A slight damp chill hung in the air, not as cold as most of the previous month’s days and nights had been, but enough to wish she had a shawl. She walked down the broad steps that led to the garden. It wasn’t a deep garden; however, the clever landscaping gave the illusion of more depth than there was. Paths wound around bushes, trees, and small flower beds. The three-quarters moon illuminated the area enough for walking. Her heart rate slowed as she meandered along the paths. She saw a large black cat stalking something, then stop to stare up at her as she approached. As it ran away, she smiled. She breathed in deeply, catching the hint of roses perfuming the air. It felt so peaceful out in the garden. So normal.
Her thoughts wandered as she strolled through the garden, but invariably wandered to Harry.
In his way, Harry had been a good man. As good as he could have been, she supposed, given his upbringing and career. She’d loved him as a dutiful wife; however, she’d never beeninlovewith him. Now she understood that difference. The grief she felt after his death was more for what had not been in their marriage.
She stopped by a small fountain that rippled softly. She raised her face to the moonlight, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
* * *
It surprisedAidan to find Gwinnie returned so quickly to the ballroom.
“Gwinnie, how is Lady Blessingame?” he asked.
“She wasn’t in Father’s study.”
Aidan stared at her. “She wasn’t?”
“No. No one was there. The only sign someone had been in there was a crumpled man’s handkerchief on one of the chairs by the fireplace.”
“Have you seen her or her brother since you returned to the ballroom?”
She shook her head.
Aidan looked about, searching for the two. “Perhaps she returned to her room,” he mused. He looked at Gwinnie. “Could you—”
She sighed. “Could I check on her? Yes, I can check on her,” Gwinnie said with a wry smile.
“It’s not what you think,” he said gruffly, noting her expression.
“I’m sure,” she said drily. She turned to walk toward the stair. “I’ll be back shortly,” she said over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Aidan replied absently, as his eyes roamed the ballroom again.
In his gut, he didn’t think Bella had returned to her room. But where would she have gone? What was she doing?—And where was Melville?
He checked the refreshments alcove, then went downstairs to check the formal dining room, as Melville might have been assigned the first sitting. Neither he nor Bella were to be found.
* * *
A gunshot shatteredthe peace of the garden.
Bella gasped as she looked wildly around. Where had it come from? The terrace, she thought.
Instinctively crouching slightly as Harry taught her at the sound of gunfire, she grabbed her skirts up and ran swiftly in the shot’s direction, her heart pounding in her chest. The beautiful intricate garden layout, a pleasure to meander through, now became a hinderance. It ensured she must run away from the sound before she could run toward it.
She ran up the terrace steps and looked wildly about. Above her, people were leaning out the ballroom windows.
“Do you see anything?” she called out.
She heard a small chorus ofno’sand saw shaking heads.
“Wait!” she heard a young woman call out. “That way!” she yelled, pointing off to Bella’s right, “at the end of the terrace.”
Bella looked in that direction. It was dark there; no moonlight illuminated that end, as a large tree shaded the area. But she saw a darker shape near the corner. A man lay there. As she reached his side and squatted down beside him, she heard the terrace doors from the main hall slam open, rattling the wall of windows.
He breathed yet. When she touched him to see where he was shot, he turned his head in her direction, his breathing ragged. He’d been shot in his chest. She pressed her hands over his wound and pressed down, as the women of Brussels had taught her to do for the soldiers shot or stabbed following the battle at Quatre Bras when all nationalities of injured poured into the city.
“Lord Candelstone!” cried a choked male voice behind her.
