“He may not see you as a problem,” Eleanor suggested.
Gwen thought of Victor’s hands on the keys, of his mouth on hers, of the way his eyes had softened when she spoke of running. The memory sent a confusing rush of heat and ache through her.
“He is dangerous to think of,” she said quietly.
Arabella sighed, dreamy for a moment despite the topic. “All the best men are.”
Eleanor gave a small snort. “Not true. But that is beside the point.”
Gwen let out a breath. “Whatever he is, I must speak to my mother first. If she does not agree, I do not know whether I can leave.”
“And if she hesitates?” Eleanor asked. “Will you pressure her?”
“I will tell her the truth,” Gwen said. “All of it. Then I will ask her to choose. I cannot drag her from her home like a thief.”
Arabella’s eyes welled with tears again. “What if she chooses him?”
“Then I will have to decide whether to be a bad daughter or a bad woman,” Gwen replied.
Eleanor reached out and laid a gentle hand on Gwen’s. “Whatever choice you make, you will not make it alone.”
Arabella nodded fiercely. “We will help. We will lie, and carry trunks, and invent alibis. I will even sacrifice my new bonnet if it must be used to smuggle jewels.”
“You are not sacrificing your bonnet,” Eleanor said. “It cost more than our first governess.”
Gwen laughed, a small, uneven sound. “I do not wish to leave you either.”
“You will not lose us,” Arabella assured her. “You will only have to endure my letters.”
“And mine,” Eleanor added. “Which will be considerably more useful.”
Gwen’s gaze drifted to the window. The pale afternoon light lay across the street like a thin veil. Somewhere beyond it, Greystone House stood with its quiet garden and polished pianoforte and a man who had kissed her as if it cost him something to stop.
She dragged her thoughts away.
“I do not want to stop seeing him,” she admitted, her voice almost inaudible.
Arabella leaned in. “Then do not. Take what nights you can. You are being flung toward a life you did not choose. You are allowed to steal a little happiness on the way.”
Eleanor did not rebuke the sentiment. That alone told Gwen how grave her situation was.
“You must be careful,” Eleanor urged. “If you continue meeting him, it will complicate everything. Your heart as well as your plans.”
“My heart is already a complication,” Gwen said. “And my plans are nothing but complications tied together with lies.”
Arabella squeezed her hand. “Then let us fasten them more firmly.”
Gwen nodded, though her throat felt thick. “I will speak to my mother tonight.”
“And the Duke?” Arabella prompted.
Gwen closed her eyes for a moment. “If I go to him, it will be for money and perhaps counsel. Nothing more.”
Arabella made a skeptical noise.
Eleanor said nothing. Her silence, for once, felt like permission rather than judgment.
Gwen rose at last, smoothing her skirts.
