She saw he had changed over the last three years. She recognized he wasn’t the man she fell in love with. Honestly, she thought she liked, maybe even loved, this man better. There was a groundedness within him, a firm center. He reminded her of Atlas holding the world on his shoulders. But despite all that, he cared for his family, for what happened to them, for taking care of them in a way that touched her heart.
She knew that was the type of man her brother wanted to be and failed. Her poor brother was not a wicked man, though he certainly lacked the wisdom and maturity Aidan possessed. Harry certainly had Aidan’s intelligence, but he’d lacked his steadiness and his wisdom. Aidan was the Duke in all but the title. Not that she didn’t like the current Duke or the Duke’s heir, but Aidan took on so much for them.
She wondered if they—or anyone—were aware. Sadly, her love for Aidan hadn’t died three years ago. It burned on.
But it was too late.
* * *
After introducingMr. Martin to the secretary, Aidan walked slowly back to the ground floor main hall. He stared at his boot toes as he walked, almost running into a maid carrying fresh linens, his mind churning. He looked up then and took a deep breath.
Mr. Martin was correct. He was afraid. And embarrassed. And shamed. A host of emotions ran through his head and heart, creating chaos down to his very soul. He was a fool. Now as well as three years ago.
Bloody Hell! How could he have been such a fool?
Easily.
Harry had played upon the bonds of brotherhood formed in school and on into university years.
He’d brought Harry into the family, introduced him to everyone. He made friends easily and by making friends with everyone around him, he’d lifted some of the shy reticence from Aidan. Following Harry’s example, Aidan learned how to be more at ease with people. If it hadn’t been for observing Harry’s ways, Aidan didn’t think he would have had the courage to approach Miss Melville almost four years ago. Though in his late twenties, back then, he’d still had a bit of the bumbling schoolboy in him. Now he was just a humorless merchant.
He felt they owed Lady Blessingame happiness. She was the one who had suffered the most through meeting his family. What could he do? What could the family do to make up for all she’d lost? Her life took a turn far different from what she would have imagined, that any young debutante would have imagined. She should have enjoyed her London Season and not been pulled into a web of lies.
Candelstone believed he could get her to work for him again. His family needed to show her their support, so she didn’t feel she had no options.
They couldn’t change the past, but they could help her make a better future. He would task his mother with matchmaking for her.
He tapped lightly on the closed Lady Margaret Parlor door and heard a faint, “Come in.”
Lady Blessingame stood near the door that led out to the terrace.
She glanced at who came in, then turned back to the door.
“The Duke is to be commended,” she said. “This door is in perfect working order. Not a squeak or a click.” She opened the terrace door silently, then closed it again with only a whisper of sound. “At a ball with people all around, laughing, talking, walking, one wouldn’t hear that ever-so-slightsnickwhen the door closed. And there is no squeak at all. If I remember correctly, the door leading from the main hall to the terrace has a slight squeak.”
Aidan walked across the room to stand beside her. Her eyes were bright, but red-rimmed, her color high, but the worst from her bout of tears had faded.
It was obvious she did not want to discuss any of what went on in Lord Candelstone’s room. He would cooperate, for now.
“You think this is the door used by the person who shot Lord Candelstone?”
“I do. This room was not lit. I remember Lady Malmsby saying something about wanting to dissuade guests from coming into this room.” She laughed slightly. “She said there were plenty of other rooms available for assignations.”
“This has long been Mother’s favorite room, which one could consider odd, as the decor is not at all in her style.”
Bella looked back at the room. “Yes, she is not a fussy woman, yet this room is the epitome of fussy.”
“But from a composition standpoint, it works well,” Aidan said. “I’m actually surprised a painting has never been done of this room.”
Bella nodded, then looked back out the door. “But someone used the room last night. There are bits of nature on the floor here.”
Aidan looked down. There were a few pieces of leaves and dirt by the doorsill. “As no one was to be in here, the maids would have no reason to clean here today.”
“Such was my thought,” Bella said. “I don’t believe someone was waiting here long for their victim, or a victim, as it might be. If they had been, their aim would have been truer, as it is near to here where Candelstone fell. And if they tossed the gun afterward, in an underhanded toss, it could easily have skidded into that shadowed corner under the bench where I found it.”
“I see that,” Aidan agreed.
She tilted her head as she studied the outside. “The shooting was a spontaneous, and dangerous, last-moment decision by the shooter, which is why the gun was tossed away.”
