Aidan looked away, unwilling to discuss the magic of laying eyes on whom he assumed was the young Miss Smythe. He could hardly obtain an introduction to adebutante when he planned to uncover her father’s involvement in a murder.
“IsAuntynot surprised at our departure? I thought you were to catch up?” His sneer was a thinly veiled shift of subject. Trafford grinned, his lean face lighting up in amusement at Aidan’s obvious ploy.
“Auntywill quite forget she saw me tonight by the time she reaches the head of the line. She and Uncle are quite easily distracted these days, and I saw an opportunity to proceed with our plans.”
It was a relief the other man did not pursue the subject of Miss Smythe. Aidan was still rather taken aback at his visceral reaction, and would like to consider what it meant when he had a moment of privacy. That would be much later tonight once he had completed this dastardly errand. This was not a time for musings, but for action!
“What is the plan?”
“I think I shall wander about and gather information while you search Smythe’s office.”
Aidan wanted to argue. Sneaking through a gentleman’s private places was not his idea of an excellent or honorable pastime, but he could not deny that Trafford was better at soliciting information. Not least because the idiot seemed to know almost the entiretonand their servants, with the exception of marriageable misses. Aidan hated being disingenuous and violating peoples’ trust by searching their homes, but …
This is for Lily! To keep her safe.
His father would have definite opinions about what Aidan had been doing these past two weeks, which was why Lord Moreland had not been informed of their informal enquiry into six heirs. To date, they had managed to rule out only one of the men on the list. The gentleman in question had been holed up in the country with his family after aserious fall, so could not have been the murderous visitor on the night of the coronation.
There were six men to investigate, but Smythe was the man at the top of their list. He was the heir to a baron, which made him a promising suspect because the murdered Baron of Filminster had been seated with other barons the day of his murder.
There were whispers of Smythe selling off assets in the clubs, and Filminster had pointed out that a suspect with some sort of financial difficulty could certainly be driven to a passionate act such as murder if the late baron had threatened his future inheritance.
“I will meet you in the ballroom when I am done.”
Trafford nodded. “Have fun, Little Breeches. You might learn interesting things when you search through a man’s private belongings.”
Aidan frowned, unsure what Trafford was alluding to, but before he could respond, he was left alone, the ostentatious golden tails of the other man’s coat the last thing one could see from the dim interior of the room.
Sighing heavily, Aidan walked over to the door to peek his head out and look about. Where would Smythe’s private study be?
Gwen’s cheekswere hurting from the smile fixed on her face. She had stood by her father’s side and welcomed every single guest into their home. Most of the men had barely acknowledged her, preferring her father’s company. This was not surprising because her father possessed considerable charm, along with an irreverent wit which his companions enjoyed.
The women had been dismissive, smirking behind theirfans, except for a few older biddies who had sympathetically asked if anyone was courting her yet.
The latter was worse, in her opinion. Protracted conversations about her lack of success, while she attempted to shift the subject, had made the muscles in her face strain from the enforced platitudes and cheerful expressions under the onslaught of judgment.
How she wished she could be more ordinary. Her general appearance caught the attention of others, and exposed her to pity and ridicule, or disinterest. Gwen had once dreamed of making a match, despite her physical shortcomings, but it had only taken a Season or two to realize this was not to be. How she had wished her mother had still been here to offer her guidance, but by the time she was a young lady entering society, they had already lost their extraordinary light and Gwen had had to fend for herself. Soon she had learned how to shield herself from judgment so that she no longer paid any attention.
It still hurts.
Gwen skirted the ballroom and admitted the truth. After all these years, she remained disappointed that she had never found her match. Her parents had been deeply in love, and when her mother had become ill, her father had vowed to take care of Gwen and Gareth. They had spent their final time together in the privacy of their home, focusing all their attentions on enjoying Mama’s last days together, and she had left this earth after securing a promise from each of them to attend each other.
Papa, Gwen, and Gareth had taken pains to remain a close family. It was their way of honoring Mama’s wishes. Gareth wrote to them every week from Eton, her and Papa reading his letters together, and Gwen writing their mutual responses and news. Her mother would be pleased with their efforts.
If only Gwen could have made a match, she could have babes of her own who would continue their family legacy, but it was not to be. If her mother were here to speak with, Gwen would ask for her advice as a woman navigating theton, but after seven unsuccessful Seasons, it was clear that she would never marry.
It would be easier to not think about the disappointment of unfulfilled yearnings if her father would stop dragging her onto the marriage market each year. He refused to accept that Gwen was undesirable to the men of thebeau monde.
Gwen watched the dancers twirling on the floor, a flurry of colorful skirts and the dark hues of the men, and reflected on the irony that she barely danced at her own balls. A few of her father’s friends would politely fill in her dance card, but she would be fortunate to fill even half of her dances.
Sighing, she looked down at the card tied to her wrist. She had three free dances, which in her estimation was sufficient time to take some air on the terrace, thus removing herself from prying eyes.
Decision made, Gwen began to weave her way through the guests chattering on the perimeter of the floor, heading toward the French doors on the other end.
“Miss Smythe!”
Gwen wished to ignore the call and keep moving to the doors, but her innate sense of honesty would not allow it. She paused and turned, finding Lady Gertrude Hays peering up at her. The old lady was a cheerful woman who was well-meaning but garrulous. Her heart sank.
“Are you enjoying your evening, Lady Hays?”
