She wished she was a better writer, so she could explain how devastating this was. She felt like she was losing herself.
Papa, I don’t know how much longer I can survive his exacting authority. He is impossible to please. Sometimes I believe he truly despises me, and when I do not behave as he wishes, he punishes me in a brutal and unfeeling manner.
Well, perhaps that was making things sound more dire than they were, but she must convince her father to come to her rescue. The duke did punish her with the birch that once, and the marks had stayed for three whole days.
Even worse than the punishments is the way my husband subjects me to his lewd whims. He commands me to do things which no gently reared woman should endure. I cannot describe them here; decency will not allow it. When I try to resist his advances, he forces me to his will.
She stopped again. He’s never forced you to do a thing, her conscience whispered. She was the weak, wanton one who melted whenever he touched her. But he was indecent with her. That was not in question, and if her father knew it, perhaps he would find some way to extricate her from this match. They were leaving very soon to go to London, and once they were there, she knew she would never get away. They would attend an audience with the king and queen, and the duke would paint a rosy picture of their marriage and expect her to do the same.
And that would be that. A lifetime with this haughty, unfeeling aristocrat who didn’t love her.
Somewhere out there, she knew there was a man who would love her, a man who would treasure her for who she was. She was not a bad person; she was only in a bad marriage. She couldn’t bear to think this was her eternal lot in life.
Papa, if there is any way you can free me from this nightmare and bring me home, I beseech you to do it.
With much love (and desperation),
Your only daughter Guinevere
Perhaps it was a little over the top. There was nothing to do for it now. She must post it before her husband discovered what she was about. Even if it was written in Welsh, he would find a way to read it. She made sure it was well sealed and went to find the housekeeper with the missive secreted in her skirts.
* * * * *
Aidan looked down at the note in his hands, then back at his servant. “You’re certain that’s what it says?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The man’s tone sounded apologetic; he’d blushed red to his collar. Aidan had been blindsided by the contents of his wife’s letter, and having this man witness it made it even worse.
“That will be all,” he said by way of dismissal, and the footman—who had been recently hired for his knowledge of the Welsh language—bowed and left the room.
Aidan stared down at her swirling text, and then at the translation penned by his man. He could not pick out the part that disturbed him most. The entire letter devastated him, and the fact that she had attempted to send it in secret devastated him more. He’d only just returned from acquiring a gorgeous horse for his duchess, but all the pleasure and anticipation of gifting the horse had flown. He didn’t want to give it to her now.
“Your Grace?”
“I do not wish to be disturbed,” he told his butler. “Close the door.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I tell Lord Warren and Lord Barrymore to call at another time?”
Aidan lifted his head and blinked, and shoved the offending pages beneath some other papers on his desk. “No, I would like to see the gentlemen. Are they in the first parlor?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Warren and Barrymore, thank God. He needed some friendly faces right now. By the time he reached the most sumptuous of the three parlors, his friends had already helped themselves to the brandy.
“Arlington!” they exclaimed when he crossed to shake their hands. The men waved off his handshake and gave him back-pounding hugs, congratulating him on his marriage.
“Don’t spill your drinks on me,” he said with feigned irritation. “It’s barely three in the afternoon.”
“There’s the proper fellow we know and love,” joked the white-blond Earl of Warren.
His other friend, the Marquess of Barrymore, was as dark-haired as Warren was light. Both men looked at him in expectation.
“Well? Tell us everything,” said Barrymore. “Are you enjoying the married state? How is your wife? Is she pretty? How was Wales? How was your wedding?”
“Is she a hellion?” asked Warren. “Does she think you’re grand as anything? Is she short or tall? Have you spanked her yet?”
Aidan crossed to pour his own drink. “Sorry. I’ve already forgotten all your questions.”
Barrymore jabbed Warren. “He’s forgetful. You see? I’m guessing it’s due to lack of sleep.”
“Let’s hope so,” Warren concurred in a suggestive tone.
Aidan turned back to his friends. “What are you two doing here?”
“We stayed away a week, so as not to disturb your honeymoon,” said Warren. “Although the ladies begged us to come sooner.”
Barrymore nodded. “We could barely hold them off. They’re back at Somerton with Townsend and Aurelia, and have charged us to tell them everything about your new wife since they couldn’t travel with the young ones.”
“And Minette is to have her own babe soon,” said Warren. “Barrymore revealed that bit of news last week.”
“Goodness, Minette to be a mother. Congratulations, Barrymore.” Aidan could hear the strain in his voice. His friends studied him as they took seats before the fire. “I suppose you’ve come to terms with it by now, eh, Warren?”
“I’m working on it,” the earl replied in a grim tone. Warren had always been devilishly protective of his sister, only to lose her in marriage to his equally devilish best friend. Aidan had watched last year’s dramas and agitations with smug amusement, never realizing he’d be in the midst of his own wedded drama so soon.
“Can we meet her?” asked Warren. “Where is she? Have you hidden her away? Is she ugly as sin?”
“She’s not ugly, and I haven’t hidden her,” said Aidan. “She does a fine enough job of that herself.”
“She hides from him,” Barrymore said to Warren. “I can’t say it sounds promising.”
“We’ve only been married a week,” Aidan said in his defense. “And my bride was not as willing as I’d hoped.”
“Bother.” Warren tilted his head. “I’m sorry.”
“If anyone can bring her around, you can,” said Barrymore.
Aidan would have thought so until an hour ago, when he’d intercepted her letter.
“If things are uncomfortable, we needn’t meet her now,” said Warren. “The ladies can wait for their gossip about your new duchess, like everyone else.”
“No, you can meet her. She spends most afternoons in my mother’s garden. We’ll go look for her there.”
A servant informed him that Her Grace was indeed strolling in the garden, so Aidan led his friends out to the walled sanctuary. “Guinevere?” he called. He heard a rustling, and saw her peek from a behind a row of shrubs in the corner. She’d taken off her bonnet and gloves to attack an overgrown flowerbed.
“Oh,” she said as the men walked up. She brushed a bit of hair off her face, leaving behind a smudge. “I was just... Well. These plants are too close together. I was clearing some out.”
“With your fingers?” Aidan asked. “You might ask the groundskeeper for the appropriate gardening tools. Or enlist his help.”
“Oh,” she said again, and this time she brushed her hands on the silk skirt of one of her new gowns. He set his teeth against the impulse to scold her, and considered whether he ought to dust the dirt off her face.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” he said. “Two of my best friends in the world have come to call, and they would like to meet you. This is the Earl of Warren and the Marquess of Barrymore.” He indicated each man, and Guinevere made a curtsy. “Warren, Barrymore, it’s my pleasure to introduce my wife Guinevere, the Duchess of Arlingt
on.” Not exactly my pleasure, he thought to himself, because I’m angry at her for her letter, and she generally hates me. But manners were manners, so he stuck to the accepted script.
His friends stuck to the script too. Both of them exclaimed how honored they were to meet her, and took her bare, dirty hand without any indication she was soiling their fingers. Gwen ought to have spoken next, to offer tea, or inquire if they would like to stay for dinner, but instead she stood in silence, her cheeks blushing pink.