Chapter 5

“Quality is not an act, it is a habit.”

Aristotle

Gwen opened one eye to find that morning had long since arrived. A thought, not fully materialized, tickled the back of her mind, but she could not quite catch it. Something about the ball.

Turning over, she settled down to fall back to sleep. She was far too exhausted to rise yet. The ball had been long, as they always were, and she needed to recover?—

Her eyelids flew open as the vague, niggling thought erupted into memories of the night before.

“Stuff!”

Across the room, there was a movement and Octavia Hanning, her lady’s maid, came running into view as if she had been waiting for signs of Gwen’s awakening.

“Is it true?”

Fluttering her eyes, Gwen attempted to clear the cobwebs and catch up to her flying thoughts. “Is what true?”

“You’re betrothed? To Lord Moreland’s heir?”

Gwen groaned, pulling the coverlet over her head to bury her face in her pillow. Last night had not been a dream, she surmised.

“Well? Are you to wed?” Octavia was relentless, clearly far too secure in her role as Gwen’s confidante these past seven years, so there were no boundaries to be observed between them. The thin servant of about forty years of age was hopefully pragmatic, sometimes crotchety, frequently crass in the privacy of Gwen’s bedroom, and she knew not where the class lines lay, but Gwen did not care because Octavia was always loyal and a close friend after so many years together.

“If Lord Moreland does not raise an objection and forbid the match, then I suppose I am to wed.”

“You allowed a gentleman to lay his hands upon you?”

Gwen groaned once more, burrowing farther into her pillow.

“And he kissed you? On the lips?”

“Go away!” Gwen recalled that she had champagne the night before, after her father had announced the betrothal and called for their guests to celebrate into the early hours.

Champagne! That must be why her head felt so dull this morning.

“I’m so impressed!”

Gwen frowned into her downy cushion, then slowly raised her head to scowl at Octavia. “Impressed?”

“You landed your gentleman by compromising him!”

Gwen tilted her head, her scowl altering into disbelief. “I did not compromise him! He laid his hands on me!”

Octavia shook her head, which was just a wee too big for her reed-thin body, not listening to a word Gwen was uttering. “I knew you could do it. I told everyone belowstairs that Gwendolyn Smythe is not destined to be on the shelf. Our mistress will take action to make sure it dinnit happen. The right man will notice her and she’ll get married, I told ’em.”

Gwen pulled a face. There it was again—the right man. Had everyone in her household been waiting for the arrival of the right man?

“That is sentimental claptrap! What is a right man?”

Octavia turned bulbous blue eyes to regard her in amazement, quirking her head as if to exclaim. “The man who realizes that you’re an original, of course. Lord Abbott is the one! Why else would he’ve followed you onto the terrace if not to pursue you?”

Gwen stared at Octavia, thunderstruck by what the maid had just voiced. Had Lord Abbott followed her onto the terrace? Gwen had been around the corner from the ballroom, in the deserted section outside her father’s study. How had he discovered her there unless he had followed her?

She shook her head. “That does not make sense! Why would Lord Abbott follow me?”

Octavia straightened up, her fists coming to rest on her waist, to scold Gwen from her towering position. The lady’s maid was a short woman, but she towered over reclining Gwen in an intimidating manner. “Because you’re a beautiful young woman. An original. He recognized your worth.”

Gwen pulled the coverlet back over her head. “That is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not! Those girls at school were repugnant little arses. You should not heed the mockery of silly little children.”

“Not children. Married ladies of the ton who are fond of reminding me of my shortcomings at every turn.”

Octavia snorted. “More like married tarts of the ton! And who’re they to know? Their husbands keep mistresses on the side while they pretend all’s well. The footmen told me of the goings-on in the little drawing room down the hall.”

“So, Lord Abbott will marry me and discard me to seek his pleasure elsewhere.”

“Nay, this is different! Lord Abbott was so besotted, he trapped himself in marriage to taste your lips. This will be a love match!”

Gwen moaned in despair. “Sodding hell! That is what people will say. They will say this is a love match before they bray like hyenas at Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe marrying a future viscount.”

Silence fell. After several long moments, Gwen lowered the coverlet to find Octavia stewing. “I wish you’d stop paying heed to those women. They’re not experts on what a gentleman might be seeking. They’re only experts on what their mothers tell ’em because they’ve no minds of their own.”

Gwen twisted her lips in denial. “They are experts. On how to get married.”

“You’re getting married!”

“Because of the scandal! Because Lord Abbott feels compelled to be a gentleman. If not for that, I would merely be a scandalous spinster!”

“You’re not a spinster. You’re a young woman of worth and your mama would be proud of you!”

Gwen’s jaw set into mutinous lines. “She would not be proud of me trapping a man in marriage!”

Octavia sighed, pushing Gwen’s hip so she would make space before taking a seat on the bed beside her. “Mrs. Smythe would understand that in a single magical moment, the right man found you and then fate happened.”

Gwen fell silent once more, saddened to think of her absent mama.

Octavia Hanning had been taking care of the Smythe women for many years. She was practically part of the family. Gwen’s friend throughout the past lonely years. Being an intelligent woman with scholarly pursuits made Gwen unattractive both to men and women of her class, but Octavia had always been at her side to encourage her.

“I know not what happened. One moment I was wishing that I had a suitor with whom to share the glorious view of the heavens, and next thing Lord Abbott was at my side. Before I knew it, we had embraced and half the ballroom stumbled upon us.”

Octavia nodded. “I think Lord Abbott is a good man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“There is no gossip about him. He finished at Oxford, then went on his Grand Tour. Since he returned, he has caroused with his friends, but he has not visited any widows or courtesans, nor danced with any young ladies.”

The widespread web of the belowstairs gossip was often a source of amazement to Gwen. Octavia knew things about noble families that Gwen had yet to even meet.

“What of his family?”

“Lord and Lady Moreland have a pristine reputation. There’re no paramours for either of them, and they’re committed to each other, by all reports.”

How would Lord Moreland feel about his heir being required to marry her, Gwen pondered.

“And the sister? The one who was recently in the scandal sheets?”

Octavia grunted. “We’re all rather confused about that. The Abbott servants do not like to gossip about their household. Miss Abbott claimed she was with Lord Filminster the night of the coronation, when it became clear he was to be arrested. There’s no word of inappropriate behavior from any household she’s visited, or even much contact with Lord Filminster, so I cannit say how they had the opportunity to …” Octavia bobbed her hands in a lewd gesture to indicate the coming together of two lovers. “They wed within a few days, and the servants of Ridley House will not speak on anything happening there.”

Gwen reflected on this. The servants were either scared to speak, or they were intensely loyal to the Baron of Filminster and his new wife.

It was strange to think she would marry into a family she had never even met. Lord Abbott himself was a stranger. A handsome stranger with firm lips and passionate eyes, who accurately quoted great poetry, but a stranger nevertheless.

“Do you know why Lord Abbott was at the ball?”

Octavia shook her head, causing little tendrils of her mousy brown hair to escape the knot at her nape. “The footmen are amazed. Dennis said he thought that perhaps he saw Lord Abbott and another gentleman enter with Lord and Lady Hays, but it’s all so unexpected. There’s no news of Lord Abbott seeking a wife, so no one knows why he would have attended the ball.”

“Not only that, the ball is not even in the Season. Many families have already left for the country since the coronation. I do not know why the Morelands or Lord Abbott were still in London. Papa scheduled it now in a bid to save coin on the event.”

Octavia clapped her hands together. “What does it matter? You’re finally to wed. You’ll be a beautiful bride and join a great and powerful family. Then you’ll have babes and one of those babes will be the future Viscount Moreland!”

Gwen thought of a little boy with chocolate brown hair and bright eyes as she had done the night before, and a wave of yearning threaded through her veins to settle in the region of her heart. This might be a strange beginning to a marriage, but, if nothing else, her desire for children of her own would be fulfilled. Little ones she could teach the wonders of the ancient world to.

And Lord Abbott had promised a real marriage. And fidelity was a family trait, from what Octavia had revealed.

It was rather overwhelming to contemplate her sudden change in circumstances. The only issue that nagged at the edges of her consciousness was to mull over why Lord Abbott had been at the ball.

Why had he been on the terrace?

And, why in heaven had he kissed her when no eligible man before him had displayed any desire to do the same?

There was no denying that Lord Abbott was an enigma.

“He is coming to negotiate marriage contracts today.”

Octavia grinned, revealing a crooked smile. “It’s a wonderful day. Your mama would be overjoyed that you finally found a handsome gentleman of your own.”

Gwen thought about what her mama would say if she were here. She would have been impressed with Lord Abbott’s knowledge of Manilius and Shakespeare, but she would have had questions about his presence at the Smythe ball.

Questions that Gwen should ask, but of whom?

Would Lord Abbott tell her the truth about his presence, and his appearance at her side under the pale light of the celestial bodies above, if she were to pose them to him?

She might be betrothed, but she knew not her distinguished groom.

It seemed unbearably rude to question him about his attendance at the ball after the monumental steps he was taking to protect her reputation in polite society.

What was she to do—blatantly accuse him of illicitly entering their home as if he were unwelcome? He was certainly higher in stature than the Smythes, so it seemed wrong to inadvertently imply some sort of wrongdoing.

Gwen wished there was a way to get to the bottom of it. To understand why he had been at the ball, and what had made him say those romantic things in the study when he had persuaded her to proceed with the nuptials.

Octavia chose that moment to interrupt her musings with a blissful sigh. “Just think, I’m to attend a future viscountess!”

Gwen huffed in laughter, her friend’s naked ambition pushing all concerns from her mind as she buried her head into Octavia’s bony shoulder and thought about what it would be like to have access to the huge libraries of the Moreland estates. Lord Abbott had even promised a trip to Italy if she desired.

“What have you done?”

His mother’s wail was earsplitting. To be fair, Lady Moreland had been asked once again to contend with a family scandal. Just the month before, Lily had been compromised by providing an alibi to his brother-in-law; now Aidan had compromised a young lady in his bid to protect Lily. It was a bad time for Christiana Abbott.

Hugh Abbott quickly rose to sit by his wife, placing a comforting arm about her. “Calm yourself, Christiana. It will all work out.”

“What has happened to our children? Did I fail to raise them correctly? Two scandals in a month!” His mother dropped her face into her hands and openly wept.

Aidan winced. Perhaps he should have spoken to his father first, instead of surprising both of them simultaneously.

“I apologize, Mother. I have taken steps to make the matter right.”

His mother raised her head, her chocolate brown eyes wet with tears, to howl in response. “How?”

Aidan stared back at her, speechless and unwilling to upset her further.

His father glanced over at him and sighed, evidently guessing what the rest of Aidan’s news was to be. “Aidan has done the right thing. The honorable thing.”

Lady Moreland swung her head to peer at her husband in confusion, who narrowed his eyes in thought before elucidating what Aidan was about to inform them of. “If all goes well, Aidan will provide another heir to the Moreland title in the near future.”

Aidan blinked. Had his father just swung the prior night’s events into good news?

His mother’s face gradually cleared up as she contemplated her husband’s words. “Aidan is to wed?”

Lord Moreland nodded, reaching up with his handkerchief to gently dab his wife’s eyes dry, wiping away the salty evidence of her distress. “And then he will have babes. Sons and daughters. Our grandchildren.”

Thoughts flitted across Lady Moreland’s face as she digested this notion. “I should have the servants visit the attics to bring me Aidan’s and Lily’s baby things.”

Lord Moreland nodded. “An inventory should be taken immediately.”

She rose with an expression of interest. “I shall see to it right away.”

Lord Moreland and Aidan watched her sweep out of the room in a swirl of skirts before turning to stare at each other. “Your mother has suffered great anguish. First Lily was compromised, then some of our acquaintances snubbed your mother and canceled invitations. Then Lily was almost …” Lord Moreland waved his hands in the air.

“I am so sorry for what has happened. I should have spoken to you alone before involving Mother.”

Lord Moreland sighed, leaning back to stretch his long legs out and gaze at Aidan. “And what exactly has happened? What were you doing at the Smythe ball? I was not aware you wished to find a bride.”

Aidan broke eye contact. “I was … searching …” he mumbled.

He heard his father inhale deeply before posing the inevitable question. “Searching for what?”

“Evidence that Mr. Smythe might be the man who killed Lord Filminster last month.” Aidan continued to stare at his polished riding boots, not missing the barely audible groan emitted by his father.

“Is that a genuine possibility?”

“It is.”

His father cursed, causing Aidan to flinch in surprise. “I do not know him well, but Smythe is a charming fellow with many friends. His older brother is quite fond of him, from what I hear.”

Aidan thought of the letter he had read from the late Baron of Filminster, which had stated that precise detail. His certainty that Smythe was their man, the one who had bludgeoned the baron to death on the night of the coronation, was growing.

“Miss Smythe is innocent of any wrongdoing. Considering my actions, it is now my duty to protect her. Now … and in the future.”

Lord Moreland slowly shook his head. “And perhaps you can illuminate for me how you came to compromise a young lady of the ton. Your mother is correct—it is not how we raised you. The concept of right and wrong …” He growled his disappointment.

“I … lost my head.” Aidan raised his gaze defiantly.

Lord Moreland cocked his head in question. Aidan knew his father and he were close in form and facial features, although Aidan possessed his mother’s rich coloring. His thoughts flittered to the notion of a son who looked like them, but with Gwen’s rich red hair and intense blue eyes.

“You do not usually involve yourself with women?” Lord Moreland’s statement brought Aidan back to their conversation.

“I do not usually meet women like Gwen.”

His father contemplated him before finally responding. “This young woman has made an impression, then?”

Aidan immediately bobbed his head in assent. “She is Venus, with the mind of a scholar.”

“And how exactly did you compromise her? Details would be nice, considering high society is going to be whispering about this all across London this morning.”

“I … we … I was embracing her”—Aidan stopped, recalling how Gwen had finally spat out the details in a similar circumstance—“I had my hands upon her derriere and we were kissing … passionately.”

It was mortifying. He was an errant lad who had been caught stealing cake from the pantry rather than an educated, traveled gentleman of five and twenty.

Lord Moreland rubbed his large hands over his face, mumbling another curse under his breath before speaking. “That is rather damning. Not to mention out of character?”

The last was a question, and Aidan squirmed in his seat while attempting to find the words to explain his roguish actions. “I was overcome. She was ravishing in the moonlight, and when I quoted Manilius, she responded in kind.”

His father pressed his lips together. “She sounds unique.”

Gwen was unique. An original. And soon she would be his. The thought of bedding her was never far from his thoughts since their encounter on the terrace. “She is.”

“And her father might have murdered a peer to protect his inheritance?”

Aidan groaned. “I know. What have I done?”

“I am not entirely certain. The only sure thing is that we have a marriage contract to negotiate. It would be fortuitous if you could refrain from finding evidence of Smythe’s guilt until after the wedding.”

His father’s announcement had Aidan mildly confused, raising an eyebrow in question.

Lord Moreland waved a hand as if his statement was self-explanatory. “I would prefer to break further bad news to your mother in small, digestible pieces. First the wedding. Then the news of an arrest. Not together, if you please. She still needs some time to recover from Lily’s attack.”

Aidan thought this over before finally replying. “I can refrain from investigating Mr. Smythe until after the wedding.”

Lord Moreland nodded. “Which will be soon, considering the scandalous aspect of this arrangement.”

“You are in agreement with my offer?”

“The young lady’s situation with her father does not signify. You must behave as a man of quality. Your decision to embrace an innocent gentlewoman sealed your fate, so we will bear the consequences together.”

Aidan thought about how his father had always been a bastion of honor. How he had accepted Lily’s decision to follow her conscience, and now accepted Aidan’s decision to wed Gwen, and he appreciated that he possessed his father’s support under such circumstances.

“I am … sorry … for bringing this on the Abbott name.”

“You have always behaved in an exemplary manner, so I must assume that there is something special about this young lady or you would not have behaved as you did. I confess I am intrigued to meet Miss Smythe myself, now that she has turned your head so thoroughly.”

Thinking about his betrothed made Aidan smile. Despite the trying circumstances, he had yet to regret that he had done his duty as an heir and found his bride. His glowing divinity of womanhood. “She is bewitching.”

Lord Moreland raked a hand through the thick head of hair that Aidan had inherited from him, not listening to Aidan’s admiration as he attempted to prepare for the coming days. “Perhaps after the wedding I shall take your mother to our country estate. If Smythe is arrested, it would be better that we are not ensconced in London when the news breaks. Perhaps you could join us there to remove Gwen from the initial disturbance, if matters progress as you suspect.”

Aidan grunted, recollecting the full scope of his troubles. It was unfortunate that Mr. Smythe was rather likable. Investigating his future father-in-law with the intent of proving him guilty of murder would be far easier if Smythe were a cold, cruel man. Especially if Gwen needed to be rescued from a dire family situation.

Instead, Aidan’s actions could lead to breaking her heart, and he would have to help piece her back together in the wake of a second, and unrelenting, scandal that could not be so easily repaired by offering her marriage. The one consolation was that the Moreland title would provide some defense against the onslaught that would follow.

“Smythe informed me that he would be available this afternoon to negotiate the marriage contracts. I was hopeful you and I could meet with him?”

Lord Moreland nodded. “I will cancel my appointments. It is imperative we get ahead of the scandal.”

Aidan rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension in his neck. It was less than a month since his father had dropped everything to make arrangements for Lily’s marriage to Filminster. He felt terrible to put his parent in this position again. Who would have thought both he and Lily would wed under a cloud of controversy?

Nothing enragedGwen more than witnessing the mistreatment of others. Which was why she banged on the window, alerting the coachman that she wished to stop. Octavia, sitting on the bench opposite her, groaned loudly as the carriage drew to a halt.

“Please don’t involve yourself!”

She glanced at her lady’s maid, who sat next to the pile of books Gwen had just purchased. “I cannot do that.”

“London is filled with sad stories. You can’t shoulder the burdens of the world.”

“But I can do something about this one.”

The footman opened the door, lowering the steps so Gwen could disembark. She quickly climbed down, with Octavia mumbling rebukes as she followed Gwen out onto the street. “This is a bad part of town. We shouldn’t be stopping here.”

“We have both a footman and a coachman to defend us if needed. Gird your loins and stir your stumps!”

A heavy sough was the only answer, as Gwen strode back up the street.

A hulking halfpenny showman in a tan overcoat and a battered, old three-pointed hat was operating his mechanical exhibition of puppets, squeaking in a ludicrously high voice as the role of Punch, she supposed, who must be moving across the tiny stage hidden from view.

“Sir, do you make it a habit to mistreat weak creatures?”

The showman looked up, his broad face scowling at her interruption. A mother stood with three children, two of which stood upon a bench and had their faces pressed to the little viewing holes to watch the show within the mechanical contrivance of the traveling tinker.

Behind his dull buckled shoes, tied to a piece of string at the opening of an alleyway, a small white and brown mongrel cowered in the shadows.

“Wha’ ye want?” grumbled the showman.

The two children looked up from their viewing holes to see what the interruption to their show was about.

“Your dog. I saw what you did.” Gwen firmed her jaw in what she hoped was a menacing manner.

The tinker scowled again, narrowing his bloodshot eyes. “An’ wha’ do ye think ye saw?”

“You kicked him. Hard. In the ribs. See?” Gwen pointed at the shivering mongrel, who was hunched over as if wounded. The mother of the three children gasped, bending to peer around the wooden show cabinet.

The woman rose back up with a look of outrage. “Mister, is that true?”

“Wha’ of it?” The defensive posturing of the scruffy reprobate did not unsettle Gwen at all. At least, not too much. She moved closer to narrow her eyes at him. He topped her by a few inches, but she refused to be intimidated.

“The dog is defenseless. There was no cause to kick him so.”

“The cur wa’ annoying me.”

The mother gasped again. “Come. We are leaving, boys.”

The two lads standing on the bench groaned. “Mama, we want to finish the show!”

“We will find another amusement elsewhere. Come along.”

The older daughter followed as their mother grabbed hold of her boys’ hands and led them away. The girl looked back as they walked away, peeking at Gwen in something akin to awe. “Cor! You be brave, miss. That man is huge!”

Gwen smiled in acknowledgment before returning her attention to the showman.

He had moved closer, towering over her in a menacing fashion. “Now, lookie here! See wha’ ye done? That be me audience. Ye done lost me money.”

A stockinged calf swept at the mongrel, which had come forward during the disturbance to sniff at Gwen’s slippers. The dog whimpered, backing up to avoid the club-like appendage. Gwen noted that the little thing was gaunt. Clearly, the brute was not feeding his animal enough.

Gwen stared down at the dog who suffered at the feet of the bully who had him tied to a dirty string, and she could not walk away. Having confronted the man, and subsequently losing him business, Gwen knew precisely who would bear the brunt of his frustrations. She may have made matters worse for the poor mongrel.

Octavia shifted from foot to foot by her side. “Don’t you do it, Gwendolyn Smythe. Don’t you do it!” she muttered just loud enough for Gwen to hear.

The showman leaned closer, his fetid breath causing Gwen to bend away in disgust. “Wha’s that?”

Gwen raised her head to stare him in the eye. “She asked how much for the pup?”

“Tarnation!” Octavia sounded peeved, probably contemplating the fact that the dog would be the cause of untold troubles once Gwen took him home.

But the mongrel, which must have had the blood of North Country Beagle coursing through its thready veins, was staring up at her with big brown eyes and floppy chestnut ears. All she could think of was how the filthy little animal needed her help.

The showman straightened up in surprise. “Me dog?”

“Aye, how much for the dog?”

He shook his head, his hair lank over his collar. “The dog is a pest, inna ’e? No good to ye.”

“How much?” Gwen stared at him, unwavering in her resolve to remove the little pest as far from the tinker as she could take him.

He grunted, shrugging. “A shilling.”

Gwen fumbled through her reticule, feeling about her coins until her fingers measured out one the size of a shilling. She yanked it out and presented it triumphantly.

The halfpenny showman took it from her with large, blunt fingers. His long, grimy fingernails made her nauseous at the sight, but she released the shilling and took the string from his opposite hand.

He shook his head in a dazed amazement. “The dog a cur, ain’t ’e?”

Gwen raised herself to her full height, squaring her shoulders. “But now, sir, he is my cur.”

With that, she turned and led the dog away. Octavia groaned, catching up to her side and mumbling beneath her breath the entire length of their walk.

When they reached the carriage, Gwen leaned down to pick the dog up and place it inside, wondering if her gloves would survive the contact with so much filth.

“Faugh! He reeks something fierce.” Octavia’s exclamation barely registered as Gwen fought back the impulse to gag, almost dizzy from the pungency of such a little animal. “He’s a right skunk!”

“She. She is a right skunk. And a good wash will do her wonders.” Gwen had checked when she had picked the animal up, an action that she was sure had cost her a favorite pair of gloves. Surely such a depth of odor could not simply be washed away?

Octavia mumbled as she followed Gwen back into the interior of the carriage, quickly cranking the windows open to let in fresh air. “It better wash away or that beast will be living in the stables.”

Gwen looked down into the big brown eyes staring at her from the shadow of the bench. “She will be fine.”

Octavia settled in next to the pile of books, shaking her head in perplexment. “I will never understand why you are so quick to defend others, but not yourself, Gwendolyn Smythe.”

Gwen stared back at the dog, whose snout was quivering with interest, sniffing the air of the carriage. How it did not gag on its own smell was a mystery. “I do not know. It is easier when it is not me.”

“You’ve a fire in your belly, girl. You need to use it against your adversaries, or you’ll never claim your rightful place in society.”

Sighing, Gwen leaned back into the puffy squabs to catch a breath of fresh air from the open window before the impulse to cast up her accounts could best her. The little hound’s stench had a life and will of its own which permeated the entire carriage with its power. “I do not need the approval of others. I will find my own way.”

Octavia shook her large head again, her bulbous eyes sympathetic in the dim light. “We all need connections. You must allow your new betrothed a chance to bring you happiness and status within that high society. You deserve it more than anyone I know.”

Gwen nodded, but she did not know what she was agreeing to. Mostly it was just a signal she had heard what Octavia had to say. It still seemed an impossibility that she was to marry a man like Lord Abbott.

When she had learned this morning that Lord Abbott, his father, and their solicitor would be meeting with Papa in his study, Gwen had hurriedly made plans to depart their home for the day.

She was not ready to meet Viscount Moreland after being caught with his heir and forcing a marriage. For her cowardice, she had acquired a malodorous little dog to care for, and had only postponed the inevitable meeting with Lord Abbott’s presumably disappointed parents.