This could go all terribly wrong. Perhaps, Lady Gwendoline did not wish to see him, especially so late at night. But at the thought of visiting her, Caspian’s blood rang in his ears. His pulse galloped. And when he thought of Lady Gwendoline lying in bed, her face bathed in the gentle steams of moonlight drifting between the curtains, something delicate and warm stirred in Caspian’s chest.
His mind conjured a vivid fantasy of sweeping the young Lady off her feet and galloping to somewhere beautiful and wondrous. Like Lancelot and Guinevere. He dismounted, patting his horse’s flanks. The horse would be louder than him alone, and the horse might leave evidence of his visit.
I’ll leave her here and invite Gwendoline to join me.
He went along the length of the property until he came to a small cluster of trees, their slender branches laden with pink-white blossoms. Caspian tied his mare there, and giving her a last, fond pat, he began the trek to the manor proper.
The grounds were filled with thick swaths of grass and tiny flowers. Caspian’s muscles remained tense, although there was no evidence of anyone else about. It was only himself beneath the night sky and crossing the grounds.
Now, where did Lady Gwendoline say her room was?
By a willow tree. And around the back. Caspian reached the manor, and with a spark of admiration, he had to admit that the façade was gorgeous. Delicate, floral carvings decorated the sweeping eaves and bordered the doors and windows.
As Caspian rounded the manor, he found a willow tree, its fronds sweeping quietly over the ground and dancing in the wind. That must be the tree that Lady Gwendoline had mentioned. He crouched down and crept beneath it, using the tree to cover himself.
Now, where is her window?
Caspian gazed up, his eyes drifting over the side of the manor. Finally, he saw the smooth glass of a window. The young lord narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the glass, but even as his eyes adjusted, he could see only the outline of heavy drapes.
There was no way to determine if that window was or was not hers. Caspian took in a steadying breath.
And didn’t she say that she might give me any room and claim it’s hers?
Caspian curled his fingers around the strange locket. He suspected this had something to do with Lady Helena and Lord Charles, and Lady Gwendoline insisted that she wanted to work to end the feud between their families. One and for all.
And if that is what I want to do, I need to trust her. She gave me my aunt’s love letter, and she didn’t have to do that. She could have pretended that she saw nothing at all. She trusts me, so I ought to trust her.
Caspian crouched lower and felt around the heavy grass. His fingers found a smooth, hard object. A rock. He felt around a little more, gathering the smooth pebbles in his hand. They weren’t enough to do any harm to the window, just enough to make a little noise.
Hopefully, not too much noise.
Caspian blanched as he imagined Lord Newhost emerging from the estate to chase him away. It was something that might be amusing in hindsight, but it would definitely thwart any efforts to work with Lady Gwendoline.
Caspian carefully stood out from under the tree and lobbed a pebble at the window. It struck, emitting a dull thud. He waited. Nothing happened.
Perhaps Lady Gwendoline is a deep sleeper.
Or perhaps, he’d awakened her already, and she simply refused to come to the window. She might have run to her father or mother. Or to a member of the staff. Caspian didn’t know her that well at all; he was only assuming that Lady Gwendoline was the sort of young, adventurous Lady who would answer to pebbles being thrown at her window.
Caspian threw another pebble and waited, but as he stood there, he began to wonder if Lady Gwendoline would answer at all.
Chapter 11
Gwendoline was awake. This was her third trip to her uncle Lord Charles’s room. She suspected she had looked for hours already, but there was still nothing. But Gwendoline was determined to check the entire room thoroughly. If she’d learned anything about her deceased uncle, it was that he hid things.
She went onto her stomach and half-crawled across the floor, feeling for any break or holes in the wood slats of the floor. Her knees ached, so she paused and sighed, dusting off her dress.
Nothing. Yet, anyway.
She narrowed her eyes and peered around the room, eyeing the walls next. But thus far, there seemed to be nothing amiss.
Maybe I really have found everything that I’m going to find, and there’s nothing else left.
If that was the case, it seemed grossly unfair to Gwendoline. She’d learned so much about her uncle and Lady Helena, and yet she still hadn’t the faintest idea what had really happened between them. They’d been in love, and then what?
Perhaps, they eloped together, but where did they go? And did my family know, or are they as truly in the dark about the matter as they seem?
It was easy enough to understand why Lady Helena wouldn’t reveal her love for Lord Charles. Lady Helena had been engaged to another man.
And did he know? Wass he aware that Lady Helena loved another?
Gwendoline imagined Lady Helena, as she’d seen her in the portraits. She was a young, vibrant woman with a soft face and dark hair. And her eyes were green like Lord Caspian’s. Gwendoline imagined that same lady sitting in a room quite like her own, writing her secret letters and pressing them against her breast.
And the lady went somewhere. Potentially with my own uncle.
Unless her jilted suitor had done something to her, but Gwendoline shuddered to think of that. It was likely her imagination weaving such sordid stories. She had no proof of it, after all.
But perhaps, the Earl of Woodmore does know something.
Even if he knew something, though, Gwendoline couldn’t imagine him being eager to share such information. And if he didn’t know, that might worsen the situation.
But what if they’re both still alive somewhere?
If they were, Gwendoline couldn’t imagine that either of them wanted to be found, and surely, both the Lockwood and the Farraday families had tried over the years. The young lady climbed to her feet and paced across the floor, clouds of dust following at her ankles.
This whole matter might be best left alone, but Gwendoline felt in her core as though she must solve this mystery. She simply could not leave the story as it was, with both their families feuding with one another.
And at least, I do not need to do it alone. Lord Caspian has resolved to aid me in my efforts, so perhaps, we can end this.
She wondered, too, if Lord Charles and Lady Helena had known the breadth of the trouble which might arise from their relationship. Surely, they’d realized there would be a scandal. But had they realized that their actions might spark a feud between their families, one which might continue for decades?
I can’t imagine they would have. How could anyone suspect such a thing might occur?
Gwendoline rose and dusted off her shift, sending white-brown clouds of dirt drifting into the air. If only the world had been kinder, maybe the feud would have never begun. Maybe Lord Charles and Lady Helena could have been together.
It wouldn’t have been a bad match, really. Lockwood and Farraday, the children of Lord Newhost and Lord Elderdale.
She thought that she and Caspian wouldn’t be such a bad match either. Their families both had wealth and influence enough to be compatible.
But such a thing could never happen with my family’s treatment of his.
And she was a fool for daring to consider it. But uncontrollable heat rose to her face. She thought of Lord Caspian’s brilliant smile, and her heart fluttered.
He will help me.
He had so much to lose in this endeavor, and yet he’d resolved to help her.
But it seems as if there’s little more to be found. I’m at an end.
And there was no point in lingering in a room which was filled with ghosts when there was nothing else to find.
I’ll t
ry another night. I must return to bed, or else I risk being caught. I have been away long enough as is.
Gwendoline left her uncle’s room and returned to her own. She’d just reached the door when she heard just the faintest sound. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t have been spotted, surely. Not after she’d successfully evaded being caught all these times.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
There is was again, but it seemed louder now. No, she certainly hadn’t imagined it. And she was certain that it wasn’t merely some woodland creature wandering about outside her window. The sound was too rhythmic, too consistent, to be anything but another person.
Still, Gwendoline froze at the entrance to her room. Her mind raced. What was it? Had she been found out? If she had been, she needed some excuse, some reason, for why she might have been outside her rooms at night. She looked over her shoulder, searching the darkness for anyone, but the halls of the manor were still and silent.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Her head snapped in the direction of the sound. The noise came from her window. She was sure of that, now. Gwendoline stared for several seconds at the heavy, blue curtains, silvery moonlight just barely streaming through them. Her heart raced. She hadn’t been caught, then. But there was someone outside her window.
Is it possible that it’s Lord Caspian beneath the window? He did ask which bedroom was mine.
Slowly, she crossed the floor and drew the curtains aside just a little. Her heart and hand trembled. When she dared sweep aside the curtain a little further, darkness greeted her.
Narrowing her eyes, Gwendoline peered down into the estate grounds. They were dark, but still, she found the outlines of the trees and the bushes, which she knew would now be laden with flowers. But as her gaze drew nearer to the manor, she spotted a shape. Gwendoline narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the details.
And when she did, she gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. A dark figure stood just beneath her window, and Gwendoline drew in a sharp gasp when she recognized him. It was Lord Caspian, dressed for riding. He looked at her with a grin and tossed a smooth, white pebble in his right hand.
Tap!
Gwendoline squeaked in delight as it struck her window before falling, lost somewhere in the grass. There was a flash of white, as he tossed another pebble into the air.
Tap!
The pebble struck the window, drawing a laugh from Gwendoline. He really was here and beneath her window. This was forbidden, more forbidden than anything she’d ever done. Gwendoline’s heart raced, and her pulse quickened.
I shouldn’t go.
But her chest ached, as if a physical knot had tied itself inside her heart. Here was the opportunity she’d longed for, the chance for an adventure. Gwendoline’s lips twitched into a smile.
I shouldn’t go, but I want to go.
And the Lord had come all this way, after all. It would be terribly discourteous of her not to oblige Lord Caspian when he’d come so far to see her and at such a late hour.
She held up her finger, indicating that she would be only a moment, and hurried to her wardrobe. A moonlight escapade with any man would be scandalous, but for that man to be a Farraday was doubly so.
The situation should have filled her with terror. Her head should have warned her of all the ill that might come from the moment. But when she thought of her uncle’s letters and of Lord Caspian’s brilliant, green eyes, any fears she might have had washed away in a flood of excitement and anticipation.
I like him.
Gwendoline’s face grew warm. Her body felt as though it glowed with a sort of brilliant interior light. She paused with her back against the wall. In that moment, she felt like some romantic waif waiting to find her prince just outside her window.
I like him.
But how much did she truly like him? Gwendoline’s heart caught in her throat. She clenched and unclenched her fists; her palms were damp with sweat.
I like him a great deal. And I suppose it’s better to admit that than to ignore it.
Lord Caspian was a witty man. An elegant man, who’d been willing to put aside his pride and apologize to her. And he was a man who stood just beneath her window, coaxing her out with promises of adventure. He was terribly handsome, too.
It sounds like a medieval romance, like a great love poem of old!
Gwendoline raked her hands through her hair, trying to bring some small measure of order to it. Her dark curls resisted, despite her patience in taming them. Then, she dressed herself for riding just as he was. She spent an inordinate amount of time before her mirror, trying to make herself look presentable.
Although surely, he can excuse a little untidiness on account of the late hour.
She returned to her window and gazed down on the grounds, assuring herself that Lord Caspian had not left. Her heart would break if he had left and this all proved to be some trick of mischief.
But he hadn’t. Instead, he smiled at her, his teeth bright white in the semidarkness. Gwendoline returned his smile and swept away from the curtains. She let out a little, girlish laugh of delight. What would her dear Florence think of all this?
With her heart pounding, she slipped from her room. She moved as lightly as she could down the stairs, wincing at every creak. Her haste to see Lord Caspian warred with her desire to remain quiet and unnoticed.
I wonder if this is how my uncle felt. If he and Lady Helena were truly so deep in love, he must have surely snuck out to meet her once or twice by the moonlight.
Fortunately, Gwendoline’s room was at the back of the manor, which meant that she would be less likely to be noticed. It was unlikely that anyone would be about at such a late hour, but Gwendoline never knew when the groundskeeper or her father might decide upon a leisurely stroll in the darkness.
And the willow tree will provide good cover if it happens that there is someone else wandering the grounds at night.
As Gwendoline opened the door, the brisk, spring wind rushed to her, carrying with it the sweet scent of flowers and the softness of coming rain. She silently closed the door behind her and shifted into the shadows cast by the manor. For a few seconds, she remained pressed against the wall, listening and waiting. But she heard only the songs of crickets and frogs rising in the night.
I have found an adventure. All I must do is reach forward and grasp it.
She moved along the walls of the grand house, keeping to the shadows. As she crossed the grass, she found the Lord still waiting. He looked very strong in the darkness. Gwendoline’s eyes traced the shape of Lord Caspian’s broad shoulders and the straight line of his back. There he was.
Only a few steps away.
He didn’t seem to realize that she stood so near him. Instead, Lord Caspian stood beneath the willow tree, rocking back on his heels. He stood there, fidgeting and waiting. Gwendoline’s heartbeat quickened, as she studied him.
Lord Caspian really was here, and she ought to be afraid. But she wasn’t. She ought to be hesitant, but she couldn’t be. He looked too disarming, too lovely, and despite her best efforts to be angry or hesitant, she couldn’t muster anything more than a soft sort of affection.
I shouldn’t like him. I shouldn’t trust him. But I do. I feel as though I can believe his convictions.
She stood a moment longer. A small part of her wondered just how long the lord would wait beneath her window. He would surely leave eventually.
But I won’t make him wait. That would be too cruel.
When she finally reached the place beneath her bedroom window, Lord Caspian stood there, waiting for her. Gwendoline gently touched her curls, and after gathering herself, she stepped from the shadows and went to greet him.
Lord Caspian slowly turned to look at her, and for an instant, they stood and watched one another. It was almost a challenge, a waiting game to see who moved or flinched first.
Gwendoline clasped her hands before her and averted her eyes, as a proper lady should have. Still, even though she did not gaze directl
y upon Lord Caspian, she felt his gaze upon her. And she could imagine all too easily the radiance of his green eyes.
“Good night, My Lord,” she said. “You have chosen a very late hour to come to call.”
When she dared glance at him, he flashed her a smile. The willow fronds swept between them, sent swaying from the spring breezes. Gwendoline caught the merest hint of rain carried upon the wind, accompanied by the gentle scent of flowers.
“So I have, My Lady.” His voice was soft and gentle, like the petals of a primrose blossom.
Gwendoline came closer; her steps were silent on the grass. Lord Caspian scarcely moved, and as Gwendoline approached, she barely dared to breathe.
The Earl That Overruled My Destiny Page 10