The Earl That Overruled My Destiny

by Hanna Hamilton

  “You ought to have told me!” Gwendoline exclaimed. “I would have found some way to bring a dish.”

  Lord Caspian chuckled. “And how would you have done that, My Lady?”

  Gwendoline wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips together. She tried to sort through the ways in which she might have obtained something and furthermore, how she might have hidden it until nightfall.

  “I suppose I would have asked Florence to arrange something for me,” she mused. “I could have brought something sweet for you.”

  “I do take great delight in sweet things,” Lord Caspian admitted. “Too much, perhaps.”

  “Do you? I have never been terribly fond of them,” Gwendoline said, “But I know many other people are. I would have assumed you liked them, and my assumption would have been correct.”

  “Indeed. It would have been.”

  “Now I know.”

  Lord Caspian grinned. A companionable silence fell between them. Gwendoline gazed around her, taking delight in the new view of the streets. By night, the world somehow seemed more magical and more vibrant, like some great and wondrous place. Everything seemed possible beneath the silvery light of the moon and stars.

  Once they approached the lake, Lord Caspian brought the horse to a halt and offered his hand once again. Gwendoline took it, her chest fluttering with butterflies, and slowly dismounted.

  Although she stood with her feet flat upon the ground, Lord Caspian still held her hand. His palm was warm and soft, gentle in her hand. Gwendoline’s breath gave a sharp little hitch.

  Abruptly, Lord Caspian dropped her hand. “Come,” he said. “This way.”

  Gwendoline rounded the edge of the lake, following the lord. He paused and stepped into the nearby brush, pulling free a basket and a fresh, starched linen. After spreading the linen on the ground, he opened the basket. Gwendoline settled neatly onto the linen and folded her legs beneath her as Lord Caspian carefully unwrapped the food he’d brought.

  “I’ll confess that I did not bring much, so this will hardly be a feast to remember, My Lady,” he said. “But I did feel as though I ought to bring you something. Perhaps because I have discovered no further information regarding Lord Charles or Lady Helena.”

  Nor had Gwendoline, and with a rush of embarrassment, she realized that she had not even ventured into her uncle’s room once since Lord Caspian began his late-night visits.

  “I haven’t either,” Gwendoline admitted, “But in truth, I’m not sure where I ought to begin looking for more answers.”

  Lord Caspian nodded. “It does seem as though we may have reached a dead end, although I may benefit from looking once more through Lady Helena’s room. If your uncle kept letters from her, surely, she has letters from him hidden somewhere. Unless someone else found them already.”

  “And if they have, they may have destroyed them.”

  Lord Caspian handed Gwendoline a bun, still slightly warm. She blinked in surprise.

  “I paid a baker to stay open later than his usual hours to make these for me,” Lord Caspian said, his smile sheepish. “It would not do to offer you stale or cold food.”

  “I would not have complained.”

  Gwendoline took a bite of the bun, savoring the warmth and flavor of the bread. It still smelled like a bakery, too, warm and fragrant.

  “Perhaps, you wouldn’t have. It wouldn’t be proper for a lady to complain about a gift, but nevertheless, I felt you’d enjoy this more.”

  He took a bite of his own bun, chewing on it. Gwendoline’s eyes were drawn to his jaw, strong and square. Lord Caspian had a wonderfully picturesque profile, one which begged to be sketched or painted. And Gwendoline, who excelled at both arts, wondered if the day would ever come when she dared recreate the lord’s strong and elegant face.

  “So where should we look next?” Gwendoline asked. “I can look further into Lord Charles’s room, and you can do the same with Lady Helena. But if neither of those searches proves fruitful, then what? Do we dare ask Lord Woodmore?”

  “I thought you were opposed to the idea.”

  “I was. But what if we have learned all that we are going to, my Lord? What if there is no further proof of what they meant to one another or about what may have really happened to them? So much time has passed, and I’m certain that my own father would have tried to hide any evidence of his brother’s affair. So if my family did know…”

  “They would have made efforts to ensure that the affair remained buried,” Lord Caspian finished. “I have had similar concerns myself. I still hold that my mother knows something more than she has said.”

  “And your father?”

  Lord Caspian shook his head. “If my mother knows, I’m certain he does. However, I would have an easier time coaxing answers from Lady Elderdale than from him. And perhaps, it is time for us to be bolder in our approach.”

  “Is it?”

  Lord Caspian nodded, his face very serious. “Think about it, My Lady. Eventually, someone is going to learn what we’re doing. We can meet by night and arrange our daytime outings through your friend Lady Florence, but sooner or later, someone is bound to notice that neither you nor I hate one another as much as we should.”

  “Perhaps, we ought to pretend as though we hate one another,” Gwendoline mused. “Like two actors on a stage.”

  Lord Caspian furrowed his brow and chewed on his bun. He swallowed. “Well, I suppose that would be one solution, but I’m a dreadfully bad liar. And I don’t want that. If I was cruel to you, I’d fear you’d take it to heart—even if I didn’t mean it.”

  “I would know you were only acting.”

  “Perhaps, but that would not change the wrongs I committed while pretending to loathe you, and I wouldn’t feel right about it either.”

  “You provoked me,” Gwendoline pointed out. “Which is really what began this all. My father chastised me over my behavior, and I was so angered that I felt rebellious. And I sneaked into my uncle’s abandoned bedroom.”

  “But there is a difference between mischief and ill-spiritedness,” Lord Caspian said softly. “And I would not even wish to feign ill-spiritedness toward someone like you.”

  “Like me?”

  Lord Caspian frowned. For a second, he looked confused, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d said or why he said it. That was a feeling which Gwendoline understood well, for when Lord Caspian said like you, a nervous tremor spread through Gwendoline’s heart.

  He said “like you” as though she was the only person in the world who mattered, as though she was something infinitely precious and valuable. As if he meant that she was something more and something deeper than what he said.

  “Like a friend,” he said at last. “What we do know, My Lady, is that my aunt and your uncle loved one another very deeply, and then, they left. Forever. You and I are bound up together in this mystery, and although we have not solved it yet, I’m quite proud to call you my friend.”

  He raised his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and traced his thumb along her cheekbone. Fire and lightning burst from his touch. Gwendoline’s breath quickened, and when Caspian withdrew his hand, her skin tingled still from his touch.

  Lord Caspian cleared his throat. “Forgive me,” he said.

  “Forgive you?” she asked. “I recall you kissing me once. Stroking my face is far tamer than that.”

  The Lord’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. Gwendoline didn’t shift back. Instead, she merely let him lean in, so close that his breath came in warm puffs against her neck. After a heartbeat, Lord Caspian leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

  His lips were soft like rose petals, and he smelled of fresh bread and of something deep and floral. Then, he drew back, his smile more sly than shy. “How was that, My Lady?”

  “Exquisite.”

  Lord Caspian’s gaze suddenly hardened, and he stood. Gwendoline turned her head sharply, trying to find what might have caused such a sudden reaction, bu
t she saw nothing.

  “My Lord?” she asked.

  Lord Caspian frowned. “Did you not hear a horse’s hooves?”

  A shiver traced along her spine. “No,” she replied, looking toward Lord Caspian’s horse.

  The animal still remained by the tree, where it had been tied.

  “Perhaps, it was your horse, My Lord.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed.

  They remained quiet for a few more moments. Gwendoline’s ears strained, searching for the sound of horse hooves. But there was nothing save the soft lapping of the lake water and the gentle whispering of the wind.

  Chapter 20

  Lady Helena’s room stood at the end of the corridor like a daunting edifice, like something forbidden and alluring simultaneously. Caspian paused as he passed it, considering the room. He’d found the locket in that room, the one with hair belonging both to his aunt and to Lady Gwendoline’s uncle.

  Would there be other things to find? Caspian furrowed his brow and tried to sort through all his tangled thoughts. Why had his mother been in the room? As far as he knew, there was no connection between her and Lady Helena.

  But they would have known each other. And I was not born yet. Perhaps, my mother and Lady Helena were good friends. I would have no way of knowing.

  If they were, though, it seemed strange that his mother had never mentioned it, but then, Caspian’s family rarely mentioned the lost Lockwood daughter. It was a memory too painful for them to recollect.

  With a sigh, Caspian slowly descended the stairs. There seemed to be far more questions than answers.

  And worse, no way of getting those answers.

  Caspian paused by the window and gazed over the estate grounds. In the daylight, they were lush and green, spotted with brilliant flowers. He imagined himself coming through the gardens with Lady Gwendoline and showing her the pink and purple blooms. She would surely derive pleasure from seeing them.

  Caspian felt his eyes drawn to the stairs he’d just come down. Ordinarily, he’d have been out riding with Noah, but his brother had gone into town. And Caspian, although he was held in the grasp of some nervous energy, wasn’t sure that he wished to go riding alone.

  I think it’s the desire to learn something, to uncover secrets which has caused such restlessness. Or perhaps, it is Lady Gwendoline herself that has inspired such feelings.

  He swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat. Maybe he ought to admit that his interest in Lady Gwendoline was about something more than the mystery that they both found themselves entangled in.

  All the ladies in London this season, and I must fancy the one I cannot have.

  But perhaps, he was not—well, he certainly was not—in love with Lady Gwendoline. If his mind wondered to her sharp tongue, to her bright eyes, or to her thick, dark hair, it was surely just because of their shared desire to make things right between their families. Surely, that was it.

  Surely, what I feel for Lady Gwendoline is only what I would feel for any of my friends. Certainly, I am worrying too much over my own thoughts because she is a lady, rather than a lord.

  Yes, that must be it. His thoughts kept returning to Lady Gwendoline because she was a lady. That made her different from the rest of his friends.

  And I’m certain she feels similarly about me. I am her friend and a lord, so perhaps—

  Color rose to his face. He scarcely dared complete the thought, for it was surely the height of arrogance and impropriety to want Lady Gwendoline’s thoughts to linger on him as much as his lingered on her.

  “What have you done to me?” he whispered.

  Caspian’s thoughts had always been fanciful creations. Even as a boy, he’d imagined going on grand adventures—slaying dragons and saving maidens—and although he was far quieter in his imaginings as an adult, he still often liked to think of himself as the hero of some great narrative.

  But never before had a Lady ever featured so frequently in his musings. The maidens of his childhood imagination were vague creations. Beautiful and gracious, usually with long, blonde hair.

  Which Lady Gwendoline does not have.

  But she was more than beautiful and gracious. She was clever and witty and fiery. Lady Gwendoline was real and honest, and the more that Caspian thought of her, the more he admired her. The more ardently he longed to see her.

  Maybe—he realized with dawning understanding—it was not wholly the desire to see their families put aside their feuds which drove him toward Lady Gwendoline anymore. Maybe it was the lady herself.

  Caspian began walking, forcing his feet into motion. It was as if he hoped the movement, the quickening of his feet would slow the torrent of thoughts sweeping through his mind.

  But didn’t a part of me always admire her? Didn’t I once like to vex her simply because I knew how fiery she could be?

  He’d seen little of that fire, though. Instead, that fiery anger had softened, tempered into something fond and eager. The thrill for adventure had quelled the Lady’s anger at his family and himself.

  Now, his heart soared at just the thought of her.

  Caspian walked into his room and closed the door behind him. For a moment, he just leaned against the smooth, wood surface. Then, with a soft sigh, he tipped his head back.

  I might feel a little more than a mutual like for her.

  Even though he was in the emptiness of his room, he dared not give voice to the thought that rose unbidden inside him. But what if he loved her? What if he’d begun this with simple intentions, to solve a mystery, and the mystery had become secondary to winning Lady Gwendoline’s affections?

  I should not love her.

  And yet he could imagine it so clearly. After the two of them managed to put an end to the feud between their families, what better way would there be to unite them in the spirit of good will and friendship than through a marriage? His and Lady Gwendoline’s marriage. They could unite their houses.

  “What have you done to me?” he whispered, striding away from the door. “I’m not supposed to love you.”

  His heart felt as though he wanted to love her. Now, that he’d named those thoughts love, it all made so much sense. It was so logical.

  Caspian raked his hands through his hair. By chance, his gaze landed on his desk. There was a letter there, his name written in a clumsy hand. Caspian frowned and picked up the letter. The paper seemed of fine quality, far too fine for that unpracticed hand.

  He carefully unfolded the paper, his eyes widening as he read each roughly scrawled word:

  You think that you have been so careful, don’t you? How long did you think that you could slip away by night and see Lady Gwendoline before someone would notice? Well, your game is at end. I know about those illicit meetings, and I know what it is that the two of you are looking for. Take this as a warning: you are to stop searching immediately. Otherwise, both you and the lady will regret it.

  Caspian’s blood ran cold. Who could have left this letter? He didn’t recognize the paper or the handwriting, but the threat was clear enough.

  But how did someone learn about this? Has someone been watching us?

  There were two instances where Caspian had thought he’d heard someone. Silently, he cursed himself for not thinking more of them, for dismissing them both as the wind or his over-taxed imagination.

  And he had to warn Lady Gwendoline. If this unknown person presented a threat to him, that person must also present a threat to Lady Gwendoline. It would be hours until nightfall.

  I just hope she’s safe until then.

  Caspian unfolded the letter and smoothed it over his desk. His heart was in his throat. As soon as he was able, he’d saddle his horse and ride as quickly as he could to Lady Gwendoline’s window.

  * * *

  Time seemed to stretch into an eternity. But finally, it was the middle of the night, and Caspian dared try to leave. It was barely eleven; usually, he waited until midnight.

  But over the hours, he’d been unable to t
ear his thoughts away from Lady Gwendoline and the threatening letter that he’d tucked into the pocket of his coat. This person might be dangerous, and although Caspian might be willing to risk his own safety for the sake of a mystery, he wouldn’t dare risk Lady Gwendoline’s.

  He hurried from his room, scarcely paying attention to the sound of his riding boots slapping up the wood of the steps.

  Surely, this villain wouldn’t do anything to harm Lady Gwendoline, would he?

  Caspian couldn’t say. He’s never been in a position like this, one where someone was threatening him. One where a young lady was genuinely at risk.