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 Imust 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.”
