Page 12 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

A knock at the open door cut short his next words.

“Come in, Partinger. Leave the tea cart right there,” he said, pointing to a spot beside the settee as his butler rolled it in. “I’ll attend to the rest.”

“Very good, m’lord,” his butler said with a respectful nod to both of them, and then quietly shut the door on his way out.

“Well, Gwen, what can I give you? We have cake, buttered bread. Cold ham.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes began to tear.

She didn’t understand why she could not talk about this old wound without crying. Surely she had resigned herself to it by now.

Milbury drew in a breath. “Blast… I’m sorry. What an arse I am. My questions overset you.” He strode to her side and wrapped his arms around her.

She did not resist, for she found his actions remarkably comforting, not to mention the subtle scent of sea and spices on his skin was always quite pleasant.

Of course, he only meant to soothe her as he would his sons, and had no idea she was taking notice of more.

“Gwen, talk to me. Why the tears?”

How was she to respond?

She eased out of Milbury’s embrace and settled back onto the settee, deciding to tell him all about her betrothed, Andrew Clement.

It was better to learn the truth from her than hear distorted information from malicious gossips. The ton was rife with those.

Even her dear friends on Duchess Square disagreed with her about his ultimate fate. Most believed Andrew was dead.

But she was not ready to give up hope of his return.

Milbury sank into a chair beside her, ready to listen with patience as she told him about herself and her missing betrothed.

“The plain truth is that I do not know what happened to Andrew.” She then told Milbury a little bit of his history. “He is the second son of the Earl of Hornsby.”

“Is? Then you do not believe he has passed on?”

“I don’t know.” Gwendolyn’s heart began to twist painfully. But having given that detail, she knew Milbury needed to hear the rest of it. “Andrew went off to war, as expected of most second sons of peers. Our betrothal was announced shortly before his regiment departed for the Iberian Peninsula.”

Milbury nodded. “I see.”

“Do you? That was a little over decade ago. We were in love and full of dreams for our future. He promised to return to me.”

“And you promised to wait for him?”

Gwendolyn nodded. “We corresponded frequently until his letters suddenly stopped arriving about two years into his military service. I just assumed several had got lost amid the turbulence of war and did not think much about it. Not at first, that is. But then I started to have my doubts.”

“Yes, this abrupt silence must have been concerning as it continued,” Milbury replied. “What did you do?”

“As the months stretched on without a word, I knew I had to look into the matter. My heart was in my throat as I approached the War Office building. I was directed to one of their many offices and expressed my concern to a kindly clerk who manned the front desk. He was very sympathetic to my situation and assured me that he would make immediate inquiry.”

Milbury arched an eyebrow. “And?”

“I returned to the War Office several weeks later and this same clerk delivered the news that Andrew was alive and well. I was elated, as you can imagine. My beloved was not dead. Not injured. Not captured. This news sustained me throughout the war years, for I called upon this same kindly clerk several times afterward for updates on Andrew. Oh, I knew the reports were probably several weeks and perhaps months in arrears. Still, they gave me hope he would get through the war, especially as it neared its end.”

She took a deep breath. “There were such celebrations when Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo.”

He nodded. “Yes, my wife and I were among those who celebrated. For I was among the first to be shipped home.”

Her eyes widened. “You were on the Continent? But you were a marquess by then.”