The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (books to read as a couple TXT) 📕

she set about straightening them, tidying them into a neat pile. “Our other brother. The one who died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It happened years ago. But after we—after he—we grew much closer. Except for Silence. But at least she is alive. She writes to us. As Ash said at the time, if we do not support each other, then who will?”

Her curiosity aroused, Juliana asked, “How did he die?”

Dropping the pile of cartoons so they scattered over the table once more, wasting all the work she had done, Amelia walked to the door. “I should not have said anything. I’m sorry.”

Bewildered, Juliana stared after her.

This family had a mystery at its heart. What could it be?

As she stared at the closed door, the front door opened and closed without the bell clanging to announce someone’s arrival. That meant a member of the family had just come in. Ash.

Warmth filling her, she abandoned the offending caricatures and left the room. She smiled at him, and he gave her the same courtesy. “Have you had an interesting morning?” she asked him.

“You could call it that.”

He brought the City with him, the faint scent of tobacco and coffee proclaiming it. “I’ve been to Moll King’s.” He motioned before him, ushering her up the stairs. Before he followed her, he asked for tea to be served. Juliana’s burly footman left to do his bidding.

They went into the drawing room and he waited until she had taken a seat before he sat opposite her, crossing his legs. He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his hand on his chin. “Have you heard of the Raven?”

“Who has not?” The printmakers featured him often, and there were whole gossip sheets devoted to his exploits. “The criminal who has London in thrall, the thief taker who threatens to cast his net over the whole city. He’s always in black, and masked. He’s a legend.”

Ash nodded. “That’s the one, although he’s more of a vicious criminal than a legend. He tries to put romance around slitting people’s throats and stealing what they earned.” His lips tightened in that tiny hint of a smile. “Apparently he is taking an interest in your case.”

He tossed a silver pin onto the table. She picked it up, examined it, turning it over in her hand. “This is the one you took from the man with the brandy bottle, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.”

A small figure decorated the top of the pin. A little bird, wings tucked in by its side.

A raven.

She dropped the pin as if it burned her. “Why would he have that?”

“So he could recognize his fellows. The Raven’s agents were in that mob. Either he caused it, or he took advantage of it. It may be that he saw a chance of rich pickings in looting your father’s house, simply that. But it could be more.”

“You think he was interested in me?”

“Perhaps. We can’t dismiss it outright. Either you or your husband.”

She shuddered.

“As an heiress, you are the target for abduction and ransom. As an heiress possibly bearing a child...perhaps more.”

The thought horrified her, but she saw a flaw. “They could have taken me, and yet I was still there in the morning.”

His mouth relaxed into a smile. “That is true. So, more likely that they’d snatch you in the street. It does not mean you are not a target. We cannot eliminate that possibility yet. But then there’s your husband.”

“Godfrey?”

“The very same. What he did to you, the way he treated you did not come out of the blue. He has done that before, to other women.”

Aware of his close regard, Juliana kept her expression clear.

“There are places where one can pay women to undergo such treatment.”

“What?”

His expression was as clear as hers. “Some women enjoy it. But whatever the case, the money is very good. I need to explore those places, but I have no mind to pose as a customer. I doubt I’d last long.”

“Will you just go and ask?”

“They wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

“Why would they be interested in Godfrey?”

He touched his finger to his lips and took a moment to answer. “His proclivities are not known in high society. That would be grounds for blackmail, especially if one owned the brothel he frequented.”

Yes, of course. She saw that. “So what will you do?”

He rose from his seat and went to the window as a carriage rolled past. “It’s Newcastle,” he said. “On his way home from a fraught session in the House.”

“How do you know it is fraught?” she asked.

“It always is.” He put his hands on his hips, shoving his coat back. “He rules the Lords, while his brother controls the Commons. Not a job I would like to do.”

“You speak as if you know them well.” As she well understood, living in the same square did not guarantee a cordial relationship with one’s neighbors.

“I have done them a discreet favor or two, offered legal advice when required. Thomas Pelham-Holles, 1st Duke of Newcastle-under-Lyme, Duke of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Marquess of Clare, Earl of Clare, Viscount Haughton, Baron Pelham of Laughton, Baron Pelham of Stanmer,” he murmured. “I take it your father has a similar sentence after his name?”

She nodded, even though he currently had his back to her. “Something like that. Earl of Hawksworth, Viscount Beresford, Baron Icklethwaite. My father dislikes the duke, even though that makes his task of bribing officials more difficult. He has dealt mainly with Lord Hardwicke’s office.”

One shoulder lifted in a half shrug, the movement stark against the light pouring through the window. “If necessary, I will seek help from his grace.”

He came across the room, his movements precise rather than elegant. “There is a masquerade tomorrow night where I may meet people and discover more about the Raven’s involvement in this case, if there is any. I shall go.”

“Then I will go as well.”

A half smile graced his lips. “This is no society ball. It is not a respectable affair.”

She grimaced. “I’m not respectable anymore.”

He