The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (books to read as a couple TXT) 📕
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- Author: L.C. Sharp
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She swallowed. “But to claim a widow’s rights, when I was only a wife for less than a day. Godfrey’s parents loved him. They will mourn his loss, even if I do not. May I see those?” She indicated the papers.
“If you wish.”
As he pushed the pile over to her, a knock sounded on the door and a maid entered with a tray of tea.
Engrossed by the words and images, for once Juliana forgot her duty and did not offer to pour the tea.
While she perused them, Ash did the honors and pushed a dish over to her, cradled in its large saucer. She glanced at it. Like the crockery they had used for breakfast, it was good china, as good as anything her mother owned.
She put the last paper down and straightened the edges of the pile with hands that shook a little. Taking her time, she lifted her head, careful to keep her expression neutral. “Is this all the gossip sheets and journals?”
He regarded her straightly. “By no means. I sent a footman out to collect them early this morning. There will be many more by now. If you take an active part in this investigation, you must learn to be dispassionate about these reports. Sometimes they hold interesting snippets, so I cannot ignore them.”
“I understand.” So she had to develop a hard shell of a different kind. “I want to experience what life I have left. That means facing the unpalatable sometimes.”
At last she felt strong enough to release the papers and clasp her hands together, resting them on the solid wood surface. “You have no doubt seen the caricatures of Lady Juliana Christianson. They have drawn on that image to create this one. So I am now a marionette covered in blood instead of a white-faced puppet. From what I see they still don’t know what my appearance is beneath the mask. That is to our benefit. I can move about unnoticed.” She smiled brightly.
“Until someone recognizes you.”
She shook her head. “That is not likely. Only my maid and my mother know what I look like beneath the paint. And probably the girl who makes up the fire and tidies my room. Since I was sixteen, I’ve been wearing a full face of paint: heavy white cream base, red circles on my cheeks, and red lips. They know my eyes are blue, but so are many other people’s.”
“You’re tall for a woman.”
“So are a few others.”
“I see you are determined. But you must tell me the moment you feel you want to step back.”
“Will I hold you back?”
He nodded.
“Significantly?”
“I will not allow that to happen. That is why Freeman is there. He will take charge of you if I have to move on without you.”
Goodness, he’d thought of everything. This man held her fate in his capable hands and he was willing to indulge her. He understood her need to experience some of the things she’d missed for the last twenty-five years. He would never know how much that meant to her.
“I understand. Are you working for me?”
“I said I would take your case. I will render an account of my services to your father, but I do not depend on him paying. If necessary, I’ll take you pro bono.” He glanced at the papers. “The reports won’t get any better. Even in the event of your total exoneration, they will claim that your father paid for it, or worse, that you were released for services rendered. Any mention of intimate relations will draw readers.”
She swallowed. He meant services like those she had unwillingly rendered to Godfrey. “Will we have to tell all in court?”
He tapped a finger on the desk, the sharp sound adding punctuation to his words. “Perhaps. Will you do that?”
She thought. Her life, or total humiliation? “If it is that or the gallows.”
Grub Street presses could set up and close down overnight. Scurrilous gossip could appear and nobody found responsible, which gave them carte blanche to say whatever they wanted. People never forgot.
Ash nodded. “I will instruct you. Not what to say, but you may practice answering questions with me. You will not be used to intrusive questions.”
“No. May I ask you something now?”
He arched a slim, dark brow. “Of course.”
“Do you think I did it?”
He tapped his fingers again, the rhythm marking time, tapping away the seconds.
“No,” he said eventually. “On balance, no. Why would you do such a thing? Your father said you could return to him once you were pregnant. You could apply to the law for a legal separation. Such brutality is not condoned, even in marriage.”
“I did not know that.” She had thought that once she married, she belonged to her husband. Her heart lightened at the reassurance.
“I’m sure you did.”
She took the hint. As a possible defense strategy, it would not run, but as another piece of evidence to add to the pile, it would work well. “Perhaps I did,” she conceded. If her marriage had continued in the same vein, she would have done everything possible to escape it, so she would have found out. “I did not expect it. My parents allowed me little time in private with him before the marriage. Just once. I did not like it, but I had no idea he was so...so...” She waved her hands.
He made a note on a sheet of scrawled comments by his side. “Perhaps they knew his propensities. I intend to discover how much was known and where. Do you know if your husband had mistresses?”
She loved the way he treated her as an equal adult, instead of a child. Only now did she realize that most people around her had always treated her as an infant, someone who would faint if confronted with the truth. But in this instance, she had to shake her head.
“You
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