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

my daughter standing before the common people in a public trial. She is not a spectacle for them to gawp at,” her mother said. She shuddered dramatically. “We will not accept that.”

Ash’s eyelids drooped over his eyes as if he was bored. “There are few possibilities of avoiding that. The law is above us all.”

“Then you will avoid a court appearance.”

He let a pause fall before he answered her. “I will do my best for her ladyship.”

“We can have her committed,” her father said blandly. “Think of that.”

Although the day wasn’t a cold one, a chill invaded her bones. “What do you mean?” She was afraid she knew, but she wanted it spelled out.

“Sir Edmund knows,” her mother said, gesturing gracefully in his direction. “I am surprised you have not discussed it. You were not in your right mind when you killed your husband.”

“Not in my right mind?” Juliana repeated. “You mean mad?”

At that moment, a tap on the door heralded the arrival of the maid, who handled the large tray of tea as if it weighed nothing at all. Deftly pulling out a stand, she settled the tray on it, curtseyed and left.

“A surprisingly efficient maid,” the countess said. “You may send her to us.” As if she had not just upended Juliana’s life yet again.

“I doubt she’ll come,” Ash replied. “But it’s her choice. I’ll tell her of your gracious offer.” He smiled at Juliana. “Would you mind serving, or should I do it?”

Dealing with the tea gave Juliana the respite she needed. Her head spun. Mad? She wasn’t mad. She was only just coming to her senses. But they could do it; that was no idle threat. The notion had occurred to her before, but that her parents could consider the possibility so calmly shocked her rigid.

The maid had placed the tea tray on a table at Juliana’s elbow. Relieved to have something to do, she went about the familiar ritual, but unlike at home, the tea had been brewed while the water was boiling, making the resulting beverage much better. So all Juliana had to do was pour it and pass it around. She knew how her parents took their tea. The familiar pouring, the scent of freshly brewed black tea, the careful measurement of just the right amount of milk, calmed her. But only a little.

Ash took his tea with a word of thanks before Juliana returned to her seat. She picked up her dish, although her stomach was churning. “I was not mad. I am not mad. Why would you say so?”

“If you were shown to be insane,” Ash said casually, “you would be committed to an asylum, or in the care of responsible adults. It is unlikely that there would be a trial. That is their meaning.”

Her mother’s relief filled the room. “And thus we will avert the worst scandal.”

“But you will label your daughter a madwoman.” He sipped his tea. “I observed no insanity in your daughter, now or on the day of the murder.”

Ash addressed her mother. “You had gone to the country so you could not have seen her.”

“My nerves were overset,” the countess said. Juliana could have sworn she had no nerves at all.

“You must have left quickly,” Ash replied. “Lady Uppingham’s husband was barely cold. Did you, I wonder, take a small diversion to go to the docks or even a pier on the Thames to arrange passage to a foreign country?”

The countess’s chin jerked up, and she glared at Ash. “Your supposition is without proof.”

He met her stare, ice in his eyes. “The speed of your departure from London interested me.” Ash touched his finger to his chin. He was completely in control, no sign of agitation. “This morning I made enquiries at Lloyd’s Coffee House, where, you might recall, insurers and ship owners congregate. I went to the Cocoa-Tree, where Tories gather. You did not cover your tracks very well, Lady Hawksworth. Your agents are not the most careful of men. With the support of the magistrates, I have sent warnings to every vessel in the Pool of London. If they remove Lady Uppingham from the country, they will be subject to court appearances and confiscation of goods when they return.”

The earl growled low.

“I know these strictures will not stop you if you put your mind to it,” Ash continued, his voice smooth as butter, sitting unmoving while he gave them his response, “but word will reach the authorities. Including the crown office.” He paused. Nobody spoke. “Although I am but a humble lawyer, I do have a long acquaintance with the Duke of Newcastle and his brother.”

A silence fell, heavy, oppressive. Juliana recognized it. Her father was angry. Where her mother became colder, and more cutting when she was angry, her father shouted. He could shout for hours without pause. Inwardly shrinking, she waited for the tirade to start. Outwardly she remained determined and calm.

The countess got to her feet, so everyone else followed suit. Juliana’s mother cast an anxious glance at her husband. “We will leave now. Thank you for your help, Sir Edmund.” She sounded as if the words choked her. “Come, Juliana.”

“No.” She firmed her lips.

“She cannot,” Ash put in helpfully. “I already told you that.”

The countess sent him a look of such disdain he should have melted on the spot. But he did not. However, Juliana would not use that excuse, even though it was true. For once, she ignored her father’s rising temper. In the past she’d have tried to placate him, but not today. She had done with that. “Were I free to do so, I would not come back. I won’t go through that again. I won’t let you sell me to the highest bidder.”

She had changed so much since she’d met the Ashendons. Now she refused to accept the possibility of allowing her parents to marry her off to someone else she didn’t know.

“I never taught you such vulgarity.” The countess held her head high, the epitome