Chapter 7

“In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.”

Aristotle

Gwen stared at herself in the mirror, nervously fidgeting with the skirts of her gown while Buttercup whined at her feet. A groom had given the pup a good wash in the mews two days earlier, presenting Gwen with what appeared to be a new dog under all that grime.

Fortunately, Buttercup had proved to be a placid companion who liked to follow Gwen around the house and stare at her for endless hours with big brown eyes and a twitching snout.

“What if they do not like me?”

Octavia snorted, her thin fingers twisting Gwen’s hair into an elegant coiffure. “What’s not to like? You are a delight.”

Gwen twisted her lips. “Not according to anyone I know.”

“The girls from school are envious, and the boys empty-headed. Older members of the ton find you a delight.”

Gwen shook her head. “You should have heard how incredulous Lady Astley was when they found us on the terrace.”

“Lady Astley is well known to be an embittered old bat. She would’ve reacted that way to any young lady. If you could hear the stories her servants tell …” Octavia shook her head, causing mousy tendrils to escape from the nape of her neck. “She’s a vile shrew.”

Gwen bit her lip, rhythmically clasping her fingers and releasing them again and again.

“Stop that!” Octavia reached down to smack her on the back of her hand. “You’ll ruin your gown before the dinner even begins.”

Octavia’s admonishment brought Gwen’s attention back from the swirl of worries running through her head. Looking down, she realized she had been pulling on the delicate silk of her gown for several minutes, forming a small patch of wrinkles.

Wincing in alarm, Gwen smoothed the patch with a trembling hand. Meeting Lord and Lady Moreland for the first time had occupied her thoughts since the dinner had been scheduled.

I am to meet his parents!

Butterflies took flight once more in the region of her stomach, and Gwen felt a brief wave of nausea. What did they think of what had happened between her and Lord Abbott?

Aidan.

Gwen mouthed his name beneath her breath, still struggling to comprehend that she was to marry such an esteemed gentleman.

Reaching out, she picked up her copy of Debrett’s Peerage, and opened it to the entry about Lord Moreland … again.

The Abbott family had a long and illustrious line of important ancestors, while her father was the third son of a minor baron. The only reason Papa was set to inherit was because her father’s oldest brother had no issue, and his next brother in line had died twenty years earlier. And her mama had been the daughter of a lowly scholar, with no claim to high society, or even the gentry.

What could they possibly think of Aidan Abbott’s offer of marriage to insignificant Gwendolyn Smythe?

Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe echoed in her ears once more, and the jolt of bravado she had acquired when confronting Milly at the modiste dissipated at the thought of meeting the parents.

What if they were incredulous as Lady Astley had been?

What if they deemed her unworthy?

What if they did not like her?

“Right, you’re ready.” Octavia stepped back. Gwen looked up to find she now had a fall of red curls framing her face, while the rest of her thick hair was gathered into an intricate design. She cocked her head and attempted to see herself as Aidan had described. Not Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe, but Venus as painted by Botticelli.

She squinted and tried the opposite tilt. Biting her lip, she tried once more, and for a fleeting second Gwen was able to perceive the similarities before the illusion collapsed once more and her stomach set flight at the thought that the Morelands would be arriving for dinner soon.

“They will hate me.”

Octavia firmed her lips in disapproval. Grabbing Gwen by the arm, she tugged her to a standing position. The maid came up to Gwen’s chin, highlighting the disparity in height and making Gwen’s stomach lurch with nerves.

With determination, Octavia marched her out of the room, closing Buttercup inside. Then down the hall and to the stairs. As they descended, the servant was forced to let her go, their gait wholly mismatched.

Gwen briefly considered running away to hide, but dismissed this as foolish. Eventually, she would be forced to meet her future in-laws and then their first impression would be that she had disappeared for their dinner.

Surely that would make matters worse?

Logic aside, it was still tempting!

Reaching the first level, Octavia followed her into the small drawing room, where Gwen stopped in the middle of the room to contemplate the silk wallpaper.

“Shall I bring you some tea while you wait?”

“That is not necessary. Papa will join me to await their arrival at any moment.” Gwen began to pace the room, agitated.

“You’ll wear a hole in the rug,” declared Octavia, narrowing her gaze to Gwen’s feet. Her too-large, unwomanly feet.

Gwen stopped, gnawing on her lower lip. “They must hate me! Their lauded heir forced to wed a spotted ginger! Think what their grandchildren will look like!”

Octavia drew herself to her full height, many inches shorter than Gwen. Her arms akimbo, the lady’s maid wore an expression of rebuke.

“Gwendolyn Smythe, you’re a treasure. The Morelands are lucky to invite you into their ranks!”

Gwen’s mouth fell open, and she stared in horror at the woman who had stepped into the doorway behind Papa just as Octavia made her declaration. An elegant woman with chocolate brown hair and eyes just like Aidan’s, her gown a rich collection of hues. Despite her youthful appearance, it was obvious by the slight sprinkling of gray whom Gwen was beholding.

Behind her, a tall gentleman with a square face and graying hair, who looked suspiciously like Lord Aidan Abbott, suppressed a smile.

Octavia must have caught a reflection in the opposite window, spinning around to clap a hand over her mouth when she made eye contact with Lady Moreland.

Dipping into a deep curtsy, Octavia stumbled slightly in her distress. “Milady!”

“And who might you be?”

“Mrs. Hanning, milady. I am lady’s maid to Miss Smythe.” Octavia’s voice quavered.

Lady Moreland arched a chocolate eyebrow as she walked up to the servant to inspect her carefully. “Indeed. Is it customary to address your mistress by her first name?”

Octavia made a sound of distress, shaking Gwen from her surprise.

“Mrs. Hanning served my mother in my youth. We are … rather close.”

While she had responded, the room had filled. Her father, Lord Moreland, and Aidan Abbott were now all standing in the doorway, watching the confrontation between Lady Moreland and Octavia, who was quivering as she threw a glance back at Gwen. It was terrifying to draw the glare of condemnation on herself, but she did it to defend Octavia.

Lady Moreland’s gaze moved to Gwen, who wished the floor would open and swallow her up. She squashed a grimace even as Octavia took the opportunity to abruptly depart the room, evidently too overcome to attempt further explanation.

“Miss Gwendolyn Smythe, I presume?”

Gwen bowed her head in affirmation, her stomach churning with anxiety. Lady Moreland came sweeping forward, taking hold of Gwen’s upper arms in something akin to an embrace.

“Your lady’s maid is not wrong, Gwendolyn. We are very fortunate to invite a young woman of such accomplishment into our family.” Reaching up, Lady Moreland bussed her on the cheek.

Gwen’s eyes widened in shock, flicking over to Lord Abbott—Aidan—in question. He smiled with a small shrug, apparently accustomed to his mother’s inconsistencies.

“We will welcome your babes as if they are our own children.”

Gwen blinked repeatedly. “Babes?”

“Our grandchildren. Have you thought about names yet? I can suggest a number of estimable family names from the Abbott line.”

Her mouth dropped open in amazement—Gwen was sure she must be dreaming. Surely this was not how one met the parents of one’s betrothed? It must surely be the night before the dinner, and she was still in a deep slumber?

Lord Moreland came forward, taking hold of Gwen’s hand to bow as his wife stepped aside. “A pleasure, Gwendolyn. Lady Moreland is quite excited to welcome a new generation of Abbotts, but first I think we have a wedding to discuss, my dear.”

The last was directed to Lady Moreland, who waved her hand in dismissal, as if such trivial details were not worthy of attention when grandchildren were under discussion. Gwen surreptitiously reached down to pinch herself on the leg. Just to be sure. It was a genuine possibility that she was dreaming this introduction.

Nothing changed, and Gwen wondered if she could have merely dreamed the pinch. Across the room, her father was beaming with his blue eyes twinkling. Apparently, the mention of future grandchildren had met with his approval. It seemed like an ill-conceived idea, considering the fact that Gwen was clearly losing her mind. She managed to drop into an awkward curtsy. “Thank you, Lord Moreland.”

With some relief, she found herself facing her betrothed. His handsome face bore an expression of sympathy as he bowed in greeting. “Good evening, Gwen. You are ravishing tonight.”

His gaze swept over her in appreciation, and for a moment, the stresses were forgotten as Gwen was struck by the memory of their moonlight interlude.

“Lord Abbott,” she breathed out. It was strange to think that they were only meeting for the second time. She had grown closer to this man than any other in a matter of one night. They had shared a passionate embrace, and then the intimacy of a marriage offer, all in the course of one evening. Now she was meeting his parents, and the subject of grandchildren had been raised.

Just a week earlier, she had been convinced she was destined to remain on the shelf, and yet here she was, experiencing the clumsiness of meeting her future relations and discussing inappropriate and intimate subjects.

“I think it is acceptable to address me as Aidan?”

His lively brown eyes were dancing in the dim light of the oil lamps, daring her to reject his offer.

Aidan.

She had been mouthing the name to herself since she had found it in Debrett’s.

Lady Gwendolyn Abbott.

That had been playing through her head, too. She liked the sound of it.

Lord and Lady Abbott.

Gwen realized she had been staring at her betrothed for several seconds without responding. She was woolgathering while their parents watched on.

“Aidan,” she said hastily, wrenching her hand back.

This was all too good to be true. She had a handsome, eligible heir contracted to marry her. His parents were accepting her without question, with a list of names for future issue. Her father was grinning like a cat who was preparing to pounce on a slow, overweight pigeon for his dinner.

Something was bound to go awry.

Although she had attended numerous social functions, Gwen felt entirely out of her depth, unsure what came next. Which was when God himself took pity on her—in the form of Jenson appearing in the doorway to make an announcement.

“Dinner is served.”

Aidan held out his arm—his muscular, male arm—and Gwen peered down at it in momentary confusion before hesitantly taking hold of it to accompany him to the dining room.

Beneath her fingers, his arm flexed, and she wanted to sigh and stroke it in appreciation, but, fortunately, good breeding and the presence of his parents prevented her from such an offensive act.

Aidan had been struck once moreby the beauty of his Venus, barely registering the bizarre interaction between his mother and Gwen’s maid. Her hand on his arm was steering his thoughts to lascivious activities as they walked down the hall.

Which was when Aidan noticed the missing paintings. Every second or third spot where there should have been a portrait or whatnot, there was instead an unfaded rectangle of wallpaper, indicating that it had recently been covered by something.

It was further evidence of Smythe selling off his assets, but as Aidan swept his gaze over the length of the hall, it was obvious that the man had sold far more than the list Aidan had made. Smythe must have been liquidating his assets for far longer than the two-month stack.

Entering the dining room, Aidan was torn between spending time in Gwen’s company and noticing that the shelving along one wall held very few objets d’art. Less than half of what one might expect in a wealthy home. He had hoped to enjoy the evening with his betrothed, celebrating their impending nuptials, but his thoughts swung to the dead baron and his sister’s safety as he took in what was not there.

What should be there.

He had promised his father to hold off investigating Smythe until the wedding in a few days, but the mounting clues to the man’s troubles made Aidan’s skin crawl with the notion that Lily was still in danger. His little sister with a big mouth and a bigger heart, who deserved better than he, a lousy brother who had failed her.

As their parents took their seats, he and Gwen walked around to the other side of the table. He pulled her chair out for her before taking his place beside her, determined to set aside his thoughts until a more appropriate time.

Trafford and Filminster had pointed out how difficult his path forward would be, attempting to be a good husband to Gwen while defending Lily from a violent killer, and Aidan blew out his breath in a puff. Gwen must have heard him as her head bobbed in his direction, curious at this sign of distress.

Aidan smiled to reassure her. Reaching under the table, he clasped her hand, gently stroking his thumb over her fingers. To his delight, her hand curled into his, and for several seconds, they held hands while his parents chattered with Smythe.

Footmen brought in the courses, laying them out while his mother offered Smythe several names from the Abbott family tree. Smythe, in turn, offered some from their history.

Gwen was biting her lip as she picked up a spoon to begin eating.

“Chestnut?” he asked.

Gwen nodded. “It is Papa’s favorite.”

“And what is yours?”

“I do not much care for soup,” she responded.

“What do you care for?”

“Fruit. Oranges, especially.”

Aidan growled in the back of his throat, recalling how she had tasted of citrus when they had kissed. Heat shot through his veins, and he considered that soon they would be joined in matrimony … which meant that soon they would be joined. He had never experienced such a visceral interest in bedding a woman, but the thought of Gwen’s hair flowing free on the sheets as he lowered himself over her … He would invite her for a walk on the terrace after dinner so he could sip on her lips once more.

Lowering his voice so their parents could not hear, Aidan asked, “Is that the scent I breathed?”

Gwen colored, a warm flush rising from the edge of her bodice to temporarily conceal her delightful freckles. “There is bergamot in my soap.”

Aidan bent his head toward her, drawing her smell in to make his mouth water. “The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night …”

His betrothed nearly choked on the soup she had just sipped, throwing him a glance of rebuke before flickering her eyes to ensure his parents had not heard his allusion to their fated kiss. “Shhh.”

Aidan grinned. “Not for a moment, sweet Venus.”

He was not accustomed to flirting with a woman, but she made him think of great poetry and … other things. Soft curves, creamy skin, and bergamot-scented hair tangled around him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, his imagination captured by musings of their approaching wedding night.

“We used to travel up north during the summer but, alas, this year I will remain in London.” Frederick’s warm baritone interrupted Aidan’s musings of Gwen’s intriguing form. There had been a bill of sale for a property in Yorkshire in the sheaf that Aidan had illicitly rifled through.

It was a rude reminder of why he had met the Smythes in the first place. Recollecting the conversation with Trafford and Filminster, Aidan realized this was his opportunity to find out if Smythe had a legitimate reason for his recent activities.

“Father and I were just discussing the purchase of new property to add to our portfolio. Do you have any suggestions, Mr. Smythe?” Aidan watched the other man carefully as he posed his question. It would be heaven-sent if the man admitted he was purchasing something, thus disproving that he was desperate for funds and canceling him as a suspect from their list.

Smythe hesitated, his eyebrows coming together for just a second before responding. “No, I am afraid not. It has been some time since I dealt with any land purchases.”

Aidan’s heart sank.

“Do you intend on any large investments in the near future?”

The question was jarring, causing his father to throw him a cautionary glance. Aidan kept a straight face, but he knew Hugh Abbott was aware that he was attempting to gather information.

Frederick Smythe sobered for several seconds, while Aidan prayed he would admit to something—anything—that would provide an explanation for his bills of sale. Then Gwen’s father smiled his customary grin. “What could I possibly purchase? A gentleman has no need of anything but property!”

“Indeed!” agreed Aidan’s mother. “Owning land is the ultimate investment. There is no need of any other.”

Smythe cocked his head, his gaze falling for a fraction of a second, enough for Aidan to know that something was wrong. Then he laughed and banged the table with his hand. “Land is the best investment.”

Next to him, Gwen dropped her head to stare at her bowl of soup. And Aidan knew. He knew the gentleman had a secret, and that it was possible that Gwen knew what it was. Aidan could only hope her involvement was minimal.

Curses!

He had never even contemplated that Gwen might have had some involvement in Smythe’s problems. It was one thing to plot Smythe’s arrest, another to consider his betrothed might be engaged in nefarious activities. The very thought of it made his chest tight.

Lord Moreland chose that moment to shift the subject, flickering his eyes in warning at Aidan. “How is Lord Weston? I know him well from Lords, but I have not seen him since the coronation.”

Smythe grimaced. “My brother is well, but he was called away. Our family home caught fire, you see. He was called away to attend to it.”

Aidan’s parents exclaimed their horror in unison.

“Was anybody hurt?”

“Did the building survive?”

“The staff are well. They managed to rescue the contents, but the west wing was destroyed.”

Aidan’s interest was piqued as the conversation turned to the disaster that had befallen the Smythe family. Could this be why Gwen’s father needed funds?

But no, that did not make sense. The bills of sale demonstrated that Smythe had been selling off for a minimum of the past two months, and news of the fire must have reached his brother after the coronation if Aidan’s own father had met him there.

Aidan felt the deep bite of disappointment that Smythe still did not have a bona fide reason that might remove him from their list of suspects for the killing of Lord Filminster. How much simpler his future would be if he could clear Smythe of the crime!

After dinner, they adjourned together to a small drawing room, and Aidan invited Gwen to the terrace with him. One of the privileges of being betrothed was the allowance of certain concessions, such as walking alone. Many couples took advantage of this in anticipation of their wedding vows. Aidan simply wanted to forget his worries over Smythe’s guilt for even a few minutes. A reprieve from the burden of Lily being in danger to enjoy the company of a beautiful and intelligent woman. Not to mention, to discover the extent of Gwen’s involvement in this intrigue.

Gwen nodded, standing to link her arm with his, and they departed through the French doors, leaving their parents to talk. Despite his desire for respite, Aidan asked the question burning in his mind as soon as they were alone.

“Why is it you are not leaving London this year?”

His companion firmed her chin, watching the last rays of sunset on the horizon as they both stood with their hands upon the stone banister. “My father found the need to sell the property.” Her tone was defensive. “He did not wish to disclose it because land ownership is the mark of a true gentleman.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “He has a plan, but he has not discussed it with me. He merely informed me that it was necessary to sell.”

A surge of relief hit Aidan. He was practically giddy at the news. Gwen had been honest about what she knew, and knew no more. Whatever Smythe was up to, likely crippling debts and the murder of a peer, she was not involved. And soon she would be under his protection, cushioned against any forthcoming scandal.

“Tell me something of yourself.”

Gwen tilted her head in question, and Aidan hungrily took in the sight of her fiery red hair lit by the dying light. “Such as?”

“What do you do with your day?”

Her blue eyes found his, defiance reflected in their depths. “My mother was a scholar of the ancient world, like her father before her. I study in the library … and I have published papers.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, under a pseudonym, of course.”

Aidan smiled. “Of course.”

“As my mother did before me.”

“I would love to read them.”

“Truly?”

He nodded. “Truly.”

“You do not mind that I … engage in such inappropriate pursuits?”

“If it leads to reciting Manilius in the moonlight, I am all for it. Imagine what you will teach our children.”

The sun had fully disappeared and night was falling quickly. But her groan was audible. “Your mother is obsessed!”

He chuckled. “My father chose to make our … situation … palatable by commenting on the benefits of our union. My mother has been distressed lately, but the idea of grandchildren has quite lifted her spirits.”

There was no response for several seconds before Gwen finally answered. “Then, I suppose I am happy to be of service in some small way.”

Aidan turned toward her. “You are of great service, Venus.”

With that, he gently drew her into his arms to lower his lips to hers. Breathing in her citrus scent, he sipped at her lips. When she sighed, it was all the invitation he needed to tangle his tongue with hers in a hungry, all-consuming kiss.

Gwen moaned as he cupped her head with one hand to deepen their union. Heat rose in a tidal wave to wash through his body and settle in the region of his groin. Repositioning her so she was caught against the banister, Aidan pressed closer to glory in her softness against him.

One hand found her right knee, where he tugged at the silk warmed by her skin until he was able to slip underneath to stroke the stocking-clad leg beneath. She was smooth and captivating, and he wished he could lift her in his arms to find her rooms and lay her down on the bed. He would release her hair and remove her gown …

Lifting his head, he found that he was breathless. Overtaken in a manner he had never experienced before. No matter what ugliness the coming days brought, he could never regret finding this woman.

Gwen slowly opened her eyes to gaze up at him in the night, her lips swollen from their kisses and her breath escaping in pants to mirror his own.

Bringing his hand around to cup her chin, he stroked a thumb over her creamy cheek. “From her fair and unpolluted flesh, May violets spring.”

She stared back at him with awe as he did his best to stamp down his passions, and Aidan imagined being married to this wondrous creature for the rest of his days. He only hoped he could hold on to the admiration in her expression when events unfolded.