Page 64 of Moonlight Encounter
Octavia sounded worried, but Gwen was disinterested. She remained silent, stroking Buttercup’s silky ears.
“Are you well?”
The handle rattled again.
“Let me in. Please. I wish to know you’re well.”
Gwen ignored the plea. She did not wish to provide reassurance to others when she had none for herself. It was going to be a challenge to work out how to salvage something fromthe wreckage, but mourning what she had believed she had found took precedence. She could decide what she wanted to do in the morning, but tonight was for nursing the gaping wound in her chest.
After a few moments Octavia gave up, footsteps in the hall announcing her departure.
The sun finally vanished and Gwen was left in the dark with only Buttercup to warm her cooling body. The little dog emanated heat in her lap, for which she was grateful.
She thought about rising to light a lamp, or undressing herself so she could climb into bed, but all seemed so much effort, so she turned her cheek to feel the velvet upholstery and remember a time when she was a girl with a wonderful mother, and with a hope that she would grow up to marry a man who loved her as much as Papa and Mama had loved each other.
Thinking of her mother was the jolt she needed to depart her melancholy. Tonight the moon was absent, and there were only stars to weakly light the night. The madness brought on by the moonlight had finally passed.
Mama would tell me I cannot hide in my room forever.
Gwen gave a heavy sigh, admitting the truth of it, and lifted Buttercup to place her on the floor. She supposed she might need to rouse herself. No point in feeling sorry for herself any longer—it was time to take care of eating and whatnot. The time for grieving had passed.
She found the bell and rang for Octavia before crossing the room to unlock the door. Then she moved around the room to light the lamps. The universe did not care about the deceitful nature of Man. It was time to return to living her life. It was time to plot a new future.
Aidan stoodin Smythe’s study, rolling his stiff shoulders while he contemplated the blazing sunset through the terrace doors. The bruising had been particularly bothersome since the incident with Gwen. After his attempt to talk to her, he was planning out his amends.
He was waiting for a final knock on the door, turning on his heel when he heard it.
Jenson entered. “The Duke of Halmesbury and Lord Filminster are here.”
Smythe stood up at his desk, gesturing. Jenson stepped out of the way to let the duke and Aidan’s brother-in-law in, before slipping out and shutting the door behind him.
Additional armchairs had been brought in from other rooms. Aidan scanned the faces of Smythe’s guests. His father had been the first to arrive, sitting closest to Smythe. Then the Earl of Saunton had shown up just ten minutes earlier in response to Aidan’s hastily delivered requests and was leaning against the mantel, eschewing his seat for the time being. The duke’s exaggerated height dwarfed the plump chair he had settled into, and Filminster perched on the edge of his seat, appearing rather solemn and throwing glances at Smythe.
“For those of you not yet aware, Mr. Smythe did not kill the baron.”
Lord Moreland swept a hand over his face. “Thank the Lord! The notion of informing your mother … it was …” His father simply shook his head in explanation.
Evidently, his father was the only one who had not yet heard the news about Trafford and the other three suspects, but there had simply not been time to brief him. Saunton, Halmesbury, and Filminster merely nodded in agreement. Filminster must have gotten word to Saunton earlier in the day. Aidan supposed the earl might even be assisting in thesearch for Trafford, the earl’s brother being a close friend of Stirling’s heir.
Aidan paced, not accustomed to speaking to so many important members of high society at once. He was still growing to know his new relations, and what he was about to ask them to do—it was a lot to ask.
“My wife informed me that Mr. Smythe was at her side the day of the coronation. All through the night, in fact, due to a severe illness. Of course, we have received a note from … that confirms this.” Aidan glanced at Smythe, realizing he had been about to reveal Trafford’s involvement.
With the number of people who were already privy to the details of the murder, it seemed in Trafford’s best interests to not disclose the information. Especially while they still awaited word on his whereabouts.
He raised a hand to swipe at his brow. Worry about Trafford had impinged into his mind regularly, even while he had urgently planned out the evening ahead to assist both Smythe and his daughter.
“Mr. Smythe has informed me of what he has been doing, why he has been selling his assets. Once I learned the truth, I felt it was my responsibility to arrange this meeting before the ladies arrive.”
Smythe was tense, his grin absent as he fidgeted with the items on his desk. It had taken much for Aidan to persuade him that this meeting would be successful.
“Aidan assures me that I can trust all of you. That word of what I say tonight will not prematurely get around, and that you gentlemen might be of assistance.”
The duke leaned forward. “I assure you that anything you have to say will be held in the utmost confidence. We are all family in this room.”
Smythe nodded before taking a seat. “I knew the day would come when I would eventually have to inform othersof what I am doing, but I find myself … more nervous than I expected.”
Aidan stepped forward. “Mr. Smythe plans to engage in trade. And I wanted to ask for your assistance.”
