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

the trial, we will see, but I swear I won’t do their bidding and return to being a painted doll.”

“Promise me?”

Why did it mean so much to him? “Yes. I promise.” But she needed to know. “Is it true?”

“Yes, but not in the way he put it. He twisted the truth.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. He’s good at it. But I must go. I won’t repay you with cruelty and scandal.”

“Then take this.” Without taking his eyes from hers, he wrenched the gold ring from his finger. She had never seen him without it. Reaching for her hand, he placed the warm jewelry in her palm and folded her fingers around it. “If you need me, get this to me.”

“Oh. I can’t take your—”

“Yes you can.”

That meant she had to return it to him. Such a link warmed her, made their friendship real. She would treasure the ring.

She slipped it into her pocket. “I’ll come back,” she whispered, her voice hardly stirring the air. “I will. But I can’t let you suffer for what you did, how you helped me.”

Turning, she strode determinedly back to her parents.

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

“The Thames villa,” her mother said, and turned her attention to Ash, following behind Juliana. “You may contact us there if you need us. I understand the trial date is not set. Send us word when it is.”

Although the berlin was supremely comfortable, Juliana felt as if she was sitting on a bed of pebbles. The cushions were of the softest fabric, and the suspension made short work of the ruts in the road. They had been traveling for an hour, leaving London and traveling in the direction of the villa her mother loved. She made a bolt for it when she couldn’t stand London, or so she said.

Her father and mother sat opposite her. But when they reached the turning that would lead to the villa, they drove past it.

“Is there something wrong with the road?” Juliana asked.

“No,” the earl responded.

When he showed no sign of explaining, Juliana pursued. “Then why didn’t we take it?”

“We aren’t going there,” he said.

Fear clutched at her, tightening her stomach. “You promised you would do nothing illegal. I won’t leave the country.”

Her mother unfurled her fan, and plied it gently. “Really, Juliana, you have become overdramatic. We are indeed doing nothing illegal, and we have no intention of encouraging you to flee abroad. Give her the paper, Hawksworth.”

Her father grunted and reached inside the pocket of his elaborate coat. “We are doing what is best for you, Juliana. As we always do. Giving you the protection you need. With this man on your side, you need not worry about a trial.”

Numbly, she took the paper from him. As the coach finally jolted over what must be a particularly deep rut, she read what it said.

It was a special license, obtained from Doctor’s Commons the day before. It allowed for the immediate marriage of Lady Godfrey Uppingham to Lord Peter Mandrell.

At first she could not think of anyone by that name. When she remembered who it was, she shivered, her blood running cold. “You want to marry me to Lord Mandrell?”

“It is by far the best solution,” her mother said briskly. “His lordship is willing to marry you, which is saying something considering the merry dance you have led recently. All I can say is if you wake up with him dead by your side, I wash my hands of you. I cannot imagine anyone else will want you after that.”

“And you will have your heir,” she said heavily.

Her father nodded. “God knows I’ve invested enough in the prospect. Time I got a return.”

Suppressing her spurt of fury with some difficulty, Juliana turned her head and gazed out of the window. There were no other coaches, nobody to beg help from. The straggling cottages they passed were isolated, and the road they were now on a minor one, much rougher than the main road. “And where are we going?”

Her father took the opportunity to lean forward and snatch the paper from her numb fingers. “Lord Mandrell has bought a manor house not far from here. You will be married there, by a cleric he will provide, and remain there for the duration of your marriage.”

“Duration?” Married meant married, as far as she knew. Unless, of course...

Lord Peter Mandrell was a widower, known to be hanging out for a nubile bride to give him an heir. His barony was a minor title, but his wealth considerable. He had four daughters. And he was seventy if he was a day.

He’d found no takers from even the most desperate woman in society, although he’d offered many inducements, including a marriage settlement that made people’s eyes boggle.

“You would stoop this low?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet so as not to reveal the horror creeping over her. “You would marry me to an old man with his reputation?”

Her mother’s mouth turned down, not an unusual expression for her. “You are never satisfied, are you? You could not have waited, and controlled your first husband, and now you reject a man who will fall at your feet? He worships you, he tells us. He will treat you like a queen.”

“In a manor house?” That struck her as strange. Why would he not take her to his house? He lived in Nottinghamshire, by all accounts. This was not the way to Nottinghamshire.

“He wants to assure himself that you will behave. After all, a madwoman is not always cognizant of her behavior.”

“I’m not mad!” Tears sprang to her eyes.

Her father raised his gaze skyward, as if exasperated. He handed her a handkerchief. “That will be for him to decide. At any rate, you won’t be returning to society for a year or two. It will take at least that long for the scandal to die down. You’re a scarlet woman—in more ways than one.” He stretched his lips into a tight smile, as if he’d made a