Mine This Winter

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Gwen was the first down to breakfast. Partly because she had not slept a wink last night. It had nothing to do with the aches and pains from making love on a sandy bed. Or the way her heart still raced at the memory. Nothing to do with nerves. She would steal into the King’s chamber if it meant finding the list and preventing Simon getting hurt.

No. Oliver was the cause.

After his treachery, how could she continue to live at Westmore?

How could she play hostess for a man she didn’t respect?

The alternative proved bleak.

She stared at the floral pattern on the plate while nibbling her toast. How quickly one’s illusions could be shattered. One could spend their life with someone and wake to find they were living with a stranger.

“I’m surprised to see you up bright and early.” With a ravenous glint in her eyes, Mrs Astley examined the breakfast buffet. “You were out well past midnight.” She loaded a china plate with cake rather than eggs and ham. “I believe Mr Garrick’s room was empty, too.”

Ordinarily, Gwen would feign ignorance and change the subject, but she had grown tired of being lectured by hypocrites.

“I’m surprised you had time to notice. I heard you plotting with Mr Payne in the corridor. I saw you kissing him in the garden.”

“Touché, my dear.” Women like Mrs Astley thrived on being rebellious. “Why remain indoors when there’s pleasure to be had elsewhere?”

Gwen waited for Mrs Astley to sit before questioning her morals. “Where are your loyalties? Mr Payne made it clear he’d come to Westmore to win my hand.”

The footman returned with the teapot, though Mrs Astley did not curb her tongue or her wanton eye. “Mr Payne has more chance of marrying a princess of Persia than he does marrying you. You can’t keep your eyes off Mr Garrick.”

Gwen couldn’t argue with the woman’s assessment. “Mr Garrick is a handsome man.” He was an incredible man. Strong. Virile. “You said so yourself. Still, my brother arranged these festivities hoping I would find a husband.”

This time, the lady had the foresight to glance over her shoulder before speaking. “Yes, because you’re a dreaded inconvenience. He wants rid of you so he can move his French mistress in. It’s supposed to be a secret, though a select few are party to the gossip.”

French mistress!

Gwen’s heart missed a beat. The toast slipped from her fingers and landed on the plate. “I—I’d know if my brother had a mistress.”

Would she? Oliver had kept a wicked secret for five years. He had taken a servant into his bed. Did it not prove he was a walking monument to deceit?

Mrs Astley swallowed a mouthful of saffron cake. “From what I hear, the mistress may soon be the wife.”

The wife? No wonder Oliver had been keen to host the party. The man was desperate to see her wed. No wonder Oliver was angry. Mr Garrick’s arrival had scuppered his plan.

Mrs Astley gestured for the footman to pour the tea. “Tensions are running high, my dear. A storm is brewing, and I’m not referring to the weather.”

Mr Payne appeared looking more gaunt than usual. He smoothed his hand through his dark hair, bowed and moved to sit beside Gwen. “Good morning. I see the weather is still grim. The heavy clouds suggest more snow.”

“What a pity. I hoped you would leave once the roads were passable.” Gwen gestured to the seat beside Mrs Astley. “You should sit there, sir. I would hate to deprive lovers of a chance to hold hands beneath the table.”

Mr Payne’s sunken eyes widened.

Mrs Astley merely grinned. “Miss Caldwell saw us in the garden last night. I suspect she knows you need her dowry and the connections that come with marrying a viscount’s sister.”

Mr Payne froze. Conniving men rarely knew what to do when confronted with the truth. “I—I?—”

“Do close your mouth and sit down,” Mrs Astley said, offering a satisfied grin. “The game is up. You may as well enjoy your breakfast.”

Lord Bancroft entered the dining room with Miss Netherwell and Sir Robert and soon engaged the guests in mundane conversation.

As per the plan, Gwen had to await Simon’s arrival before she could sneak upstairs to inspect the bedchambers. She did not need to wait long. Minutes later, the gentleman strode into the room, a perfect picture of masculine dominance.

Their eyes met, and her insides melted. She struggled to keep her breathing even, let alone maintain an impassive expression.

Visions of his naked body burst into her mind. She watched him help himself to food from the platters, entranced by the sight of his firm stance and large hands. She’d been wrong to think making love would sate her growing need for him. It was quite the opposite. All the food on the silver platters wouldn’t stifle her hunger.

Gwen excused herself before Simon sat down.

Mr Payne made to chase after her, but Mrs Astley forced him back into the seat. “Don’t go making a fool of yourself. No one likes a dribbler.”

Gwen climbed the stairs. She slipped into Lord Bancroft’s room without notice and forced herself to focus.

The bulging valise on the floor struck her as odd. Daring to peer inside, she found folded clothes and a coin purse stuffed with sovereigns. No list. No incriminating letters. Not even a weapon.

She searched beneath the pillows and mattress, in drawers and cupboards, all to no avail. Without evidence, they could not accuse the lord of treason.

In contrast, Mr Payne’s room was in utter disarray. One could barely see the floor for clothes, let alone glimpse a flimsy piece of paper. Judging by the state of his bed, he had not slept alone last night. The crumpled sheets reeked of Mrs Astley’s French perfume.

The maid was already cleaning Sir Robert’s room. Gwen entered on the pretence of checking Jane’s work. Still, there was nothing amongst the baron’s belongings but books.

Suspecting the spy might have hidden the list somewhere less conspicuous, Gwen thought to check Mrs Astley’s room. Doubtless every man had been in there. But nagging questions drew her in the opposite direction.

Did Oliver have a French mistress? Had she duped him into betraying his countrymen? Anything was possible. He had friends in the Foreign Office and made regular trips to London.

Gwen was about to knock on Oliver’s bedchamber door but noticed it was ajar. Peering around the jamb, she saw Myrtle ferreting in the nightstand.

The maid jumped out of her skin when Gwen entered. She slammed the drawer shut and thrust her hands behind her back. Never had a woman looked so guilty.

“Myrtle? Why were you rooting through my brother’s things?”

Myrtle’s eyes shifted nervously back and forth. “Forgive me, miss. Since Mr Garrick came, I’ve not had a minute’s peace. There’s rumours. Terrible rumours.”

“What rumours?”

Myrtle’s grimace spoke of a brief tussle with her conscience. “That Mr Garrick is here on the King’s business. That he’s come to catch a spy. Happen he’s here because of his lordship’s French mistress.”

Mother Mary!

Was Gwen the only one ignorant of the facts?

“I know it’s wrong to go snooping, miss, but we’ll all be for the gallows if evidence comes to light.”

“My brother is not spying for the French.” Gwen tried to sound convincing, but a sliver of doubt crept into her mind.

“I pray you’re right, miss.” Myrtle showed Gwen a letter she had hidden behind her back. “I think it’s written in French. Happen you could read it and put all our minds at rest.”

Gwen should have argued against reading a person’s private missive, but lives were at risk, and she had to discover the truth.

She took the letter, the heavy floral scent assaulting her nostrils. “It is written in French.” Despite neglecting her studies, she deciphered the message. “It’s a love letter.” A lewd letter. “There’s nothing here to support these ludicrous claims.”

Myrtle’s shoulders sagged. “Thank heavens.”

“If you have any further concerns, you’ll bring them to me.”

The maid curtsied. “On my word, I’ll not go snooping again.”

Gwen opened the chamber door. “I’m sure you have work to do.”

“Yes, miss.”

Myrtle scuttled away, leaving Gwen to place the note back in the drawer. She glanced about the room before making a quick retreat. Thankfully, she’d reached the stairs when Oliver came striding up, mounting the steps two at a time.

“I need a private word with you.” His clipped voice revealed his displeasure. With his bruised eye, he looked like the devil on a mission to slay souls. “We’ll remove to my chamber.”

“I have other matters to attend to at present.”

“Now, Gwendolyn!” Oliver ushered her back along the corridor and into his room. He slammed the door shut and whirled around to face her. “Have you lost your mind? A respectable woman needs a respectable husband. Garrick is a rogue. Had Mother been here to see the state of you last night, she would have died of apoplexy.”

The mere mention of their mother left her choked with emotion. “If Mother were here, the last five years wouldn’t have been so unbearable. Indeed, she would have seen through your facade. Doubtless she’s turning in her grave, horrified by your duplicity.”

The insult barely roused a grunt. “Garrick is using you to hurt me. He’s out for revenge. You’ll be left here, ruined and alone. I’m of a mind to throw the devil out.”

Did Oliver have something to hide?

Was he clambering for an excuse to get rid of Simon?

“I’ll wager he’s made the whole thing up,” Oliver ranted. “There is no spy. He’s come to Westmore to drive a wedge between us.”

Gwen fought to remain calm. “You drove a wedge between us when you lied to Mr Garrick. When you spent five years lying to me.”

“It was for your own good!” In his anger, he knocked his cufflink box off the chest of drawers. “That bastard has been here for five minutes and already has you in the palm of his hand.”

“That’s not true.”

“He stole your virginity. Don’t dare deny it.”

“He didn’t steal it. I gave it to him.”

Gwen didn’t wait for Oliver’s reply. She darted from his chamber and hurried along the corridors back to her own room. Once there, she changed into sturdy boots, grabbed her ermine-trimmed pelisse and matching muff.

A walk to the harbour would calm her spirit. Moreover, she needed to question Mr Pope about his late-night antics. She wrote Simon a note, gave it to Flanders, then left the house.

She kept to the lanes rather than taking the shorter route across the fields. Snowflakes fell like soft feathers from the heavens. Was it not a sign one should have hope? A belief their problems would be resolved soon?

Her thoughts drifted to the many times Oliver had lied, and how she would be oblivious to his treachery had Simon not returned to catch a spy. Indeed, she had reached the market hall when the thud of footsteps woke her from her reverie.

Simon appeared, panting with exertion, every breath leaving a puff of white mist in the chill air. “I thought we agreed to visit Pope this afternoon?”

The sight of him had her heart thumping hard against her ribcage. “We did, but I encountered Oliver’s wrath and had to escape the house.” She paused—her loyalty conflicted. Despite her brother’s treachery, how could she betray him? “You should avoid returning to Westmore. Oliver may call you out. He may look for a reason to get rid of you.”

“To call me out is to call out the King,” he said as they strode towards the harbour. “It would be considered treason.”

“Not if he lays the blame at your door. He’ll say you ruined me.” Like a trapped bird, panic fluttered in her throat. “Perhaps you could stay at Whitney Grange for a night or two.”

Simon gave a mocking snort. “I’ll not flee like a coward. Besides, according to Mrs Astley, Oliver has a French mistress. A mistress whose brother was killed by a naval officer. A British officer.”

Lord have mercy!

Could matters get any worse?

“I found Myrtle in my brother’s chamber, looking for proof he’s a spy. I wonder if that’s why she was cleaning his study late last night.” Gwen relayed her conversation with Myrtle. “Oliver may not be a loyal brother, but he is loyal to his country.”

Simon brought her to a halt and faced her. “After what he did to me, to us, I’ll never trust the devil again.”

Gwen hung her head. It came down to a choice. Her kin or the man she loved. “You must do what you think is right. You have my blessing and my full support. I’ll not give you cause to doubt me.”

Simon glanced around the deserted street before kissing her on the lips. “I know now is not the right time to speak from the heart, but for the first time in years, I fear what tomorrow will bring.”

She drew her hand from her muff and cupped his cold cheek. “People conspired to keep us apart once before.” If she lost him again, life would not be worth living. “It’s best to leave nothing unsaid.”

Regardless of the public setting, he wrapped his muscular arms around her. “I’m in love with you, Gwendolyn. I’ve always been in love with you. I will always be in love with you.”

Tears welled. His love was all she wanted, all she had prayed for. No amount of sadness or regret would spoil this moment. “I have never stopped loving you, Simon. I love you more with each breath.”

They stood on the snow-covered quay, Mr Pope’s establishment in their sights, but they only had eyes for each other.

“I promise no one will keep us apart again.” As the words left Gwen’s lips, a thought gnawed at her confidence.

A traitor lurked in the shadows.

Someone capable of tearing their world in two.