Emily Hendrickson (26 page)

“It is our marriage, you know,” she said at last.

Julian did not know how to reply. If he said something encouraging she might bolt. On the other hand he wondered if this was the right moment to confess his deception. She might be furious with him and all the ground he had hoped he had gained would be lost. He did not relish starting anew.

“What about our marriage,” he said at last, taking fully as long to reply as she had taken to make the remark.

“We must decide when to arrange the annulment,” she continued without looking at him. She studied the carpet at his feet, watching him poke at it as though he did something important.

“We could try to work things out, you know.” He paused for a moment before daring to add, “Have you considered that were you to be granted an annulment you might be ostracized by Society? How would you find a husband then? Remember, although we have not shared a bed, they do not know that.” This was a part of his argument, albeit not one he relished. But he felt the truth of it and he suspected even she must admit he was right.

When she turned pale, he realized she had not considered this aspect of her scheme.

“You had
not
calculated on such a thing, had you,” he gently stated.

“No,” she replied in a choked voice, some of her color returning as she spoke. “I had thought that we could institute the nullity procedure and be done with it. What will Mama say,” she wondered aloud.

Julian had not said anything about Lady Montmorcy, now Lady Crompton, as the earl’s new wife. In his opinion she ought to have remained in London to supervise her daughter’s come-out, not gone haring across the Continent on her honeymoon. The thought of her basking in the pleasures to be found somewhere in Switzerland or Italy while Chloe struggled with this dratted problem—which might have been totally avoided had her grandmother not been so insistent on the poor girl marrying that Twisdale—made him long to scold the woman.

Yet at the time he had been grateful to escape from Elinor Hadlow, delectable though she might appear. There were a lot of poisonous plants that looked luscious, too. Which brought him to a sudden notion.

“We shall discuss this more at another time when you have had a chance to reflect on it. Had you thought Twisdale might find a poisonous berry?” He glanced at the herbal, then back to where Chloe stood.

Looking quite relieved at the chance to turn from a difficult subject, Chloe shook her head in a considering way. “No, but perhaps there is something of help in that book of herbals.”

They joined in perusing the book until they came upon the
atropa belladonna.

“It says here to use care that you not mistake it for another, an edible berry, for the belladonna is deadly poisonous,” Chloe said with an anxious look at Julian. “It blooms from June to August, so fruit would be available for a long period.”

“The deadly nightshade, it is called,” Julian said, recalling something he had read about the plant long ago. “I will ask Watcock if it grows locally.”

“Do that at once,” Chloe urged. “And if it does, perhaps we ought to destroy them all.”

“The herbal indicates it has useful purposes. Like many things, it is the overuse that is fatal.” Julian grasped his cane firmly in his hand, then left the room before he said anything more. He wanted to return to the topic of their marriage, but sensed that she perhaps needed to come to terms with what had been revealed.

Chloe watched her husband leave the library, then turned back to the table where she had sat while turning the pages of the book. Placing her hand on the herbal, she stared off into space, deep in thought.

He was undoubtedly right about the marriage business. The chance of their obtaining Sir William Scott as their judge was problematical. He had served as judge in the case she’d read about. But she could not recall the details of the case involving the young Pouget and wondered if Julian kept accounts of such matters, if he was interested in the law. And why was he interested in the law, pray tell? He was a wealthy landowner, accepted everywhere, even if he had been a scoundrel.

She returned the herbal to the shelf, then hurried up to her room before Julian could return. He had left her to learn more about the berries, but she suspected that perhaps her husband wished to give her time alone as well.

Time? She gave a doleful chuckle. Once in her room she set about writing a letter to Laura. Chloe had decided she would say nothing about how her marriage to Julian went along. Rather she sought to offer hope to Laura by telling her that it was plain Lord Twisdale had wanted his wife out of the way and had found a clever way to eliminate the poor woman.

A scratching on her door halted her task. Chloe rose from the pretty little rosewood desk she had found so delightful and called out, “Enter.”

“Ma’am?” A shy Rose crept into the elegant room looking clearly intimidated by the splendid surroundings.

“Rose, have you learned something?”

‘“Deed I have,” the maid said proudly. “ ‘Twas whortleberry tarts her ladyship liked. The cook ordered berries from the garden near every day when they was ripe. That cook, well, she be a dragon, she be. They have trouble keeping help over there cuz of her, or so says Kate.” It was clear that Rose found the older kitchen maid an object of great admiration. “And it was the cook who took the berry tart up to her ladyship to tempt her appey-tite. She was poorly afore she died. Though she tried to run away. They said not, but Kate said she believed it.”

“Thank you. Rose. We suspected that might be the case.”

The little scullery maid bobbed a wobbly curtsy, then scooted from the room as though afraid to remain.

Chloe wandered back to look out of the window at the gardens below. She could see Julian striding across the lawn, and Watcock standing where he must have been when confronted by his employer.

Again his words returned to her. If she pursued the matter of her annulment to Julian she would most likely not easily find a husband again. Why had she not thought of this? Was it because she had grown so fond of Julian even before the episode in the Seftons’ library?

Within a brief time Chloe heard a sharp rap on her door and this time she merely called for the person to enter, for she suspected that Julian sought her.

“Well, I found out that there is an abundance of deadly nightshade growing in these parts. Seems they grow along the lane, in the grove, in fact found most anywhere. I have ordered that the ones on our land be destroyed.” He paced about the room, thrusting his left hand through his hair while gesturing with his cane.

“Rose informed me that Lady Twisdale had a special fondness for whortleberry tarts. If the drawing in that herbal book is anything to go by, they look fairly similar. Could it be that the cook could have substituted one for the other? But would she not know it?”

“Perhaps she did and was paid well to do her work,” Julian suggested with a pause in his steps. He shook his head in dismay at the thought of his neighbor doing anything so horrible.

“It was the cook who carried the final tart up to Anne, or so Rose informed me—which is a bit odd if you think on it.

Normally a maid would perform that task, not the cook. If we believe that Lord Twisdale murdered his wife with deadly nightshade—in the form of that tart—what can we do about it? Who would believe us? And how can we possibly prevent Laura from marrying the man?” Chloe cried.

Julian walked over to look down at Chloe, frowning in thought. “We might plant suspicion among the villagers. It would be easy, for none of them like him. Once we convince them to doubt his innocence, it will be but a step to persuade them of his guilt.”

“I believe that might actually work,” Chloe said upon a small reflection. She toyed with the pen she had been using to write to Laura. “On another topic altogether I have had an inspiration of a sorts.”

She could see him tense and his look was highly cautious.

“And that is?” He took a step toward her. Chloe refused to back away from him even though he intimidated her with his size and the attraction he held for her.

“Why, you could sell me.”

“Ye gods!” he exclaimed. “I had not thought you that scatterbrained.”

“It is done, is it not?” she said, ignoring the fluttering in her heart when he towered over her.

“True,” he admitted. “For those who cannot afford a bill of divorcement, selling a wife is a way out of an intolerable situation.”

“They agree to part, and that is it?”

“But, my dear wife, it is customary to have a purchaser provided beforehand. You would not wish to be paraded in public indignity…would you? And who would you choose for a husband?” Julian said with a slight frown settling on his brow.

Chloe sank down upon the little chair at the desk, utterly aghast. She had not thought beyond freeing Julian of his unwanted wife. “There is no one else I would care to marry.”

“No one?” Julian said quietly.

“None I can think of,” Chloe replied woefully. How could she have forgotten such an obvious matter as a husband to buy her? Stupid! This proved that Julian turned her brain to mush.

“There is also a possibility of a deed of separation,” Julian said, walking over to stand by the window as Chloe had done not long before. “It is a very private arrangement.”

“And that involves what?” Chloe said, rising from her little chair to confront Julian.

“My attorney draws up a contract that grants you an annual maintenance allowance—including your pin money—but disallowing any future debts. You would be in all respects a single woman, free of me, to live where you please.”

“Except that in the eyes of the church we would still legally be man and wife,” she countered.

“True.”

“Oh dear,” she murmured, sinking down on her little chair once again. “Well, then, since you must wish to be completely free of a wife, we must rely on the incorrect banns. There is no other way for you. And me,” she added hastily at his peculiar expression.

He looked about to say something when there was a sharp rap on the door to her sitting room.

“Squire Hopgood to see you, sir,” the maid said with a curtsy.

Chloe exchanged a look with Julian before he strode to the door.

“What do you suppose he wants?” she wondered aloud.

“He is a local Justice of the Peace. I sent for him. Perhaps he can advise us on what may be done about Twisdale. Were you aware that I am the local Lord Lieutenant? I seldom occupy myself with the business hereabouts, but I believe I must now. And Hopgood will be the one to help us find a way to be rid of Twisdale if one can be found.”

Chapter 15

“Get rid of Twisdale!” Chloe echoed after her husband strode from the room. How ominous he sounded.

She followed Julian from the room and along the hall to look down to the entryway while he lightly ran down the stairs to greet the gentleman who awaited him.

Squire Hopgood was only slightly portly and wore his hair neatly tied at the nape of his neck. He garbed himself in the clothes of a country gentleman—a tailless brown coat suitable for hunting, tan breeches with leather spatterdashes buttoned up to his knees, and a moderate cravat above a simple blue waistcoat. In his hands he carried a round hat and a riding crop. He reminded Chloe of an eager hound on the trail and so she would sketch him. He looked intent on his business. Chloe wondered what he would have to say to Julian’s disclosures.

* * * *

Julian greeted his neighbor with a firm handshake, then walked at his side to the library, where he offered the squire some liquid refreshment before settling down to business. He had been aware of Chloe’s watchful gaze as he met Hopgood and wondered if he ought to have invited her to join them.

After appointing Hopgood as the justice Julian had been very pleased with his diligence in office. He had tended to the poor with a shrewd eye, kept a keen watch on the maintenance of the local highways and roads, and wasted no time in bringing petty criminals to trial. In short, he was a good man and proved an able administrator. If he felt it an insult to have a Lord Lieutenant who was labeled a scoundrel by those in London, he never gave a sign of it.

They chatted briefly before the squire gave Julian a perceptive look. “Rumor says you are interested in your neighbor’s activities. Lord Twisdale do something I don’t know about?”

“Perhaps.” Julian strolled about until he reached his desk, then settled onto the chair behind it, knowing that it offered him an appearance of command. “I became acquainted with a problem involving him while last in London. There are stories circulating about Town, not widely, only a few. But they greatly disturb me.”

“Involving his late wife?” the squire hazarded.

“What makes you deduce that?” Julian said, surprised at this assumption from his justice.

“I was never easy about the death of the late Lady Twisdale. Eating a whortleberry tart does not seem to me to be just cause for going aloft. Even if the berries were spoiled, would it not cause a stomach ache rather than her demise?”

“Precisely my thinking,” Julian agreed. “My wife was to have married Twisdale as his second bride—her grandmother’s doing, I might add. He frightened her with his oily manners and it was fortunate indeed—for us both—that she accepted my hand instead.” Julian thought he glossed over that particular news rather well. He continued, “Now her dearest friend is threatened with marriage to Twisdale and Lady Chloe takes a dim view of that much-esteemed girl going to an early grave.”

“Your wife suspects that Lord Twisdale intends to—shall we say—do away with his bride?” Hopgood leaned forward in his chair, intent and alert.

“In short, murder,” Julian confirmed.

The squire rubbed his jaw for a few minutes, subsiding into a meditative silence. At last he spoke. “I truly do not see what we can do about it. If the man takes a bride to his country home, there is no way we may interfere. Suspicion of intent to do bodily harm is no cause to pry or force entry. A man has a lawful right to chastise his wife, even punish her severely if he feels ‘tis required. Our hands are tied.” The squire exchanged a look with Julian, one of concern and uncertainty.