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 shewas 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.
CHAPTER 6
“We make war that we may live in peace.”
Aristotle
AUGUST 15, 1821
Aidan entered the club and made his way through a bank of tables and chairs to join Filminster and Trafford in the farthest corner. Several gentlemen stopped mid-conversation to follow him with their eyes. Whispers dogged his heels as he reached the other side in relief, noting that the location had been chosen by his fellow conspirators because it was too far for anyone to overhear their discussion.
Dropping into a plump armchair, Aidan breathed deeply. Being the subject of gossip was a new experience for him. Thus far, he had always stayed out of trouble,following his conscience to live an honorable life. He hoped Gwen was not suffering too sharply as a result of their tryst two nights earlier.
Across from him, Trafford scowled before leaning forward to thrust a news sheet across the table between them. Aidan glanced down, reading about the chaos he had created when he was found with Gwen’s lithe body pressed against his, the impression of her soft breasts against his chest still heating his blood at the briefest recollection of it. He liked that she was taller than most women. It had been easy to lean down and claim her lips with his.
“Have you lost your mind, Little Breeches?”
Trafford’s idle air was not in evidence this morning. Filminster held out a hand to quieten him.
“It appears that matters have gotten out of hand.” His brother-in-law was eyeing Aidan with curiosity. “Or did you find something that cleared Smythe of the murder before …” Filminster raised his brows suggestively.
“Before you stuck your tongue down his daughter’s throat in a marvelous display of discretion and judgment, Little Breeches?” Trafford’s ire was obvious, the lines of his body suggesting he was holding down a fine temper.
“Why are you angry?” Aidan was genuinely curious to see the other heir so outraged.
“This one and his wife are in danger”—Trafford gestured at Filminster—“and you were meant to be tactful about investigating the man. Now you have drawn unwarranted attention not only to yourself, but to me. Aunty Gertrude sent a note to my father yesterday to inform him that I was at the ball, and that my companion has ruined an innocent. The whole family is in an uproar over it.”
Filminster coughed into his fist. “To be fair, Trafford, you did complain that you were bored.”
Trafford scowled. “I create my own entertainment. Involving Father is not entertaining.”
Aidan’s brother-in-law hid a smile, clearly teasing his friend, which Aidan supposed was a good sign. Life was returning to normal at Ridley House if they could just make certain that the killer was apprehended. It was the only path to secure Lily’s future safety.
“I think Smythe might be our man.” Aidan pulled out the list he had written on the night of the ball, placing it on the table in front of Filminster. The other man raked a hand through his dark curls, staring down at the page before picking it up to unfold it.
“It is a list of assets that Smythe has sold. All within the past two months if you check the dates. He appears to have some sort of financial trouble, which would certainly provide motive for protecting his inheritance.”
Filminster ran a finger down the list, turning the page. He whistled, looking up at Trafford. “This is a small fortune. Smythe must be spending a lot of blunt to need this.”
Trafford frowned, pulling the list to read it himself. “I have been busy looking into our other suspects, but I have heard no mention of gambling or mistresses in regards to Smythe. No rumors that would explain why he needs funds.”
Filminster leaned forward, viewing the list again. “Could he be involved in a land purchase? That might explain the need for funds?”
Aidan considered this. “There was no mention during our negotiations yesterday. Miss Smythe’s dowry does not amount to much, so my father made generous concessions in the interests of expediency. I shall have to raise the subject with Smythe the next time we meet to learn if there are any legitimate reasons for him to be liquidating in this manner.”
Filminster nodded. “Your sister is astonished at the news.She tells me it is quite unlike you to be caught in such a dishonorable manner.”
