Chapter 15

“The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival.”

Aristotle

When Aidan reached the Smythe home, ensuring he came in a good half hour after Smythe, it was to be met with another letter. Stalking over to the little drawing room off the entry hall, Aidan quickly unfolded the note to see what hellish report he was to receive.

After we left RH last evening, it happened again. Michaels is injured, but the doctor assures me he will recover.

Filminster.

Aidan’s vision turned red as rage rushed through him. The butler had saved Lily’s life! And if Lily had been at Ridley House, she could have been hurt or killed, being such a tiny little thing!

Smythe was behind it! Aidan knew this was the truth. There was no other explanation for what he had witnessed this afternoon nor for the bills of sale he had found in Smythe’s desk.

Aidan’s hands were shaking with fury as he crumpled the page in his hand, attempting to quell the hot emotion causing his heart to race. He was panting with the sheer outrage that the killer was only dozens of feet away and he could do nothing about it.

It was beyond the pale! Completely untenable!

He stood here, helpless, while his family and their close connections were under attack.

The more he tried to hold his temper at bay, the hotter it simmered—boiled—until the appalling dishonor of this disastrous farce caused his feet to turn toward the door. In a blinding anger, Aidan stormed down the hall to throw open the door to Smythe’s office.

His father-in-law’s head shot up in surprise, then he frowned in confusion when he saw Aidan standing in the doorway.

“May I help you, son?”

Aidan stepped in, closing the door behind him with deliberation. It was time to end this, but there was no need for Gwen to overhear this confrontation.

“I know what you have done.”

Smythe blanched before his eyes, and Aidan knew he had him cornered. He walked forward into the room, coming to a stop midway to glower at Smythe over his desk.

His father-in-law got to his feet. “I can explain.”

Aidan could not believe his ears. The reprobate was admitting it yet thought that Aidan would stand by him. “You can explain! Have you gone mad, sir?”

Smythe raised shaking hands to run them through his graying hair, his blue eyes stark in a face that had lost all color. “I beg of you, there is no need for this to get out. Not yet.”

Aidan again could not believe what he was hearing. The man had no conscience. “I am afraid there is no delaying the news that you killed a man.”

Smythe’s jaw dropped open. “I did what?”

It was then that Aidan heard a rustle behind him.

Turning around, the horror of finding Gwen standing at the terrace doors swept through him in a wave. Seeing her red hair lit from behind, the sun peeking through the clouds for the first time that day, she was a glorious angel, and Aidan realized in that moment that his Venus had stolen his very heart from his chest the very first night he had met her. Which was unfortunate because her face was hard and pale as her expression firmed into a ferocious glare.

“What is he talking about, Papa?” Gwen’s glare never wavered, even as she addressed her words to Smythe.

“I … do not know. Who is it that I am supposed to have killed?”

Aidan swallowed. Losing his temper, and storming in here without a plan, just might be the costliest mistake he had ever made.

Ever.

He was supposed to have handled this with finesse. To ensure Gwen was not heartbroken in the process. To be here to support her when she learned the truth about her father.

All of which was currently a moot point.

He turned away to look at Smythe. There was no honor to how Aidan had reacted to this muddle, so all he could do was proceed with his accusation. One step at a time.

“You killed the Baron of Filminster to secure your inheritance.”

Smythe blinked his intense blue eyes before collapsing into his leather swivel chair. “I … most certainly did no such thing.”

“You just admitted it!”

Smythe’s brows drew together, a heavy scowl marring his face. “I most certainly did not.”

“What were you confessing to, then?”

“Not that! Why do you think I would kill the baron?” Smythe shook his head. “And why would killing him secure my inheritance? I did not even know the man that well.”

Gwen’s skirts rustled as she walked up to Aidan from behind. He was too ashamed to look at her, so he stared resolutely at Smythe, watching him like a hawk that had spotted its next prey. But it was he who was the prey to his bride’s menace.

“When was the baron killed? Was it the night of the coronation?” Gwen’s voice was melodic steel, and Aidan’s chest tightened in response. If he had wrecked their marriage before it had even begun, he would never recover. He raised a hand to rub at the pain in his chest where his heart refused to beat.

“Yes.”

“Then Papa could not have done what you accuse him of.”

Aidan could scarcely breathe as he slowly admitted to himself, as if from a great distance, that he may have made a mistake. It never paid to lose one’s temper. How many times had his own father repeated those words?

“How would you know that?”

“Because last month I contracted a terrible fever. Octavia and Papa were at my side night and day. The day of the coronation was when the doctor informed my father that I might expire before the night was over, and Octavia can attest that he kept vigil at my bedside all night long until my fever finally broke in the early hours.”

Aidan blinked in horror, struggling to breathe at the awful accusation he had made. His gaze found Smythe’s, who had an expression of sympathy on his face. “It is true, son. I do not know why you think I killed the baron, but I was at Gwendolyn’s side all day and night. I could not bear to walk away lest she die while I was absent. It was such a blessed relief when her fever broke.”

Behind Aidan there was once again a rustle of skirts, a hint of citrus teasing his senses, and the sound of a door opening and closing, then racing footsteps in the hall.

Aidan spun around to find he was alone with Smythe. Buttercup was at the door, pawing and scratching to be let out. She sat back and howled in distress, much as Aidan wished to do. Gwen had left without a word, taking his very heart with her so that he stood with his chest cracked open to reveal the gaping hole where it had once resided.

Aidan strode across the room to allow the distressed animal out, giving her a pat on the head, before whipping around to glare at Smythe.

“What the hell were you confessing to?” Aidan’s cry was one of pure despair, his hopes for his marriage cracking into a thousand shards of glass as he realized he had ruined everything.

“Not that.”

“Then what?”

“Take a seat, Aidan. I shall explain, but first you must calm yourself.”

It was an excellent suggestion because Aidan felt as weak as a kitten. Lily Billy herself, his petite little sister, could overpower him in his current state.

He walked over to drop into one of the plump armchairs. He would race after Gwen if he had any notion of what to say. Given that he did not, he welcomed any assistance he could gain from Frederick Smythe to repair his egregious mistake in accusing his father-in-law of murder in front of his bride.

“Gwen thinks I married her because of this.”

Smythe sank farther into his chair and nodded. “That is likely what she is thinking.”

“But you did not kill the baron?”

“I did not. I find myself a little overwhelmed that you believe I am capable of such a vile action.”

Aidan ran a trembling hand through his hair, an echo of Smythe’s earlier distress. “It was all the assets you sold, and the fact that you were meeting with ruffians at the docks. It made perfect sense.”

Smythe exhaled heavily. “There is an explanation for that which is far more innocent.” He stopped, raising his gray brows. “This is such a muddle. I think we should sort this out one bit at a time. Let us begin with … Why would I kill the baron?”

Gwen kepther composure up until the moment the study door was shut behind her. And then the stream of tears could no longer be held back.

It had all been too good to be true.

She had known that, but had dared to believe in her father’s prediction that the right man would come along and fall in love with her. Gwen could scarcely see as she ran down the hall, brushing past their butler, Jenson, before colliding into a figure in the entry hall.

Looking up, she gazed into Lord Filminster’s eyes. His brows lowered as he caught her. “Are you well, Lady Abbott?”

Gwen stared at him, crushed. Did all of Aidan’s family know what he had been up to? That he had married her so he could investigate her father?

“I … really liked you. And Lily. But you were all here to deceive us!” Gwen whipped her arm out of his reach and ran for the stairs.

Her wonderful wedding day had been a lie.

None of Aidan’s family, except for Lady Moreland—Mama Abbott—had been sincere in their attentions to her that day. It was just like before, when she had gone to school, only to find that everyone there hated her.

A sob escaped, and she nearly fell to her knees, but Gwen clenched her fists and kept scrambling along until she finally reached the family wing.

Lifting her skirts, she ran for her life, one of her slippers flying off, but she did not stop. She reached her room and slammed herself in, before dropping into a sobbing heap on the floor.

She had really begun to believe.

Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe had actually thought that a handsome, intelligent gentleman was falling in love with her!

Outside, Buttercup scratched at the door, whining to be let in. Gwen reached up to unlock the door, letting the dog in before shutting and locking the door once more.

Gwen sat back against the wall and wiped her face. Buttercup watched her with those big brown eyes, before settling her head down on Gwen’s foot to stare up at her with a worried gaze.

“Do not worry, girl. You and I will be all right,” Gwen whispered, but despite the reassurance, tears began to drip from her swollen eyes yet again. She reached out to rub Buttercup’s head. Anything to assuage the pain in her heart now that she had learned her husband did not marry her for … well … her.

She had thought Aidan was the right man, but it had been an illusion. A cruel trick of the moonlight.

Aidan was still tryingto figure out what he could say to Smythe when the butler knocked on the door to announce that Lord Filminster was here to see Lord Abbott.

His heart, which had only just begun to tentatively beat once more, stopped in his chest at this news.

Something has happened to Lily! Why else would Filminster visit me in Smythe’s home?

Aidan’s imagination ran riot. Was his sister injured? Dead? Had Michaels succumbed to his injuries after heroically saving his sister?

Smythe must have read his distress on his face.

“Show Filminster in.”

Jenson nodded and bowed to leave the room.

“I shall step outside so you can speak with your brother-in-law.”

Aidan nodded, numb to everything except the dread that something terrible had happened.

Shortly, Filminster entered the room and Smythe departed.

“What is it? Has something happened to Lily?”

Filminster walked over to the armchair next to him, taking a seat and shaking his head. “It is not Lily. But something may have happened to Trafford.”

Aidan shook his head in confusion. “Trafford?”

His brother-in-law nodded, pulling out a folded page from his coat pocket. “A woman delivered this to the duke’s home a little while ago. The butler could tell me nothing about her other than she had blonde hair, and he thought she was young. A cape and hood covered her almost completely. She left this for me.”

Aidan reached out and took the note which had been written with a lead pencil. Bloody hell! If he never received another letter again, it would be too soon.

It is not Smythe. 1 of the other 3. Do not inform Peel until you hear from me. - Traf....

The writing was a sprawl, and Trafford had trailed off as if he had not the energy to complete his own name.

“Is this … blood?”

Drops of reddish brown marred the page, and Aidan considered the worst—that his clownish acquaintance and occasional mentor might be mortally wounded … even dead.

Filminster wearily ran a hand over his face. “We think so. Briggs and his men are searching for Trafford. I came to learn if you know anything about his whereabouts because no one has seen him in several hours and his father’s home was locked up except for the servants. Apparently, the Earl of Stirling left for the Continent on Crown business this morning.”

“By George! What the hell happened?”

Filminster sighed, falling back in his seat to stare at the crown moldings above them. “Trafford was most unhappy to learn of Lily’s encounter yesterday. He vented his frustrations that the investigations were moving too slowly and there must be a way to draw the killer out. I think … he did something, and it did not go well.”

“But he is alive.”

“Alive enough to write the letter, and send the girl to deliver it. But I am deeply concerned. Trafford is a good friend.”

“Do we inform the authorities? Meet with Peel?” Aidan did not personally know the Home Secretary, but perhaps he could assist.

“I discussed it with Halmesbury. The duke believes we must proceed with caution. Without knowing where Trafford is, or the danger he is in, we must respect his wish to wait for word from him.”

“Devil take this farce! I just accused Smythe and Gwen overheard me.”

“I gathered as much. Your wife bumped into me in quite a state. She accused me and Lily of deceiving her, which I suppose is fair enough considering … Dammit! I am sorry to have brought all this strife into your lives. When I found my uncle lying dead on the floor, I knew there would be trouble, but I never dreamed of involving so many people.”

Aidan shook his head. “You are family now … Brendan. You did not involve us, we involved ourselves to protect you. And, no matter your troubles with the late baron, he still deserves justice. Someone murdered him in his own study.” It was still difficult to call his brother-in-law by name, but considering the bizarre circumstances, Filminster needed the reassurance.

“I keep wondering if we made a mistake investigating this matter ourselves. Should I have gone to Peel as soon as I read the letter from the baron?”

Aidan stood up, wandering over to the window to stare out at the gray afternoon. It was still drizzling rain, but there was a glimmer of sun through a thin bank of clouds.

“Perhaps, but we are committed to this course, so there is no time for regrets. Trafford said we must wait for word from him, so while your men try to find him, I shall sort out this crisis with Smythe and my wife.”

“You will let me know if you need anything? Lily and I remain entrenched at the duke’s home, so anything. Anything at all. You have risked much to assist us.”

Aidan nodded. “I shall send word if I need assistance. Keep me apprised about the search for Trafford. He is … more than I initially realized.”

Filminster chuckled. “Trafford grows on you. Then one day you realize you cannot live without him in your life.”

Huffing, Aidan nodded again. Trafford’s tutelage on lovemaking had been as effective as he had promised on Aidan’s wedding day. He shook his head. The scoundrel had better survive whatever he was doing. The world would be a worse place without his antics.

“I shall leave you to it. There are places I want to check for Trafford. Send for me if you need me.”

Filminster left, and Smythe returned.

Aidan and he stood and stared at each other in deep silence until Aidan eventually broke the impasse.

“I cannot inform you about the baron’s death and why I suspected you. There are too many lives involved. It is best if you do not know.”

Smythe crossed over to his desk to retake his leather swivel chair. “Very well, but my daughter is in great distress, according to the servants.”

Aidan had never experienced such guilt, knowing that Gwen was upstairs and he did not know how to approach her to explain what she had witnessed.

“What have you been doing?” Aidan could not help himself. He had to know. Even if it was not fair to ask when he refused to answer Smythe’s questions.

Smythe grinned, his blue eyes mischievous as he leaned forward to answer in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Ships! Very fast ships!”

Aidan blinked in surprise. “Ships?”

Smythe nodded, his grin spreading wider. “Around the docks, they call them clippers. I have been selling off anything that I can to invest. Ships that can move commodities faster than before. Souchong and Congo teas, for instance. I aim to profit.”

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Aidan attempted to understand. “Why were you meeting with those brutish ruffians in the taverns?”

“I have been gathering information about the conditions of the ships and crews. Information I can use to negotiate the best arrangements for myself. I have limited funds, so I cannot afford to make any errors.”

“Mr. Smythe … I mean … you have behaved most oddly for something so … mundane.”

Smythe straightened up, gazing down at his hands resting on his mahogany desk. “Ah, but Aidan, I am the lowly third son of a baron. My claim to the peerage is tenuous at best. When word gets out that I divested myself of land to invest in trade … do you know what polite society will say?”

Aidan shut his eyes, accepting he was the worst kind of fool. Far more foolish than the clownish Trafford. He had suspected Smythe of murder because of discretion over actions that were simply explained while Trafford had pursued real suspects.

“It will be a scandal. Many will shun you when they learn you are no longer an idle gentleman of pleasure supported by the income of your estates.”

Smythe bobbed his head slowly in assent. “I will be, horror of horrors, aman of trade.”

Aidan rolled his shoulders. The aches of his fall were pronounced, probably because he was tense as hell trying to calculate how to make things up to his bride. “Why are you doing this?”

Smythe pushed his chair back to stand. Clasping his hands behind his back, he walked over to the fireplace to stare into the hearth.

“My estate income was declining. When I inherit the title from my brother … he is a man stuck in the past. His estates are out of date, run with the same methods as our father and our grandfather before him. The Americans have unlimited lands for growing and export. I have seen the future, and it is grim unless I take steps to build a secure future for my son. Gareth will have nothing left unless I take action.”

Gareth. Gwen’s little brother at Eton. Suddenly it all came together, and Aidan realized that the naked ambition he had witnessed on his wedding day had been Smythe’s delight in securing Gwen a marriage before fresh scandal broke when his move into business became public knowledge. “You wanted Gwen to make a good match before word got out?”

Smythe turned from the fireplace, his grin back in place. “Precisely! She is married to a future viscount. Connected to the wealthy Earl of Saunton and powerful Duke of Halmesbury. My daughter’s future is secure no matter what transpires. The beau monde will never mock her again because she is somebody of consequence.”

Aidan groaned. “Mock her? What does that mean?”

And so, Smythe explained. How Gwen had left for school after her mother’s death, Smythe believing that being in the company of other women would be a blessing for a grieving girl. How she had her confidence shattered by her fellow students when they teased her mercilessly.

That Smythe had been unaware until she had permanently returned home two years later, because Gwen had tried to be stoic in the face of adversity and not trouble him while he worked to pick up the pieces after the death of his wife.

How those same students had become debutantes along with her, and Gwen had suffered their condemnation each Season.

“Gwen is a lovely girl, and the older members of the ton mostly adore her. When you told me you were overcome, and offered to marry her, I thought this was her chance to become the confident woman she was destined to be.” Smythe sat in his chair and watched Aidan, his blue eyes sad. “Did you lie? Did you marry her to investigate me?”

Aidan was pained to hear the troubles she had experienced. To realize how lonely his Venus had been until he had found her on the terrace. How devastated she must be to learn of his investigation and to believe he and his family had been disingenuous.

His hubris that he could manage the situation—manage her—when the time came to accuse Smythe was revealed to be pure idiocy. Gwen must be deeply wounded by his betrayal, believing that all the worst things she had been told about herself were proved true.

“Never. Gwen was an unintended consequence. The moment I laid eyes on her in your receiving line I was bewitched. Then, when she quoted Manilius, I knew that I had found the other half of my very soul.”

Smythe huffed. “Aristotle. You two are a perfect match.”

Aidan cocked his head. “I was thinking Plato, but certainly.”

“Are we settled, then? You believe I am not a killer?”

Aidan nodded. “I do not believe Gwen would lie, but I received confirmation that you are innocent from another whom I trust.”

“Then we find ourselves in a pickle. Gwen has developed a skeptical attitude regarding her attractions. You will find that it will not be easy to convince her of your sincerity after witnessing your accusation earlier.”

Aidan rolled his shoulders and slumped back into his armchair, trying to think what came next. He needed to win her trust back, and a simple apology would not be sufficient. “She is more than I deserve after all that has happened.”

Smythe shook his head. “That is the lot of all men, but you will have to find a way to make this up to her, son. She needs to know you are the man you presented yourself to be.”