Free Love With the Proper Husband by Victoria Alexander Page A

woman expects nothing beyond what is offered.
    Gwendolyn Townsend
    It was exceedingly odd to stand in the grand parlor at Townsend Park as nothing more than a guest, although Gwen had never particularly felt like anything other than a guest even when she had ostensibly belonged here.
    Townsend Park had been the home of her father and his father before him and so forth, back half a dozen generations or more. A legacy come to a screeching halt when Gwen had been born a girl. She had been sent away to school the moment she had been deemed old enough, and in truth, Madame Chaussan’s Academy was more of a home to her than this place had ever been. She’d spent the occasional holiday here and the brief month of her father’s illness, but she lacked the attachment to the place born of childhood memories or happier times. If her mother hadn’t died or if her sister hadn’t left, Gwen’s life might have been different. She might well have been brought up here rather than sent off to the strangers at Madame Chaussan’s. Strangers like Madame Freneau, who ultimately became not merely teacher but friend and family.
    Little had changed here in five years. The furnishings had been rearranged, the rooms seemed a little smaller somehow, and the butler was new to her, but all in all it was quite as she remembered it.
    “Miss Townsend?” A stern-faced, older woman with a proprietary manner and a dress duller than Gwen’s, although of considerably better quality, stepped into the room.
    “Yes?”
    “I am Miss Hilliard, Lord Townsend’s sister.”
    “Lord Townsend?” For a moment, Gwen’s father’s face flashed in her mind. She pushed away the image, and the odd ache it carried. “Of course, Lord Townsend. My cousin. Then you—”
    “A cousin as well. Distant, of course.” The woman sniffed as if the connection was distasteful. Gwen bit back the urge to comment on how fortunate it was that there was such distance between them and forced a polite smile.
    “Is my cous—Lord Townsend at home? I should like to pay my respects.” It was a lie, of course. She had no desire to pay anything near respect to the man who had, however legitimately, taken what should have been her birthright. Still, she did harbor a bit of curiosity about the new Lord Townsend. He probably greatly resembled his sister, right down to the mustache.
    “He is not. In truth, he has been abroad for nearly a year now. But I understood you were here to take charge of your nieces.” Miss Hilliard’s lip curled upward in distaste.
    “I am here to visit them,” Gwen said slowly.
    She had no intention of taking the girls but was reluctant to admit that to this sour-faced relation. Miss Hilliard’s manner reminded Gwen of any number of people she had met in recent years who, because of circumstances or birth or wealth, considered everyone else beneath their notice. In point of fact, Gwen was not at all certain what had compelled her to make the two-hour trip from London to Townsend Park. Perhaps it was Mr. Whiting’s implication that Gwen’s needs were not as important as those of her nieces and a subsequent touch of remorse on Gwen’s part. Or a desire to discharge herself of such guilt and any familial obligation, much the same way Pennington had discharged himself of any obligation to his father. Or perhaps it was some heretofore unacknowledged wish to know her family. What remained of it, at any rate.
    “I have never met my nieces.” Or perhaps it was nothing more than simple curiosity.
    “Well, you shan’t like them. I don’t see how anyone could.” Miss Hilliard’s forbidding manner deepened if possible. “They are heathens, each and every one. Quite uncivilized. In addition, they are undisciplined, ill-mannered, and willful. Poor breeding, no doubt.” The woman sniffed again. “I would not have taken them in at all but my brother insisted, at least for now. Apparently he was acquainted with their father and feels some sort of obligation.