Chapter 15
Fifteen
“The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival.”
Aristotle
When Aidan reached the Smythe home, ensuring he came in a good half hour after Smythe, it was to be met with another letter. Stalking over to the little drawing room off the entry hall, Aidan quickly unfolded the note to see what hellish report he was to receive.
After we left RH last evening, it happened again. Michaels is injured, but the doctor assures me he will recover.
Filminster.
Aidan’s vision turned red as rage rushed through him. The butler had saved Lily’s life! And if Lily had been at Ridley House, she could have been hurt or killed, being such a tiny little thing!
Smythe was behind it! Aidan knew this was the truth. There was no other explanation for what he had witnessed this afternoon nor for the bills of sale he had found in Smythe’s desk.
Aidan’s hands were shaking with fury as he crumpled the page in his hand, attempting to quell the hot emotion causing his heart to race. He was panting with the sheer outrage that the killer was only dozens of feet away and he could do nothing about it.
It was beyond the pale! Completely untenable!
He stood here, helpless, while his family and their close connections were under attack.
The more he tried to hold his temper at bay, the hotter it simmered—boiled—until the appalling dishonor of this disastrous farce caused his feet to turn toward the door. In a blinding anger, Aidan stormed down the hall to throw open the door to Smythe’s office.
His father-in-law’s head shot up in surprise, then he frowned in confusion when he saw Aidan standing in the doorway.
“May I help you, son?”
Aidan stepped in, closing the door behind him with deliberation. It was time to end this, but there was no need for Gwen to overhear this confrontation.
“I know what you have done.”
Smythe blanched before his eyes, and Aidan knew he had him cornered. He walked forward into the room, coming to a stop midway to glower at Smythe over his desk.
His father-in-law got to his feet. “I can explain.”
Aidan could not believe his ears. The reprobate was admitting it yet thought that Aidan would stand by him. “You can explain! Have you gone mad, sir?”
Smythe raised shaking hands to run them through his graying hair, his blue eyes stark in a face that had lost all color. “I beg of you, there is no need for this to get out. Not yet.”
Aidan again could not believe what he was hearing. The man had no conscience. “I am afraid there is no delaying the news that you killed a man.”
Smythe’s jaw dropped open. “I did what?”
It was then that Aidan heard a rustle behind him.
Turning around, the horror of finding Gwen standing at the terrace doors swept through him in a wave.
Seeing her red hair lit from behind, the sun peeking through the clouds for the first time that day, she was a glorious angel, and Aidan realized in that moment that his Venus had stolen his very heart from his chest the very first night he had met her.
Which was unfortunate because her face was hard and pale as her expression firmed into a ferocious glare.
“What is he talking about, Papa?” Gwen’s glare never wavered, even as she addressed her words to Smythe.
“I … do not know. Who is it that I am supposed to have killed?”
Aidan swallowed. Losing his temper, and storming in here without a plan, just might be the costliest mistake he had ever made.
Ever.
He was supposed to have handled this with finesse. To ensure Gwen was not heartbroken in the process. To be here to support her when she learned the truth about her father.
All of which was currently a moot point.
He turned away to look at Smythe. There was no honor to how Aidan had reacted to this muddle, so all he could do was proceed with his accusation. One step at a time.
“You killed the Baron of Filminster to secure your inheritance.”
Smythe blinked his intense blue eyes before collapsing into his leather swivel chair. “I … most certainly did no such thing.”
“You just admitted it!”
Smythe’s brows drew together, a heavy scowl marring his face. “I most certainly did not.”
“What were you confessing to, then?”
“Not that! Why do you think I would kill the baron?” Smythe shook his head. “And why would killing him secure my inheritance? I did not even know the man that well.”
Gwen’s skirts rustled as she walked up to Aidan from behind. He was too ashamed to look at her, so he stared resolutely at Smythe, watching him like a hawk that had spotted its next prey. But it was he who was the prey to his bride’s menace.
“When was the baron killed? Was it the night of the coronation?” Gwen’s voice was melodic steel, and Aidan’s chest tightened in response.
If he had wrecked their marriage before it had even begun, he would never recover.
He raised a hand to rub at the pain in his chest where his heart refused to beat.
“Yes.”
“Then Papa could not have done what you accuse him of.”
Aidan could scarcely breathe as he slowly admitted to himself, as if from a great distance, that he may have made a mistake. It never paid to lose one’s temper. How many times had his own father repeated those words?
“How would you know that?”
“Because last month I contracted a terrible fever. Octavia and Papa were at my side night and day. The day of the coronation was when the doctor informed my father that I might expire before the night was over, and Octavia can attest that he kept vigil at my bedside all night long until my fever finally broke in the early hours.”
Aidan blinked in horror, struggling to breathe at the awful accusation he had made.
His gaze found Smythe’s, who had an expression of sympathy on his face.
“It is true, son. I do not know why you think I killed the baron, but I was at Gwendolyn’s side all day and night.
I could not bear to walk away lest she die while I was absent.
It was such a blessed relief when her fever broke. ”
Behind Aidan there was once again a rustle of skirts, a hint of citrus teasing his senses, and the sound of a door opening and closing, then racing footsteps in the hall.
Aidan spun around to find he was alone with Smythe.
Buttercup was at the door, pawing and scratching to be let out.
She sat back and howled in distress, much as Aidan wished to do.
Gwen had left without a word, taking his very heart with her so that he stood with his chest cracked open to reveal the gaping hole where it had once resided.
Aidan strode across the room to allow the distressed animal out, giving her a pat on the head, before whipping around to glare at Smythe.
“What the hell were you confessing to?” Aidan’s cry was one of pure despair, his hopes for his marriage cracking into a thousand shards of glass as he realized he had ruined everything.
“Not that.”
“Then what?”
“Take a seat, Aidan. I shall explain, but first you must calm yourself.”
It was an excellent suggestion because Aidan felt as weak as a kitten. Lily Billy herself, his petite little sister, could overpower him in his current state.
He walked over to drop into one of the plump armchairs. He would race after Gwen if he had any notion of what to say. Given that he did not, he welcomed any assistance he could gain from Frederick Smythe to repair his egregious mistake in accusing his father-in-law of murder in front of his bride.
“Gwen thinks I married her because of this.”
Smythe sank farther into his chair and nodded. “That is likely what she is thinking.”
“But you did not kill the baron?”
“I did not. I find myself a little overwhelmed that you believe I am capable of such a vile action.”
Aidan ran a trembling hand through his hair, an echo of Smythe’s earlier distress. “It was all the assets you sold, and the fact that you were meeting with ruffians at the docks. It made perfect sense.”
Smythe exhaled heavily. “There is an explanation for that which is far more innocent.” He stopped, raising his gray brows. “This is such a muddle. I think we should sort this out one bit at a time. Let us begin with … Why would I kill the baron?”
Gwen held herself upright until the door to the study clicked shut behind her.
Then the tears broke through, silent at first, then spilling freely over her cheeks in hot, uncontrollable rivulets. Her vision blurred, and the polished wood floor beneath her slippers shimmered as if seen through a veil of mist.
It had all been too perfect to last.
She had known that, of course. And yet she had allowed herself to believe in her father’s dearest hope. That the right man had come along and fall in love with her, not despite her differences, but because of them.
Her skirts rustled harshly as she fled down the corridor, the hem brushing against the paneled walls in her haste. She barely registered Jenson’s startled exclamation as she swept past him, only to collide with a tall figure at the foot of the stairs.
Lord Filminster’s strong hands caught her gently.
“Are you well, Lady Abbott?” he asked, his tone shaded with concern.
Gwen looked up into his kind eyes and felt something within her give way entirely.
“I … I liked you. And Lily. But you were all here to deceive us!”
She pulled her arm free, turned, and ran. Her breath came in hiccupping gasps as she climbed, one hand clinging to the carved bannister to keep her balance. Her glorious wedding day … it had all been a masquerade.
Only Lady Moreland, gracious and kind, had seemed sincere. The rest … the rest had been shadows in a play.
Like at school. Smiles masking jeers. Polite words cloaking disdain.
A sob rose in her throat and escaped her lips as her knees threatened to buckle. But she clenched her hands into fists and pressed on, half-running, half-stumbling toward the sanctuary of the family wing.
Her left slipper came loose and slid off, vanishing beneath a hall table, but she did not stop to retrieve it.