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Filminster lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug. “Perhaps. Miss Audrey Gideon, I believe her name is. No one seems to know much about her, but it is too coincidental to be ignored. Two people vanishing from the same household on the same afternoon? Still, we must tread carefully. We risk endangering them both if we act too publicly.”

Aidan studied his brother-in-law’s features and saw the worry that lingered beneath his composed expression. “Trafford is clever. He will find a way to send word soon.”

“I hope so. It unsettles me, knowing a friend placed himself in danger for my sake. I keep replaying the events, wondering if there was a better way to handle everything.”

Aidan shook his head. “What is done is done. All that remains is to deal with the present. Trafford was adamant about helping, and he is no fool.”

Filminster burst out laughing despite his anxiety. “That is not true. Trafford would be the first to insist that he is, indeed, a fool.”

Chuckling, Aidan shook his head at the ridiculous assertion he had just made. “I meant to say … he is an enterprising and gumptious fool.”

The two men fell into silence, their thoughts drifting toward their absent friend. Each, in his own way, admired the peculiar loyalty of Julius Trafford.

After a time, Aidan stirred. “And Michaels? You mentioned he had sustained an injury?”

“My butler,” Filminster replied with a sigh and a wry twist of his lips, “is a cantankerous old creature. The doctor advised rest, but he has taken that as a personal affront and is already back to patrolling the household, keeping everyone on edge.”

“What happened?” Aidan asked, curiosity piqued.

Filminster raked a hand through his hair, his movements taut with tension. “The stubborn fellow tackled an intruder, someone half his age, when the scoundrel forced entry into my study through a window. Michaels heard the glass shatter and, rather than call for help, ran straight in. He hurled himself at the villain and earned a solid blow to the face. And yet, somehow, he managed to strike the brute with the same sculpture used to kill the baron. Only then did he raise the alarm. Alas, the miscreant escaped before anyone could catch him.”

Aidan shook his head with admiration. “Michaels is a good man. A belligerent old goat, but a loyal one.”

Filminster leaned against the stone balustrade, his gaze turned toward the darkness beyond the gardens. “I owe him everything for what he did that day … for saving Lily. I cannot imagine what I would have done if …” His voice faded, unable to complete the sentence.

Aidan exhaled slowly, then lifted a hand and gave Filminster’s back a quiet pat. “I know, Brendan. Believe me, I understand.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken obligations.

“Do you suppose Trafford will be all right?” Filminster asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aidan felt a pang of dread twist through him, but he answered with conviction. “He must be. If ever there was a man capable of looking after himself, it is Julius Trafford.”

Filminster nodded slowly, yet his face remained shadowed with concern as he stared into the gloom where the garden dissolved into night.

Gwen wrapped her fingers around a warm cup of tea and tried to see recent events from a fresh perspective. The fragrance of the steeped leaves brought some measure of comfort to her wounded spirit. The dull ache in her chest lingered, a quiet echo of recent heartbreak, but at least now her thoughts moved with some clarity.

She cast her mind back to Lady Moreland’s visit and the dreadful revelation that Lily had been attacked in the wake of the baron’s murder.

Given the circumstances, she could understand why Aidan might resort to desperate measures in order to protect those he loved. It stung, deeply, that she had been unwittingly caught in those schemes. And yet, when she looked past the pain, she could grasp the fear that had driven him. Desperation could twist even the most honorable of men into untenable choices.

Still, understanding did not erase the hurt. It did not quiet the knowledge that she had been used as a piece upon a board in a game of misdirected revenge. But Gwen refused to allow those thoughts to drag her back into despair. She took another sip of her tea, letting its warmth seep through her limbs. It had taken time to chase away the chill she had acquired from sitting by the window during the storm, but now, slowly, she was thawing. Body and heart alike.

“This is a good cup of tea,” Octavia murmured from the bench at the foot of the bed, her saucer nestled near her chest.

“That sounds suspiciously like self-congratulation.”

Octavia shrugged, unrepentant. “A fact is a fact. Just because I made it does not mean it is not true.”

A soft, reluctant laugh escaped Gwen. “I wish I possessed even a fraction of your certainty.”

The lady’s maid frowned into her cup. “You do, Gwendolyn Smythe. Just not when it comes to yourself.”

Gwen sighed and set her cup down gently on the table beside her mother’s old armchair. “It is clear Aidan did not marry me for my sake. He did so to reach my father.”

“I do not believe that,” Octavia replied, her tone brimming with conviction. “I have seen how he looks at you. That is not the gaze of a man bound by duty.”

“Come. Let us not quarrel. I need to think about what comes next. I did not wish to trap Aidan in this marriage, but I think we are stuck with each other now. Annulment will not be possible, considering we have consummated the marriage.”