Page 66 of The Lyon Returns
Someone had stoked the fire in the grate and it crackled merrily, giving off an ambient golden glow. Brass oil lamps, strategically placed, lit up inviting seating areas for every mood. A plush, velvet-covered chaise called to the reader who wished to while away an afternoon. A mahogany writing desk and matching chairs afforded a place to study and write.
“If a library exists in heaven, I imagine it looks exactly like this one,” Gwen murmured.
“I thought you might be comfortable in this setting,” the duchess said.For a chat, she might as well have added.
In the room’s center was a seating area, consisting of a sturdy, claw-foot sofa, two wingback armchairs, and accompanying tables. The duchess chose the sofa, taking a moment to arrange her skirts as Gwen perched atop one of the armchairs.
“I’ll be honest. You are not what I expected,” Lady Ashwood said, forthright.
“No?”
“No.” The duchess gazed at her in a considering manner. “Not his usual…” She rubbed her fingertips together in a vague gesture and sniffed as if something in the air smelled repugnant before continuing. “But then, he has always had a care for his father’s reputation. I saw to that. I suppose he would not dare marry one ofthosewomen.”
Those women?Gwen had no notion what Lady Ashwood meant, even afforded the benefit of her friends’ schooling earlier. Her palms were beginning to sweat. She prided herself on her intelligence, but she was sadly out of her depth conversing with Lady Ashwood. It was as if the two spoke alternate languages.
“I’m afraid I am at a loss, Your Grace. Whatever do you mean?”
The duchess tapped a finger on her chin as if reasoning something out. “To be frank, I had not expected him to wed again following the loss of his first wife. I suppose I can guess what you see in him. I have witnessed the phenomenon in ballrooms and drawing rooms often enough over the years. I wouldn’t have expected a woman of your ilk to marry for such a temporary affliction, however.”
“My ilk? What affliction?”
A look of impatience crossed Lady Ashwood’s face. “Your father may have been a second son, but he is still of the aristocracy. Your mother was, as well, I presume?”
Gwen nodded with reluctance. “I do not see what my pedigree has to do with anything. Gideon’s father is the Duke of Ashwood.”
She gave Gwen a pitying smile.
Gwen’s own patience was nearing its end. “My lady, forgive me, but I still haven’t a clue what it is you are implying. I can assure you there was no phenomenon needed for me to accept Gideon’s proposal. He is intelligent, discerning, introspective, generous, and a highly talented writer.”
As she rattled off the long list of attributes, the duchess’s cool mask of civility slipped and Gwen glimpsed a fathomless well of dark emotion in her caramel-colored eyes. It vanished in an instant. A practiced ennui took its place. “I see. All those pretty traits.”
Gwen barely resisted the urge to grit her teeth. “All those and more. He is slow to trust, loyal to a fault, adores his father and brother, and holds you in the utmost regard.”
Only the flare of the duchess’s nostrils hinted that she felt anything more than her expression indicated. “He has a good understanding of his responsibilities, I’ll grant you that. Even as a boy, he knew not to step out of line, especially not after all his father did for him, the sacrifices we all made on his behalf.”
Hisresponsibilities. Thesacrificesthey’d all made. Gwen’s heart ached for the little boy he had been as the duchess’s words painted an all-too-clear picture of Gideon’s childhood. At a tender age, he’d lost his mother and found himself whisked across the globe in the arms of a previously unknown father, who, to his credit, clearly adored him, only to then be subjected to the duchess’s bias against him—a woman whom, as far as Gwen could tell, Gideon never condemned for her acerbic treatment of him. Somehow, even as a toddler, he had recognized her suffering, and taken it on himself to lessen it.
Her respect for Gideon rose a hundred-fold. She had the sudden, overwhelming desire to go to him and wrap him in a tight embrace.
“How dreadful it must have been for you,” Gwen said in a soft voice. “Forced to take in a babe, all alone in the world, having lost his mother to a tragic illness before landing on your doorstep, bereft, andneeding things from you, the most important of which you could never give.”
The duchess blinked as if she could not decide how to take Gwen’s statement, as if she could not fathom anyone calling her out for her villainy.
“I did the best I could,” she finally said, bitterness underscoring every word.
“Of course.” Gwen glanced at the closed library door, wondering how much longer before the visit concluded.
“Has Gideon broached the subject of his first wife with you?” Lady Ashwood asked, her mask of cool civility back in place.
“Of course, my lady,” Gwen lied.
The duchess arched a disbelieving brow. “She was two years younger than him—Grayson’s age—and the daughter of a high nobleman. Well-mannered, pale-complected, pretty—like you.” The duchess smiled, as if briefly amused. “She would not ever have dreamt of working, however.”
“It would seem she and I are not all that much alike, then.”
She shrugged that off. “Gideon had a terribletendrefor her from the moment they met. Did he tell you that? I warned him not to get his hopes up that she might return his affections. Women like her do not choose men like him—to marry, at any rate.”
“Men like him?”
