Page 60 of The Ladies Least Likely
Dovey barreled in from the hallway. “Gwen, there’s aSaisat the—” She faltered and drew up short.
“Hello,” Anne said coolly.
The timid girl Gwen had known was now a calm, self-possessed young woman. She’d be four-and-twenty, one year younger than Gwen. A surprise she wasn’t already married. Had her family hoped for higher and had to settle for Calvin Vaughn?
“Anne, this is Mrs. Van der Welle, widow of Lieutenant Jan Van der Welle of the Dutch Royal Navy. Dovey, this is Miss Anne Sutton, daughter of the Suttons of Llanfyllin.”
Dovey curtsied, her face a mask of exquisite politeness. “And this is Cerys, Dovey’s daughter,” Gwen added as Cerys, peering from behind her mother’s skirts, gazed wide-eyed at the grand lady. “Dovey is my friend and partner in running St. Sefin’s.”
“Yes, I’d heard the Vaughns’ housekeeper say you ran a house of refuge for the indigent.” A smile floated over Anne’s lips. “How like you to take up charity, Gwen.”
“It turned out a good fit for my talents, since my plans for marriage didn’t unfold as anticipated.”
Now where had that bitterness come from? It wasn’t Anne’s fault Gwen had been turned out and forced to birth a stillborn daughter in a sty in the middle of winter. No, her brother was solely to blame for that debacle. Gwen would not ask about him. It was shock enough that Anne had come here, that she could so easily stir the old hurt Gwen thought she had long set aside.
And why was Anne here? What could she want?
Gwen pulled down the tin with the good tea, the kind they purchased rather than making up with their own cuttings. She nearly dropped the precious leaves all over the floor at Anne’s next words.
“We didn’t know what else to do when you turned down our invitation to dinner. Daron and Mr. Vaughn will return as soon as they’ve completed their errands in town. My brother is wild to see you again.”
Daron. Here.The man she’d given her body to, who had planted a child within her, then left both her and the babe to freeze in the Welsh winter.
“I thought your brother didn’t want anything to do with me.” Gwen forced the words through a throat gone hot and tight.
“Gwen.” Anne’s voice was gentle, full of sorrow. “My family treated you abominably. I regret what my parents did to you.”
Gwen’s hands moved like thick clumps of clay she couldn’t control. Against her will she knocked one of their precious jasperware teacups to the floor. The bowl shattered, pieces falling apart like petals of a flower past its blooming.
“Your parents behaved as might be expected, considering they would feel the girl they had taken in and nurtured betrayed their trust.” Gwen knelt to pick up the china shards and hissed as a sharp edge sliced her finger. “Your brother, on the other hand…”
Dovey nudged her aside and cleared the broken pieces, handing Gwen a cloth. Cerys swung the kettle over the fire, warming water for tea. Gwen wrapped her cut finger, trying to calm her galloping pulse.
Anne’s mouth twisted. “I believe he promised to marry you.”
“That, and more.” Gwen sank into a chair across from her former friend, this girl who had once been as dear as a sister. Anne’s buttery blonde hair was piled in a smooth braided chignon atop her head, with perfect curls hanging at her brows and temple. Her skin was as pale as skimmed cream. Gwen guessed that her high-waisted muslin gown, with the ruff of lace at the jacket-shaped bodice and embroidered hem, was the latest London fashion.
“But I thought there was a—?” Anne moved her gloved hand in a delicate motion around her middle, her eyes cutting to Cerys.
“Didn’t survive,” Gwen said, throwing up the wall in her mind against that old agony. Even now, the memory hurt.
Anne relaxed. “That’s a relief.”
Dovey whirled, her yelp of surprise matching Gwen’s. “What?”
“I only meant—” Anne’s cornflower-blue eyes widened. “It will make things easier. There will be no explanations that need be made when you marry. We will simply say you were parted, but have been faithful to my brother all this time.” She raised a pale eyebrow. “Might we?”
Gwen stared. “Faithful,” she echoed. An image swirled to mind of her entwined with Pen in his bed, moist and gasping.
“For that’s why we’ve come, of course,” Anne went on. “So Daron might offer his hand and make good his promise. Finally.”
Gwen reeled in her chair. “Did your parents die?” she blurted.
“No.” Anne winced. “Though your father passed. You did not know? I am very sorry.”
Blood throbbed in Gwen’s finger and her head. Her father, dead. But he had been lost to her long ago.
“His widow wouldn’t know where to find me, to tell me,” she murmured.
