Devin looked at her wide eyes, “She is right Thomas. If there are no documents in existence stating she was declared legally dead, then your marriage”
Thomas interrupted him and met eyes with Gwendolyn once again. “Is still legally binding.”
“Then we are still married?” Gwendolyn asked, feeling panic rush her neck.
Devin stepped in between the obvious tensions. “There are formalities that can be taken.”
“Formalities?” Gwendolyn asked stepping towards Devin.
Devin shook his head at her loveliness, “Uh—yes, um, although divorce is infrequent—”
“Divorce!” Thomas suddenly belted out.
“Yes, divorce—it might be the only solution…and a simple alternative.”
Gwendolyn stood before Devin now and pleaded with him, “How quick can it be done? I am about to be married as well!”
Devin gave her a roguish grin, “You should have told me before your crimson look my dear.” When Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes on him, he stiffened and continued, “A couple of days, five at the most? I do not think it should take longer than that.” He then clicked his boots in resolution. “I am off—works to do you know. Nice to make your acquaintance Duchess,” he mocked wickedly, turning on his heel and bowing farewell to the unknown woman on the couch.
Phyllis looked weirdly at the debonair young man then grabbed hold of Gwendolyn’s trembling hands. “I had an acquaintance once who filed for divorce, she fled to France for isolation,” she rationalized, “We live in the country dear, no one will ever know of your partition.”
After realizing Phyllis was right, Gwendolyn began to laugh which made Thomas look her way. “Let me know when the papers can be signed, I am going back to Gisleham.”
Thomas eyed her walking away. He really should go talk to Katrina. Remember your fiancée dear boy? The one who ran out of the room crying and carrying on? But Thomas simply could not get Gwendolyn out of focus. “Where are you staying Gwendolyn? Surely you are not spending the night in that ruin.”
Gwendolyn blinked out of her trance observing him following her departure, “No—no, certainly, I am, we are staying at The Quail Inn.”
“Stay here,” he asked cautiously, watching Gwendolyn’s face flush with animation. “No, what I meant was, as my guest. You can have your old room.”
“The nursery?” She smiled, feeling a touch of repose. “You wish me to sleep in a bassinet?”
Thomas began to smile as well. His heart skipped a beat by her quick humor. “Silly girl, I had Fitzwater and Mrs. Hornebrook restore that room years ago.”
“You still have Fitzwater and Mrs. Hornebrook?” Gwendolyn asked astonished. Oh how she loved playing hide-and-seek with them!
Thomas let go an adoring grin, “Why certainly, and most of my father’s staff. Please say that you’ll stay.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Oh child…the Lord works in mysterious ways,” Mrs. Constance Hornebrook declared hugging the life out of Gwendolyn. She was a hefty woman, full of compassion and influence. She used to be under the employ of the 4thDuke of Norwin, but had been joyously working for His Grace for the past eight winters as Head Housekeeper. Having lost her husband twenty winters back, she considered Thomas her only family. Gwendolyn felt overwhelmed with so much emotion from being within Mrs. Hornebrook’s arms, her tears turned into a bawl.
“Oh Mrs. Hornebrook—”
“Constance, dear…you are old enough to call me by my first name,” she interrupted her.
“Constance then…I am so happy to see you,” Gwendolyn gushed, releasing her embrace. Mrs. Hornebrook was the closest thing she had to her own mother. She then eyed the short, skinny gentleman to her left. “And Mr. Fitzwater—”
“You can call me Fitzwater, dear,” he smiled. Virgil Fitzwater had been with the Hollinger’s for nearly thirty years, servicing the nobles as Head Steward, and had witnessed the births of three Hollinger boys; there was no other place he would rather be, he was already part of the family. “Fitzwater…yes, I feel like a part of me has been reborn, walking through Gisleham, being in this house, seeing…Tommy.” Gwendolyn stopped and then bowed her head.
“He has changed, hasn’t he?” Constance asked, watching Gwendolyn’s tears disappear.
Gwendolyn stepped away from her and eyed the kitchen quarters. “So many things have changed, Constance.”
“He is still the same person, deary,” Fitzwater chimed in. “He has just improved.”
“Improved?” Gwendolyn laughed, feeling a pit in her stomach, a change for the better or for worse? “And now the Duke of Norwin… heavens me, I would have never imagined.”
“You knew the title was heritable dear,” Constance claimed, taking out the teacups for service.
“Yes,” Gwendolyn proclaimed, taking a seat. “So was my father’s. Just so funny though, thinking of everyone calling Tommy His Grace.”
“Yes, and it took him months to finally accept the entitlement,” Constance acclaimed, handing Fitzwater the service tray. “Did you know that these two children used to cause so much trouble when they were younger?” Constance asked Phyllis who was sitting at the farm table.
Fitzwater grabbed the hot teapot and began to serve everyone a cup. “I remember when His Grace and Gwendolyn were ten and got into his father’s shaving blades. I walked in on them shaving Mr. Whiskers, the cat’s tail. Oh, I have never seen two kids run so fast!”
Constance started to hoot, “What about the time when the two of them put frogs in Miss Pinkel’s wash basin?”
“The governess?” Gwendolyn asked, amazed that they still remembered.
“Yes…I have never heard a woman scream that loud!” Constance chuckled, slapping her thighs with her hands. “She ran down the stairs so fast she tripped on her way down, tumbling through to the lower steps. How it was possible to get up from that plunge and run straight out the door was some miracle.”
“It was a sight to behold,” Fitzwater declared. “How about the day I found His Grace covered head to toe in honey because the two of them decided to count the bees in a tree hive? Miraculous the boy was not stung.”
“Or the time the Duchess found Gwendolyn daring His Grace at a horse race…oh my, she nearly fainted at the sight of her daughter wearing breeches!”
The four of them remained laughing when Thomas suddenly appeared. Like the wind blowing out four candles, each one of them shut up and said nothing further.
“You were talking about me, weren’t you?” He asked, turning to every one of them and then setting eyes on Gwendolyn.
Gwendolyn’s heart stopped momentarily when their eyes locked. How does he do that? Oh, she has to stop thinking about him so much. You are getting married Gwendolyn…married? “Not all subjects are about you, you know. You may recommence and do, whatever—Duke’s do, Your Grace,” she curtsied, eyeing the lines around his mouth beginning to curl. He was going to smile, but he held back.
“Ten winters absent, five minutes back, and she acts like the mistress of the manor,” he retorted, leaving them all alone.
Constance wondered at the door for a moment and then leaned into Phyllis. “No one speaks to His Grace that way; I am amazed by the way they feel comfortable around each other. Like two halves of the same person.” Constance stood idle for a second more than twirled around to peek through the door, before whispering to Gwendolyn, “Have you met her yet?”
Gwendolyn knew immediately whom she was speaking about, “Lady Hale?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, briefly…she seems quite nice.”
Constance and Fitzwater both shot looks at one another. “Seems, is too good a word dear. She purrs like a kitten when around him, but she is an alley cat through-and-through.”
Gwendolyn was taken-back, she had never heard Mrs. Hornebrook, Constance, talk like that before! She wondered if she was always this over-bearing person who loved to gossip. “Oh?” Gwendolyn asked, batting her eyelashes, the intrigue choking he
r. “But he must care for her, correct? They are getting married?”
“Yes, my dear, does it distress you to see him with her?”
“Well, I—”
“Oh, I don’t know about him sometimes, unsure what possessed him to solicit this engagement; I don’t know what he sees in her.”
Fitzwater grabbed the sugar bowl and scooped some into his cup with a spoon, “She is quite pleasant on the eyes.”
Constance swatted Fitzwater on the shoulder, “Dirty old man, don’t think I won’t tell your mistress about your latest perception—see if I don’t.”
Oh, dear, God, what did she get herself into? Gwendolyn thought, rolling her eyes away. Mr. Fitzwater has a mistress? Gwendolyn tried to erase the shocked look on her face.
“I say, at least she is more comely than the other’s.” Fitzwater spurted out feeling the wrath of Constance’s dagger stare. Constance tsked at her daft friend and shook her head.
Others? Gwendolyn then closed her eyes and pretended she did not hear that particular word and what it meant. Knowing her former husband had been frolicking the country looking to replace her, affected her heart in a peculiar sort of sting.
Like Constance could read her mind, she subsequently turned to Gwendolyn and lifted up her chin. “I remember once when His Grace used to follow someone around like a magnet,” she stated, kissing Gwendolyn on the forehead. “His pull to her was more than an attraction, more like an obsession if you ask me.”
Gwendolyn puffed up with sentiment again, her tears bursting at the edges of her eyes. “Never a fixation Constance, more like admiration. We were just good friends.”
“Married friends.”
That darn arrangement! If it weren’t for her father’s excess gambling and bad judgment in business investments Gwendolyn would have never married at sixteen. She would have been brought out properly at eighteen, introduced to the ton, and set the world on fire! She would have never had that burning question lingering inside her mind, even to this very day. Did Thomas ever love her? If it weren’t for their forced matrimony, would Thomas Hollinger have asked for her hand? “Yes, married, because of the mandatory arrangement between our two fathers,” Gwendolyn spat out shaking her head.
“No dear,” Constance mouthed, disagreeing with her. “I will believe that decree when they prove to me the world is round.”
“Her Great-Aunt always stated it was a necessary concordat,” Phyllis delivered, reaching out to accept a drop of milk from Fitzwater. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“You are welcome, kind woman,” Fitzwater teased, winking at her. Phyllis turned crimson again. London was sure full of coy prospects.
“Necessary, indeed…” Constance opposed once more.
“In order to save the family,” Phyllis continued, “Their shipping trade from further debt, the two families had to form a partnership. That the two men waited sixteen years until Gwendolyn was old enough to get married.”
“It was all so long ago,” Gwendolyn sighed, bowing her head. “Not so long ago, that I can remember when you turned fifteen.” “Fifteen?” Gwendolyn inquired, trying to remember.
Constance sat down next to Phyllis and patted her hand. “It was her fifteenth birthday. The two families, along with several others were at Wilderbrand to celebrate her birthday. Oh, it was a grand affair; I have never seen so many decorations.” She stopped to take a sip of her tea, then moved on, “The Abernathy’s brought their son, Barry home from the military institute. Oh, he was a handsome young lad and full of animation when he set eyes on Gwendolyn. A crown of flowers in her long flowing auburn hair, her first grown-up tailored dress, she looked remarkable. All during the party, the Duke’s staff and I, used to laugh behind doors thinking how funny it looked, that whenever Barry showed considerate interest in Gwendolyn, His Grace simulated a black panther, ready to pounce.”
Gwendolyn stood up and pulled away from the table. “I do not remember that happening Mrs. Hornebrook and I cannot believe you would make up such a story on my behalf.” Gwendolyn bent around and headed out the door.
“What did I say, dear?” Constance eyed Phyllis, who was standing up as well.
“I will tend to her,” she tenderly voiced, “She is a bit emotional from today’s events.”
Thomas went back to library to pour himself a stiff drink. What the hell just happened…what the hell was he doing…what the hell was he thinking? His hands were shaking that’s for certain. He looked down at them shuddering when he overheard someone clear their throat. Whirling his head around, he found Henry Barton, his confidant and employee for years. “Oh Henry, still here?”
“Yes, but I am about to depart in a few moments,” Henry spurted, walking over to his friend and patting him on his back. “You don’t look so good.”
Thomas poured himself another drink. “I don’t feel so good either.”
“She is quite lovely,” Henry disclosed, peering out the window, glaring at Katrina.
Thomas doesn’t look at his friend, but rather stared at one particular statue solidly gaping back at him. “Yes—yes, she is.”
Henry continued to stare out the pane. “I was speaking about your fiancée, Thomas; did you forget that you had one?”
Thomas closed his eyes, “No Henry, I have not.”
“You know Thomas, Devin confessed to me that Katrina had had her pick of prospective husbands. You weren’t the only one who proposed marriage. Katrina was the reigning belle of the season.”
He should have been absolutely livid over that remark, should have felt vigilant, should have guarded her from Henry’s unremitting interest, but all Thomas felt at that moment was reluctance. “She was at that.”
“Can I ask you something Thomas? And you can perjure yourself if you feel you must.”
Thomas closed his eyes and tried to get Gwendolyn’s face out of his consideration, “Yes, certainly, what is it?”
“What do you feel when you see her?”
Thomas whipped his head around to find Henry heading out the door. “Feel?”
“Yes…feel, sense, experience when your eyes meet hers.”
“Katrina…or Gwendolyn?”
“The one I believe that’s occupying your thoughts at the moment.”
Thomas acknowledged his friend and his straightforwardness. “Uncertainty,” he uttered evenly. “I once cared for her deeply, Henry. I believed she was gone, therefore, I carried out my life and I am certain she had done the same. We are different people now,” he tried to explain away reasons for him thinking of her entirely too much at this point, “With dissimilar opinions. We are both mature and set in our ways. She’s probably overcame her appalling habits of slurping her soup, or sneezing into her skirts. The girl I once knew was sixteen Henry, sixteen, that woman upstairs is unrecognizable, and yet,” he faltered, perplexed by his fate, “She still fascinates me.”
“So what is the solution then?”
“Execute the divorce decree and keep my distance, Henry, the farther away, the better.”
“What are you thinking, Gwendolyn?” Phyllis asked guardedly, observing her pace the room muttering to oneself; she was so concerned for the poor girl.
“It appears that my marriage contract is still binding, Phyllis.” “Unbelievable…why your Great-Aunt is probably turning over in her grave as we speak to have you in such a predicament.” “I wish she was here,” Gwendolyn cried, burying her face within her hands, spurting into tears. “She would know what to do.” Phyllis motioned for Gwendolyn to stop her tread and come and sit down next to her. To her surprise, Gwendolyn rushed to her side immediately and lovingly embraced her. The feeling was so overwhelming; it brought a tear to her eye. “What is there to do child? You have been apart for ten winters dear. He has obviously moved forward, and so have you.”
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