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Ten

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.”

Aristotle

Gwen was not sure what to do. Her new husband had left hours ago, and still he had not returned. It was nearing the hour to prepare for dinner, yet she had imagined something quite different for this evening. She had envisioned they might retire early. That she would wear her azure gown, selected carefully for this very moment.

Now she stood rooted in indecision.

Should she change for dinner? Or remain in her wedding gown, a hopeful symbol turned strange with every passing minute?

They were frivolous thoughts, and she knew it. Yet they served to distract her from the quiet panic that had been building in the pit of her stomach ever since Aidan had departed with such haste. The more time passed, the more certain she became that he regretted marrying her. And that notion, so sharp and bitter, was especially painful now that she had met his family and had begun to feel the warmth of belonging.

She had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon with little Ethan and the others. Most of her social life had been spent in the company of those much older. Younger women had often regarded her with clipped politeness or subtle malice, and the younger gentlemen had shown such cool indifference that meaningful conversation had been a rarity.

Today had been different.

Among his family, clever engaging people of various temperaments, Gwen had found a tentative hope for the future. It felt as though a door had quietly opened to a life she had not dared to imagine, one filled with laughter, with conversation, with true companionship. She had anticipated invitations and letters, outings and dinners. She had even allowed herself to look forward to a new chapter with Aidan, with tentative joy.

Gwen closed her wardrobe. She had been standing before it for several minutes without making any decision at all.

“He hates being married to me,” she murmured.

“Nonsense!” Octavia’s reply was swift, but a note of hesitation in her voice betrayed her doubt. “He … just had … something important to do. Someone important to see.”

At Octavia’s feet, Buttercup gave a low whine, as if lending her small agreement. The dog’s soft brown eyes fixed on Gwen with canine intensity, as though she too shared in the collective concern.

“On our wedding day?” Gwen asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Octavia turned away, clearly at a loss for words. Buttercup remained seated, ever watchful, her gaze unwavering as Gwen moved about the room in restless fits, picking up gloves, then placing them down, smoothing a hem that did not need smoothing.

Buttercup tilted her head, her silent companionship both comforting and a little accusing.

“Should I change for dinner?” Gwen asked aloud, to no one in particular.

Octavia stepped forward, her voice gentle now. “Perhaps I should bring up a tray?”

Gwen nodded silently. Her father had already declared that he would not be available for dinner, which meant she would be left to eat alone at the vast dining table, an image far from appealing, especially when her thoughts would dwell only on Aidan’s continued absence.

After Octavia departed, Gwen wandered toward the window and sank into the indigo wingback armchair, her mother’s old favorite. Picking up her well-worn copy of The Odyssey, she attempted to immerse herself in Homer’s epic. But after reading the same line thrice without comprehension, she tossed the book gently onto the side table.

Buttercup, ever loyal, padded after her and settled heavily upon Gwen’s slippered feet, her warm weight a silent encouragement to calm herself.

Have I made a mistake?

The thought was as unwelcome as it was disheartening. It seemed too soon, entirely too soon, for such doubts to take root. She had hoped to float in blissful contentment for at least a few days before reality and uncertainty crept in.

Drumming her fingers against the plush armrest, Gwen stared out at the garden, its hedges pruned into gentle curves, the lawn sloping toward the silver ribbon of the Thames glimmering in the evening light. Her father’s only remaining property, yes, but still a jewel. An oasis amid the hum of London life. She would miss this place once she and Aidan established their new household.

The indigo chair, though, that she would take with her. It bore memories of afternoons spent beside her mother, of laughter and shared stories. It brought her peace, and she would not leave it behind.

Mama would tell me to buck up and take action.

But how?

She did not even know where Aidan had gone. And she could hardly go dashing about Town in search of him. Noblewomen did not storm gentlemen’s clubs. At least, not as a rule.

Although …