Two

Thus it was that Gwendeline Gregory found herself seated in a hired post chaise with Ellen, her maid, her trunk tied behind and the earl riding beside them, traveling up to London. Reeves, a groom, and a footman followed in another chaise, which was burdened with a great deal more luggage than Gwendeline had expected to possess. It was not the same afternoon, but three days later; however, Gwendeline thought resignedly, this was the only detail that had escaped Merryn’s control. Leaning back in her corner of the carriage as Ellen dozed in the other, she was swept by conflicting emotions. The gratitude she should feel for her rescue was tempered by the offense she took at this high-handed takeover of her life.

In the days before their departure, conditions at Brooklands had changed radically and, Gwendeline had to admit, chiefly for the better. The earl had first gone into the village to see the estate agent and the representative of her father’s creditors, who was down from London to supervise the sale of the property. Gwendeline had talked to these men several times since her father’s death. The agent had been sympathetic but, so he said, helpless, and the creditor had been extremely unpleasant, first lecturing her on the evils of not paying one’s bills and then leering at her in a very disconcerting way. Refusing to beg for objects she’d always considered her own, Gwendeline had finally given up trying to deal with either man.

But when the earl returned from his short visit, he informed her that she would be allowed to keep a supply of linen and other household items, as well as a few small pieces of furniture, which she might choose. To Gwendeline’s astonished questions, he answered only that dealing with such persons required a firm hand, leaving her indignant at his implied criticism of her ability to cope. He proceeded to organize the servants she retained for the trip, hire conveyances, and generally oversee all arrangements. Gwendeline felt quite useless, even in the way much of the time, and whenever she questioned the expense, the earl replied only “nonsense.”

Installed at the village inn, Lord Merryn had effortlessly overawed everyone he encountered, including, Gwendeline thought ruefully, her own servants. The cook was in ecstasy, Ellen called him “such a masterful gentleman,” and even Reeves had been won over. Everything had begun to work smoothly when Merryn took over. Gwendeline felt sadly inadequate, very much swept up in a train of events beyond her control, and utterly relieved.

They clattered into London late in the afternoon, and Gwendeline stared out the coach window at streets crowded with other carriages and wagons, vendors hawking a startling array of goods, and what seemed to her thousands of pedestrians. The second chaise was sent on to her new house to leave the large luggage and give the servants a chance to survey it, while Gwendeline went to the house of the earl’s mother, where she was to stay temporarily.

As they drove through the statelier streets of the West End, Gwendeline began to feel a bit nervous. She’d never traveled or visited before, and she felt more and more alarmed at the prospect of meeting the mother of her rescuer. When the chaise slowed to negotiate a corner, she leaned out the window and called to the earl, who was riding a little ahead. He obligingly dropped back beside her. “You’re certain you told your mother I was coming?” she asked. “And she agreed, she didn’t mind?”

“As I said, I sent word,” he replied, “and she was quite pleased at the thought of entertaining a young visitor. In fact, if I know anything of my mother, she’ll be making plans to bring you out.” He smiled slightly. “I told her, you see, that you’re quite lovely.”

Blushing, Gwendeline drew her head back into the coach just as it stopped in front of an imposing gray-stone house.

Merryn handed her down from the carriage as one of the postboys knocked smartly on the polished front door. It was flung open almost immediately, and they walked up three steps into an elegant hall. “Is my mother in the drawing room, Allison?” the earl asked the towering butler who’d come out to greet them.

“No, my lord. She is in her, ah, study.” Allison said this with a faint air of disapproval, leaving Gwendeline to wonder what there was in a study to disapprove.

The earl sighed. “Very well. This way, Gwendeline.”

He had begun calling her by her Christian name on the second day of his visit to Brooklands, and repeated requests that he desist had had no effect. It made Gwendeline feel like a child, instead of the young lady she knew herself to be, and she was quite sure the earl knew this and did it on purpose.

They went upstairs and down a hallway, past a large drawing room beautifully appointed in fawn and pale green. The earl knocked on a closed door at the end of the passage; there was no answer, but he ignored this and went in, Gwendeline behind him.

“Hello, Mother,” he said crisply. “We have arrived, as you see. Here is Gwendeline Gregory, come to stay with you.”

The lady seated at the large and very cluttered desk in the corner of the room turned, and Gwendeline got her first look at the Countess of Merryn. She’d expected a large, overpowering woman, dressed in the latest mode and altogether magnificent, like her son. The countess was small, however, scarcely coming to Gwendeline’s chin when she stood up, though Gwendeline was only slightly above medium height. Her dress was indeed well cut, but it was of lavender silk and very simple, long sleeved and high necked, fastened at the throat with a bit of lace and a cameo brooch. Lady Merryn’s silver hair was also dressed simply, and she wore no cap and no other jewelry. Her eyes were the same cool gray as her son’s, though her manner lacked his infuriating superiority.

Gwendeline had time to notice these things because the countess seemed quite vague at first as to why they’d come. “Alex, how nice to see you,” she said, holding out her hand. “It’s an age since we met. I’ve been so busy, you know, with the third volume that I’ve seen absolutely nobody for weeks.” Gwendeline had a moment of panic, wondering whether the earl had really sent word of her visit, but then his mother turned to her. “And this is Gwendeline. She’s perfect! Reared in the countryside, far from the nets of commerce and society. Have you read Rousseau, my dear?”

“B-beg pardon, ma’am?” stammered Gwendeline.

“But of course you have not.” The countess’s eyes took on a faraway look. “It would be a contradiction in terms for a child of nature to know Rousseau. She must be, while we less fortunate city dwellers read of her nature. Thus, they are antithesis, the theory and the creature. I must make a note.” She bustled back to her desk and began writing furiously.

Wide-eyed, Gwendeline looked to the earl for help. If this was how people conversed in London, she would be lost. But Merryn merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged, offering her no aid.

The countess turned back to them. “A most interesting thought. I shall bring it up at the Literary Society meeting Thursday. But now, you must be exhausted from your journey, and I mustn’t keep you standing. Let us go and sit down.”

The servants were laying out the tea things when they reached the drawing room, and Gwendeline was glad to sink into a comfortable chair and accept the cup Lady Merryn poured for her.

“There,” said the countess as she finished handing round the tea. “Just drink that, and then I’ll show you to your room, my dear. You’ll want to rest before dinner. Alex, you’re dining with us, of course.” She didn’t wait for an answer, and Gwendeline was pleased to see the earl pulled into someone else’s plans for a change. “I must apologize for my welcome, Gwendeline. We’ll be so much together, may I call you Gwendeline?” Again, she went right on without waiting for permission. “I’ve been so involved in my latest novel, nearly finished now, that I’ve been forgetful. As soon as it’s complete, I’ll take the time to get you properly settled in London.”

“Novel?” asked Gwendeline, again glancing at the unresponsive earl for guidance.

“Yes, didn’t Alex tell you? Just like him, he’s very selfish.” She smiled engagingly at her son. “Never concerned with anything but his own interests.”

The earl merely smiled wryly at this, and Gwendeline’s respect for his mother increased.

“Chiefly, I write three-volume Gothic novels,” the countess went on, “though I have tried other sorts. Medieval settings interest me most. Did you know, for example, why some consider it aristocratic to hold one’s little finger out when eating?” She demonstrated, raising her teacup, her finger jutting out.

“No, ma’am,” replied Gwendeline, hastily lowering her own cup. All of her fingers were tightly curled about the handle.

“It originated in medieval times.” The countess was clearly ready to expound at length. “In noble houses, the salt and spices were kept in a bowl on the table, while people ate with knives and fingers. So inconvenient, I should think. The little finger was for dipping condiments, you see, so it was very impolite to use it in eating.” She held up her hand again, triumphantly. “I learned that researching Terror at Wellwyn Abbey, my second book. One finds such wonderful facts in the oddest places. Have you ever visited the British Museum, my dear? Of course you haven’t. I shall take you there.”

She seemed ready to go on, but the earl interrupted her. “Fascinating, Mother. But perhaps Miss Gregory would like to retire to her room.”

The countess looked surprised. “Have you finished your tea, dear? Come with me, then. We’ll have many other opportunities to discuss literature, after all. I’m vastly eager to hear your views. You mustn’t let me run on if you wish to make a point. I tell all my friends so. My tongue runs like a fiddlestick sometimes, but you mustn’t let that silence you.”

Gwendeline murmured a polite nothing as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. She was a little frightened at being left alone with this odd lady.

“Here we are, dear.” The countess opened a door on the left. “This will be your room.” The bedchamber was pleasant, carpeted in green, with a fire already burning in the fireplace and her trunk partly unpacked. The walls were papered in a floral pattern, and the hangings matched the rug. It looked very comfortable and very welcome at this moment. “This bell will bring your maid,” the countess continued. “And you must tell Allison how you like to do things. Do you take chocolate in your room in the morning?” Gwendeline shook her head. “No? I find it so soothing. I often write late into the night—the atmosphere is so perfect then, quite chilling—and rarely come down in the mornings. Well, simply ask Allison for whatever you’d like. If you’re an early riser, the house will be yours at that hour. And now I’ll leave you to rest.”

When the door closed behind her hostess, Gwendeline collapsed into a small armchair beside the window. Her head was whirling. She had never met anyone like Lady Merryn, and the idea that she was to stay with her for a lengthy period was quite daunting. How could she talk to a woman whose every second word was a mystery to her? And what a bird-witted creature Lady Merryn would think her when she discovered that she hated reading, even novels. Gwendeline thought of Brooklands and her uncomplicated life there. Her sudden longing for home momentarily blotted out all memory of how much she’d looked forward to coming to London for this very season. Brooklands now seemed a safe haven forever lost to her.

As she calmed down, however, clear-eyed common sense returned. Gwendeline’s unconventional upbringing had left her with few illusions about her own importance, and even fewer expectations that her wishes would be put foremost. She was being silly, she scolded silently. Of course things seemed strange now. She was in a new place and with new people. No doubt all would be as familiar as her room at Brooklands within a very short time. And if she and the countess didn’t get on, she remembered suddenly, she could go to her own house at any time.

With this comforting thought in her mind, Gwendeline rose and moved to the bed. She would just lie down for a moment and try to forget the bouncing of the chaise and the long, cold days on the road. Before long, Gwendeline’s eyelids were drooping, and in a quarter of an hour she was sound asleep.