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.