Aristotle
Aidan watched as Gwen sipped her soup with gusto. She might not like it under normal circumstances, but she was certainly ravenous enough to be enthusiastic this evening.
It was a joy to finally be honest with his wife. The day of their wedding, they had enjoyed a convivial afternoon with their guests, but tonight spirits were high. Their guests were markedly more relaxed when they were not anticipating the potential tragedy of destroying Gwen’s little family in the pursuit of justice.
It was a pleasure to observe her coming into her own, her countenance unstrained as she listened intently to the anecdote that the earl and Filminster were retelling.
A story about how the earl’s brother had won his wife.
Under the table, Aidan reached over to cover Gwen’s free hand. She threw him a sideways glance with a half-smile before turning back to listen to Saunton’s tale. The only thing marring his enjoyment of their family dinner was thoughts of Trafford.
Where was the clownish heir? Was he well? Or was he fighting for his life as the blood on the note had implied? Worry was gnawing at Aidan.
The fool had grown on him, and Aidan admitted … Well, it seemed callous to sit here enjoying dinner together when they did not know where Trafford was. He had apparently risked his life in pursuit of Lily and Brendan’s safety.
Listening to Saunton’s story, Aidan realized that others around the dinner table, too, were thinking of their missing friend.
“Then Trafford said he could attest that Perry was an irreparable idiot to all who were present.”
Next to him, Gwen giggled, raising a hand to cover her mouth. “Little Julius has always been a bit of a scoundrel.”
Silence fell and their guests turned to stare at Gwen in amazement. Smythe did not notice, continuing to spoon his soup until he realized that something was amiss. He looked up with a quizzical expression to look about the table and stare at Gwen when he realized she was the focus.
Aidan cleared his throat. “Do you … know Lord Trafford?”
Gwen raised her head, her brow furrowing as she noted that she was the center of attention. “No, but Lady Hays tells stories about Little Julius all the time. He frequently sneaked into her home to wreak havoc on her household as a boy.”
Saunton raised a hand to fiddle with his cravat. “Lady Hays?”
Gwen bobbed her head. “Her townhouse is near herniece’s in Mayfair. We are talking about the heir to the Earl of Stirling? Little Julius was a regular visitor in her home.”
Aidan shot a look to Filminster who met his eyes and gave a subtle shake of his head. So no one had thought to search for Trafford at the home of Lady Hays. Then a spark of memory teased Aidan.
“Do you mean … Aunty Gertrude?”
Gwen smiled. “That is correct. Lady Gertrude Hays. She was just telling me a story about him at the ball the night we met. After we announced a betrothal, she cornered me for some time. She thought it was a great pity that I had not met her great-nephew. I think she had hoped … we might enjoy each other’s company.”
The euphemism was clear. Lady Hays had hoped for a match between Trafford and Gwen.
“She told me he needed an intelligent woman such as myself to bring him up to scratch.”
Aidan and Filminster made eye contact once more.
“And is Lady Hays in London now?”
Gwen shook her head. “She left London with her husband a day or two after the ball. She will not be back for several months. Lady Hays mentioned she would invite us to a house party for Christmastide.”
Aidan sat back in his chair, hope surging through him. Perhaps Trafford was in Aunty Gertrude’s home with the missing girl!
It makes sense if her home is close to Trafford’s home! It could shed light on how Miss Gideon has vanished.
But they could hardly just ride up the street and knock on the door. Not if the killer was searching for Trafford and might be following their movements or surveilling the nearby family townhouse. And not if they did not want to bring undue attention to where Trafford might be hiding.
Near the head of the table, the duke coughed into hishand. “Smythe, this wine is excellent. What vineyard is it from?”
Glancing down at the duke’s untouched goblet, Aidan realized Halmesbury was changing the subject before they gave themselves away. There was fidgeting around the table and then Saunton raised a goblet with a wide smile. “Indeed, it is very good.” He, too, had barely touched the wine. Aidan’s cousin, Sophia, had suffered at the hands of men addicted to hard spirits, so none of her immediate family imbibed to show her support.
Conversation shifted to the meal that was being served, but when Aidan turned his attention back to his soup, he could see from the corner of his eye that Gwen was gazing at him in curiosity.
