Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17)

by Emma V. Leech

  “What a marvellous day,” she said, smiling at the two sleepy faces looking owlishly back at her.

  “Oh, it was,” Susan said, nodding.

  “Marvellous,” Selina agreed.

  They looked at each other and grinned. “The best Christmas ever,” they said in unison.

  Gwenn laughed as Susan reached out and took her hand. “But every Christmas will be like this now, for we shall all come back every year. How lovely it is to have Ross and Freddie and Mrs Murray and Digby, and especially you, Miss Wynter.”

  “Oh.” Gwenn gave a hiccoughing laugh, struggling not to weep as she realised how upset they would be tomorrow when they discovered she was gone.

  “Well, I’m sure it will be just as wonderful whether or not I am here,” she said, striving for levity, but the girls both sat up and stared at her, shaking their heads.

  “Oh, no,” Selina said, her expression grave. “That’s not true. Everything is better since you came. Even Sampson is happier, and he’s always so worried about everything.”

  “About us,” Susan said, nodding.

  Abruptly and before she could lose what remained of her composure, Gwenn leaned toward them and pulled them both into a hug.

  “You are, without a doubt, the most wonderful, beautiful, clever girls that ever lived,” she said, her voice increasingly thick. “And don’t you ever believe otherwise. I… I am… most terribly fond of you.” She kissed each golden head in turn before giving them a dazzling smile as she fought to keep her tears at bay. “Now, go to sleep, for I expect the captain has more to entertain you with tomorrow, so you mustn’t sleep the day away.”

  This idea seemed to win them over, and they settled down as Gwenn tucked them in.

  “Goodnight,” she said, taking one last look at them. “God bless.”

  Somehow, she made it out of the room without dissolving into tears. Though she knew she ought to return downstairs, she couldn’t face it. Longing to see Sampson again was a grave temptation, but she was too raw, too close to tears, and he would notice and demand she explain. No, she must end this little idyll, and do it now, before she discovered she was too weak willed to make the break.

  Digby nodded a greeting as he passed her in the corridor on his way downstairs and she waylaid him.

  “Please send my apologies, but I won’t go back down. All this enjoying myself has worn me out.”

  “Of course, Miss Wynter,” he said, his smile warm. “I’ll make sure they know you have retired for the evening. Good night, miss.”

  “Goodnight, Mr Digby.”

  She watched him go before going to her own room and shutting the door behind her. Gwenn leaned against it and closed her eyes. Well, that was that, then. Sampson would not seek her out. He had been as shaken by their near discovery as she had been and, though he’d said he’d get Samuel to give them some more time together, he would not risk coming to her room. She would not see him again this night, or any other night.

  She wept as she gathered her things and packed them away. The girls had made her a present each for Christmas, sweet little paintings of her and the two of them together with Sampson. Beside them stood a huge snowman with a beaming coal black smile. Gwenn packed the paintings with care, careful not to crease the paper, not allowing herself a moment to study the charming scene and everything it implied, lest her resolve falter.

  Sleep didn’t come, not that she’d expected it to, and it was still dark when Mrs Murray gave a light tap on the door.

  Together they carried her luggage down to the front door, to where a burly Scot with a thick beard and an impenetrable accent awaited her with a pony and cart.

  “This is Angus,” Mrs Murray said. “He’ll take good care of ye and see ye to the mail coach. Ye can trust him, lass, he’ll see ye safe away.”

  “Thank you, Angus,” Gwenn said, trying to find a smile for him.

  The man nodded and snatched his cap from his head, muttering something Gwenn didn’t understand.

  “His niece is at Fort William,” Mrs Murray said, translating for her. “She’ll attend ye on the journey as far as Carlisle, where she’ll visit her auntie. Ye will swear to me ye’ll find another to travel in her place, Miss Wynter, or I’ll raise every soul in this castle afore I let ye go.”

  Gwenn smiled, touched by the woman’s concern.

  “I promise I shall, and I shall take care of myself. I’m not a green girl, you know.”

  She smiled, but was unable to keep the sadness from her voice at the truth of that statement. If only she had been, how different her life might be.

  Mrs Murray gave a taut nod. “This is for the journey,” she said, thrusting a heavy basket at her which Angus took and put in the cart. “There’s some of my pie, and bread and cheese, and… and some things to keep the cold out.”

  Mrs Murray’s voice quavered, and Gwenn burst into tears, throwing herself into the woman’s embrace.

  “Oh, lassie, I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too,” Gwenn said, wiping her face to no avail as the tears came thick and fast. “But I won’t bring shame on them. I couldn’t bear it, and… and there’s no other way.”

  “Are ye quite sure….” Mrs Murray began. “Is it really so bad?”

  “Yes,” Gwenn said simply. “It really is. Take care, Mrs Murray and please, would you see that everyone gets these?” She handed the little bundle of letters into the woman’s keeping, letters she’d written in the lonely hours of the night whilst everyone slept.

  “I will lass. Will ye write me an’ assure me ye are safe an’ well when ye get home?”

  Gwenn nodded, too overcome to speak, and gave the woman one final embrace before climbing into the cart.

  “Thank you, for everything,” she managed, her voice thick with tears.

  Mrs Murray raised a hand as the pony began to move. “Gabh mo leisgeul, Miss Wynter.”

  Turning in her seat, Gwenn returned the gesture, staring back at the shrinking figure and the vast castle at her back, until they turned a corner and Mrs Murray was no longer visible.

  Chapter 21

  “Wherein… the truth.”

  Sampson pushed his empty plate away, surprised at how much he’d eaten. After last night’s feast he’d been certain he’d not face another bite for days, but he’d woken ravenously hungry. Everyone was up late this morning, however, and only the twins had kept him company whilst he ate. They’d gone off to find Freddie, who’d promised them a game of cards, and Sampson had the breakfast parlour to himself. He’d called in on Samuel before he came down, who’d cursed him roundly and told him to go to the devil. Before he’d left his brother in peace, Sampson had extracted a promise that he’d entertain the twins this afternoon for a couple of hours, and he was eager to tell Gwenn. It was snowing again and being outside was not as appealing as it had been on Christmas Eve, so Sam would keep the girls occupied indoors and give him and Gwenn some private time together.

  Today, he would discover what it was she was hiding from him and, as much as he dreaded it, he wanted to learn the truth. Once Sampson knew what he was fighting, he could think of possible ways to get around or lessen any scandal. He was a wealthy man, after all, and money was a powerful motivator. Surely there would be something he could do.

  He wondered if Gwenn was up yet. Mrs Murray had said she had woken with a headache and was having a lie in, but that had been ages ago. Sampson hoped she wasn’t sickening for something. Though he’d told her she didn’t have to act the part every moment of the day, she was scrupulous in her work as governess and never left the girls to another’s care unless Sampson insisted. It was unlike her to leave them for others to attend to. He decided to ask Mrs Murray to take her up a cup of tea and see how she was faring.

  As he passed Ross’s library on the way to the kitchen, he heard an almighty row coming from inside. From the sounds of things, Mrs Murray and Ross were at odds, and Sampson jumped in surprise as the door flew open and Ross stalked out with a face like thunder.
>
  “Interfering old buzzard….” he muttered under his breath until he saw Sampson and stopped in his tracks. “Sampson.”

  “Ross,” Sampson replied, amused. “Good morning.”

  There was something in his brother’s eyes, something that made foreboding prickle down his spine. “I’m afraid it is nae that, mo bhràthair,” he said, his expression sombre. “I was just coming to find ye. Ye had best come in. Mrs Murray has something to say.”

  Ross’s words and the bleak expression he wore set Sampson’s heart to pounding in his chest, and he was breathless by the time he faced Mrs Murray and saw the stark white of her complexion.

  “What is it?” he asked. “My God, is it Gwenn? Is she ill?”

  The woman twisted her apron between her hands and shook her head, but her eyes were filled with tears. “Nae, my lord. ’Tis nothing like that. The lass is well.”

  “Then what?” he demanded, looking between her and Ross.

  His brother looked away from him and went the decanter on his desk, busying himself with pouring out two glasses.

  “What?” Sampson said again, wanting to shake the woman.

  “Miss Wynter… she asked me to give ye these,” she said, reaching into the apron pocket and handing him a small bundle of letters. “There’s one for yerself, and another for the girls, and one for their auntie.”

  Sampson stared down at the letters in confusion. Why was Gwenn writing him letters when she could speak to him?

  “I don’t understand,” he said, hearing the panic rising in his voice as a terrible suspicion grew in his mind.

  “She’s gone, laddie,” Mrs Murray’s voice trembled, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She swiped it away and stood a little taller, raising her chin. “She told me that… that she had to go, that if she stayed she would hurt ye and yer kin, and bring shame upon yer family and herself, and that she could nae bear to do.”

  Sampson couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He stared stupidly down at the letters, his heart thudding too hard and too fast, his brain so stupefied he couldn’t think.

  “When?” was all he managed.

  “Hours ago,” Ross said, holding out a glass to him. “And the snow’s coming down thick and fast. I’ll willingly take ye to Fort William, but I fear ye’ll nae get much further.”

  “Perhaps she’s stuck too?” he said, hope rising in his chest at the idea.

  “It’s possible,” his brother said, nodding.

  “I need to leave. Now.”

  Ross downed his drink with a grimace. “I’ll ready the horses.” He moved to the door but paused, putting a heavy hand on Sampson’s shoulder and squeezing. “I’ll help ye however I may, brother. I know what it is to see the one ye love slip from yer grasp.”

  Sampson nodded, praying that he could catch up with Gwenn as Ross had caught up with Freddie.

  “Perhaps ye had best read the letter first, my lord.”

  Sampson turned to stare at Mrs Murray, wanting to hate her for helping Gwenn run from him, but he saw the misery in her eyes and knew she’d done what she’d thought best. Yet why hadn’t they trusted him?

  “Why?” he said, his voice rough. “Why did you—?”

  “Because she needed a friend, and she needed to return to her kin,” Mrs Murray said, the words sure, though her eyes were full of tears. “I could nae tell her not to go. She told me plain that to marry her would be to ruin those sisters of yours, and she’d not live with that on her conscience, and she knew ye could nae either. She wanted to save ye the heartbreak of telling her so.” Mrs Murray nodded at the letters. “She said it was all in there, and that you would understand, once ye had read it.”

  Sampson stared at the letters, his hands trembling.

  He looked up as Mrs Murray reached up and touched her weathered fingers to his cheek.

  “It fair breaks my heart to hurt ye so with this news, but I could nae refuse her. Forgive me.”

  She went out, closing the door behind her. Sampson set aside the letters for his sisters and his aunt, unable to even consider how he would tell the girls that Gwenn had gone.

  He broke the seal and took a breath before unfolding the paper. The writing was smudged in places and his throat closed as he imagined her distress when she’d written it.

  My darling,

  Please forgive me for leaving you in such a cowardly manner, but I could not bear to look you in the eye and see your opinion of me change when I told you my story. I could not take the risk, either, that your heart is even greater than I supposed, and that you would forgive me, for I might never then find the strength to leave you. You will see now, though, how impossible it is.

  My name is not Gwendoline Wynter but Guinevere de Wynn. My mother is Marie de Wynn. Yes, the very same, the most scandalous and infamous of courtesans. I am the illegitimate daughter of the Marquess of Davenport. No doubt you have heard the tale of the Davenport rubies. My mother wears them with pride.

  I think perhaps you have also heard of her daughter, Guinevere, who is destined to be the greatest whore who ever lived. She is soon to make her come out, and the richest and most powerful men of the ton have been invited to bid for her. I have often wondered if you received such an invitation, for I do not remember your name on that list. I suspect that you declined, and that alone tells me I am right to do as I have.

  Marie has raised me to excel at my occupation. Any innocence has long since vanquished from my mind, even as my body remained untouched lest I devalued myself. When I foisted myself upon you under the guise of governess it was with the intention of running away, of finding another life, another way of living, and instead… I found you.

  I regret nothing that has passed between us. No matter what you may think of me now, please know that my heart was honest and loved you in its entirety.

  I shall always love you, Sampson.

  I love you and your beautiful sisters too well to hurt you any more than I must. I hope they can forgive me for deserting them but tell them what you must. I beg that you will find a governess who will be kind to them and remind them every day how special they are. You will never know how much I long for it to be me, but I discover that I cannot outrun fate. I care little for the future in this moment, nor for what happens to me now. I only know that I understand what it is to love and be loved, and that there will never be another.

  Goodbye my darling. Please find it in your heart to forgive me and know that you will always be in mine.

  Yours,

  Gwenn.

  Chapter 22

  “Wherein life goes on.”

  London. 3rd April 1821.

  Sampson looked up from his desk as his butler, Brent knocked and came in.

  “Captain Moncreiffe to see you, my lord.”

  “Ross!” he exclaimed, moving to greet his brother. “This is a surprise.”

  The two men embraced as Brent withdrew and closed the door behind him.

  Ross studied him, holding him at arm’s length, his scrutiny unnerving. Sampson moved away, avoiding his gaze, knowing what he would see only too well. He’d faced it in the mirror every morning for more than three months.

  “Ye look bloody awful,” Ross said, earning himself a huff of laughter.

  “Thank you,” Sampson said, moving to pour them a drink. “I must ask you to drop in more often lest my ego run away with me.”

  “It’s nae funny,” Ross growled, scowling at the drinks Sampson carried as he handed one to him. “Is that yer first of the day, for I doubt it. Ye’ve lost weight,” he added, his tone accusing.

  “For God’s sake, Ross, you’re not my bloody mother,” Sampson snapped, though he knew it was all true enough. He drank too much and slept too little. Not that he cared. The only thing that kept him from falling utterly to pieces was his sisters. They’d already endured a vile father; he’d not be the brother that let them down. Well, not yet, at any rate.

  “Nae, but someone needs to take ye in hand, and it may as well be me. I’m yer big brot
her, remember.”

  Sampson stared at him, as an uncomfortable suspicion formed in his mind. “Why are you here?”

  “I just told ye,” Ross growled. “Yer brothers and yer aunt and even those wee girls have written to me more than once over these past months, worrit to death about ye, but the last letter was more than I could bear from a distance. So, now ye are bloody stuck with me.”

  He stared at Ross, torn between surprise at how much the gesture touched him—that Ross would come all this way on his account—and intense irritation that his family had been bothering the man behind his back.

  “Ye have heard the news, then?”

  Sampson gave him a dark look. “Of course I’ve heard the bloody news.”

  “Aye,” Ross replied, unsurprised. “Then what are ye goin’ to do about it?”

  Well, wasn’t that the question.

  “None of your business.”

  “Ach, but I intend to make it my business. It may have escaped yer notice, but ye are the head of this family now, and ye had best make a better job of it than yer father did, or ye will have me to answer to.”

  “He was your father too,” Sampson shot back, downing his drink and slamming the empty glass down. He glowered at Ross and reached for his glass, filling it again.

  “So, I’ll ask again. What are ye going to do?”

  Sampson stared at the huge Scot, who seemed to take up more than his fair share of the study. His face was hard and implacable, his stance one of a determined mountain range, but there was warmth and a depth of sympathy in his eyes that made Sampson’s throat tight. He shook his head and sat down by the fire, staring into the flames.

  His mind wandered back to that morning so many months ago, the morning Gwenn had run from him. Ross had been as good as his word and they’d made it to Fort William despite the dreadful conditions. It had been a damned hard journey and all for nothing. By the time he’d gotten there, Gwenn was long gone, having escaped before the weather closed in and the roads became impassable. Sampson had followed her as soon as he could, but he’d never caught up with her.