Page 97 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

But she knew they all cared about her and were only trying to protect her from having her heart broken again. It gave her much relief and great satisfaction to be surrounded by those who cared, even if they were presently quite meddlesome and irritating.

Gwendolyn’s hair was wet, since she had fallen underwater during her tumble into the stream, so she unpinned her damp and mangled mane, brushing it out while Agatha withdrew a fresh gown for her from the wardrobe.

“You seem to be making a habit of falling into the water. Perhaps it is a good thing Lord Milbury insists on teaching you to swim. How about this one, m’lady?” She held up a cream muslin and suggested a lace fichu for adornment.

Gwendolyn gave an approving nod. “Oh, yes. That will be perfect. And no more smart remarks, Agatha. I do not need you berating me, either.”

“Oh, m’lady, I only wish to see you happy. You are that whenever you are around Lord Milbury and his sons. Some things are just obvious.”

Gwendolyn wished it were so, but she had parted ways with James while he was angry as blazes.

Agatha helped her out of her wet gown and then dried her off, rubbing her down so thoroughly that her skin was left a bright pink. She next set aside the drying cloth and assisted Gwendolyn into the cream muslin. “I’ll twist your hair in a simple, braided bun, then do something fancier once it dries. Although you’re such a pretty thing, m’lady. The simplest styles are often best because they do not distract the eye from your natural beauty.”

“You do not need to flatter me, Agatha. It doesn’t really matter what I look like. Lord Milbury is quite furious with me and isn’t going to like anything about me just now.”

“Oh, m’lady, do not say such things. He adores you.” Her expression turned moon-eyed. “I wish I had a man whose eyes lit up as his do whenever he sees you.”

Gwendolyn remained silent, fearing anything else she said would be taken amiss. She did not need anyone, especially those who were well meaning, to interfere and create more trouble than she had already made for herself.

James had been right about Andrew’s intentions. Not that he intended to abduct her, but he had manipulated her into believing a simple ride in his rig while they talked was a harmless and sensible thing to do. But as soon as they had gone down the long drive and through Milbury Hill’s gate, he’d snapped the reins and urged his horse to a fast trot. It was only when he turned onto the road leading to Brighton that she had understood his intentions and ordered him to stop.

Yes, it had required some shouting and insistence on her part. But he had stopped.

So why was James making such a fuss?

She and Andrew could have had a serious but pleasant conversation beside the stream, and then Andrew would have returned her to Milbury Hill.

Well, likely returned her.

She refused to believe he would have ignored her wishes and absconded with her to Brighton. Nor would he have gone off in a huff and left her to fend for herself on the side of the road.

But James had not even given Andrew the chance to show whether he would do the right thing, and now she did not know whether Andrew meant to behave honorably or not.

This was most frustrating. Did she not have every right to be irritated with James for failing to give her encounter with Andrew enough time to play out?

Even if Andrew had been so wretched as to bring her to Brighton against her wishes, she was not without resources. Once there, she could have gone straight to the bakery owned by Agatha’s relatives and had them send word to James to pick her up.

Or she could have registered at one of the elegant hotels and requested the manager to send word to James to rescue her. Even if a woman alone at a hotel was considered scandalous, where was the harm? James wanted to marry her. She would not have been left shamed and cast out.

There was also the Sea Sprite Inn, that torrid love nest, where she could have sought refuge until James came for her. No one was going to care what she did there, so long as she paid for her room.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Agatha bustled across the room to open it.

“M’lady,” Mrs. Harting said, “Viscount Winterbrook has arrived.”

“Soaking wet?” Agatha asked.

Mrs. Harting obviously struggled to stifle a chuckle. “Yes.”

“Good. He deserved it,” Gwendolyn muttered.

Oops, she hadn’t meant for that remark to slip out. Now both Agatha and Mrs. Harting were grinning at her.

She cleared her throat. “Where has Lord Milbury put him?”

“In the dustbin, hopefully,” Fiona remarked, marching in behind the Milbury housekeeper. “My husband has taken the boys down to the beach to set up a bonfire and prepare another of our pagan suppers. That ought to keep them out of the way for hours.”