The Earl That Overruled My Destiny

by Hanna Hamilton

An awkward silence fell. Gwendoline dared look at Lord Caspian and found that his green eyes were fixed silently upon her. There was no judgment there, only a burning curiosity coupled with a spark of suspicion. He was a smart man; despite her family’s hatred of him, Gwendoline had always known that. He suspected this picnic wasn’t nearly as coincidental as it seemed.

  “The property is nice,” Lord James said, smiling at Florence. “Was this your choice, My Lady?”

  Florence nodded. “It was. I thought it was most charming here along the water, with the fronds swaying so. It’s quite picturesque, like a poem even.”

  Lord James nodded, looking as though Florence’s every statement delivered unto him a pleasure greater than words. But Florence didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she gave him a practiced smile and turned to Lydia.

  “Lydia is quite good at painting landscapes. I have seen her work.”

  Lydia’s face brightened. “Well, I’m far from being a good painter, but I do enjoy it. I try my best with it.”

  “She’s too modest,” Florence said.

  Another pause. Gwendoline searched for something to say, but when she found nothing, she turned her attention to the food being unpacked. Small, triangle-shaped sandwiches, cold chicken, fruits, and cakes were all unveiled. Gwendoline gratefully accepted her food. It would give her something to occupy her hands, so she did not fidget so.

  “Surely, some of us have something to say, don’t we?” Florence asked.

  “I have plans to visit Normandy,” Sophia offered.

  “It is quite an exciting place to be,” Lord Alexander offered. “I have been to Normandy myself on several occasions. It’s significantly duller when you’re forced to visit for business rather than pleasure.”

  “What business do you have there?” Lydia asked.

  And with some effort, the conversation grew. Gwendoline looked at Lord Caspian, whose green eyes seemed to stare deep inside her, all the way down to her core. He shifted closer to her, and Gwendoline shifted closer to him. For a long moment, they sat together in silence.

  “And how are you?” Lord Caspian asked quietly.

  “I am well. How are you, My Lord?”

  “Well, also.”

  Gwendoline bit the inside of her cheek and tried to dredge up the remnants of her resolve. Despite wanting the whole arrangement and wanting to speak with Lord Caspian, she began to wonder if the whole endeavor was a foolish one. And even if it wasn’t, how could she even begin to broach the topic with her family’s sworn enemy?

  “You’re injured,” Lord Caspian said suddenly.

  Without warning, his hand was on hers. Gwendoline’s breath gave a little hitch as he inspected the pad of her finger. It was just a little cut, a small thing really, but the Lord gazed at it with rapt attention. His fingers were warm and surprisingly soft against her palm.

  “It’s a small thing,” Gwendoline replied.

  “Still,” Lord Caspian replied, “even small injuries can hurt a great deal.”

  “Are you speaking from experience, My Lord?”

  “Yes.”

  A throat cleared. Sara, Gwendoline’s lady’s maid.

  “Apologies,” Lord Caspian said, pulling back his hand as if he’d been burned. “I didn’t mean to grasp you so. I was only startled to find that you were injured.”

  She drew in a deep breath and silently mourned the loss of his warmth. “There’s no need to apologize,” Gwendoline replied. “I wanted to speak with you. I have learned something interesting about your aunt.”

  Lord Caspian’s face became immediately guarded. “Did you?”

  Gwendoline glanced at the other guests to ensure that no one, not even Florence, was paying attention to her conversation with Lord Caspian. It seemed that no one was. “My uncle Lord Charles had a lover,” Gwendoline whispered, before taking a sip of mint tea.

  “I wasn’t aware of that,” Lord Caspian replied.

  “Nor was I. But I found her love letters to him.”

  Lord Caspian chewed a small pastry, and after carefully dabbing away the few crumbs that fell, he cleared his throat. “It sounds very romantic.”

  “They were. But there’s more. It’s not just that my uncle had a lover. It’s that the woman…” Gwendoline trailed off, trying to gather her thoughts. “Her…she was your aunt. Lady Helena.”

  Lord Caspian’s muscles grew tense. After a second, he shook his head, a startled laugh tearing from his throat. “That can’t be,” he finally muttered.

  “I swear it was true. I saw the letter myself, and it bears her signature.”

  “You must be mistaken. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It might,” she said slowly. “Wasn’t Lady Helena engaged when my uncle—as your family tells it—stole her cruelly away from you? That would explain why they wouldn’t have told anywhere. And it wasn’t just that these letters exist. It’s that they were hidden.”

  “Hidden how?”

  “Hidden in my uncle’s locked room,” Gwendoline whispered. “Behind a tapestry and placed behind a loosened brick in the wall. There were others hidden beneath the floorboards.”

  Lord Caspian glanced at the lady’s maids and then at the other guests. He let out a low, soft sigh. “You can prove it, I assume?”

  She reached into her purse, the movement hidden beneath the table. Gwendoline had anticipated his disbelief, and she’d come prepared. Silently, she slipped an envelope into his palm. This was her most treasured, precious letter. It was the letter which bore Lady Helena’s signature and all her devotion. Her fingertips brushed his knee and sent an unseemly jolt of pleasure thundering through her veins.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Read it when you’re alone and tell no one until we have learned more. We must have more evidence before we act. I hope—I hope you meant what you said about wanting to end this feud between us.”

  Lord Caspian glanced beneath the table. He shifted, taking the letter and hiding it within his waistcoat. “Very well. I can ask my mother more about Aunt Helena. She might know something. It’s pointless to ask my father. He never speaks of her, unless doing so mars your family’s name further.”

  “That sounds like a good approach,” Gwendoline said, “But we must be careful. If our families learn—”

  Lord Caspian shifted his weight and leaned slightly forward. “If you’re right, it might be that our families have lied to us for a very long time. We might both draw their ire. Is that something you’re willing to risk?”

  “The truth is always exposed in the end. Eventually, everyone will learn. So why not reveal it now and end this foolish feud between our families?”

  “You say that as if it will be easy.”

  “No, but I won’t back away from a challenge. Will you, My Lord?”

  Lord Caspian smirked. “I never turn away from a challenge, even if the consequences might be disastrous.”

  “We’ll need to meet again.”

  Lord Caspian nodded. “So be it.”

  When Florence’s eyes met hers, Gwendoline saw the curiosity burning in them. Gwendoline glanced at her lady’s maid, and she knew that she needed to move further away from Lord Caspian, lest gossip spread about how they were speaking too fondly to one another.

  And even if I told my father of my good intentions, he’d want to thwart them. He would tell me that I shouldn’t be involved with Lord Caspian. He would insist this is a trap of some kind.

  “Oh! Gwendoline has the most beautiful cloth ordered,” Florence said. “It’s a dye I have never seen before. The color, I mean. It’s the brightest shade of Saxon blue, and I think it would make the loveliest gown for the spring.”

  “It’s from Scotland,” Gwendoline said. “It’s a dyer who my mother learned of through one of our tenants. She’s a very good woman, an enterprising woman.”

  As she turned away from him, Lord Caspian’s eyes were hot against the back of her head. Gwendoline thought of the letter she’d given him. Hopefully, she was right in trus
ting Lord Caspian. It would be so easy for him to throw that letter into a fire and in doing so, as good as erase it from existence. The one definite piece of proof that Lord Charles and Lady Helena were in love would be gone.

  At least, as far as she knew. It was possible that there were more letters with Lady Helena’s name somewhere, but she hadn’t found them yet. She couldn’t be certain they existed.

  “I’d have never guessed Scotland,” Lord Alexander said. “My mother manages the buying of dyes and cloth in our household. I believe she buys most of them locally, however. We always keep a few people in London, even after the Season.”

  The conversation continued, turning to different materials of dyeing and weaving cloth. As they spoke, Florence’s eyes kept drifting toward Lord James, who watched her with a sort of worshipful adoration.

  Gwendoline nodded and joined in, but even then, her eyes kept pulling back to Lord Caspian. Her gaze traced over the silky strands of his dark hair and drank in the gentle green of his eyes. The freckles spanning the bridge of his nose were like tiny stars, and she found herself drawing patterns between them. Lord Caspian had joined in the talk, too, but Gwendoline still felt as though the air between them crackled.

  It was like the world before a lightning storm. He could destroy the letter. He could destroy the evidence. And then, all Gwendoline’s discoveries would be for naught. She had no other proof of Lady Helena’s love for Charles, for none of the other love letters bore Lady Helena’s name.

  Lord Caspian held the fate of her discoveries in his hands, and on a whim, he could destroy it.

  Chapter 8

  Joanne Farraday, Lady Elderdale, was a slight, waifish creature with a delicate face and soft eyes. She was the one member of the family who didn’t have dark hair; hers was a light auburn, now threaded with white. Presently, she sat in her morning room, writing letters and managing the household. Her back was to Caspian, and with a streak of childish mischief, he tried sneaking up on his dear mother.

  She didn’t stir or give any indication of having seen him as he crept across the floor, the rug beneath his feet muffling the sound of his steps. When he was nearly upon her, his mother let out a soft sigh. “Dearest, it’s quite abominable behavior to sneak up on old ladies. Don’t you agree?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. Caspian laughed and flung himself into an empty chair opposite her.

  “How did you know I was there?” he asked.

  She twirled her pen between her fingers, a fond smile stretching across her face. “My intuition.”

  “Your intuition is clearly very good,” Caspian replied.

  “I like to think so.”

  Caspian chuckled and leaned against his armrest, drawing himself closer to his mother. “I’d hoped to ask you something, if you have the time for me.”

  “You’re my son. I always have time for you.”

  A pity that being a son never seems to earn me any of my father’s time.

  “I know, Mother,” Caspian said. “I had wondered if you might be willing to divulge any information about my dear aunt.”

  The letter Gwendoline gave him had revealed something unthinkable: that Aunt Helena, who the Farradays always believed was the victim of a horrid abduction, had been quite besotted with her alleged kidnapper. And now, Caspian didn’t know what to think. But he was fairly sure the letter was genuine. He’d glimpsed his aunt’s handwriting before, and the two matched precisely.

  Joanne tensed. Her fingers curled more tightly around her pen, her knuckles becoming white. “What about her?” she asked, her voice soft.

  “What really happened to her?”

  “You know what happened to her,” his mother replied, her brow furrowing in confusion. “It’s the same thing we have said for years.”

  “I know, but it seems…strange. It’s like she just disappeared, and I’d think that we’d have learned something more over the years.”

  Joanne shrugged. “The world is a vast place, dear.”

  “I know, but do we really not know anything? Any of her motivations? I’m just wondering how she would…” Caspian trailed off, unsure how to voice what he wanted.

  “Perhaps, you ought to ask your father about this.”

  “He won’t tell me,” Caspian replied.

  His mother sighed. “You’re likely right. His sister is a troubling matter for him. Understandably so.”

  Caspian nodded, although he sometimes felt like his mother was more sympathetic to his father than she really ought to be.

  “Aunt Helena was to be betrothed,” Caspian said slowly.

  Joanne nodded. “She was.”

  “Did she love him?”

  His mother frowned. “I don’t know. But it really doesn’t matter, does it? Your father and I didn’t marry for love, and we get on nicely enough.”

  She said that and likely believed it, but Caspian privately thought that he never wanted to emulate the marriage between his mother and father. He could scarcely imagine being married and having his partner want nothing to do with him. And poor Joanne seemed like she gave far more to the marriage than Caspian’s father, Edmund, did.

  “My Lord is not an affectionate man,” Joanne continued, “But that is his nature, and he cannot change. And I’m content with that. He cares for our family and provides well for us.”

  He cares for his own name, and we just happen to be here.

  “Someday, you’ll understand,” Joanne said, patting her son’s knee.

  “Maybe. But I’d prefer I love my partner.”

  “As would we all.”

  “But my aunt,” Caspian continued, “Did she love him? Or was there someone else that she desired more?”

  Joanne’s eyes widened. Her gaze darted to the window, as if she thought someone might be watching her. “Someone else?” she murmured. “Did you hear something?”

  “No. Why would you ask that?”

  “Because it’s an odd inquiry. I hadn’t realized you were so interested in Lady Helena.”

  “It’s some business with Lady Gwendoline. She had that outburst…”

  Joanne’s eyes narrowed.

  “which I’ll grant that I may have provoked,” Caspian conceded. “But the encounter has renewed my interest, so to speak. If it soothes your heart to hear it, I’ll also confess that I made sure to apologize to the Lady.”

  After all, Joanne had married into the Farraday family, and although she understood the feud as well as the rest of them, Caspian suspected there was a part of her that only supported it because of her wedding vows.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you doing the gentlemanly thing, although I greatly suspect your father will be significantly less forgiving should you tell him.”

  “Father doesn’t have to know,” Caspian replied. “Does he?”

  Joanne shook her head. “I haven’t the faintest idea how either your father or I managed to sire such a mischievous child. We were quite reasonable children ourselves, you know.”

  “Allegedly.” Caspian grinned. “I’d be willing to wager, Mother, that you became embroiled in mischief enough and just don’t want us all to know about it.”

  “Nonsense. I was a perfect, well-mannered young lady.”

  Caspian narrowed his eyes, searching his mother’s face for some sign of former mischief. Perhaps, there was some in the glittering of her eyes. But she looked—Caspian realized quite suddenly—old. There were new lines around her eyes and forehead. He felt his heart soften and a sudden rush of fierce guilt for every misdeed that might have put those lines there.

  He squeezed her thin hand and smiled. “My dear mother, whatever you were, I’m sure you were wonderful. You’re still wonderful.”

  She placed her hand over his. “That’s kind of you to say,” she replied.

  “It’s only the truth, Mother. I hope you know that.”

  “You are a good son,” Joanne said, her eyes crinkling at their corners. “A very good son.”<
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  Caspian’s smile faltered slightly. He was a good son, as long as he avoided his father’s eye. Admittedly, this wasn’t difficult most of the time. Edmund rarely spent time with his family, and even though they were all in London and living in the same manor, Caspian had only caught glimpses of the man. Often, he didn’t even make an appearance for dinner. He much preferred to wander the town and visit clubs than to enjoy his family’s company.

  “We shall see,” Caspian replied at last.

  He didn’t feel like a good son, and Caspian felt as though he’d only be a good person if he worked as hard as possible not to be his father. Surely, it must be miserable for a man to live with a family who he didn’t love, mustn’t it?