She turned to the maid. "See that she is comfortable, then, as the doctor advised you," she said as convincingly as she could manage.
When she went downstairs to luncheon, it was to discover that Gabriel Digby had met the challenge of Chivalry.
Gwen was positively glowing with the news. "He was so gallant, you cannot imagine. I would have been most devastated if he had not come by to rescue me."
Digby sat near her and took her hand. His gaze was quite adoring and Hero wondered if Gwen had yet told him of her part in their little family drama.
The story unfolded that Gwen had been riding her little pony cart, sent by her father to fetch her home. She had gotten stuck in the mud and sent her servant back to fetch help. A storm was raging and she was unprotected from the elements.
"But," she said prettily, her cheeks pink as rose petals as she gazed up at Digby, "I could not leave little Lily there alone, and I could not unhitch her from the cart myself."
So, Hero thought a bit uncharitably, she thought she would just allow herself to be drenched by the rain, possibly subject to strong gusts of wind, and not be of a whit of rescue for herself or her pony?
"And then he came along — like a white knight on his charger. I swear, I practically saw his lance."
Hero tried not to allow her amusement with the tale to show. Nor her chagrin. For though the tale was foolishly charming and amusing, it was also true that Digby had met his second challenge surprisingly well.
"How is Arthur's grandmother this afternoon?" Digby asked solicitously. But the innocence in his tone could mean only one thing. Gwen had not yet confessed. The girl looked somewhat downcast and guilty. Hero hoped she would tell him soon, before both their hearts were once again in jeopardy.
Perhaps, she decided, she and Arthur could do something to further the relationship. If she explained to Digby — But first, Gwen must confess. Hero felt only a profound relief at the thought of the two of them as a couple. There would then be no more need for guilt that Gwen and Digby had been robbed of their hearts unsuspectingly. Obviously, they had found more than solace with each other during today's rescue.
Arthur came in at that moment, hastily and a bit abruptly. He came over to kiss her cheek and whispered in her ear, "I have found it."
They ate quickly and excused themselves indecently early, but neither of their guests seemed to take note. In the drawing room she turned on him. "Where was it? How did you find it?"
His voice vibrated with suppressed excitement. "It was hidden in an old boot."
She looked at the key he held in his hand, an odd twist of eagerness in her midsection. "So we will try it out, then? But how?"
"We shall escort Gwen home and arrange to stay the night."
She could not help but say, "It may be nothing, you know. Your grandmother may not have — "
He interrupted her to say firmly, "We will know tonight."
The key fit the lock and turned smoothly, but Arthur hesitated before he swung open the door. Hero gripped his shoulder and held the light high to encourage him. With a swift prayer for he knew not what, he pulled the door smoothly open.
Hero made a wordless sound of amazement, echoing his own. Inside the cabinet, wrapped carefully, was a bundle the size and shape of a manuscript.
Gently, reverently, he took the bundle out and unwrapped it. The top page looked fairly modern, and he felt a swift stab of disappointment. The manuscript could not be five hundred years old.
But as he lifted the first page, he saw that there were older pages beneath it.
Hero shifted the light and leaned against him as they both read:
I have kept these pages safe for he who will walk again for many years. I believe that Arthur will return in my lifetime. In fact, I believe my gray-eyed grandson is Arthur reborn. The cards have told me so. All the signs are there to be read. He has but to prove himself and all will be granted him. But should fate prove me wrong, know that I valued my guardianship over my own life and I will not turn over these pages until my hopes and dreams are confirmed. If my dreams are wrong, and I die before I can see the once and future king with my own eyes, care for this manuscript with your life. Let no eyes see it until the king returns to us. I pray you take your duty up as faithfully as I took mine.
Below his grandmother's letter were those of a dozen others. All who had promised to keep the manuscript safe until Arthur, as promised, was reborn.
"What shall you do?" Hero whispered the question quietly. "How sad that they have hidden it for so many years. Could they truly have believed that Arthur would return?"
"They must have. Why else pass along the tradition so assiduously?"
"Do you — "
"No. I do not believe there is any reason for the manuscript to be hidden away."
She clutched at him, her whisper growing excited. "Then you have done it, Arthur. You have won the challenge."
He considered the reality, trying to make himself feel it for a moment. As they sat awkwardly beneath the table, the door to the library opened and they stilled, afraid to be caught.
Gwen's voice, subdued, as if she had been crying. "You don't understand. I had to do it."
Digby, cold and angry. "It was evil, Gwen."
"Cowardly, perhaps, at first. Selfish, I can agree. But surely not evil. Say you do not think that of me?"
"I do not know what to think." Digby sighed violently. "To trap them in that bookshop?"
"Would it have been any better to trap Miss Fenster in with you? That is what Mrs. Watterly wanted." Arthur tensed for the reply. Did Digby still have feelings for Hero?
He did not answer her directly. "You should have refused."
"Yes. I see that now." Gwen was openly crying. "And I beg you to forgive me."
"I do not know if I can." His voice was strangled, as if he were fighting strong emotion. Arthur sagged against Hero in disappointment. He had hoped —
"Here, take my handkerchief and do not cry. We need talk of this no more." Digby's voice held little warmth, but it was clear that Gwen's distress made him unhappy as well.
"But — "
"Good night, Miss Delagrace." The door closed softly behind him, and all that was left was the sound of soft sobs from Gwen.
Arthur and Hero huddled under the table, listening to her cry, and then waited until it seemed she had sobbed herself out. But she did not leave. At last Hero shifted enough to peek out. "She is asleep, poor thing."
"She brought her own misery upon herself."
"Can't we all say that? After all, if I had told you I wished to marry you — or if you had done the same when the duke demanded that we marry, we would have been happy from the start."
"You have a compassionate heart, Hero. I am not so — "
"We must bring them together."
He most emphatically did not agree. "Playing with fate is not a game I wish to enter. My grandmother's example is warning enough for me."
She sighed. "I do not mean to force them together but merely to give them the opportunity to bridge that distance between them."
"How?"
"I do not know."
They moved quietly out from under the table, careful not to wake Gwen. He glanced at her sleeping face and remembered the girl she had been. Remembered that she had confessed her mistakes to Digby, which took courage.
He sighed. "I know how." He left the key on the table, where Gwen could not fail to see it.
"Arthur?" Hero would have reached to retrieve it, but he stopped her by taking her hands in his own and drawing her to him gently.
"I am content with what I have, for perhaps the first time in my life. I do not want what my grandmother wanted for me. I want only you."
"But you — "
"I will stand before them and tell my tales. This is one I need not tell. For I know I have won over Digby in my heart. And that is what matters most."
She freed her hands from his and threw them around his neck, careless of waking Gwen now. "You are the bravest man I know." She kissed him. "And the wisest." She kissed him again, and he could taste her tears. "And the kindest — "
"Let us go to bed," he whispered, wrapping his arm about her and pulling her into him as they walked from the room, leaving the key to Gwen and Digby.
"The milkmaid prefers a bale of hay," she offered.
"Tomorrow," he countered. "Tonight, we must try the bed again. With you on top. I have been dreaming of it."
"Now, gentlemen, it is time to tell your tales. How did you fare on your quest? Did you met each challenge?" The outgoing Arthur sat down wearily but with flair. From his seat he added, "And remember — we want to be entertained by the telling, not bored to tears." The assembly laughed a bit edgily.
Who would begin? Arthur rose and Hero tensed. Their scheme had worked. Gwen and Digby were now married, and possessed of the manuscript. Would Arthur be forever humiliated by these events? She could only pray he would not.
Digby appeared nervous, but he did not protest that Arthur be the first to tell his tale.
"I have set seriously upon my question," Arthur began. "And in the three months since I last was here, I have met and mastered many challenges. Among them I hope you will agree are the three which were set for me by the society."
"First," he said, looking toward Hero, "I proved my honor by offering my heart to the woman who is my wife. I am glad to say that she has at last considered it a worthy enough gift to accept."
Hero felt numb. She wanted to stand and tell him that she had always considered it a worthy gift. But she would not dishonor him by interrupting him mid-tale. She would tell him so in private, later.
To her distress, there was a rustle of disapproval from the members at the table. But Arthur held up his hand and said, "Second, I have met my challenge for Chivalry. A man may plead his case before a court of knights, and they may find his deed chivalrous. But if the one to whose aid he came does not credit the deed thus, then I say it is not so, no matter the judgment of his fellow knights.
"Conversely, if the one aided finds the deed chivalrous, then it is so no matter the judgment by his fellow knights. For that is the nature of chivalry in my eyes. A knight must be truly judged by the one in need of the aid he offers.
"As Sir Galahad found, true honor is not in pretty words and idle deeds but in true aid.
"When I met a young woman who had been forced to come to live with a dragon whose fire breathed both hot and constant, I knew that it must fall to me to rescue her, whether she grant my actions the title of chivalry or not.
"This young woman — stout of heart, no shrinking violet of a maiden she — "
Hero sat back in shock. He was not speaking of the ditch he had so proudly dug, but of her. Of winning her heart. Of protecting her from his grandmother's wrath. Each tale he told, for Honor, and for Valor, had her at its heart. She heard only one tenth of the words he spoke though. For her eyes were fastened upon his, mesmerized by the light in his gaze and the smile on his lips, as he told the society in the prettiest of words of how they had come to be together.
Then it was time for Digby to tell his tale. The members, who had moments before been heartily congratulating Arthur for a tale well told, now grew silent and thoughtful again as they turned their attention to Digby.
He smiled as he stood, projecting an air of confidence and leadership that Hero knew was what had led Arthur to the conclusions he had made. She was proud of him again, for recognizing what so many men might not have. Digby was the man for the job of leader of the Society.
Unless — and she doubted this outcome very much — he managed to turn his triumphs into a tale so stupefyingly boring that even the members could not see their true magnificence.
Somehow, though, she could not imagine the man — standing there with such casual command — ever doing such a thing. She settled back, prepared to hear a worthy and entertaining tale. One that she knew well, even to the added details that made known her husband for the better man, no matter that he would not end as head of the society.
The trip to Wales was exhausting. Hero was glad to have a warm shoulder to nap against when she was too tired to stay awake. The day was windy and there was a chill in the air when they came to the cliffs at Caernarvon. The crumbled ashes of the letters that had caused so much unhappiness flew into the air like bits of snow, or dandelion fluff.
"They have done their job. They do not deserve to be scorned for their beliefs, as they would be if these were read." He saw the tears in her eyes and his arms came around her.
Warm and safe in his embrace, she said, "It's good to think that someone has guarded those pages so well until now, and that they are safe in the hands of the Society."
"The words themselves have been with us for so long though. Does it really matter that we have found the original pages upon which they were inscribed?"
"True, the words themselves cannot die, they have been reprinted, translated, read aloud, for nearly five hundred years." She sighed. "Still — "
He heard the unspoken question. "I do not regret it. Digby is the right man for the job. He is the man with the heart of a lion."
"And you are the wise one. He would not have had the position if you had not been generous and wise enough to hand him the opportunity. You could have snatched it for yourself, but you recognized that you belonged elsewhere than in London, heading the Round Table Society.
"It is less wise than selfish, I think, to want to be home with you, surrounded by our books, my ears and heart filled with the discussion that only we can create between us."
"Nonsense. It is wisdom. You recognized that you are better suited to it than Digby would be. Could you see him with Gwen, stuck in a library with no one around but their servants and themselves?" She laughed. "No. You were wise. They are the London couple, the bright and beautiful couple."
"And we are the country mice, then?" He amended, "No, we are the quiet couple, the ones who don't need a whirlwind social life or admiring looks to reach our own peace and happiness."