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Miss Smythe and the Midnight Lord

Page 42

by C.N. Jarrett

Nine

“Hope is a waking dream.”

Aristotle

AUGUST 25, 1821

Buttercup, Octavia, and Gwen stood in the entrance hall of the Smythe residence, quietly observing as footmen carried Lord Abbott’s trunks up the stairs and into the bedchamber adjacent to hers. Aidan’s valet, a gaunt figure with impeccable attire and a voice pitched with the precision of a court musician, directed the activity with fluttering fingers and a sharp eye.

The whole situation felt most peculiar. Her father had informed her, quite matter-of-factly, that she and Aidan would reside in the family home until their new household was ready for occupation. And so it was settled.

Gwen was not aware of any precedent for a peer of Aidan’s standing to install himself, post-nuptials, in the home of a gentleman several rungs lower on the social ladder. Yet given that Lord and Lady Moreland were soon to retire to the country, it seemed the most practical arrangement.

“What do you suppose is in Lord Abbott’s trunks?” Octavia asked, tilting her head as another heavily laden servant passed by. “There are so many of them.”

Gwen inhaled through her nose, considering, before replying with a confident air. “Books. The extra trunks contain his books.”

Octavia’s brow lifted in mild surprise.

“He has just returned from the Continent,” Gwen elaborated. “He quotes Marcus Manilius and Shakespeare with the kind of fluency one could not feign. He must read constantly.”

A slow smile spread across Octavia’s face. “He does not look like a scholar.”

She lifted her hands to sketch the breadth of Aidan’s shoulders and the tapering line to his hips, before finishing with a conspicuous cupping motion that drew Gwen’s breath to a sudden halt.

“Octavia!” The word was a gasp of protest, though its force was blunted by long-standing familiarity.

The lady’s maid merely shrugged, wholly unrepentant. “I know you’ve noticed, Gwendolyn Smythe.”

Buttercup whined at their feet, her pink tongue lolling in canine approval of Octavia’s indelicate insinuation.

Gwen blushed fiercely. The telltale heat began at her décolletage and surged up her throat to her cheeks, a fiery tide that left no doubt of her mortification. She said nothing. There was no need. Octavia would draw her own conclusions from that alone.

The maid gave her a sidelong glance. “I thought as much. Just think … tonight is your wedding night. You shall have the opportunity to behold, first-hand …” She repeated the cupping motion with exaggerated flair, her meaning all too clear.

Gwen exhaled, a flustered puff escaping her lips. The very notion of Aidan entering her bedchamber made her limbs go oddly weightless. Of course she had imagined their first private kiss, removing his coat, touching his shoulders … Her blush deepened. Enough! It would hardly do to faint in the hallway from the weight of her own imagination.

Mercifully, Octavia shifted course. “Did you ever learn why the wedding was delayed until now?”

Grateful for the change in topic, Gwen seized it. “It was to allow for his cousin to return from Somerset. Lord Moreland insisted that the scandal had settled enough, now that the wedding was announced, to send for his niece and her family. Apparently, she grew up with Lord Abbott and his sister.”

Octavia tilted her head in thought, then her eyes widened. “Do you mean the Countess of Saunton?”

“I believe so. Lady Sophia Balfour.”

Octavia let out a choking sound. “And is Lord Saunton accompanying her?”

Gwen turned from the hall, brows raised. “Yes, why?”

“Do you know who Lord Saunton is?”

“No, not particularly.”

“His father was Lord Satan. Infamous for seducing the staff and ruining reputations. The younger Saunton was said to be the same … until he married a girl he scarcely knew. Last year, he acknowledged a child born out of wedlock by a maid. The boy lives with them now.”

This information jarred against the image Gwen had formed of the Abbott family. Dignified, respectable, above reproach.

“Why would such a family permit that match?” she wondered aloud. Then her eyes widened. “Ought we warn the maids downstairs to be cautious?”