The woman gave him an understanding smile. “Did you have a row with Lady Guine—Oh, beg your pardon, I mean with the duchess? ’Tis so hard to remember to call her that now. I have known your wife since she was a slip of a girl.”
“It’s no concern,” he replied, trying to decide how to answer her about whether he and Guinevere had a row. It seemed almost easier to say they had than to explain she was missing, but Mrs. Forrester saved him the trouble by speaking.
“No matter, no matter. Mr. Forrester says I’m too nosy by half.”
Mr. Forrester was undoubtedly correct, but Asher shook his head. “I’m certain that cannot be true.”
The woman blushed. “Oh, it is. Your wife did not come to the shop today, but as luck would have it for you, I did see her.”
He frowned. “Where?”
“Driving a curricle all alone.” She gave him a look that said she did not approve but would not say so, on which he was more than happy not to comment. He didn’t love Guinevere out and about alone, but he had never understood all the restrictions the English aristocracy placed on women. It wasn’t like that in Oban, where he had grown up.
“Do ye mean to say ye saw her on this street?”
“No. I saw her not half an hour ago at Hyde Park on the Ladies’ Mile.”
He could have kissed Mrs. Forrester.
“I had to make a delivery,” she went on, “so I closed the shop early and went through the park.”
He checked his pocket watch and grinned. It all made sense now. Guinevere had gone to Hyde Park during the hour he knew many in her set rode in their open carriages to see and be seen. It surprised him a bit that she cared at all for such a pastime. She had undoubtedly encountered friends and gotten caught up, though it did seem odd that she had been at the park for so long. It didn’t matter, though.
“Thank ye, Mrs. Forrester. I’ll bring my wife to yer shop next week to purchase some new hats.”
“Oh!” The woman beamed. “It will be my pleasure to serve you both!”
He nodded, offered a cursory bow, and climbed back into his conveyance, turning it toward Hyde Park and the Ladies’ Mile. It was a stroke of luck that Mrs. Forrester had seen Guinevere. The park was large, and even if he had gone there, he might not have found her before she set back for home. He would have to talk with her about being out alone so close to dark. He wanted her to have freedoms, but he also needed her to be safe, and neither the park nor the road was a safe place for a woman alone when the sun went down. He’d have to cool her temper, no doubt, but he could think of a million pleasurable ways to do that. He loved her too damn much to let her risk herself, even if it angered her.
Loved her.
It was the first time he’d actually allowed the thought to settle. He loved her in a way that gave her power over him, but he was ready to accept that.
Guinevere followed the butler to the parlor where Lady Constantine was, and when he opened the door and announced her, she almost turned and fled. She didn’t want to know the truth, but she had to know. Not knowing would be worse, wouldn’t it? She could hardly think straight, and driving around the Ladies’ Mile for hours had not ordered her thoughts or calmed her racing heart as she had hoped.
The moment the door behind her shut, leaving her alone with Lady Constantine, Guinevere’s reservoir of patience burst before the woman could even properly greet her. She abandoned every rule of etiquette that had been hammered into her since birth and blurted, “Did Carrington ask you to wed him?”
Lady Constantine fell back on the settee with anoof, as if she had been shoved back by the truth. Her lips parted, and she looked toward her lap.
Guinevere sucked in a sharp breath as her heart ripped in half. The woman’s face was truly all the confirmation she needed, but she would hear the words. She couldn’t say why she needed to hear it. Perhaps it was simply because she could not believe, did not want to believe, that Asher had wed her for his inheritance, and yet, she would be an utter fool if she continued to deny it. The hysterical thought made her want to fall to the ground and cry, or maybe rage, but she pressed her lips firmly together until she was certain she would do neither.
Her face grew hot with her humiliation, and she was helpless to stop it, but she would not flee, not yet. She cleared her throat, and Lady Constantine slowly looked up.
“Will you sit?” the lady asked.
Guinevere shook her head. “I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.”
“No. No, of course not. I… I’m unsure I should be speaking with you about this. I—Where is Carrington?”
“I currently cannot say,” Guinevere replied, her anger simmering. “I saved you, Lady Constantine, so I do believe you are indebted to me, but more than that, we are—you and I both—women trapped in a world that is wholly unfair to women. I feel certain you would wish to know if your husband had failed to mention that he had asked another woman to wed him before asking you.”
“Yes,” the woman agreed. “Yes, I would.” She studied Guinevere for a long silent moment. “You love him,” Lady Constantine said with a small smile.
It was true, but in the current situation, Guinevere wholeheartedly was wishing it were not. “That is of no import at the moment.” She felt the edges of her control fraying at an alarming pace. She could imagine giving Lady Constantine a tooth-rattling shake if the woman did not answer her quite soon. “Did he ask you to wed him?”
“You really should sit for this conversation,” the woman said, arching her eyebrows in a show of surprising steel.
“Does your answering hinge upon my sitting?”
