Page 25

His father’s gaze sharpened. “Especially if Smythe proves to be more than he appears.”

Aidan’s expression sobered. Mr. Smythe’s warmth and charm had not been helpful. If only the man were easier to loathe.

Instead, his reckless actions might one day shatter Gwen’s heart, and he would bear the burden of helping to rebuild her spirit in the wake of a second scandal. One that would not be so easily mended with a marriage contract and declarations of devotion. The prospect chilled him. This next disgrace, should it occurr, would be devastating and unrelenting.

The one saving grace was the name he bore. The title of Moreland carried weight. Enough, perhaps, to shield Gwen from the worst whispers that would follow.

“Smythe indicated he would be available this afternoon to negotiate the marriage settlements,” Aidan said quietly. “I hoped you and I could attend together?”

Lord Moreland gave a single, brisk nod. “I shall cancel my appointments. It is imperative we forestall the scandal.”

Aidan rotated his shoulders, attempting to ease the tightness gathering at the base of his neck. Less than a month had passed since his father had rearranged every engagement to ensure Lily’s swift union with Filminster. Now, here he was again, asking the same indulgence of a man who had already borne more than his share of familial upheaval.

It weighed heavily on him. Who would have imagined that both he and Lily, devoted heirs of a distinguished line, would find themselves marrying under the shadow of public disgrace?

Nothing enraged Gwen more than witnessing the mistreatment of others. Thus she banged on the window, alerting the coachman that she wished to stop. Octavia, sitting on the bench opposite her, groaned loudly as the carriage drew to a halt.

“Please do not involve yourself!”

She glanced at her lady’s maid, who sat next to the pile of books Gwen had only just purchased. “I cannot do that.”

“London is filled with sad stories. You cannot shoulder the burdens of the world.”

“But I can do something about this one.”

The footman opened the door, lowering the steps so Gwen could disembark. She quickly climbed down, with Octavia mumbling rebukes as she followed Gwen out onto the street.

“This is a bad part of town. We shouldn’t be stopping here.”

“We have both a footman and a coachman to defend us if needed. Gird your loins and stir your stumps!”

A heavy sigh was the only answer, as Gwen strode back up the street.

A hulking halfpenny showman in a tan overcoat and a battered, old three-pointed hat was operating his mechanical exhibition of puppets, squeaking in a ludicrously high voice as the role of Punch, she supposed, who must be moving across the tiny stage hidden from view.

“Sir, do you make it a habit to mistreat small creatures?”

The showman looked up, his broad face scowling at her interruption. A mother stood with three children, two of whom stood upon a bench and had their faces pressed to the little viewing holes to watch the show within the mechanical contrivance of the traveling tinker.

Behind his dull buckled shoes, tied to a piece of string at the opening of an alleyway, a small white and brown mongrel cowered in the shadows.

“What d’ye want?” grumbled the showman.

The two children looked up from their viewing holes to see what the interruption to their show was about.

“Your dog. I saw what you did.” Gwen firmed her jaw in what she hoped was a menacing manner.

The tinker scowled again, narrowing his bloodshot eyes. “An’ what do ye think ye saw?”

“You kicked him. Hard. In the ribs. See?” Gwen pointed at the shivering mongrel, who was hunched over as if wounded. The mother of the three children gasped, bending to peer around the wooden show cabinet.

The woman rose back up with a look of outrage. “Mister, is that true?”

“Wha’ of it?” The defensive posturing of the scruffy reprobate did not unsettle Gwen at all. At least, not too much. She moved closer to glare at him, holding her breath lest she be overcome by his stench. He topped her by a few inches, but she refused to be intimidated.

“The dog is defenseless. There was no cause to kick him so.”

“The cur were annoyin’ me.”