Her pulse hammered. “Why?”
“Because a duke requests our presence,” Howard said. “And I will not give him reason to question my hospitality or my daughter’s eligibility.”
Gwen’s stomach twisted.
“Prepare yourself,” Howard barked, before leaving the room and locking the door behind him.
Gwen stared down at the letter trembling in her hands.
Victor wants me there? He has asked for me specifically?
Something fluttered in her chest, unwelcome and impossible to ignore. Hope. Foolish, dangerous hope.
She pressed the note to her sternum and closed her eyes, trying to steady the feeling rather than surrender to it.
Two days.
CHAPTER 25
Greystone House was ablaze with light. Lanterns lined the steps, the windows glowing so brightly she could see silhouettes drifting past the curtains. Carriages clogged the entire street, their wheels crunching over gravel while footmen bustled about, trying to keep the arrivals in order.
Gwen sat across from Howard and her mother, her fingers clenched in her lap. Every turn of the carriage wheel tightened the knot in her stomach.
“Remember yourself,” Howard said suddenly, as if he had heard her thoughts. “Youwillbehave, Gwendoline. You will curtsy when you ought to. You will smile when spoken to. You will not attract attention.”
“Yes, My Lord,” she replied quietly.
Cordelia glanced at her, eyes swimming with worry. “Gwen, try to enjoy yourself if you can. It has been so long since you were in company.”
Howard snorted. “Enjoyment is not the purpose of this night. Repair is. We are here because His Grace has remembered his humanity and extended us the courtesy of an invitation. Do not waste it.”
Gwen bit the inside of her cheek.
As their carriage reached the top of the queue, she saw them. A cluster of familiar crests and colors, all converging on the steps.
The Barkers. The Chestertons. The Lillards. Three families she had known from previous Seasons, all respectable, all highly regarded. Her breath caught when she saw the Lillards in particular.
The Dowager Duchess of Lillard had declared last year that she would never invite a scandal into her home. Yet here she was, at Greystone House, on the same night as Gwen.
This is no ordinary dinner.
Gwen’s heart skipped a beat. Victor had arranged this. Not simply for amusement. Not merely for appearances. He had assembled families whose good opinion mattered. Families whose daughters might marry well. Families whose presence would make the evening appear entirely innocent.
If she could detach herself from Howard for even an hour, she could speak to her friends, to her allies. She might find a thread to follow. A path away.
Hope flared.
The carriage halted. The door opened. Cold air rushed in.
A footman bowed. “The Viscount and Viscountess Fenwick. Lady Gwendoline Reeves.”
Howard descended first, tall and puffed up with self-importance. He turned, offered a hand to Cordelia, then to Gwen. His fingers bit into her glove with unnecessary force.
“Remember,” he hissed, “you do not leave my sight.”
Gwen stepped onto the path, lifting her skirts just enough to avoid the worst of the damp. Music floated through the open doors—a waltz. Conversation spilled in warm waves. The house smelled of beeswax, flowers, and spice.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
