Page 9 of Mine This Winter
While Myrtle pulled out the pins and tugged the tangled curls, Gwen contemplated Mr Garrick’s strange behaviour. He wasn’t the only gentleman acting oddly. Oliver seemed more irate than ever, which added to her growing suspicions.
“Do the servants know what prompted Mr Garrick to leave five years ago?” Just as importantly, why had he stayed away?
Myrtle avoided meeting Gwen’s gaze.
“Myrtle?”
The maid’s throat worked tirelessly. “Mrs Samuel told Flanders that you’d sent Mr Garrick away because his father was a reckless fool. But it’s not for me to question your word, miss.”
Sent Mr Garrick away?
Why would she want rid of the man she hoped to marry?
Yes, his father was a wastrel, but she didn’t care about that.
A sudden chill passed over her.
A chill cold enough to freeze a tropical sea.
Had there been a misunderstanding?
The only way to know for sure was to ask Mr Garrick directly. But a lady could not barge into a gentleman’s bedchamber at night. Nor could she sneak about in a state of dishabille in a house full of guests. That said, when one had waited five years for the truth why care about the risks?
“You may leave now, Myrtle. There’s no need to return.”
The woman frowned. “I’m not sure I should leave you alone, miss. You seem all out of sorts tonight.”
“After such a taxing evening, I shall be asleep within minutes.”
As soon as the house fell quiet, she would dress quickly, find Mr Garrick and demand answers. She just had to pray she didn’t find the man sprawled naked on the bed.
What a glorious sight that would be!
Memories of her caressing his hard body made her heart skip a beat. What she would give to touch him intimately again, to kiss him, their tongues lost in an erotic dance. Failing that, she’d be grateful for his friendship and would learn to cope with the constant yearning.
Myrtle took an age folding clothes and tidying the room and eventually left when Gwen feigned sleep.
An hour passed before Gwen heard the boards creak and the guests bidding each other good night. Soon, all was quiet, so she quickly threw on her day dress and prised the door slowly from the jamb.
Tentatively, she crept along the dark corridors leading to the east wing, her heartbeat thumping wildly in her throat. The whine of a door opening scared her out of her wits. She crouched behind a bust in the alcove and watched Mr Payne leave his bedchamber and disappear downstairs.
Doubtless he was keen to empty the brandy decanter.
Mrs Astley was also on the move, hunting for late-night entertainment. Wearing a frilly silk wrapper, she swayed along the corridor, pitching left and right as if aboard a ship on high seas.
Gwen didn’t dare move a muscle.
She lost count of how long she hid in the shadows. She was about to venture to Mr Garrick’s room when the gentleman came creeping along the landing.
She squinted amid the blackness.
Where on earth was he going?
Perhaps he had her bedchamber in his sights and sought to offer an explanation for his strange manner. Alas, no. He checked the coast was clear before slipping into Mr Payne’s room.
Her heart skipped a beat.
How odd!
