Page 18 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

“Suzanna will understand. We are an informal bunch and often get together on the spur of the moment. You’ll meet our neighbors another time.”

He nodded. “Gwen, will you be all right?”

“Me? Of course.”

But he saw the strain in her smile and knew that she remained upended by those deep feelings he had unwittingly stirred regarding her betrothed. She sat up straight as a board, taut and tense, while they rode the short distance to Duchess Square. Not once did she settle comfortably against the soft leather squabs.

“I should have had one of my maids come along with us for the ride,” he muttered, noticing the stares they were garnering as they rode through Mayfair. He had not thought of providing a chaperone, since the two of them were in his open barouche.

“A chaperone? I haven’t required one in years, not for a simple ride along a London street. Besides, anyone can see us and know there is nothing improper going on. I think reaching the age of thirty is a boundary mark. As you know, I am two years past it. We discussed this earlier, did we not? Society does not care about me anymore. There is nothing to be done, other than regard me with their mock pity.”

“Stop talking like that,” he said. “I hope you are jesting. There are no rules or time limits on finding love—or having a second chance at love.”

He was speaking for himself, too. This conversation had made him realize how difficult he had been at every turn, fighting Gwendolyn’s attempts to find him a wife.

“I’ll strike a bargain with you,” he said.

She eyed him warily. “What sort of bargain?”

“I am a duck out of water with this marriage business. None of this feels natural to me. Yet I know my sons and I are missing a woman’s gentle touch in our home. I have only been going through the motions, not willing to seriously consider any of the young ladies you have brought me. But that will change once we hold the house party.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” he said with an emphatic nod. “You see before you a changed man. One who will genuinely open his eyes and open up his heart to the possibility of love.”

She looked skyward and smiled. “Praise heaven.”

He grinned. “But you must promise to do the same.”

Her smile quickly disappeared. She now pursed her lips in that schoolmistress way he found enticing.

He wanted to soften their stern pucker with a kiss.

Not the right moment.

“You are the client, not I. Besides, as I have just told you, I have a betrothed.”

Who was likely dead. Or on a secret mission. Acquired a new identity.

Possibly married to someone else.

This was no time to toss out those comments. Much too hurtful, and the last thing he ever wished to do was hurt Gwendolyn’s feelings more than he already had.

“He loved me. He has always loved me,” she muttered, apparently not yet through ripping off this bloody scab that had never healed.

By her mention of her betrothed, James took it as his permission to continue asking about this man who had captured her heart and now seemed to be crushing it. “Tell me a little more about Andrew Clement. Did you meet him at a ton ball? Or were you acquainted before your debut?”

“Andrew and I have known each other all our lives. I have always been first in his heart, ever since we were children. He is two years older than me.”

“I see.”

“He was the first one to dance with me at my coming-out ball. He was first to kiss me…um, the only man to ever kiss me. He was the first to woo me. First to offer for my hand in marriage. There was never a question we would be together.”

But this troubled James all the more. If all she said was true, then Andrew’s betrayal of their love felt truly heinous. How could he abandon Gwendolyn like that?

He must be dead.

James resolved to dig into this matter quietly.