holder of the candlestick and quietly slipped from her room and into the corridor. It was nearly midnight, and the luminous moon quietly lit the grand halls of the estate, bathing them in an otherworldly light.

  Gwendoline quietly padded down the corridor and then climbed the stairs to the forbidden room. Once she reached it, she paused and glanced around her. Although the entire household was fast asleep by now, she still couldn’t shake the anxious fear that she might still be caught. Sometimes, her father had difficulty in sleeping during the night and took walks through the wild, sprawling gardens that populated the estate. If he happened to be awake and happened to glance up to the bedroom window, Gwendoline knew he’d see the light of her candle and investigate.

  And then, he’ll scold me again. As Father always does.

  But Gwendoline took a deep breath, and before she could lose her courage, she threw open the door and slipped into the room. For a long, silent moment, she merely stood there, listening and watching the darkness. Then, she dared raise the candle, illuminating the room.

  What she found wasn’t particularly surprising. The room was what she’d expected: an antechamber with a richly embroidered seat and a fireplace, presently cold and empty. Beyond that, the space opened to a proper bedroom. Gwendoline drifted in, taking in the bed and the seats. Across the room, there was a table laden with old volumes. A tapestry, featuring the scene of a medieval hunting party chasing a stag, hung over the bed.

  “So this is where you slept,” Gwendoline muttered.

  She lifted the candle higher, illuminating the thick, white dust which covered every surface. A shiver traced along her spine, both from the cold and from the emptiness of the room, and Gwendoline wished she’d thought to bring her coat with her. No one had been here for years, not even the staff.

  Gwendoline drifted in, examining everything. She wasn’t sure precisely what she’d expected to find, but somehow, she’d anticipated there being more than this. It was a forbidden room, which had remained locked for so long, so it seemed as though there ought to be something there. Some great secret or adventure.

  Gwendoline walked the length of the room. She gently lifted the curtains and pulled them aside. Outside, the gardens stretched before her. It was too dark for Gwendoline to see the exact details of them, but she knew they would be awash with color. The flowers were all abloom and the pinks and reds of the flowers cut through the green leaves of hedges and grasses. And on overcast days, the gray sky made if all look so brilliant, like a masterfully painted piece of art.

  “Did you enjoy this view, Uncle?” she murmured. “I think my father once told me that you enjoyed the gardens.”

  As the feeble starlight spread over floor, Gwendoline’s eyes drifted over the room. She squinted at the tapestry. With the difference in light, it looked as if the corner of the tapestry protruded just slightly. Gwendoline edged closer, while trying to keep the light still. She bent her knees and gently lifted the edge of the tapestry. There was a slight protrusion from the wall.

  How odd!

  Gwendoline rubbed her fingers over the rough stones and wrinkled her nose. It was a loose stone. She carefully set the candle aside, and taking both hands, she gently pried the stone from the rest of the wall. It came out slowly, as she wobbled it back and forth. Tiny bits of stone and dust fell on her hands and onto the floor, but finally, Gwendoline pulled the stone free. She placed it to the ground and peered into the dark space.

  Behind the stone, there was a hollow place, about large enough to put both of her hands in. Gwendoline’s heart raced as she thought of all the troubling things which might be in the place—spiders, lizards, and rats—but gathering her courage, she slipped one delicate hand into the space. The stone was rough against her fingers and wrist, and her thumb broke a spiderweb. Her fingertips brushed against something fragile and thin. Gwendoline gripped it and slowly pulled. She squinted in the darkness as the collection of folded envelopes unfurled like a flag in her hand.

  What are these?

  Gwendoline lowered herself onto the cold floor and held one of the papers up to the light of her candle. The handwriting was elegant and thin, slanting slightly to the right. Gwendoline pursed her lips together. Somewhere there was a pamphlet in the manor that would explain what this handwriting revealed about this individual’s character, but Gwendoline hadn’t the faintest idea where it was.

  More pressing, however, was the question of why these were hidden. There were at least fifteen envelopes, all bound together with a length of faded ribbon. Whatever these were, they were something that her uncle Charles hadn’t wanted found.

  But my uncle isn’t around here to tell me not to read them! Nor is my father!

  She gathered her candle and the letters, and silently, Gwendoline crept back to her room. The opening of the door seemed disproportionately loud, and she froze for just an instant to see if she’d been caught. But the corridor was empty. She slipped inside her room and closed the door behind her.

  Gwendoline went to her writing desk, and after setting down the candlestick, she sank into her chair. Her fingers traced the fine, black lines of writing. An anxious, fiery elation rushed through her body. She liked being rebellious; she decided. It suited her.

  I’m just like some grand heroine in a novel!

  To Charles Lockwood, the writing read. So these were her uncle’s letters. That wasn’t entirely unexpected. They’d been in his room, after all. Gwendoline hummed and opened the first letter, delicately unfolding the aged paper.

  My Dearest Lord,

  My heart filled with joy when I saw you last night! You looked so dashing standing in the gardens amidst the pink blooms of the roses and framed by the setting of the sun. I longed to approach you, but I knew I could not. You were alone, and I had other obligations. I’m sure you noticed that throughout the night. But perhaps, we may meet sometime soon? You occupy my every thought, My Lord, and in my humble opinion, it is quite improper for you to plague me so and never approach me.

  Yours, devotedly

  Gwendoline reread the letter a few times. It was quite obviously a love letter, meant for her uncle. And judging from the well-worn creases, Uncle Charles had likely read its contents many times.

  But who wrote this?

  Perhaps, her uncle had a sweetheart before Lady Helena seduced him with her wicked wiles. But why had the Lady not written her name? Gwendoline opened another letter and skimmed its contents. It was another letter, this one talking about Charles’s great wit and bright smile. And another, speaking of his devotion to helping the less fortunate.

  None of the letters were signed. Maybe Gwendoline’s uncle had been enamored with a common woman, and that was why she did not write her name. So as to avoid the scandal. Gwendoline tried to recall if her uncle had ever been mentioned as having a favorite servant, but there were none.

  But then, all Gwendoline knew of her uncle was from her family. He was said to be a noble man. Kind, intelligent, and dashing. A good man, who loved his family more than anything else in the world. But here was evidence of a great love, some nameless woman who’d doted on Charles and whose every word sang with love and affection.

  And evidently, he loved this woman. Or she loved him, at least.

  This was a side of her uncle Gwendoline had never heard spoken of, though. Her uncle had loved this woman, had saved her letters an
d read them over and over. Gwendoline imagined him reading them by candlelight, savoring every word. She’d seen one portrait of her uncle as a young man, and in that portrait, Uncle Charles greatly resembled her father. He was tall and broad with thick, dark hair and a warm smile. His eyes were a stunning shade of amber brown. She imagined the glow of the candlelight on his face and his quiet footsteps as he hid the letters behind the tapestry.

  But who was this woman? Why had she disappeared, and why had Gwendoline, Charles’s own niece, never heard of her?

  Chapter 4

  When Caspian thought about the ball, he tried to justify his treatment of Lady Gwendoline. He told himself that—really—it had been a bit of harmless mischief. Although he had provoked Lady Gwendoline into raising her voice and storming out, it wasn’t entirely unexpected for two families who were sworn enemies to snap at one another upon rare occasions. In a few weeks, the ton would find something far more scandalous with which to occupy their attention.