“She loves him,” Gwen muttered bitterly.
Arabella made a sound that was almost a growl. “She is afraid of him.”
“She is both,” Eleanor said quietly. “The two are not strangers.”
Gwen swallowed. “If I ask her to leave, I ask her to betray a man she believes herself bound to. Even if he does not deserve her loyalty. If I do not ask her, I leave her there to bear his wrath alone. How am I supposed to live with either choice?”
Arabella blinked her tears away. “You cannot stay.”
Eleanor looked at Gwen, long and hard. “You cannot.”
Gwen stared at her hands. “I know.”
Arabella leaned forward, her eyes shining. “Then I will help you. Whatever you choose. If you say tonight, I will find a way to throw clothes into trunks. I will bribe our coachman. I will tell Mama we have decided to be philanthropic and take the air in the country.”
“You will do no such thing without a plan,” Eleanor interjected, but her tone had softened. “Running away is not a matter of romance. It is a matter of money, carriages, false names, and careful lies.”
Arabella tossed her head. “Then we will have all of those. We have you.”
“I am not a supply cupboard,” Eleanor protested.
“You are better,” Arabella replied. “You are organized.”
Eleanor looked at Gwen again. “I was going to tell you not to do it. To endure. To go to St. Agatha’s and hope that time and distance will dull his power. That you might make a life there, even if it’s not the one you wanted.”
“And now?” Gwen asked.
“And now I have recalled the look in your eyes the night he shattered your teacup because you laughed too loudly,” Eleanor said quietly. “I do not wish to imagine what three more years of his temper will do to you. I have decided that running is less foolish than staying.”
Arabella’s lips trembled. “Ellie, that is the closest thing to open rebellion you have ever said. I could kiss you.”
“Do not,” Eleanor warned.
Gwen felt a laugh catch in her throat and then turn into something wetter. “If I run, it is not only for me. It is for my mother. I must find a way to take her. Perhaps with the help of a friend who knows something about arrangements.”
Arabella’s gaze sharpened at once. “The Duke.”
Heat bloomed in Gwen’s cheeks. “I did not say that.”
“You did not have to,” Arabella quipped. “You look different when you think of him. Like the heroines in the second volume, when they have decided that kissing the rake is worth certain ruin.”
Eleanor’s eyebrows flew up. “Youhavekissed him.”
Gwen’s heart thumped. She wished the floor would open and swallow her. “I did not say that either.”
Arabella clasped her hands to her chest. “You have kissed him! I knew it! I knew the garden party was too quiet after you left.”
“Arabella,” Eleanor said sharply.
Gwen tried to gather the tatters of her dignity. “If I had, in theory, it would not mean much. My reputation is already ruined.”
“It means something to you,” Eleanor countered. “Judging from the color in your cheeks.”
Gwen pressed her hands to her cheeks instinctively, as if she could smooth the warmth away. “We are not speaking of that.”
“We are speaking of escape.” Arabella nodded. “And he is a duke with money and a closed carriage and an interest in you.”
“That is precisely why we are not speaking of him,” Gwen said. “He is not my savior. I will not be another of his problems to solve.”
