Hating Her King

The BRITISH BLOOD TRILOGY (Loving Her Duke - First: Hating Her King - Second: Saving Her Prince - Third)

June 1821

The sun was finally setting, dipping far to the horizon and over Westside Manor, a glow like never before hung beautifully. Hues of pink and gold cast across the sky, giving a sense of serenity and peace. It was the most beautiful sight. Perhaps the sunset was the same as before. Perhaps, nothing was a stranger. Perhaps the only difference was the promised visitors to come.

Gwen stood in her room with her back against the wall, watching outside the window that overlooked the yard, waiting, listening for the invited party. Her nerves were in disarray as her fingers would not stop tingling. She watched as the gentle evening breeze troubled the tiny grasses while the leaves of the big trees danced to it, mocking it. She felt the tingle again and recognized it. It was the same feeling her fingers always retained whenever she played the piano, or ate something truly delicious, or got away with her naughty ways. It was the tingle of excitement.

For a moment, she thought of the piano she had not played in a long while, missing the excitement and happiness she gained wherever the keys were under her fingers, obeying her every command. There was no piano to play now but the excitement remained, rooting from another reason, stemming for another objective; branching towards another purpose: the visit and possible receiving of her future husband.

Slowly, Gwen rubbed her palms together trying to calm her fingers, before nervously sliding them over her hair. Was she properly dressed? Was her hair beautifully designed? She hoped so. Beth had done it and had promised it was beautiful. As there was the possibility that she might be called into the Marble Room later on, to see and know her future groom; and his family, of course, she hoped to appear flawless. She would be introduced to the man she would share her life with. Not now, though, someday, when she finally turned eighteen.

A betrothed.

She had a betrothed.

Mother had told her a few days before that, at birth, she had been betrothed to the son of the Viscount of Sorway – the next Viscount. Although Gwen had been confused, she had accepted her family's decision and when Beth had acquired a portrait of him – how it was she was able to, Gwen had no knowledge – she had fully accepted her fate. Her quite good-looking fate.

She was happy. Her family had prepared for her a husband so she did not have to worry about the hassle of finding one for herself after making her debut in society as a young lady of marriageable age. Poor Beth had been made to undergo a series of lessons as she would be making her debut in a few months. Gwen had been excluded from most of the classes her sister had been made to attend, but although mother had assigned her to some, they were not as cruel as Beth's classes, or so she liked to think. She would not have to prepare for the London season as her dear sister. Her life was planned and she wasn't complaining. It was a perfect thought; a perfect plan.

She realized she was smiling, but she couldn't help it.

The smile dwelt on her face, threatening to rip it apart, hurting her cheeks. The family was happy and although Beth was happy for her, still she wondered – why did she have a marriage prospect but Beth was without one?

Gwen jerked, thinking she had heard movement along the yard, but it was silent, no nuance of carriage wheels. With a sigh, she inspected the yard to confirm that their guests were truly yet to arrive, then pulled the faded draperies close, to lean against the wall again. There was no one.

Beth was older than her and should have one already if that was the way of the family. In a few weeks, her sister would be eighteen and when the London season came, she would make her debut into society. She was simply thirteen yet she already had a man's proposal. How was it possible?

Gwen walked to the mirror to inspect her look and smiled, satisfied with it. Did her family make the arrangements because she was younger? Or because her sister was already prepared to debut into society? She paused. They couldn't have. Mother said it was made when she was nothing but a baby, and said someday it would all make sense. She hoped the day came quickly and that it would indeed become sensible. It was confusing, but she trusted her family, they had her best interest at heart, of that, she was sure.

The sound of galloping horses halted her thoughts and pulled her attention outside. This time, unmistaken, she heard movements. Gwen thrilled. They had come, they had finally come! With haste, she raced and looked through the windows – peeped actually, eager to know. Her heart was pounding with curiosity.

The approaching team of horses were magnificent, with a powerful and sturdy look. They pulled with them a carriage of equal status on which hung a flag. The flag was engraved with an emblem like Gwen had never seen before – a crowned pigeon on a green patch of grass, encircled by a gold band. It must be the Coat of Arm of Sorway, she thought, smiling.

Their entrance was an elaborate show. They must be a powerful family, she thought.

She continued to look through faded draperies and saw her father and brother come down to meet the carriage, standing inches away, waiting to meet their guests. Gwen remained fixed to the window, waiting as well for the passengers to alight, curious to know them, impatient to wait anymore to know him. The man her family thought was right for her. The man she had been promised to.

After what felt like an eternity to the curious and impatient young woman, the carriage door finally opened, and a man alighted, taking great time. He was of average build, hardly tall, but tall enough to shame a dwarf, or so it was from where she stood. He had greying hair on his head, and chin of equally greying beard. He was richly dressed and an air of aloofness hung around him. He had to be Lord Cossington, the current Viscount of Sorway, she thought.

Gwen's nose twitched. He did not hold her interest. It was not him she was waiting to see. He was not the one she hoped to see. The man shared a short handshake with her father and waited for her brother, Eric, to bow to him, before waving his hand to the carriage, urging someone to come forth. Her eyes automatically went to the carriage again.

Very slowly and with an entirety of charisma, like he owned all the time in the world, a much younger version of the Viscount stepped down and Gwen's anticipation exploded. Her groom had come! she thought. He was not as young as she was, possibly as old as Beth or a bit older, but young still, tall enough for his supposed age, and equally richly dressed. He shook her father after a slight bow and gave a short handshake to Eric. He leaned in and spoke to his father before her father ushered them into the Manor.

Gwen moved and the draperies dropped, hiding her from them, the silly smile remaining on her face. She couldn't stop it, neither did she want to. Her future husband had come, and although there was not enough time to scrutinize him perfectly, he was every bit as handsome as the portrait Beth had provided her, not that she cared for that. She intended to love him either way.

He was taller than his father, though not as tall as Eric, had brown hair and was showing off a man who knew the authority and security of his status in the society. One who would not only be a protector to her but a protector to all round about him.

Delirious with joy, she ran off to her bed and buried her head in the fray bed covers, laughing gaily and bizarrely. How great was the man she was meant to love? Gwen questioned, rolling about in her bed cover. Love? What was it she knew about such love? Her cheeks burnt from the embarrassment of her thoughts. She knew nothing of it.

Gaining enough sobriety, she sat up with a start. She would learn, Gwen decided, falling back again, bringing her head to rest on a pillow, careful not to make a mess of her hair. With her eyes stationed on the ceiling, she soliloquized. In a matter of years, she would be married and made to run her home as a Viscountess, she intended to be steadfast and she was prepared to learn. Learn the ways of his family and the ways of a wife. With a giggle, she brought her palms to her face, blushing and rolling about in her bed again.

How great was it to know of one's future. Father had promised to allow her into society early. She would attend balls and parties knowing her betrothed waited for her. He would dance the night away with her and she would feel safe in his arms. In society, she would be protected by her father, her brother, and now her betrothed. What greater blessing could come?

All too suddenly, Gwen sat up again, almost causing her head to reel. She simply must cease reading Beth's books. They continuously filled her head with nonsense and thoughts that should not be. Thoughts their mother would never approve of. Gwen wished the piano was still in the Manor, so she could play and play and let the melody fill her rather than thoughts of her married life that was still in the far future.

She wished the piano had not been removed so she could allow her immense happiness float out of her fingers into joyous melodies. The joy she was feeling was so mighty she was unsure how to use it.

Perhaps like Beth, she should write about it.

Gwen wasn't one to play with an inkpot and parchments. She would rather choose to race around the Manor or engage in activities to cause one to worry than sit still or pick up a book to read. She enjoyed physical work, no matter how unproductive, she enjoyed it, but at the moment, she was bursting with excitement and needed to contain it. She couldn't run around the Manor or walk about their land, their mother would have a fit. Maybe if she really scribbled in a book like Beth, or on a parchment as she had no books, she would be able to take a hold on her emotions.