Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,37
you asked Carrington if he had followed you, what had you been talking about?”
“Lilias had just said I ought to consider Kilgore if he was truly pursuing me this time, and that reformed rogues make the best husbands.”
Lilias nodded. “I’m positive they do.” Her tone was wistful. No doubt she was thinking of Greybourne.
“Well there you have it!” Vivian announced. “Whyever would a proud man admit to following you directly after Lilias announced that you should allow Kilgore to pursue you?”
That same bubble of hope expanded a little further, but Guinevere sternly reminded herself of the past. “You,” she said to her sister, “have been spending too much time with Lilias, who reads too many Gothic novels.” She eyed Lilias, who blushed. “Let us not forget the truth that Carrington only pursued me to spite his father.” When both women opened their mouths as if to protest, Guinevere held up a silencing hand and said, “Recall, if you will, that I got that information from Carrington’s father, who told it to me by way of apology for his son’s treatment of me.” It shamed her to the core to acknowledge how foolish she had been, but it did her no good to embrace a fantasy. And when both women stayed silent and looked chagrined, she knew they realized the truth of the situation, as well.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” she said, her lungs suddenly feeling as if they no longer worked properly. “Let us not speak of Carrington linked with me ever again.”
“Yes, of course,” Vivian said, “but—”
“No buts!” Guinevere replied, a tad sharper than she’d intended, but her patience was expiring. “I have to be wise for myself as well as you and Freddy. And it does not come naturally,” she said with a weak laugh. “I had always imagined a grand love for myself, that some man would come along and see my special worth, appreciate my unique qualities. So when Carrington appeared and it seemed he did, well, I…I got carried away with my own fantasy. But in the end, Mama was right. Grand love is for novels, and men only appreciate me for my appearance and dowry, except perhaps Kilgore, who I suspect simply enjoys being perverse and doing the opposite of what people expect of him.”
“Guinnie.” Vivian set her hand on Guinevere’s arm. “You do not mean that.”
“The part about grand love only being for novels,” Vivian answered. “What of all the late-night stories you told Freddy and me that Grandmother Sara told you of her and Grandfather Edward?”
Guinevere sighed. Her grandmother had been a renowned hoyden who had ridden horses like a man, spoke her mind in public, and openly pursued a love for writing the very novels which Vivian and Lilias read constantly. She had been ostracized because of it, but she had refused to change and had found a grand love because of it with Guinevere’s grandfather, who had read one of her columns, which she published as a man. But then she had been revealed, and he was determined to meet the woman bold enough to do such a thing.
And of course, the thing of Guinevere’s fondest hopes for herself—Grandfather had proposed to Grandmother in a field of wild purple lilies. They’d wed, and she had been tolerated by the ton because of Grandfather’s position but never embraced, which had always shamed Mama, who was, of course, the exact opposite of Grandmother Sara.
Guinevere almost wished now that her grandmother had not filled her head with the tales of her life with Grandfather. That way, Guinevere would have never imagined she could have the same. “I should not have passed all those tales along to you.” Guinevere rubbed her aching temples. She and her grandmother had been especially close, and Grandmother had often commented, before she grew very sick and passed, that Guinevere reminded her of herself.
“But, Guin—”
“Dearest,” Guinevere said, patting Vivian’s hand, “I told you no buts. Grandmother Sara fancied that I was like her, and I imagined myself being able to live as I wished, with a husband that would adore my eccentricities, but it’s not to be. It’s time to face it before I ruin your and Freddy’s futures, as Mama has so wisely reminded me. I must settle on a husband, and if necessary, I’m inclined to allow Kilgore to pursue me, if he truly wishes. I imagine he will be a distracted husband, which will allow me to easily continue my