"So where are we going, again?" Gwen said. She looked out the car window at the unfamiliar streets and unfamiliar buildings as they passed by. Said car window was tinted heavily, so everything appeared as though through a haze of smoke.

The driver had given her jeans and shirt a disapproving look when he'd met her outside the hotel, and she felt out of place sitting on the luxurious leather seats. The car even had that expensive new leather smell to it. Gwen felt poor and out of her depth just sitting there.

She'd been sitting in the back of the car for a solid ten minutes by that point, every moment taking her farther away from the hotel, farther away from Aiden.

She regretted leaving him like that. I really need to work on this whole storming out thing, she thought. If Judith's creepy Swiss butler hadn't given her that message (which had turned out to be less a message and more a command) then she knew she would have run out of steam somewhere in the lobby and gone straight back to the suite.

"I am taking you to tea," the driver said again cryptically. He spoke with the same thick accent as the bartender she'd encountered that other time she'd stormed out on Aiden. Which didn't bode well, in Gwen's opinion.

"And where is that, exactly?" Gwen replied.

"How do you Americans say it? The downtown."

"Oh. Well, that clears everything up." Gwen got the distinct impression that Judith had instructed the man to behave this way. To annoy her and throw her off balance.

If that was the case, then Judith didn't know what she had coming. Gwen redirected her anger, focusing it on the old woman.

She also looked out the window as they passed through an intersection. Without the buildings blocking her view for a few moments, she could again see the white-capped mountains in the distance.

That reminded her of the view they had from her suite. And of Aiden, sitting in that suite all by himself.

Why didn't he come after me? Gwen wondered. He should have come after me! Doesn't he know that by now?

Of course, it was probably for the best that he hadn't. He would have seen Judith's butler deliver that message, and Gwen had no idea how she would have figured a way around not telling him about the other agreement that she'd made with his grandmother.

Thinking about Aiden made her think about how she'd betrayed him, however involuntarily, with Ben. And how she still couldn't bring herself to tell him about that. However, all those thoughts stoked her inner fires, turning up the thermostat on her anger towards that terrible, meddling old bat.

If Judith hadn't decided to step into her and Aiden's affairs, then none of this would have happened.

In the end, it all came back to the old woman.

The car slowed, the inertia forcing Gwen forward against the seatbelt straps across her shoulder and waist.

"We have arrived," the driver said, stepping out. Looking through the windshield, Gwen saw that they'd pulled up into a line of expensive cars. Bentleys, Rolls Royces, limos of various sorts. All of them glossy black. How come rich people always had black cars?

It was a question to ponder another time, losing priority to such inquiries as What am I doing here and What does Judith have planned for me this time?

The driver opened the door and offered her a white-gloved hand to assist in her exit. She accepted, hauling herself out into the sun once more. She found herself looking up into the facade of a grand old building three stories high. It had steepled turrets at each corner, an immaculate white paint job, and many tall, arched windows.

"It was a royal building several centuries ago, yes? Now, a place for tea and society," the driver said, cluing into her awe struck look.

There was also a sign above the two tall doors that served as the front entrance. It was in German. She turned to ask the driver what it said, but the man already climbed back into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut. Turning back, she then noticed the pair of guardsmen standing on either side of the doors. They wore Napoleonic-era uniforms with sashes and rather ridiculous caps. And each of them gripped a long, spear-like weapon with its butt on the ground and its blade pointed at a precise angle.

Fancy, Gwen thought. She wondered if they would let her in, or if they would smell the commoner on her and boot her back to the curb.

"What now?" Gwen said, realizing that she stood on the broad sidewalk all by herself. Maybe it was the wind coming down off the mountains, or a cloud passing by the sun, but a sudden chill washed through Gwen, making her wish that she'd also remembered to grab a jacket in addition to her purse before storming out.

I'll put that on the storming-out checklist for next time, she thought.

Another limo pulled up, then. Its driver stepped out and opened the back door, helping three well-dressed women out of the back. All three were older, though not quite as advanced in years as Judith. All three wore long white gloves that reached their elbows. Two wore furs around their necks, which thankfully hid the necklines of their dresses. The third covered her cleavage with a large pendant that seemed determined to throw her off balance and send her tumbling forward.

Without hesitation, the trio started straight for the doors. Not knowing what else to do, Gwen followed them. As they approached, each guard grabbed the latch of the door closest to them and pulled, swinging the entrance open.

Gwen got inside and stopped again, finding herself standing in another massive foyer. This one didn't have all that modern chic that the hotel did. In fact, all the wood paneling gave it an almost rustic feeling. Lush red carpet with a diamond patterning to it lent the space warmth.

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each one done cunningly to look as though they still contained hundreds of candles, but upon closer inspection were actually small light bulbs.

Someone used to live here? Gwen thought. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like. The sheer wealth required to maintain such a place. The staff there to maintain and serve. The weight of history pressed down on her rather narrow, shirt-clad shoulders.

And she didn't even notice the tuxedo-wearing man standing behind the desk until he cleared his throat.

"Ma'am, may I help you?" he said, dropping directly into English.

"Oh, yes. I hope so, anyway," Gwen replied, trying to keep from gawking at the marble busts and statues that were set into little alcoves around the walls.

This man also had a thin mustache, and she wondered if that was the style for all Swiss maitre-ds or not.

He wasn't impressed by her choice of attire. She could tell by the way his lips pressed together when he gave her a disapproving once-over.

"The tour group for the manor is not scheduled until tomorrow afternoon, miss. Perhaps you should return then."

"Oh, I'm not here for the tour."

"Then may I ask why?" The tone of his voice told her that he wished those ornamental guards out front had crossed their spear things and denied her entry.

"Actually, I'm here for tea. Which is actually kind of strange, now that I think about it. I thought high tea was only for British people and New Yorkers who wanted to pretend to be British."

"I assure you, it is not. However, attending high tea requires a reservation. I am assuming you have a reservation?"

"No. I was invited by Judith Manning."

His eyes widened slightly, and she knew he recognized the name. In fact, she doubted if anyone who ever met Judith ever truly forgot about her. She stuck around like morning breath.

"Oh, yes," he said, tugging at his suddenly uncomfortable bow tie, "She did mention a guest." He ran his fingertip down a list of names in front of him, stopping a little over halfway down the page. "You are Gwendolyn Browning, yes?"

"Yes," Gwen said.

"This way, please," he said, coming out from behind his desk and motioning her to follow him. They went deeper into the manor, going through another set of ornate doors. Old painted portraits hung on the wall in gilded frames. Men in long wigs standing around. Men in long wigs riding horses. Women holding children and sitting in gardens, that sort of thing.

Soon, Gwen heard the sound of muted conversation, and sharp noises that could only be delicate bone china tea cups being set down or picked up from their saucers. Strains of classical music lilted out as well. Probably another quartet, Gwen thought. Recorded music was probably too bourgeois or something.

Another man in a tux, this one with his dark hair slicked in a side part, greeted them at the entrance to the tea room.

Beyond him, Gwen got a glimpse of this latest trap. Lots of women in dresses, most of them with those long white gloves. They ate finger sandwiches from tall platters, or sipped at their tea.

"Miss Gwendolyn Browning, here to join Madam Judith Manning for tea," the maitre d' said. Both he and the door man gave Gwen another disapproving look.

"This way, please," the door man said.

Gwen followed him into the lion's den. Almost as soon as Gwen crossed the threshold she felt the eyes begin clinging to her. Silence passed in her wake, followed by whispers. There had to be almost a hundred women in the room.

Even a few of the waiters, bringing fresh pots of tea or fresh trays of dainties, paused in their tasks.

The hair on the back of Gwen's neck bristled. She didn't belong here. That sentiment exuded from every surface around her.

And she knew it was right. She knew that she didn't belong there. Not like that, at least. Not dressed in comfy street clothes, having done the bare minimum to her hair to come outside that day.

However, she knew that was how Judith wanted it. She could see the purpose of all this. Judith wanted to ostracize her, to show her just how much she didn't belong in this sphere of society.

But the thing was, had the circumstances been different. Gwen probably would have enjoyed this. She would have loved sorting through her dresses to find just the right thing, loved going through Google Image Search to find the best way to do her hair up. And those long white gloves just looked plain fun.

"Gwendolyn Browning," the footman announced, drawing up to Judith's table.

Judith sat there, of course, flanked by three other women Gwen didn't recognize. Judith's eyes practically glittered with delight when she beheld Gwen, while the other ladies traded looks of disapproval and confusion.

"Gwen, lovely of you to join us. Have a seat, why don't you?" Judith said.

Rather than pulling out her chair, Gwen waited for the footman to do so for her. She thanked him as he seated her.

Judith didn't say anything, clearly having expected her to pull the chair out herself. Point me, Gwen thought. I can do this!

She tried to remember all the Jane Austen novels she'd read, particularly the way people behaved. It was all about manners and class, wasn't it? Well, despite what Judith might assume, Gwen had both.

Though she did wish that Aiden were there, sitting next to her. Not just because he could help her with all this, but because she missed him. Beneath the table, she ran her fingertip over the diamonds of her ring, thankful of its presence on her hand.

"Ladies, Gwendolyn is my grandson's prospective fiancé. You'll have to forgive her; she hasn't yet grown accustomed to this lifestyle."

"Yes," Gwen said, "Nice to meet you all. I am sorry for being so underdressed, but my invitation arrived with such short notice that I had no time to prepare. And I didn't want to disappoint my soon-to-be grandmother by not making an appearance. I do hope you'll forgive me."

"Forgiven but not forgotten," Judith said. The ladies at her sides smiled. "Allow me to introduce Cordelia Astor, Dame Eleanor Smythe, and Claudia von Hildebrand."

Dame? Gwen thought, isn't that, like, the female version of a knighthood or something? Gwen smiled, trying to buy some time. The way Judith said their names had the gravitas of aristocracy behind it. How were you supposed to talk to people like that?

"Pleased to meet you all," Gwen said, again feeling out of her depth. They smiled at her with ingrained politeness, but Gwen knew that she'd missed the mark somehow. Point Judith, she thought.

Apparently it also fell to her as the newcomer to dictate the direction of conversation. All the ladies watched her expectantly as they took sips from their tea. Tea which smelled delicious and inviting. Gwen bought herself some time by pouring herself a cupful from the pot sitting in the center of the table.

She sipped at it, the bone china handle smooth and cool against her fingers. It was a black tea with a hint of something else. Jasmine, maybe.

She set her cup down as gently as she could, aware that time had just about run out.

What sort of thing do these people talk about? Gwen wondered, glancing at their polite smiles. Themselves, of course!

She turned her attention to the woman introduced as Cordelia Astor. She was a stately thing, with a Roman nose and a pair of cheekbones to match.

"So are you related to the New York Astors?" Gwen asked.

"Yes, cousins of mine," Cordelia responded in her high class English accent that out-poshed even Ben's practiced tones.

"I went to a party they hosted, once. It's actually the first place I met Aiden," Gwen said.

"Oh, such garish displays, aren't they? So you are from New York, then?"

Judith got that glint in her eye again, "Yes, she is."

"That's wonderful!" Cordelia said, "Where? Does your family keep a summer home in the Hamptons? Perhaps I've already met them."

Another trap, Gwen realized. "No, not the Hamptons. Or New York City. I live in the city now, but my family and I are from Albany."

"Oh," Eleanor Smythe said, "Are you by chance a branch of the Brownings who own the firearms company?"

"No relation."

The society women lapsed into polite, if judgmental silence, sipping from their tea or considering another cucumber sandwich.

Point Judith, Gwen thought. What was the score now? She couldn't remember.

"Gwen's family history is, shall we say, unremarkable," Judith said, "Although I believe that she is trying to change that. Marrying my grandson does come with more than its fair share of advantages, does it not?" That garnered another round of judgmental glances. Point Judith.

There it was. The gold digger thing again. Gwen shrank back against her chair. She wanted to leave. Wanted away from those eyes.

And that was exactly what Judith wanted her to feel, she knew. She could see it in the way the old woman smiled as she dumped a lump of sugar into her tea and stirred slowly.

It was a look that said, "See? You don't belong with these people. You don't fit in with them. Go on, give up and run away like I know you will."

"Yes, I must say I was rather surprised when I learned that my Aiden had been courting her. She doesn't seem his type at all. Gwen, I believe you are between semesters at college, are you not?"

"Well, it is summer break..." Gwen said.

"Of course it is. And after you return and have finished school, have you given any thought as to how you want to direct your life?" Judith said.

Four sets of eyes watched her, waiting for the answer. Gwen sat up straighter. "Well, with my degree, I could get a job at a museum, or maybe with an NGO?"

"Is that a question or a statement?" Judith asked.

"I've also thought about going to grad school afterward. I'd be the first person in my family with a Master's degree, and that would be cool..." Again, the wrong choice of words.

Point Judith... Gwen started. Then she recanted. So far, she'd done everything on Judith's terms, played the game according to Judith's rules. Judith wanted to point out what a mismatch she thought Gwen and Aiden were, their differences and their divergences.

That being the case, Gwen had some of her own observations to bring to bear.

"Aiden and his father before him as well as my own husband all attended Harvard and graduated with highest honors," Judith began.

"So I've heard," Gwen said, "But do you know what I haven't heard much about from your precious Aiden? You, Judith. Did you know he never mentioned you once until you showed up at the hotel a few days ago? And before that, in all the conversations I had with Henry, he never mentioned anything about you, either. I wonder why that is?"

"You'll have to forgive dear Gwendolyn, I'm afraid. Her parents never bothered to instill any manners into her. Actually, I believe they are on course for a divorce in the near future. It really is a sad story of a broken family..."

Gwen clapped her hands together, the sharp noise stopping all conversation in the room. "It's true, they are getting a divorce. But I'm getting to that. I think Aiden never mentioned you because he's embarrassed of you and what you represent. You're all about tradition and propriety and all that, but that just makes you closed-minded. Henry built Carbide Solutions from the ground up, Aiden is working to make it a the sort of company it deserves to be. Neither of them wanted anything from you, and I think you hate that. I think you can't stand it. Maybe if you got down off your high horse you'd see that Aiden and I are happy together and that you're trying to destroy a beautiful relationship out of spite and bitterness."

Gwen fueled her monologue on a single breath, and when she finished she gulped for air. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, and an awful hot-cold mix of dread and anger sloshed around in the pit of her stomach.

The whole time, Judith's angular face became redder and redder, her lips trying to press themselves out of existence until they became just a pencil line below her nose. Cordelia Astor hid her expression by slurping down her tea, and Claudia von Longlastname gaped at her.

For a few seconds, Gwen thought that Judith's head might actually pop off her neck. Or maybe spontaneously combust. She didn't.

Instead, she worked her lips until they assumed something that approached a smile, but reminded Gwen more of a shark-toothed grimace. The coloring in her face receded slowly down her neck until she looked just as pale and statuesque as before.

"I am not the one trying to ruin Aiden's happiness. I believe you're doing a fine job of that by yourself," Judith said, her voice barely a whisper so that Gwen had to strain to hear it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gwen said.

"I believe you're familiar with a certain English reporter named Ben Somersby?" The forced smile on Judith's lips turned into one of satisfied cruelty.

Gwen's heart stopped. A cold, wet blanket wrapped itself around her insides. Judith knows.

"That was a mistake," Gwen said, her voice small.

"We all have to pay for our mistakes, don't we?"

The room froze. Time itself halted, leaving Gwen and Judith glaring at each other across the gulf of the table.

"I'm still right about you," Gwen said, "You're miserable. And you're only doing this because you can. Aiden and I are getting through this, and we're getting married. No matter what you have to say about it."

Judith lurched up from her chair and leaned over the table. "You are not marrying my grandson! Now get out!"

Pressure built behind Gwen's eyes. She knew that she'd screwed up here. Screwed up badly. Probably worse than she ever had before. And now, like Judith said, she had to pay the price for her mistakes.

Except the price for this was Aiden, and she could never give him up.

But she refused to let Judith make her cry. She refused to get up and run out of there like some scared little girl.

A memory came to here, then. A recollection of defiance. It was the first time she'd met Henry. She and Aiden sat with him over a meal he never intended them to eat while, like Judith, Henry accused her of only being in this for the money.

Aiden had taken a bite of that cold steak in front of him and then took her away from there, dignity intact.

So, rallying the vestiges of her tattered courage, Gwen picked up her teacup and drained the contents in a single swallow. Then she patted at her lips with her napkin, and stood without making the chair legs squeak against the floor.

"Thank you for inviting me to tea, Judith. It was lovely meeting you, ladies."

Then she turned her back on Judith's glare and walked from the room, keeping her back stiff and concentrating on putting one foot down in front of the other.

Everyone watched her go, the space completely devoid of all noise except for her steps.

She kept her facade of confidence up until she left the manor and managed to hail a cab. She gave the driver the name of the hotel, and then buried her face in her hands, her body wracked by sobs as the car pulled away from that awful place.

She knows about Ben, Gwen thought, and she's going to tell Aiden.

***

JUDITH SAT BACK DOWN, letting her anger dissipate as she did. It was the signal for tea to resume, everyone at the separate tables turning back to the conversations. Right away, a footman swept in to clear Gwen's setting away.

"Are you all right, dear?" Cordelia Astor said.

"Yes, I am, thank you," Judith replied. She picked up her napkin and dabbed lightly at her mouth with it. All those harsh words chapped the lips so easily.

"What a dreadful little girl," Claudia von Hildebrand said.

"Indeed," Judith replied, replenishing her tea from the pot. The dark liquid steamed as it streamed from the spout. It wasn't even as good as the stuff as they had back at the hotel, but it would have to do for now.

The high society ladies prattled on around Judith, talking about one unimportant social engagement or another. Gossip infected every class, it seemed. She was sure that the little scene that had just unfolded would be told and retold for the next six months at least. These people tended to have very little excitement or drama in their boring lives.

In truth, Judith hated this sort of thing. The women were insufferable, the food bad, the atmosphere wanting. But they had all been necessary evils. All endured to get what she wanted.

Although she'd gotten more than that. She hadn't expected that sort of vehemence from the girl, that sort of backbone. And the way she'd drunk that tea and wished us well at the end? Absolutely marvelous!

Perhaps I shouldn't dismiss the girl so quickly after all, she thought. Still, there was that matter with that journalist, that walking British stereotype of suaveness and charm. Another necessary, if tasteless evil. She looked forward to seeing how Aiden, and their relationship, handled that little revelation.

She interrupted Cordelia, "Tell the footman to bring more tea. This pot is getting cold! If there's one thing a person shouldn't have to suffer in this world, it's cold tea..." That, and conversations with the likes of Claudia von Hildebrand and Cordelia Astor. She kept that part to herself, though.