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Octavia rose abruptly and began pacing. “Oh, for pity’s sake! Why can you not believe he might care for you—truly care for you? You stubborn, infuriating girl!”

The pain surged in Gwen’s chest, sharp and hot. She pressed her hands together, willing herself to stay composed. “Because there is no evidence,” she whispered.

Octavia halted in her tracks, eyes blazing. “What about the way he looked at you? The tenderness in his voice? The words he spoke? That was not performance, Gwendolyn. It was affection.”

Gwen swallowed hard and hardened her heart. “It was an act,” she said, her voice as brittle as glass. “A necessary illusion to accomplish his goal.”

“Have you no faith?” Octavia asked, her voice cracking with disbelief.

Tears stung Gwen’s eyes. Her lips quivered, but she forced the words out. “Not in this.”

Octavia turned sharply, her voice shaking now with something akin to fury. “Not in you.”

Gwen turned away from the condemnation and crossed the room to the window. The garden beyond was cloaked in blackness, the sky moonless and clouded, offering no light. The sight felt symbolic, a perfect representation of what she felt within. Her hopes for love, for partnership, for a future filled with mutual trust, had faded into shadow.

Partners do not keep secrets from each other.

“I do have faith in myself,” Gwen said, her tone quiet but steady. “As a person, I know my worth. But I am not a great beauty … not the sort to inspire a man like Aidan to fall in love. I simply do not believe that a man could see me in that way after all these years. When I met him, I was all but on the shelf.”

Octavia let out an incredulous grunt, throwing her hands into the air. “The men you met were pompous, pea-brained fools who were frightened by a tall, intelligent woman. You are too original, too brilliant for the lot of them.”

“Will you help me discuss what comes next,” Gwen asked, rubbing at her temple, “or must we declare this conversation over for the evening?”

Octavia gave a long sigh. Her shoulders sagged, the fire in her voice dimmed by fatigue and affection. “Perhaps, once you have rested, you will see things more clearly. For now, let us speak of something else.”

Gwen nodded and sank back into her chair. “I had high hopes, you know. For once, I thought things might change. But now … it is ever so lonely. Aside from Papa and you, I have no one with whom I can truly speak.”

Octavia let out a soft chuckle. “And what of Lady Hays and Lady Astley? They always make a point of conversing with you at every gathering.”

Gwen groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “I wish they would not. Lady Hays is sweet but forgets her own thoughts midway through them, and Lady Astley is a spiteful harridan. If her husband were not so wealthy and well-connected, society would never tolerate half the things she says.”

Octavia returned to the bench, her voice lifting with quiet confidence. “It will all work out in time. I truly believe you will find real friends, good friends, if only you allow yourself the chance to hope again.”

Gwen pressed a hand over her aching heart. It was fragile tonight, brimming with memories of what had been and dreams already fading.

Only the night before, she had felt the promise of something new and extraordinary. Held close in Aidan’s arms, warm and cherished, their connection undeniable.

Now she sat here, shrouded in shadows and silence, arguing with her lady’s maid.

“I did give it a chance,” she said softly. “I opened my heart. And all it earned me was a reminder … that I am still Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe.”