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Chapter 16

“Suffering becomes beautiful when anyone bears great calamities with cheerfulness, not through insensibility but through greatness of mind.”

Aristotle

Gwen caressed Buttercup on her lap in a state of numbed pain. Out in the hall, footsteps approached, coming to a halt outside her locked door.

“Gwen?”

It was him. Lord Aidan Abbott. Her husband. The man who now controlled her future while keeping dark secrets. He who had pretended she was beautiful while he plotted to destroy her father.

A tear slipped down her cheek. Gwen raised a hand to swipe at it. She had the urge to rise and let him in. To hear some sort of explanation, but she did not wish to see him yet. She needed to grieve for all the dreams that had been smashed, and she was not ready to talk. At some point she would need to pick up the pieces, but she had not the energy or will to do it yet.

“I am so sorry, Gwen. Please … let me in so we can discuss what happened.”

Buttercup raised her head to stare at Gwen with sad eyes, noticeably worried about her mistress, but Gwen shook her head as if to say, “Not today, girl. Not today.”

“Gwen?”

His deep voice sounded concerned, but it was probably a lie. Aidan was adept at deceiving her, it would seem. He was Hades with his poetic verses and lying lips. And she was the worst kind of fool for believing a man such as him could ever be attracted to a spotted giraffe.

Heavy footsteps announced his departure, and Gwen resumed watching the storm clouds from her chair. The somber mood outside perfectly matched how she felt inside.

Ever so slowly, in time with the beat of her broken heart, the storm gradually departed to reveal the oranges, purples, and pinks of a sunset, which was all the more dramatic for the puffy clouds lit by the sun’s dying rays.

There was another knock on the door, followed by someone turning the handle, but Gwen paid no mind. She had no thoughts in her head, and no words to say. Not to anyone.

“Gwendolyn Smythe, are you in there?”

Octavia sounded worried, but Gwen was disinterested. She remained silent, stroking Buttercup’s silky ears.

“Are you well?”

The handle rattled again.

“Let me in. Please. I wish to know you’re well.”

Gwen ignored the plea. She did not wish to provide reassurance to others when she had none for herself. It was going to be a challenge to work out how to salvage something from the wreckage, but mourning what she had believed she had found took precedence. She could decide what she wanted to do in the morning, but tonight was for nursing the gaping wound in her chest.

After a few moments Octavia gave up, footsteps in the hall announcing her departure.

The sun finally vanished and Gwen was left in the dark with only Buttercup to warm her cooling body. The little dog emanated heat in her lap, for which she was grateful.

She thought about rising to light a lamp, or undressing herself so she could climb into bed, but all seemed so much effort, so she turned her cheek to feel the velvet upholstery and remember a time when she was a girl with a wonderful mother, and with a hope that she would grow up to marry a man who loved her as much as Papa and Mama had loved each other.

Thinking of her mother was the jolt she needed to depart her melancholy. Tonight the moon was absent, and there were only stars to weakly light the night. The madness brought on by the moonlight had finally passed.

Mama would tell me I cannot hide in my room forever.

Gwen gave a heavy sigh, admitting the truth of it, and lifted Buttercup to place her on the floor. She supposed she might need to rouse herself. No point in feeling sorry for herself any longer—it was time to take care of eating and whatnot. The time for grieving had passed.

She found the bell and rang for Octavia before crossing the room to unlock the door. Then she moved around the room to light the lamps. The universe did not care about the deceitful nature of Man. It was time to return to living her life. It was time to plot a new future.

Aidan stoodin Smythe’s study, rolling his stiff shoulders while he contemplated the blazing sunset through the terrace doors. The bruising had been particularly bothersome since the incident with Gwen. After his attempt to talk to her, he was planning out his amends.

He was waiting for a final knock on the door, turning on his heel when he heard it.

Jenson entered. “The Duke of Halmesbury and Lord Filminster are here.”

Smythe stood up at his desk, gesturing. Jenson stepped out of the way to let the duke and Aidan’s brother-in-law in, before slipping out and shutting the door behind him.

Additional armchairs had been brought in from other rooms. Aidan scanned the faces of Smythe’s guests. His father had been the first to arrive, sitting closest to Smythe. Then the Earl of Saunton had shown up just ten minutes earlier in response to Aidan’s hastily delivered requests and was leaning against the mantel, eschewing his seat for the time being. The duke’s exaggerated height dwarfed the plump chair he had settled into, and Filminster perched on the edge of his seat, appearing rather solemn and throwing glances at Smythe.

“For those of you not yet aware, Mr. Smythe did not kill the baron.”

Lord Moreland swept a hand over his face. “Thank the Lord! The notion of informing your mother … it was …” His father simply shook his head in explanation.

Evidently, his father was the only one who had not yet heard the news about Trafford and the other three suspects, but there had simply not been time to brief him. Saunton, Halmesbury, and Filminster merely nodded in agreement. Filminster must have gotten word to Saunton earlier in the day. Aidan supposed the earl might even be assisting in the search for Trafford, the earl’s brother being a close friend of Stirling’s heir.

Aidan paced, not accustomed to speaking to so many important members of high society at once. He was still growing to know his new relations, and what he was about to ask them to do—it was a lot to ask.

“My wife informed me that Mr. Smythe was at her side the day of the coronation. All through the night, in fact, due to a severe illness. Of course, we have received a note from … that confirms this.” Aidan glanced at Smythe, realizing he had been about to reveal Trafford’s involvement.

With the number of people who were already privy to the details of the murder, it seemed in Trafford’s best interests to not disclose the information. Especially while they still awaited word on his whereabouts.

He raised a hand to swipe at his brow. Worry about Trafford had impinged into his mind regularly, even while he had urgently planned out the evening ahead to assist both Smythe and his daughter.

“Mr. Smythe has informed me of what he has been doing, why he has been selling his assets. Once I learned the truth, I felt it was my responsibility to arrange this meeting before the ladies arrive.”

Smythe was tense, his grin absent as he fidgeted with the items on his desk. It had taken much for Aidan to persuade him that this meeting would be successful.

“Aidan assures me that I can trust all of you. That word of what I say tonight will not prematurely get around, and that you gentlemen might be of assistance.”

The duke leaned forward. “I assure you that anything you have to say will be held in the utmost confidence. We are all family in this room.”

Smythe nodded before taking a seat. “I knew the day would come when I would eventually have to inform others of what I am doing, but I find myself … more nervous than I expected.”

Aidan stepped forward. “Mr. Smythe plans to engage in trade. And I wanted to ask for your assistance.”

Silence fell over the room at the announcement. After a few seconds, Saunton, still standing at the fireplace, cleared his throat and fidgeted with his cravat as if it had tightened around his throat. “I … have to confess that I already engage in trade.”

Aidan’s brows shot up in surprise. “What?”

Noblemen and landowners did not sully their hands—their very reputations—with anything as lowering as work. Nay, the mark of a true gentleman was that he had a steward to manage his estates and that he lived an idle life of pleasure. Not that any of the men in this room were idle, but they managed to navigate the constraints of polite society with success.

Saunton threw his hands up. “What choice did I have … I inherited a title on the verge of bankruptcy, along with neglected estates. My blighted father, the Lord of Satan as his tenants affectionately referred to him, was addled in the head, and he certainly did not manage his properties correctly. When my time came, I needed funds to modernize the estates, so I engaged a proxy to involve myself in trade. Mills, steam, whatever would make a profit. How do you think I tripled my wealth in so few years?”

The duke rubbed his thigh, tugging at his coat, before speaking. “When Saunton told me what he planned to do, I engaged a proxy of my own to do the same. It has greatly diversified my interests. I have a stake in businesses as far as Scotland.”

“A gentleman is permitted by the rules and wisdom of our polite society to invest outside of his estates,” Aidan replied, pacing in agitation.

Saunton grimaced, tugging on the collar of his shirt. “I—we—are considerably more active in our businesses than elite investments made through our retainers.”

Aidan was dumbfounded. He shot a glance at his father, who immediately looked away. “Father?”

Lord Moreland rose from his chair, crossing to the windows to peer out over the garden and clasping his hands behind his back. “I have been discussing the possibility with my solicitor and man of business. Baker has been looking into possible businesses on my behalf, but I have not yet chosen which to pursue. It is … intriguing that these gentlemen have successfully navigated these paths. It is not a subject one can freely discuss.”

“Halmesbury and Saunton have been advising me on where to begin,” Filminster confessed when Aidan turned to inquire.

Smythe rose from his desk, crossing to the cabinet across the room. Picking up a decanter, he poured a finger of brandy into a tumbler. Lifting it to his lips, he swallowed it down and smacked the glass back on the cabinet. When he turned around, he had a huge grin in place and his eyes were twinkling. Smythe might be the shortest man in the room, but he had found his footing and was brimming with confidence. “Well, then you are the right group of men to hear my proposal.”

Aidan chuckled. “It would appear so. I thought this would be more difficult to discuss, but …” He waved a hand at Smythe to proceed.

“Aidan and I have discussed the possibility of forming a syndicate. A business arrangement to purchase fast ships. I have already obtained a list of clippers in sound condition with reliable crews, and I plan to approach the owners with an offer to purchase.”

Lord Moreland took his seat with an expression of interest. “You want to own the means of transport rather than manufacturing the goods. Which would mean being more versatile to the public’s demand. What is your plan?”

Smythe tugged at his lapels. “I plan to form a shipping company that specializes in fast journeys—less than one year to the Orient and back. We would specialize in profitable goods, such as Chinese tea. If we invest together, we could purchase the fastest ships available while ordering more to be built to specification.”

“What of the East India Company? They have a monopoly on trading with India.”

Smythe nodded. “I have connections within the company and have privately discussed my plan with them. There are underserved trade routes that can be taken advantage of. Our strength would be speed and versatility. When you have been in business as long as the East India Company, it is difficult to shift strategy. As a new venture, we can take advantage of the changes in demand and trade since Napoleon’s defeat.”

Halmesbury leaned forward in his seat, his elbows on his knees. He looked over to Saunton, who gave a nod, clearly approving of the scheme. The duke looked back to Smythe and said, “We are interested. I would want to see the routes and understand the opportunities you have uncovered, of course.”

“Could you work through a proxy, Mr. Smythe?” Aidan wondered if it was necessary for Smythe to ruin his reputation, given what had been revealed about Halmesbury and Saunton’s secret business dealings.

Smythe shook his head in dissent. “I have decided I must be the headman to make this venture a success. There are connections I have cultivated these past few years, in Parliament, within the shipping companies themselves, and I have cousins in the navy, so I know the right men. High society might be scandalized, but the men I do business with will be impressed to work with me.”

Halmesbury stood up and walked over to hold out his hand. Smythe hesitated, clearly surprised by the gesture, but took it and shook hands vigorously with the duke.

“You have an excellent reputation for forging deals at Lords on behalf of your brother, Smythe. Saunton and I will review your proposal. If all is in order, we will be willing to provide finance, along with connections and advice, if we remain undisclosed parties,” Halmesbury announced.

Saunton strode over to shake Smythe’s hand in turn. “It sounds like an exciting new chapter.”

Lord Moreland cleared his throat, remaining in his seat. “I am interested, too, once I see the details of the proposal.”

Filminster nodded. “I will follow Halmesbury and Saunton in whatever they advise. They know what they are doing while I am still learning about managing my estates.”

Aidan felt one weight lift off his shoulders. The first part of his plan was a success. Smythe had a pledge from powerful peers to back him as he moved his interests into trade. Their support would be invaluable over the coming days, especially within the beau monde, where Smythe would need support once he made his scandalous move into business dealings.

After the meeting concluded, the gentlemen stepped out onto the terrace to converse while they waited for their wives to arrive. A short recess before they assisted Aidan with his plans for Gwen.

Filminster and Aidan walked away to stand near where the ball had taken place, where they could not be overheard.

“Is there news of Trafford?” Aidan was almost afraid to ask. Somehow he had become fond of Julius Trafford and his wild antics, despite Aidan’s resolution to maintain his distance.

Filminster nodded, tapping his hand on the stone balustrade. “Yes. Lady Astley is apparently missing someone, too. She was meant to collect Stirling’s ward this afternoon, but she was delayed by rain. When her carriage arrived at Trafford’s family home, the ward was nowhere to be found.”

Aidan thought about the bloodied note. “The woman who delivered the letter to Halmesbury’s home?”

Filminster lifted his shoulders. “It could be her. Miss Audrey Gideon. No one seems to know too much about her, but it cannot be a coincidence that two people residing in the same home disappeared in the same afternoon. The trouble is we have to be discreet so we do not endanger Trafford or Miss Gideon any more than they already are, so our inquiries are hampered.”

Aidan could tell that his brother-in-law was worried. “Trafford is ingenious in his schemes. He will work it out to get word to us soon.”

“I hope so. It is difficult knowing that a friend has endangered his life to assist me. I have been trying to think how I could have handled the whole matter differently.”

Aidan shook his head. “What is done is done. All that remains is to deal with the present. Trafford was adamant about helping, and he is no fool.”

Filminster burst out laughing despite his anxiety. “That is not true. Trafford would be the first to insist that he is, indeed, a fool.”

Chuckling, Aidan shook his head at the ridiculous assertion he had just made. “I meant to say … he is an enterprising and gumptious fool.”

The two of them stood in silence, thinking their private thoughts about the odd fish, Trafford.

Aidan eventually shifted. “What news of Michaels? You said he had been injured.”

“My butler is a hardy and cantankerous old devil. He was meant to rest on doctor’s orders, but he is already up and about terrorizing my household staff.”

“What happened exactly?”

Filminster rubbed a hand through his hair. “The stubborn bastard tackled a man half his age when the ruffian breached my study through one of the windows. Michaels heard the sound of glass breaking and instead of calling for the guards, he ran in and threw himself at the blackguard and got a good whack in the face for his troubles. Apparently, he then thunked the ruffian with the same sculpture that was used to kill the baron before hollering for help. Unfortunately, the reprobate got away.”

Aidan shook his head. “Michaels is a good man, even if he is a belligerent old goat.”

His brother-in-law groped the stone balustrade and peered into the night. “I owe Michaels everything for saving Lily that day. I could not imagine what I would …” Filminster broke off, unable to complete the sentence.

Exhaling sharply, Aidan lifted a hand to pat Filminster on the back. “I know … Brendan. Believe me, I know.”

“Do you suppose … that Trafford will be all right?”

Aidan’s gut clenched in anxiety. “He has to be. If anyone can take care of himself, it is Trafford.”

Filminster nodded, but his face was wreathed with concern as he stared into the shadowed garden.

Gwen sippeda cup of tea and tried to think about recent events from a new point of view. The warmth of the aromatic leaves was a boon to her wounded heart and helped lift her spirits. The ache in her chest could not be denied, but at least she could think to explore her options.

She recalled Lady Moreland’s visit, and the revelation that Lily had been attacked in the aftermath of the baron’s murder.

Gwen supposed, given the circumstances, she could understand that Aidan would take extreme measures to protect his family. It was unfortunate that she had been embroiled in his plans, and it hurt that he had used her so. But she could place herself in his shoes and comprehend how desperation had driven his actions.

Sadly, none of this abated the pain that she had merely been a pawn in his game to seek vengeance against Papa. But thinking about that would only lead her back to tears. She took another sip, enjoying the sensation of the beverage spreading heat through her veins to warm her icy fingers and toes. Sitting at the window in the chill of the storm had allowed the cold to seep into her very bones, but now she was slowly warming up.

“This is a good cup of tea.” Octavia sighed from the bench at the foot of the bed, holding her cup and saucer close to her flat bosom.

“That seems rather self-congratulatory.”

The lady’s maid shrugged. “A fact is a fact. Just because I made the tea doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Gwen huffed a weak laugh. “I wish I had an ounce of your confidence.”

Octavia frowned, staring down into her cup. “You do, Gwendolyn Smythe. In everything except yourself.”

Sighing, Gwen put her cup down on the side table next to her mother’s armchair. “It is clear Aidan did not marry me because of an interest in me, but rather to get closer to Papa.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Octavia’s tone was belligerent. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. That’s not a man who’s been forced into an unwanted marriage.”

“Come. Let us not quarrel. I need to think about what comes next. I did not wish to trap Aidan in this marriage, but I think we are stuck with each other now. Annulment will not be possible, considering we have consummated the marriage.”

Octavia snorted in surprise, spewing drops of tea. “You certainly have done that!”

Gwen blushed. She could feel the heat and guessed her ears were a deep red. After a few minutes, when the heat had subsided, she continued.

“I do not know what comes next. It is our duty to sire an heir, but I have been thinking that perhaps I should remain here in Papa’s home. Allow Aidan his freedom. Perhaps he could visit me here until we confirm that I am increasing and then he can move out.”

Octavia shook her head. “He’ll not agree to that, I tell you. Lord Abbott is in love with you.”

It was Gwen’s turn to snort. One would think that it was her lady’s maid who liked to read. She certainly had the imagination of someone who did.

“I refuse to contemplate things that will make me sad. It is time to be realistic.”

Octavia slapped the bench with her open palm. “I’m being realistic. It’s possible that Lord Abbott had reasons for attending the ball that night that had to do with Mr. Smythe, but there was no reason for him to kiss you … unless he wanted to.”

Gwen scowled. “Perhaps he needed to gain access to our home! Perhaps he decided the most expedient method to investigate Papa was to ruin his only daughter!”

Octavia swallowed down her tea and put the cup and saucer down with a thunk on the bench. “You must fight for your happiness, Gwendolyn Smythe!”

“If my husband is so distressed by our rift, why did he make one frail attempt to talk to me several hours ago? He knocked at my door for only a few minutes. Buttercup is more persistent at scratching to be let in than he was in attempting a reconciliation. He probably found something to do this evening while I sit here grieving over moonbeams and poetry!”

Octavia smacked her hand down again, causing the cup and saucer to jump and clatter. “Mr. Smythe’s not up here either, but you don’t complain about that!”

“My father is likely defending himself against unjust murder accusations, so he hardly has the time to visit! He will speak with me when he has the opportunity. His regard is far more resilient.”

They glared at each other across the room until Buttercup stood up from where she had been lying in the middle of the floor. The dog raced over to the window and began to jump and bark at the night, her short tail rigid.

“What on earth is she up to?” Gwen’s question was almost impossible to hear when Buttercup increased the volume to snarl and bark even louder.

Octavia and Gwen looked at each other in consternation, their earlier argument forgotten as the little dog turned into a slavering guard dog, trembling with frenzied excitement.

Aidan growled in frustration.“The ladder will not remain in place! The ground is far too muddy! See what it has done to my boots?”

Smythe was panting from his exertions. “Burn my buttons!”

The Earl of Saunton started laughing hard, bending over in fits of glee. “Did I tell you about how my brother attempted something like this to win his wife’s hand last year?”

Filminster started chuckling in response. “I was there! We were stuck in the mud for nigh a week.”

Aidan scowled at the offending device, gesticulating at the other men to hush. “Keep your voices down! Buttercup is yapping something fierce up there. Gwen will discover us.”

Halmesbury sighed, his back against the wall while he observed the antics. “I think we must revisit this plan. Your wife deserves our support, but this …” Halmesbury waved his hand in the direction of the wet ground at the foot of the ladder. “This is not going to work.”

Aidan straightened up. “Agreed.” He released the ladder which thunked against the side of the house. “Let us go back inside and rethink this before we alert Gwen to what we are up to.”

The men filed back up the steps to the terrace, wiping their boots carefully to enter Smythe’s office. Aidan had had a vague notion of climbing up to Gwen’s window to recite the lines of Romeo, but it had not felt quite right and the mud had put the flimsy idea to its permanent rest.

Taking their seats, they went over the details of the plan once more. Several suggestions were offered, but they did not seem fitting to Aidan. He shook his head, dismissing them each in turn while raking through his mind for an idea. Any idea.

Just as suddenly asshe had begun, Buttercup stopped mid-bark. Huffing in smug victory as if she had conquered a great villain, the little dog walked back to her spot on the rug and flopped down. Her eyes found Gwen as she settled her long jaw back onto her paw and stared.

Octavia and Gwen frowned at each other, neither offering any explanation for the strange behavior. The lady’s maid shrugged and picked up the threads of their disrupted conversation. “I think you should allow Lord Abbott to explain the situation to you so you can sort this muddle out.”

“And I think that my husband has a strong sense of obligation. He will convince me of the veracity of his feelings just to make me feel better. All the while resenting this marriage he tangled himself in only to find that Papa was not the murderer he sought. He made a huge error in judgment, and over time he can only grow to hate me for this trap he put himself in.”

Octavia shot up to pace the room. “Confound it! Why can’t you believe he might have genuine regard for you, you obstinate girl?”

Gwen shoved down the pain that threatened to boil over and drown her in a vat of tears if she allowed herself to consider the hopes she had had for their future. “There is no evidence to support that theory!”

“What of passion I saw in his eyes? What of the sweet words he spoke?”

Gwen hardened herself to not think about that. Thinking of that led to deep disappointment. “It was an act.”

Octavia came to a stop. “Have you no faith?”

Her lip quivered, and the sting of tears blurred her vision. “Not in this.”

Octavia swung around, narrowing her bulbous eyes into a sharp glare. “Not in you!”

Gwen averted her eyes, rising to her feet to stand by the window. The night was black without a moon to light the way. A fitting allegory for her obliterated dreams of love and happiness at Aidan’s side as his true partner.

Partners do not keep secrets from each other.

“I have plenty of faith in me as an individual, but I am not a great beauty to inspire the love of someone like Aidan. I just do not believe that a man would find me attractive after all these years. I was practically on the shelf when I met him.”

Octavia grunted in exasperation. “The men you met were pompous idiots who were too terrified of a tall, intelligent woman. You are too original for those men.”

“Will you help me discuss my options, or must we end this conversation for the night?”

Octavia sighed, her bony shoulders drooping in defeat. “Perhaps you will view this differently once you sleep. Why not discuss something else?”

Nodding, Gwen took her seat. “I had high hopes. It is ever so lonely with only you and Papa to talk to.”

Octavia chuckled. “What of Lady Hays and Lady Astley? They converse with you at every event you attend.”

Gwen groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I wish they would not. Lady Hays is a sweet old woman, but she quite forgets what she was speaking about, and Lady Astley is a spiteful harridan. If her husband were not so important and wealthy, she would not get away with half the things she says.”

Octavia must have moved back to the bench, her tone defiant when she responded. “I think it’s all going to work out and you’ll have many wonderful friends if you allow yourself to believe.”

The ache in her heart increased, threatening to overwhelm her with the memories of what had been and ideas of what could be.

The night before, she had been locked in Aidan’s embrace while he explored her body with his lips.

Tonight she sat with Octavia arguing in her room, and the most notable thing to look forward to this evening was her dinner tray. “I gave it a chance. I opened my heart only to discover that I was still Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe.”

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