Page 26 of A Murder in Mayfair
The room went deathly still.
Good heavens! Julia was increasing.
Charles’s face contorted with fury. “You’re with child?" he spat. "I refuse to believe it’s my father’s. Everyone knows about your association with Thornburn. How convenient that after years of barrenness, you suddenly find yourself expecting.”
The accusation sliced through the air like a blade. This had gone too far. I stepped forward, inserting myself between them.
"Charles," I said, keeping my voice even, "please. We are all grieving. Let cooler heads prevail."
He turned his haunted eyes toward me. "Lady Rosalynd," he rasped. "Forgive me that you must witness such ugliness. But I cannot, will not, watch my father’s murderer wear a widow’s weeds without speaking the truth."
Before Julia could reply, Charles stormed from the room, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the windows. Edwin threw me a helpless look, then hurried after him.
Julia collapsed onto a chaise, burying her face in her hands.
I approached slowly, kneeling beside her. "Julia," I said gently, "are you all right?"
A foolish question. Of course, she wasn’t.
She lifted her tear-streaked face. "I loved him, Rosalynd," she whispered. "I loved my husband. We had our trials. What marriage does not? But I never betrayed him. And now ... now I'm left with vile accusations and nothing to defend myself but my word."
I sat beside her, unsure which hurt more: hearing her pain, or realizing that no matter what I believed, the world would believe what it wanted.
After a moment, I asked cautiously, "Charles mentioned Nicky Thornburn. He said there was an attachment between you."
Julia’s eyes widened, mortification and indignation warring across her face. "We are friends,” she said fiercely. "Nothingmore. I found him agreeable, yes. But Ineverbetrayed my marriage vows."
Her words rang with conviction. But still, I recalled the way she and Nicky had looked at each other. Friendship? Perhaps. But friendship does not burn quite so brightly in the eyes.
"And yet," I said delicately, "after years of marriage, you are now increasing.”
Color crept up Julia’s neck. "It is a miracle," she whispered. "A miracle I never thought I’d know. Think what you will, Rosalynd, but trust me. This child I carry is my husband’s."
Trust. Such a simple word. Such a heavy burden.
I squeezed her trembling hands. "Charles believes what he wants to believe. But we …” I steadied my voice. "We will uncover the truth."
She nodded, grateful tears slipping free.
But in my heart, doubts gnawed at the edges. If society turned against Julia, they would turn against Nicky too. And if Inspector Dodson had even an inkling of these rumors …
I came to my feet. "Julia, I must go for a short time. You are to rest. No visitors, no callers."
"There will be callers," she said miserably. "They'll come sniffing for gossip like vultures."
"Let them peck elsewhere. I’ll leave orders. No one is to be admitted."
I rang for her maid, issued strict instructions, and told the butler the same.
Only when I was certain Julia would be kept safe did I allow a footman to hail a hackney.
The drive to Steele House didn’t take long. But even so, my mind churned the whole way.
Upon my arrival, Steele’s butler ushered me into a stately sitting room. Steele did not keep me waiting long. He entered looking immaculate, controlled, and … faintly wary.
"Lady Rosalynd," he said. “I expected a note, but not you in person. Has something happened?"
I rose. "Indeed, it has."
