Lady Gwendolen Investigates. ANNE ASHLEY
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Having the most beautiful sapphire and diamond ring slipped with loving care onto one’s finger does tend to dominate one’s mind.
Consequently, it wasn’t until after she and Joss had enjoyed the intimate little dinner for two, and had returned to the comfort of the front parlor, that Gwen’s thoughts returned to recent events, both happy and sad, and the promise she had made to Annie the previous day.
“Have you someone in mind to replace Mrs. Brice?”
Only for an instant did Joss’s gaze stray from the chessboard, set on the table between them, to cast his worthy opponent a quizzical look. “Hardly my province any longer, my sweet. Domestic arrangements are your concern.”
“Oh, heavens!” Gwen hadn’t for a moment considered this. “Yes, I suppose they are. Or very soon will be, at any rate.”
Lady Gwendolen Investigates
Harlequin®Historical
ANNE ASHLEY
was born and educated in Leicester. She lived for a long time in Scotland, but now lives in the West Country with two cats, her two sons and her husband, who has a wonderful and very necessary sense of humor. When not pounding away at the keys of her word processor, she likes to relax in her garden, which she has opened to the public on more than one occasion in aid of the village church funds.
LADYGWENDOLENInvestigates
ANNE ASHLEY
Available from Harlequin®Historical and ANNE ASHLEY
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Author Note
Although it is acknowledged that the heroine of this story, being the widow of a knight, should not be addressed as Lady Gwendolen, for the novel’s title only this rule has been waived.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Were the inns in England always this busy nowadays? Gwendolen wondered, while neatly avoiding a harassed-looking ostler leading a pair of steaming horses across the crowded forecourt.
It was only to be expected, she supposed, that five years spent abroad might result in her forgetting certain aspects of life back here in the land of her birth. Not that she had ever had much experience of travel, of course…of life, even, before her marriage to Sir Percival Warrender.
Pausing in her musings, she stepped to one side, thereby allowing the stagecoach passengers to traipse unhindered from the inn and return to their conveyance. None of them seemed to notice the bitterly cold gusts of wind sweeping across the forecourt at frequent intervals. Gwen, on the other hand, had been very much aware of the unpleasantly low temperature from the moment she had alighted from her hired carriage, and drew her fur-lined cloak more tightly about her. Having lived in a much warmer climate for very many months, she had forgotten, too, just how chilly it could be in England even in March, when travel became more widespread.
The frequently inclement weather was something else she would need to accustom herself to again, she mused, as she took the added precaution of raising her hood against further cold blasts, the result of which severely restricted her field of vision. One moment she was enjoying the protection the busy posting-house’s pleasantly warm interior offered the instant she had stepped over the threshold; the next, she felt as if she had just walked into a stone-hard wall.
Almost at once a strong-fingered hand fastened itself about her left arm, just above the elbow, instantly steadying her. Some few moments later a deeply attractive and clearly refined voice eventually enquired into her well-being, but not before she had detected the muttered oath, only partially smothered, preceding the belated query. Hence, she wasn’t unduly surprised to discover, upon finally raising her head, that the face peering down at her betrayed a deal more impatience than concern.
She took a step away, the better to focus on a pair of dark eyes set in a ruggedly masculine countenance that wasn’t even remotely handsome. ‘I do beg your pardon, sir. Entirely my own fault,’ she declared, generously accepting all blame.
As she removed her cowl with a casual flick of one hand, there was, just for an instant, a marked softening about the set of thin lips, while brown eyes considered the burnished-copper highlights streaking through chestnut locks.
‘Very true, ma’am, it was,’ he agreed in the very next breath, the softer expression having disappeared so completely that Gwen wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t imagined it in the first place. ‘May I suggest, therefore, you attempt to take more care in future. Journeying about the country, even at this time of year, can prove a hazardous undertaking, without having to contend with acts of downright stupidity perpetrated by fellow travellers.’
‘Well,