Page 73 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

He inhaled sharply. “Why do you dismiss your importance to us? My sons adore you. I’ve asked you to marry me.”

She blushed. “I do not mean to… It’s just that we’ve only known each other a few months. I can disappear from your hearts just as quickly as I appeared.”

“You’re wrong, Gwen.” He further slowed his pace as they ambled toward the house, which was bathed in a golden aura as the final rays of sunlight shone upon the Cotswold stones. “I’m in love with you. I am certain my boys are, too. You are not some leaf that we’ll just watch float by on a passing current and then forget.”

He took her hand, entwining his work-roughened fingers in her slender ones as he lightly held them in his grasp. “We’re not going to resolve any of this tonight. Let’s see what tomorrow brings. But one thing I’m bloody well sure of—I am going to protect you. So do not think for a moment you are going in there alone.”

She studied him with her star-bright eyes. “Why must you be so stubbornly apish?”

“Because men are basically apes and are always going to protect their own. Don’t you get it, Gwen? I am always going to fight for you.”

He grunted in frustration, trying to remain unaffected by tomorrow’s trip to Brighton. But it was hard to do when he dreaded what could happen if they did find her betrothed.

Would tomorrow bring an end to his hopes of marrying Gwendolyn?

Chapter Fourteen

Gwendolyn expected that tracking down Andrew would be an impossible task, but she had to give it a final try for the sake of her heart. Oddly, that organ was no longer responding with any of the excitement she had once felt for her betrothed.

Well, too many years had gone by. Too many tears had been wasted on him.

She and Milbury arrived early in Brighton, trying to keep the day as normal as possible because they did have errands to run. Their clandestine activities would occur later, when Marchand’s popular café opened for business. But for now, their first stop was at a ladies’ shop to purchase two cotton bathing costumes for herself.

The shopkeeper brought out an array of wool ones first, but Milbury would not hear of her purchasing those. “They are completely impractical for swimming. You’ll sink like a stone to the bottom in wool. That fabric is going to weigh you down like an anchor,” he said, and then ordered the salesgirl to take those away, which she did immediately because Milbury’s frowning countenance frightened the wits out of the poor girl.

“James,” Gwendolyn whispered as they waited for the cotton suits to be brought out, “you really must try to be nicer.”

He shrugged. “I’ll leave that to you. I am not feeling particularly magnanimous right now.”

Yes, she understood why he was out of sorts this morning. They were going in search of Andrew today, and this had him so much on edge that he looked ready to pound his fist through a door.

Well, what had she expected? James did not merely view her beau as competition for her affections. What obviously rankled him most was the way Andrew had treated her, especially in the years since the end of the war when there were no more excuses for his failure to resume contact with her.

He was not wrong about this. Was she not feeling this same ire?

Upon completing her purchases, they placed the parcels in their carriage and walked to the café that was about to open its doors for the day. Pierre Marchand and his children were buzzing about like bees to a hive, hurrying to set up for the patrons about to descend on them.

“We need a moment of your time,” Milbury said with a daunting air of authority.

Marchand glanced around nervously. “Of course, my lord. What may I do for you?”

“Andrew Clement. Where is he?”

“My lord,” Marchand started with visible impatience, “I…I… Let me assure you that I will give this Mr. Clement any message you wish to leave for him should he ever come in here to dine. I can do no more beyond this. Perhaps if you were to give me a description of—”

“Do not pretend he is a stranger. Lady Gwendolyn knows what she saw. The nods you and Clement exchanged just before he disappeared into some secret back room gave you away.”

Gwendolyn tried to maintain an unreadable expression while Milbury did all the talking. Truly, she would have been terrible at interrogation because she did not know how to be fierce or frighten anyone. Nor had she said anything about Andrew and Marchand exchanging nods, but she thought it was a good embellishment to give credence to their demands.

“Lady Gwendolyn is merely asking to get in contact with him. We are not interested in whatever else is going on here, I promise you.” Milbury held up a hand when Marchand attempted to sputter denials. “Do not take me for a fool. We will leave once you give us the information we are seeking. Tell Andrew Clement that he needs to get in touch with Lady Gwendolyn. Again, it is no use denying his existence. She saw him.”

“Surely a mistake. I—”

“Must I bring in the local magistrate to investigate? This is not anything you can keep quiet,” he assured the proprietor. “Lady Gwendolyn’s friends know she’s seen him and know we are coming here today. More important, they believe Lady Gwendolyn when she says he was here. So, is he going to be sensible and talk to her? Or must the authorities be summoned to tear your place apart?”

The man’s expression turned grim and then he released a heavy breath. “I warned him it was not safe to turn up here while the café was open and serving our patrons.”

Dear heaven.