Page 56 of Moonlight Encounter
“Indeed. Lord Abbott is committed to siring an heir straightaway, it’d seem.”
Despite her embarrassment, Gwen laughed. She reachedout a hand to scratch Buttercup, who tilted her angular head in blissful supplication. “Where is Lord Abbott?”
“He left some time ago. No word when he’ll return, I’m afraid.”
Gwen fell back on her pillow with a heavy sough. “I planned on forging a true connection with him, but he turned my head with sweet words and …” She gestured vaguely to indicate the mattress.
The lady’s maid walked up to tower over her. Gwen suspected Octavia liked to do this because Gwen was so much taller. It was the only time that the woman was in a dominating position. Buttercup rose on her short legs, baring her teeth with a low growl to warn Octavia she was encroaching on her territory.
Octavia ignored Buttercup’s posturing.
“What do you mean, true connection? I thought things were progressing well with your husband.”
“I do not know. His mother told me he has been keeping secrets and I agree. One minute he is all soulful sighs and poetic words, and the next he is a hundred miles away. He does not tell me anything about himself or his day. Where does he go? What does he do? Whom does he spend time with? Why did he not tell me of Lily’s troubles?”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “Lady Filminster? What troubles does she have?”
Gwen recalled Aidan’s warning to keep the details of Lily’s marriage to herself or risk endangering Lord Filminster’s reputation and freedom. She winced.
“I cannot say.”
Octavia swung an open hand up to her forehead, palm up. “For shame, Gwendolyn Abbott! Do you not trust me?”
Gwen grinned. “Not a bit. You are an incorrigible gossip, so I will not share a word about Lady Filminster with you.”
Octavia burst into laughter, her bony shoulders shakingwith mirth. “If it’s to remain a secret, I’d rather not bear the burden, then.”
The lady’s maid moved away to collect Gwen’s clothing. She sat up in her bed, staring out the window at the bank of iron-gray clouds until she finally ventured the question.
“How was he? This morning?”
Octavia paused in the open door of the wardrobe, licking her thin lips. “I’d say … distracted.”
Gwen nodded. When Aidan was in her presence, she quite forgot her concerns, just wishing to glory in the glow of burgeoning love. But when he was away, that was when her worries set in. What did she truly know about her new husband?
Aidan had quickly captured her heart, but Gwen could not quite grasp his thoughts or his feelings. He seemed genuinely interested in her, but beyond that, she knew nothing about him.
What burdens did he shoulder, and how could she convince him to confide in her so they could form a true marriage?
Outside, the sky darkened with ever more glowering clouds, and Gwen was startled out of her wits by a great clap of thunder followed by the roar of rain falling from the heavens.
Buttercup whimpered, burying her head under a pillow and shaking in fear. Gwen made a comforting sound, stroking the trembling dog to calm her. “It is just some weather, Buttercup. You will be fine, girl. You will be fine.”
Rain roareddown upon the roof of the hackney.
Aidan yawned widely and carefully kneaded the bruised shoulder he had landed on the day before. It was achingsomething fierce, and he was pleased with his decision to hire a driver rather than attempt to ride. Grabbing more than three hours of sleep would have been welcome under the circumstances, but he could not afford the time.
He had taken a page from Smythe’s book, having decided that he could follow the Smythe carriage with less fear of being spotted if he was in a hackney that was indistinguishable from the next.
The rain made it more difficult to see, and his driver wore a battered hat and large, black overcoat with the collar raised to defend him from the elements. It further obscured any possibility that Smythe would notice he was being followed.
Aidan stretched his legs out, grimacing at the state of his damp boots, and hoped that Smythe would make a move again this day. He and the driver, Old Fred, had been observing the Smythe mews—he pulled on his fob to check his timepiece—for the better part of two hours.
Occasionally, they would traverse a block or two before taking up a fresh position to prevent rousing the suspicions of servants from the neighborhood. It was a boring and arduous process that made Aidan appreciate the tedious work of runners hired to retrieve stolen goods.
He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck from side to side, and lamented that he had not brought a book to read while he waited inside the dim interior of the aging carriage. The thin squabs were flattened with the imprint of thousands of buttocks, and the upholstery had been mended dozens of times. The neat repairs spoke to the fastidious nature of Old Fred.
He did not envy the aging man—sitting out on his box seat while the heavens poured water down in buckets. Even now, Aidan followed a trail of rainwater slipping down theinterior of the aged carriage windows. He was grateful the driver had been persuaded to aid him for the day.
