Chapter 16 #3
Filminster raked a hand through his hair, his movements taut with tension.
“The stubborn fellow tackled an intruder, someone half his age, when the scoundrel forced entry into my study through a window. Michaels heard the glass shatter and, rather than call for help, ran straight in. He hurled himself at the villain and earned a solid blow to the face. And yet, somehow, he managed to strike the brute with the same sculpture used to kill the baron. Only then did he raise the alarm. Alas, the miscreant escaped before anyone could catch him.”
Aidan shook his head with admiration. “Michaels is a good man. A belligerent old goat, but a loyal one.”
Filminster leaned against the stone balustrade, his gaze turned toward the darkness beyond the gardens. “I owe him everything for what he did that day … for saving Lily. I cannot imagine what I would have done if …” His voice faded, unable to complete the sentence.
Aidan exhaled slowly, then lifted a hand and gave Filminster’s back a quiet pat. “I know, Brendan. Believe me, I understand.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken obligations.
“Do you suppose Trafford will be all right?” Filminster asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Aidan felt a pang of dread twist through him, but he answered with conviction. “He must be. If ever there was a man capable of looking after himself, it is Julius Trafford.”
Filminster nodded slowly, yet his face remained shadowed with concern as he stared into the gloom where the garden dissolved into night.
Gwen wrapped her fingers around a warm cup of tea and tried to see recent events from a fresh perspective.
The fragrance of the steeped leaves brought some measure of comfort to her wounded spirit.
The dull ache in her chest lingered, a quiet echo of recent heartbreak, but at least now her thoughts moved with some clarity.
She cast her mind back to Lady Moreland’s visit and the dreadful revelation that Lily had been attacked in the wake of the baron’s murder.
Given the circumstances, she could understand why Aidan might resort to desperate measures in order to protect those he loved.
It stung, deeply, that she had been unwittingly caught in those schemes.
And yet, when she looked past the pain, she could grasp the fear that had driven him.
Desperation could twist even the most honorable of men into untenable choices.
Still, understanding did not erase the hurt.
It did not quiet the knowledge that she had been used as a piece upon a board in a game of misdirected revenge.
But Gwen refused to allow those thoughts to drag her back into despair.
She took another sip of her tea, letting its warmth seep through her limbs.
It had taken time to chase away the chill she had acquired from sitting by the window during the storm, but now, slowly, she was thawing. Body and heart alike.
“This is a good cup of tea,” Octavia murmured from the bench at the foot of the bed, her saucer nestled near her chest.
“That sounds suspiciously like self-congratulation.”
Octavia shrugged, unrepentant. “A fact is a fact. Just because I made it does not mean it is not true.”
A soft, reluctant laugh escaped Gwen. “I wish I possessed even a fraction of your certainty.”
The lady’s maid frowned into her cup. “You do, Gwendolyn Smythe. Just not when it comes to yourself.”
Gwen sighed and set her cup down gently on the table beside her mother’s old armchair. “It is clear Aidan did not marry me for my sake. He did so to reach my father.”
“I do not believe that,” Octavia replied, her tone brimming with conviction. “I have seen how he looks at you. That is not the gaze of a man bound by duty.”
“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 flushed at once, the heat climbing all the way to the tips of her ears. She pressed a hand to her cheek and looked away, waiting for the warmth to subside before she spoke again.
“I do not know what happens next,” she said quietly.
“It is our duty to produce an heir, of course, but I have begun to wonder … perhaps I should remain here, at Papa’s house.
Give Aidan the freedom he clearly desires.
He could visit now and then, and when we know whether or not I am increasing, he could choose to return … or not.”
Octavia shook her head at once. “He will not agree to that. I tell you now, Gwendolyn, Lord Abbott is in love with you.”
This time, it was Gwen who snorted. She stared at her maid in disbelief. One would think Octavia were the one who read novels, judging by the fanciful nature of her conclusions.
“I cannot indulge in hopes that will only make me weep,” Gwen replied, folding her hands tightly in her lap. “It is time to be practical.”
Octavia slapped the bench with her open palm. “I am being practical. True love is not a fantasy. Perhaps Lord Abbott did attend that ball because of Mr. Smythe, but no one made him kiss you. That he did of his own accord.”
Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps he only did so to gain entry to our household. Perhaps he thought seducing the daughter was the surest path to uncovering whatever secrets Papa kept.”
Octavia drank down the last of her tea, then set her cup and saucer down with a decisive thunk. “You must fight for your happiness, Gwendolyn Smythe!”
“If my husband is so distressed by our quarrel,” Gwen said bitterly, “why did he make only one feeble attempt at a reconciliation earlier? He knocked once, twice at most, and then disappeared. Buttercup is more persistent when she wants to be let in from the garden!”
Octavia slapped the bench again, this time hard enough to rattle the tea set. “Mr. Smythe is not upstairs with you either, yet I do not hear you complaining of his absence!”
“My father is quite possibly defending himself from a murder accusation,” Gwen snapped. “I think he can be excused for not calling on me this evening. His regard, at least, is not so easily shaken.”
The two women glared at one another across the room, their emotions flaring too brightly to be concealed. Then, quite suddenly, Buttercup shot to her feet from her sprawl in the middle of the floor. The little dog dashed to the window, barking furiously, her entire frame rigid with tension.
“What on earth is she doing?” Gwen asked, her voice nearly drowned out by the shrill yapping.
Octavia and Gwen exchanged alarmed glances. Their quarrel vanished in an instant as the terrier transformed before their eyes into a ferocious guardian, her bark rising to a snarl as she trembled with excitement.
Aidan growled under his breath. “The ladder will not hold. The ground is far too sodden. Look what it has done to my boots!”
Smythe, puffing from exertion, threw up his hands. “Burn my buttons!”
The Earl of Saunton doubled over with laughter, clutching his sides. “Did I ever tell you about the time my brother tried just such a thing to woo his wife? Last year, in the dead of winter—”
Filminster began to chuckle as well. “I was there. We were trapped in the mud for days.”
Aidan cast a warning scowl at the lot of them and motioned for silence. “Hush, all of you! Buttercup is already barking loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Gwen will hear and catch us at this ridiculous business.”
From his post against the garden wall, the Duke of Halmesbury sighed deeply, arms folded across his chest as he surveyed the muddied chaos before him.
“We may need to revisit this plan. Your intentions are noble, Abbott, but this …” He gestured toward the ruined ladder and the churned earth at its base. “This is hardly a dignified approach.”
Aidan straightened, releasing the ladder with a defeated clunk as it struck the side of the house. “Agreed. Let us return to the terrace before we rouse suspicion.”
The men trudged back up the garden steps, carefully wiping their boots before reentering Smythe’s office through the terrace doors. The fire crackled within, a quiet counterpoint to their muddy endeavor.
Aidan had entertained a fleeting notion of climbing to Gwen’s window and offering some poetic declaration—something Shakespearean and suitably romantic—but in truth, the thought had never quite sat well with him.
And now, covered in mud and thoroughly humbled, the idea had been laid to rest with appropriate finality.
Once they had reclaimed their seats, they resumed their discussion, sorting through possibilities with renewed determination. Suggestions were made—some clever, others outlandish—but none seemed to suit.
Aidan shook his head with each new offering, his fingers laced together as he searched the depths of his mind for the right course of action. Something heartfelt. Something worthy of Gwen.
Anything.
As suddenly as it had begun, Buttercup’s barking ceased.
With a huff of smug triumph, as though she had vanquished some dire intruder, the little terrier strutted back to her place on the rug, flopped down with exaggerated drama, and rested her chin upon her paw.
Her eyes found Gwen’s, watchful and judgmental, as though she alone held the answer to some unspoken question.
Octavia and Gwen exchanged a frown, neither willing to hazard a guess about the cause of the dog’s fit.
After a moment, Octavia shrugged and returned to the matter at hand.
“I think you should give Lord Abbott a chance to explain himself. Speak to him plainly. Resolve this … before it becomes permanent.”
Gwen gave a weary sigh. “Aidan has a strong sense of duty. That much is undeniable. He will tell me what I wish to hear if it means easing my distress. But that does not mean it is true. He married me under false pretenses, believing Papa guilty, and now that he knows the truth, I imagine he regrets everything. He must. What man would not?”
Octavia rose abruptly and began pacing. “Oh, for pity’s sake! Why can you not believe he might care for you—truly care for you? You stubborn, infuriating girl!”
The pain surged in Gwen’s chest, sharp and hot. She pressed her hands together, willing herself to stay composed. “Because there is no evidence,” she whispered.
Octavia halted in her tracks, eyes blazing. “What about the way he looked at you? The tenderness in his voice? The words he spoke? That was not performance, Gwendolyn. It was affection.”
Gwen swallowed hard and hardened her heart. “It was an act,” she said, her voice as brittle as glass. “A necessary illusion to accomplish his goal.”
“Have you no faith?” Octavia asked, her voice cracking with disbelief.
Tears stung Gwen’s eyes. Her lips quivered, but she forced the words out. “Not in this.”
Octavia turned sharply, her voice shaking now with something akin to fury. “Not in you.”
Gwen turned away from the condemnation and crossed the room to the window.
The garden beyond was cloaked in blackness, the sky moonless and clouded, offering no light.
The sight felt symbolic, a perfect representation of what she felt within.
Her hopes for love, for partnership, for a future filled with mutual trust, had faded into shadow.
Partners do not keep secrets from each other.
“I do have faith in myself,” Gwen said, her tone quiet but steady.
“As a person, I know my worth. But I am not a great beauty … not the sort to inspire a man like Aidan to fall in love. I simply do not believe that a man could see me in that way after all these years. When I met him, I was all but on the shelf.”
Octavia let out an incredulous grunt, throwing her hands into the air. “The men you met were pompous, pea-brained fools who were frightened by a tall, intelligent woman. You are too original, too brilliant for the lot of them.”
“Will you help me discuss what comes next,” Gwen asked, rubbing at her temple, “or must we declare this conversation over for the evening?”
Octavia gave a long sigh. Her shoulders sagged, the fire in her voice dimmed by fatigue and affection. “Perhaps, once you have rested, you will see things more clearly. For now, let us speak of something else.”
Gwen nodded and sank back into her chair. “I had high hopes, you know. For once, I thought things might change. But now … it is ever so lonely. Aside from Papa and you, I have no one with whom I can truly speak.”
Octavia let out a soft chuckle. “And what of Lady Hays and Lady Astley? They always make a point of conversing with you at every gathering.”
Gwen groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “I wish they would not. Lady Hays is sweet but forgets her own thoughts midway through them, and Lady Astley is a spiteful harridan. If her husband were not so wealthy and well-connected, society would never tolerate half the things she says.”
Octavia returned to the bench, her voice lifting with quiet confidence. “It will all work out in time. I truly believe you will find real friends, good friends, if only you allow yourself the chance to hope again.”
Gwen pressed a hand over her aching heart. It was fragile tonight, brimming with memories of what had been and dreams already fading.
Only the night before, she had felt the promise of something new and extraordinary. Held close in Aidan’s arms, warm and cherished, their connection undeniable.
Now she sat here, shrouded in shadows and silence, arguing with her lady’s maid.
“I did give it a chance,” she said softly. “I opened my heart. And all it earned me was a reminder … that I am still Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe.”