Five

Gwendeline didn’t take the title of reigning toast from Lillian Everly, but in the weeks that followed she received a creditable number of invitations and was present at many fashionable ton parties. She danced at Almack’s, where the earl led her onto the floor on several occasions to confirm his high opinion of her. The patronesses were pleased to approve her and allow her to waltz, and some of the young gentlemen seemed flatteringly struck by her charms, and vied for the honor of partnering her. She went to Vauxhall Gardens to dance, eat wafer-thin slices of ham, and watch the fireworks display; she attended several plays and went riding in the park with Miss Everly more than once. She even began to feel that Lillian, as she had by now been asked to call the other girl, was becoming a friend. Gwendeline liked her very much and admired her assurance and quick wit. Lillian was her first friend of her own age.

Not everyone was as kind as Lillian, of course. One or two starched-up matrons snubbed her, and Mr. Blane continued to seek her out at every opportunity and try to engage her in conversation. She avoided him when she could; she didn’t care for his manner. But sometimes she was forced to speak to him, and then the things he said made her painfully aware of her youth and ignorance.

Just the opposite was true with another new acquaintance. Mr. Horton, one of Lillian’s court of admirers, sought her out when they attended the same gatherings, but he had even less “town bronze” than Gwendeline, and his awkwardness put her at ease. She also pitied him; he clearly felt much out of place in London and was unsure how to make himself interesting to the satirical Miss Everly. He seemed very grateful for Gwendeline’s good-natured attention and often spent entire half hours pouring out his thoughts, hopes, and opinions to her. He was not at all shy or diffident at heart, and he showed some inclination to educate Gwendeline when he had plumbed the depths of her ignorance of literature and the classics.

Thus, on the eve of her first real ball in London, Gwendeline felt more at ease in society, if not yet completely at home, and much more knowledgeable about its workings. Though she would never be a belle, perhaps, she had an established place and was accepted. Altogether, she anticipated the evening with pleasurable excitement.

But as she donned her pale aquamarine ball gown that evening, half listening to Ellen’s chatter about the antics of Alphonse, Gwendeline began to wonder what would become of her when the season was over. Lady Merryn, she had soon realized, expected that she would marry some eligible gentleman and thus solve the problem of her future. But Gwendeline had not yet met anyone she would think of marrying nor had she been the object of any eligible gentleman’s marked attentions. Her father’s disgrace and, even more, her penniless state would discourage almost any potential suitor. Probably she would end up retiring to her small house with Miss Brown and living a quiet life in the city.

“So he threw every last one of them out in the gutter,” said Ellen.

“What?” Gwendeline was pulled from her thoughts by this remark.

“He threw them out of the house, miss,” repeated Ellen. “Oh, if you could have seen him, waving his cleaver about and shouting at them in French. I couldn’t understand a word.” She pursed her lips. “And lucky for me, I say. Because some of it was French swearing or I’m a fool.”

“Are you talking about Alphonse?” asked Gwendeline. “Whom did he throw out? Oh, it wasn’t the chimney sweep, was it? I told him the chimneys must be cleaned.”

“No, miss,” answered Ellen, frowning. “It was the mice. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

“Mice?”

Ellen sighed. “The mice what was eating foodstuffs in the pantry. Alphonse has been screaming and raging about them for days. La, miss, you should have heard him. ‘The mice, they shall all be removed or I go! They must be executed. Vive la guillotine!’” She giggled. “He swore he would cut them into little pieces and get six cats to eat them. Finally, Mr. Reeves got some traps.”

“Ah. And the mice were caught?”

“Aye. Seven of the little creatures. In a great cage. John, the footman you know, pulled the trap out of the pantry first thing this morning, and there they were. He held the trap up. You know how tall John is, miss. And Alphonse began to dance around him, waving his cleaver in one hand and a great knife in the other and yelling something fierce. I like to died laughing.”

Gwendeline smiled. “But he didn’t cut them up?”

“Him?” Ellen sniffed. “He couldn’t hurt a fly. He’s all talk. John took them outside, with Alphonse dancing after him every step. It was a sight.”

“I’m sure it was. And I daresay they’ve all found their way back into the house by this time.”

Ellen’s eyes widened. “Do you think so, miss? I must tell Mr. Reeves. He’ll set the trap again.”

“No, no,” said Gwendeline. “Don’t start the whole crisis over again. Come, I must finish dressing. I’ll be late.”

Gwendeline clasped her silver bracelet on her wrist as Ellen put the finishing touches on her ringlets. Her thoughts strayed back to their original topic, and she sighed. Thinking of the future remained nearly as depressing as when she’d sat in her old room at Brooklands trying to decide what to do.

A tap at the door announced the entrance of Lady Merryn. “Gwendeline, only look! Two bouquets.”

Gwendeline took the card from the bunch of pink roses. “Mr. Horton,” she said with a smile. “Oh dear, poor man, pink. I can never carry pink with this gown. Isn’t that just like him.”

“Well, well, my dear, it’s the thought, and so on,” Lady Merryn put in. “This Mr. Horton must be fond of you. I don’t believe I know much about him. Is he new to London?”

“He’s from the country, I believe. His father is in the church, and Mr. Horton plans to follow him eventually. I don’t know him well, really. I’m surprised he sent a bouquet.”

Lady Merryn looked disappointed. “The church. A country vicar, I suppose, with hordes of children. They always have. Well, at least you have an admirer, Gwendeline, even if he is not…” She broke off. “I’m sure he’s a very nice young man.”

“Oh, he is.” Gwendeline smiled. “Overwhelmingly nice. But really he’s an admirer of Lillian’s, not mine.” She had an idea. “In fact, I wonder if Lillian suggested he send me flowers. It would be like her, and it seems most unlike him to have done so.”

Lady Merryn’s face fell further. “Well, what of the other bouquet? It’s lovely.”

It was. Delicate green leaves surrounded a few white rose buds and the whole was enclosed in a silver filigree holder that went well with Gwendeline’s bracelet. She picked up the card. “The Earl of Merryn,” she read with surprise.

The countess’s disappointment was complete. “Alex,” she said dully. “How thoughtful of him. They will go with your dress beautifully.”

“You told him to send flowers, no doubt,” Gwendeline said.

“No. He must have recalled that this is your first ball. Well, if you’re ready, we may as well go, Gwendeline.”

“B-but why should he send flowers to me? He rarely speaks to me; I sometimes think he hardly likes me.”

The countess appeared distracted. “Nonsense, my dear. Don’t be silly. You must bring your Mr. Horton to talk to me this evening.”

Gwendeline said nothing as she followed Lady Merryn down the stairs, but she found she was very glad that Mr. Horton’s pink roses had been so unsuitable to her costume. She held the white ones to her nose. It made her unaccountably happy to carry them instead.

The first ball of the season was at Lady Sefton’s elegant town house, and when Gwendeline and the countess drove up, they had to join a long line of carriages waiting to deposit guests at the door. Linkboys with flaring torches ran here and there, and the scene radiated excitement and bustle. Gwendeline’s mood lifted further, and she began to be impatient to get down.

When they entered the ballroom, it was nearly filled with ladies in glittering gowns and men in evening dress. Lady Sefton had hung garlands of flowers throughout, and the effect was dazzling. Gwendeline stood gazing for a moment, then moved toward the corner where she saw Lillian Everly standing. Lady Merryn saw her safely disposed, then went off to speak to some of her own friends.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Gwendeline said to Lillian as she approached. “I’ve never seen such a room.”

Lillian’s answering smile held its customary touch of sarcasm, directed not at Gwendeline but at the world in general. “The flowers are very fine. And so are you. Your gown is lovely.”

“Thank you,” Gwendeline replied. She always felt a bit pale and washed-out beside Lillian, whose vibrant coloring tonight was heightened by a dress of deep rose pink. The two girls were a study in contrasts. “How is Thistle’s foot?” she continued. Thistle, Lillian’s favorite horse, had injured her fetlock when the two girls were riding a few days before.

“Much better,” answered Lillian. “My groom says she’ll be quite recovered by next week. I’m so relieved.”

“Oh, I am glad.”

At this moment, they were approached by two young gentlemen soliciting their hands for the first dance. Lillian was already engaged, but Gwendeline accepted and was carried off to join the set forming farther down the room. There was little chance for any but the lightest conversation, since it was a country dance, and through the first three sets Gwendeline was kept busy watching her steps, managing her skirt and bouquet, and responding to the sallies of her partners. After the third set, however, she found herself standing alone beside one of the long windows which ran down the side of the ballroom. She was about to go searching for Lady Merryn when Mr. Horton came up to her and said good evening.

“I…I am late,” he continued. “I meant to dance with you. That is, I still mean to. Er, what I am trying to say is, will you dance with me?” He had gotten a trifle red in the face, and he fell silent uncomfortably.

“Thank you,” answered Gwendeline. “I’d like that.” She smiled at him. “I must thank you also for the lovely bouquet you sent me. I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t carry it with my dress.”

“W-with your dress,” Mr. Horton echoed, looking mystified.

“Your pink roses were lovely,” she explained, “but my dress is the wrong color for pink, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Oh yes, I see,” he replied. “Then you didn’t just, that is, you would have, I mean.” He paused, looking vexed with himself.

Gwendeline took pity on him once more. “I’m sure I’d have carried them had they matched my gown.” She hoped, for some reason, that he would not ask whose flowers she was carrying.

His face cleared. “Would you? I’m so glad. You’re a very sensitive and, and kind young lady, Miss Gregory. Not at all like most of the girls in London.”

“There is the set forming,” Gwendeline responded quickly. “We’d better join it, if we are to dance, don’t you think?” And she led the way onto the floor without waiting for his reply.

Gwendeline managed to find them a place near Lillian Everly, who was dancing with Lord Wanley. She knew supper would be announced after this set and she hoped to go in with Lillian and her partner to avoid any more private conversation with Mr. Horton. Gwendeline was alarmed at his manner and wanted to give him no encouragement. As they danced, she saw Lord Merryn stroll into the ballroom, stopping here and there to speak to a friend. She was a little disappointed when she couldn’t catch his eye, but he appeared quite uninterested in the dancers.

The four young people did go in to supper together, taking a table in the rear of the supper room. The gentlemen went off to fetch refreshments, leaving Gwendeline and Lillian seated. Lillian, occupied with a torn ruffle on the hem of her dress, was annoyed.

“Lord Wanley dances like a bear,” she said disgustedly. “I can do nothing with this. I must go upstairs after supper and pin it up.” She abandoned her efforts to mend the flounce and straightened. “He was reciting his latest sonnet, to my eyes, when he made a misstep and tore it.” She smiled crookedly. “The really maddening thing was that he didn’t even notice. He went on with his poem, leaving me to manage a dragging ruffle and try to keep it out of others’ way.” She laughed. “He is the most provoking creature. What am I to do about him, Gwendeline?”

“Couldn’t you simply refuse to dance with him?”

“With Lord Wanley? You must be all about in your head. The scene would be more embarrassing than dancing with him ever could be.”

“Yes, I suppose it would.” Gwendeline was preoccupied. “I also have a problem. Mr. Horton sent me a bouquet, and he has begun to talk very strangely to me.”

Lillian was immensely amused. “Has he transferred his affections to you then? What a wonderful relief! Now if Lord Wanley would only become enamored of you, I would be saved.” She looked at Gwendeline wickedly. “Perhaps I’ll suggest it to him.”

“You wouldn’t!” began Gwendeline, horrified, then realized Lillian was roasting her. “But what shall I do about Mr. Horton?”

“And what shall I do about Lord Wanley?” echoed Lillian melodramatically. The two girls broke into laughter. “Oh, it’s too absurd,” said Lillian when she could speak again. “Was anyone ever so persecuted?”

“And who would dare to persecute so lovely a lady?” asked a voice behind them. “Tell me, and I shall call him out straightaway.”

They turned to find Mortimer Blane bowing to them. He had left his own table, and he took one of the empty seats at theirs, unbidden. Gwendeline immediately began to feel uncomfortable. There was something about the man that made her uneasy. She could never decide just what. His eyes, Gwendeline decided as he sat down, so very brilliant and piercing, and his manner toward her were part of it. He always made her feel young and stupid and silly. And he looked at her with a speculative, sly impudence that was insulting without being tangible enough to warrant complaint.

Mr. Blane leaned back in his chair. “This is luxurious,” he said smoothly. “Two lovely young ladies for tablemates. I inadvertently danced with Alicia Holloway and now am partnered with her for supper. She says no more than a stick.”

“How comforting then,” answered Lillian languidly, “that she is so very rich.”

“Most comforting,” Mr. Blane agreed affably. “I certainly wouldn’t have danced with her else.”

“Ah,” replied Lillian. “Now we see where your interest in us poor females lies. We shall beware of you in future, sir.”

“My interest in you ladies has nothing of the mercenary in it, I assure you,” said Mr. Blane, with a telling look directed at Lillian.

“It just happens, then, that I am an heiress also,” she replied daringly.

“It happens that you are adorable,” he responded.

“As you find all heiresses, I have no doubt. We’ll never trust him again, will we Gwendeline?”

“Oh, I don’t…” Gwendeline broke off in confusion. She had no skill at this sort of conversation.

“If Miss Gregory would trust me,” said Mr. Blane, “I’d be honored indeed.” He smiled as Gwendeline blushed. “You look uncommonly like your mother in that gown, Miss Gregory. That blue-green. She used to wear it often.” His voice took on a distant quality. “You are as lovely as she was. I remember her at a party several years ago in a gauze gown of that shade. She was ravishing!” He recollected himself. “As are you. Will you honor me with a dance later on?”

“I-I’m not certain I have one open. I must see,” stammered Gwendeline.

“Of course.” He stood as the two young gentlemen returned with plates of food. “I shall speak with you later. Ladies.” He bowed and walked away.

Lillian directed a meaningful look at Gwendeline, but further conversation was impossible as Lord Wanley and Mr. Horton spread their spoils on the table, with complaints by the former about the appalling crush around the buffet. As she ate lobster patties and salad, Gwendeline pondered Mr. Blane’s remarks about her mother. His tone had been very strange; it seemed to hold more than mere admiration.

Lord Wanley began to recite his sonnet once more. “Her eyes smite me like spears of dazzling light/ Her hair glows dark…”

“Spare my blushes, Lord Wanley,” said Lillian, “if you please. Why not write a sonnet to Gwendeline? I’m sure she’s much more nymphlike than I.” She glanced teasingly at Gwendeline.

“No one is more nymphlike, more perfect than you,” responded Lord Wanley. “That is what I say in the sestet.” He started to go on with the poem.

“No. I protest I will hear no more.” Lillian stood. “Come, Gwendeline, let us retreat from this flattery. I must mend my gown.” They left the table and walked upstairs to the bedroom set aside for this purpose. Several young ladies were repairing damage to their dresses. “I can never decide,” said Lillian, as she began to pin up her flounce, “whether Lord Wanley is simply a dunce or only misguided by the current fashion for poetic indulgence. His poetry is certainly awful.”

“Is it?” answered Gwendeline. “I confess I find it excessively silly, but I’m very stupid about literature.”

“It’s quite the worst poetry I’ve ever heard,” said Lillian. “If he were a great poet, like Scott, one could tolerate his odd starts, but he is not, not in the least.” Lillian shook out her skirt and eyed it critically in the mirror. “There. That should do, unless I’m forced to dance with Lord Wanley again.” She smiled mischievously at Gwendeline. “Perhaps if he asks me I’ll send him to dance with you.”

“No, no.” Gwendeline held up her hands in mock horror. “Isn’t it enough that you urged him to write a poem about me? Have you no mercy? Besides, he’s interested only in you. He was quite offended at the idea of writing about anyone else.”

Lillian laughed. “Well, he’s silly but harmless. Perhaps he’ll get over this craze for sonnets.” They started back to the ballroom; the musicians were beginning to strike up again after the supper interval. “I can’t say the same for Mr. Blane, however,” Lillian continued. “He’s a strange man. Fascinating in a way, but harmless? I wonder.”

“I don’t like him at all,” Gwendeline said firmly. “And I shan’t dance with him, later.”

Lillian glanced at her. “Indeed?” she said. “I’ll be on the lookout. I should like to see someone refusing Mr. Blane. I imagine it’s difficult; he’s not an easy man to get round, I would say. I wonder if your mother found him so?”

“My mother? What do you mean?”

“Why only the obvious…” Lillian paused and looked at Gwendeline sideways. “Nothing, a meaningless remark. Here we are.”

When they reentered the ballroom, the dancing had begun again, and Lillian was carried off by an eager partner to join the set. Gwendeline, not previously engaged for it, moved toward the side of the room where she saw Lady Merryn talking to a group of guests. Too late, she realized that it was a circle of her literary friends.

“His eyes burn, positively burn, when he discusses the rights of man or any of his own philosophical ideas,” Mr. Woodley was saying. “It’s almost frightening to see a man so possessed by thought.” He looked around the group complacently. “A most wonderful thinker.”

Lady Merryn noticed Gwendeline and leaned over to whisper, “He is telling us about Mr. William Godwin.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “He has been to visit again, Gwendeline. He has talked with him at length. Think of it, the author of Enquiry Concerning Political Justice and Caleb Williams!”

“His wife, too,” Mr. Woodley was continuing, “has a very creditable grasp of philosophy. She is composing a treatise on the rights and duties of women. A lovely creature.”

“Indeed,” said a sharp-eyed lady on the other side of Gwendeline. “She is an agitator for women’s rights?”

“Oh, I think not, I think not,” answered Woodley, smoothing his cravat. “A very gentle woman.”

“Hmph,” replied his questioner and flounced off.

“I should so like to meet her,” exclaimed Lady Merryn. “Mr. Woodley, won’t you take me there when you go next?”

“We shall see, my dear Lady Merryn. It’s difficult to introduce a stranger on such short acquaintance, you see.”

Gwendeline wandered away as Lady Merryn renewed her request with more vigor. She couldn’t remember whether Mr. Godwin was the famous writer of Gothic novels, the newest poet, or another writer like Rousseau, though she did recall that he was very important in Lady Merryn’s opinion.

Another set was forming, and Gwendeline was asked to join it. Several dances went by before she found herself standing in a group, chatting once more. She was rather tired and just thinking of finding Lady Merryn to mention the lateness of the hour when Mr. Blane came toward her. She watched his approach with a sinking heart.

“Miss Gregory,” he said with a small bow. “May I have that dance now?”

“I’m sorry,” replied Gwendeline quickly, “I’m very tired. I think I won’t dance anymore.”

“Splendid,” answered Mr. Blane. “Let us go and sit down.” He took her arm and guided her toward a vacant sofa against the wall.

Gwendeline pulled back. “Oh no, I was, I was just looking for Lady Merryn. I must go; it’s so late.”

“But you must allow me a few moments of conversation, Miss Gregory,” protested Mr. Blane, retaining his grip on her arm. “We’ve had so little chance to get acquainted since you came to London. I feel ashamed to have neglected the daughter of old friends in this shabby way.” He seated himself and pulled Gwendeline down beside him. “Ah, that’s better. Now we can talk comfortably.” He turned toward Gwendeline and surveyed her with hooded eyes. “Tell me your impressions of London, Miss Gregory, now that you are an established resident.”

“I…I like it very much,” faltered Gwendeline. “Everyone has been very kind.”

“Particularly Lord Merryn, I should say.”

“Yes. And his mother also.”

“Ah yes, his mother. Are you happy staying with the countess? How long do you remain?”

“I’m not sure.” Gwendeline felt no inclination to tell him about her own house.

“So like and yet so unlike,” Mr. Blane mused. “It scarcely seems possible.”

“B-beg pardon,” said Gwendeline.

“Forgive me. But I cannot see you without thinking of your mother. Is it true that you never knew Annabella at all?”

“I rarely saw either of my parents. They were always busy elsewhere.”

“Sad. Very sad. Your mother was one of the most spirited, delightful women I’ve ever met. You might have learned much from her.”

“Perhaps, sir,” Gwendeline said stiffly. “Many people seem to think it is better I didn’t. And I must say I’m inclined to agree. My parents certainly didn’t care about my happiness or my future. If it hadn’t been for Lord Merryn and my father’s other friends, I’d be destitute.” She raised her chin.

“Ah yes, these unknown friends,” Mr. Blane replied. “Do you know, I have made a few inquiries among your father’s friends and acquaintances. None of them knows anything about a provision for you, though many would be delighted to make one, I’m sure. Strange, isn’t it?”

Gwendeline felt cold. “Lord Merryn knows who they are. He has promised to take me to thank them all.”

“Has he?” Mr. Blane sounded interested. “How charming for these mysterious benefactors. If only I’d known in time, I too might have had the pleasure of being thanked by you.” His smile made Gwendeline even more uncomfortable. “Another odd thing. You know, it never seemed to me that Lord Merryn liked your father above half. Your mother now, that was another thing. But your father? They never appeared to get on at all.”

“I’m sure…” Gwendeline stopped, not wishing to explain anything to this man or add to his alarmingly broad knowledge of her circumstances.

“It’s very strange,” Mr. Blane said reflectively. “Now what could Lord Merryn…”

“What of Lord Merryn?” said a lazy voice at Gwendeline’s side. “I’m flattered to be the subject of your conversation.” Gwendeline looked up to find the earl standing beside the sofa; she felt a great relief. “This is our dance, I believe, Miss Gregory,” he said. “You haven’t forgotten, surely?”

“Yes, I…I did,” said Gwendeline, rising. “I mean no, of course not.”

“Miss Gregory is tired,” put in Mr. Blane. “She doesn’t wish to dance again this evening.”

“Indeed?” The earl raised his eyebrows. “But it’s the last dance and a waltz. You promised it to me.” He looked at Gwendeline.

“I feel much better after sitting down for a while,” Gwendeline replied. “And I must keep my promise.” She took Lord Merryn’s proffered arm.

Mr. Blane stood. “I bow to necessity, but I am desolated. We must continue our delightful conversation some other time, Miss Gregory.”

Lord Merryn looked at Gwendeline as they walked onto the floor.

“You’ve rescued me once again,” she said a little breathlessly. “Thank you.”

“You didn’t enjoy your talk with Blane? Many women find him charming.”

“Well, I don’t. I find him extremely unpleasant. In fact, I would be happy never to see him again.”

“Such heat.” The earl smiled. “What has Mr. Blane done to earn your scorn?”

“I don’t like the way he speaks to me or looks at me. And he talks continually of my mother.” She looked up at the earl. “Was he in love with her, Lord Merryn?”

For the first time in their acquaintance, the earl looked genuinely and completely startled. “What makes you ask me that?”

“He talks of her in such an odd tone. I really can’t describe it. But it makes me believe that he felt something for her.”

The earl was looking at her with a new expression that Gwendeline couldn’t identify. “I really cannot tell you what Mr. Blane feels,” he answered. “We are not well acquainted.”

“That reminds me of something else he said,” Gwendeline interjected. “He has asked my father’s friends about the money provided for me, and none of them knows anything about it. You’ve never kept your promise to take me to thank them, Lord Merryn.”

The earl smiled down at her as they whirled across the floor in the waltz. “Your tone is absolutely accusing. What is it you suspect me of? Stealing the money? I assure you I did not.”

“No, of course not. But I can’t seem to learn anything about the people who helped me, and Mr. Blane said that you and my father didn’t, that is, were not good friends at all. I’m confused.”

“Mr. Blane seems to have said a great deal. Whom do you prefer to believe, Gwendeline? Mortimer Blane or me?”

“You, of course,” she answered. “But I should like to find out…”

“Then you will accept my word. There is nothing wrong or mysterious about your situation.” He went on before Gwendeline could protest this highly unsatisfactory conclusion to the subject. “I hope you approve of the bouquet?”

“Oh, I forgot to thank you. It’s lovely. And the holder matches the bracelet Lady Merryn gave me. It was so kind of you to send them. You shouldn’t have taken the trouble.”

Ignoring her last remark, the earl replied, “My mother tells me you also received flowers from a young admirer.”

“Mr. Horton,” nodded Gwendeline wryly. “I fear he’s begun to think he admires me. It will pass perhaps. He was in love with Lillian Everly only last week.”

Merryn laughed. “You’re becoming jaded with the pleasures of the city, I see. A suitor leaves you yawning.”

“Not at all,” Gwendeline protested. “It is just that Mr. Horton is so, so…”

“I had the pleasure of talking with the young man,” he agreed sardonically. “Mother inflicted him upon me. He is indeed.”

“Oh, that is too bad of you,” laughed Gwendeline. “He is very nice.”

“An exemplary character,” the earl said blandly. “You are to be congratulated. I’m sure he would make a model husband.”

The thought of marrying Mr. Horton was so ridiculous that Gwendeline burst into laughter as the dance was ending. In her amusement, she forgot to question the earl further about Mr. Blane’s puzzling remarks, and it wasn’t until she was home and getting ready for bed that she remembered them. What had he meant by his insinuations about the earl and her parents? And what was Mr. Blane’s own involvement with them? Gwendeline could think of no one she could ask these questions, save the earl himself. And he refused to tell her.