Page 1 of Marriage and Murder
CHAPTER 1
OCTOBER 19, 1840. ALBERMARLE STREET, MAYFAIR.
“Flutter-by, Mama! See?”
Through the thick lenses of her spectacles, Penelope Adair duly studied the black-and-white-and-red butterfly that had captured her elder son’s attention. The insect had perched on a late rose and was flexing its wings. “Butterfly, darling.”
Penelope, Barnaby, and their two sons were indulging in a morning amble in the rear garden of their Albemarle Street home. Hettie, the boys’ principal nursemaid, stood nearby, ready to assist if required, and the family’s black-and-white spaniel, Roger, sniffed and snuffled about the garden beds, thrusting his nose into drifts of brightly colored autumn leaves.
Ferociously focused on the butterfly, Oliver frowned. “No,” he insisted.“Flutter-by.”
Roger came along and jumped up to investigate, and the butterfly obligingly fluttered on to the next bloom.
Observing the insect’s movements, Penelope decided not to argue further; in this case, logic seemed on Oliver’s side. Just then, Pip, doggedly crawling across the thick grass, reached Penelope’s legs, and he clutched her skirts and started haulinghimself to his feet, then lost his grip and fell and rolled onto his back, chortling delightedly.
Penelope grinned at her younger son. He was the happiest child she’d ever come across; every little thing was a source of wonder and happiness to Pip. “There you are, my little man.” She swooped and scooped him up and hoisted him so that his face was level with hers. She blew gently at him, and he shut his eyes and shrieked and wriggled.
With his coat unbuttoned, his hands sunk in his trouser pockets, and a fondly besotted smile on his face, Barnaby watched his wife and sons, the sources of true joy in his life, play in the weak October sunshine. Such moments of quiet domesticity were precious. He caught Penelope’s dark gaze. “I’ll admit I’m amazed that we’ve been able to make your notion of spending an hour or so with the boys every morning into a commitment verging on a habit.”
She readily nodded. “I’m rather astonished, too.” She glanced at the boys, maternal love shining in her eyes. “Then again, the incentive is significant.”
Barnaby grinned. “Nevertheless, your notion was inspired.”
“Luckily, since deciding to put my idea into practice, other than the time we spent on the Sedbury case, we’ve really only had social events to juggle,” Penelope pointed out. “And we can always cancel those if we feel so inclined.”
“Except for our visits to Cothelstone and Haverstone,” he said, referring to their annual summer pilgrimages to catch up with their respective families.
“But that was all time spent with this absorbing pair”—Penelope tickled Pip’s tummy, making him shriek anew—“so those were all extra hours on the right side of our family ledger.” She paused, then added, “And of course, we had Charlie and Claudia’s wedding, but that was just a few days of excitement,although we must make a point of catching up with them when they return from their wedding trip.”
Barnaby nodded. “An unexpected but highly beneficial outcome of the Sedbury case.”
“Indeed.” Penelope settled Pip on her hip, and they turned to watch Oliver playing tug with Roger, who had found a suitable piece of wood. “Yes, well,” she went on, “it’s back to work for me, now.”
Barnaby glanced at her. “I thought you finished your translation for the university.”
“I did! But the History Department have begged—literallybegged—me to assist with two scrolls they’re having no luck deciphering.” She wrinkled her nose. “I have to say, I think it’s going to require more than my expertise to solve their riddle. I might have to call in Jeremy Carling to help.”
The sound of rapid footsteps approaching through the garden parlor had Barnaby turning to see Mostyn, their majordomo, come hurrying out through the open terrace doors.
Penelope saw, too. “What is it, Mostyn?”
Mostyn halted and reported, “Lord Glossup has called, asking to speak with you both. I feel I should mention he seems in something of an agitated state.”
Penelope blinked and shot a faintly incredulous glance at Barnaby. “Henry agitated?”
Barnaby returned an equally surprised look. Henry Glossup was a rather staid, solid sort not given to histrionics much less drama. As Henry had dined at the house on several occasions over the past years, Mostyn was acquainted with the man, and Mostyn’s observation was likely to have some foundation.
“Apparently so.” Barnaby nodded to Hettie, and Penelope handed Pip over.
Hettie secured Pip on her hip, then held out her hand to Oliver. “Come along, Oliver. Let’s see what Cook has for our morning tea.”
Oliver hesitated for only a second before reaching for the offered hand. “Shortbread?”
“I’m not sure,” Hettie replied. Already wise in the ways of little boys, she added, “It might be jam tarts today.”
Unsurprisingly, there were no further questions or resistance from the boys.
Barnaby and Penelope followed Mostyn, Hettie, and the boys inside, with the puppy trotting hopefully at Oliver’s heels.
