by L. C. Sharp
“Since the room is full to bursting, ‘little’ is an elegant understatement.”
He spoke quietly to Newcastle. “Your grace, breakfast at our house will be at noon. You are always welcome.”
The duke nodded. “Much appreciated. I’ll be there.”
As Ash led her on to the dance floor for the next country-dance, he murmured, “We may have learned more tonight. I’ve asked people to dinner tomorrow to discuss it.”
He could say no more, as this dance involved changing partners. Juliana had rarely seen a country-dance executed with such punctiliousness. She went through the paces, startled, six partners on, to discover she was dancing with the Duke of Abercorn.
This evening the duke was at his most magnificent. From the top of his white-powdered wig to the toes of the highly polished black evening shoes decorated with what she suspected were real diamond buckles, Abercorn was the epitome of the fashionable gentleman. He would never fail to stand out, even here, in a room packed with the wealthy and the privileged.
He smiled at her, chin up, eyes gleaming. “Enjoying yourself?”
“More than I can ever remember at a formal gathering.”
They had to turn and then face each other again. “I’m glad,” he said simply. “You deserve it.”
Unsettled by his uncharacteristically personal remark, she met his eyes as they performed a turn. “I didn’t know you’d noticed me before.”
“I noticed you,” he murmured. “And wondered. Now I know more, I regret not courting you myself.”
They had to move apart, then, but she was still puzzling over his remarks when she met her husband again. “Abercorn looks well.”
“Yes. Complete to a shade, is he not? Puts me to shame.” He didn’t sound as if he cared about that.
“You could do that if you wanted to.”
“What, a yellow diamond as big as a pigeon’s egg on my finger? I’d rather not. It would get in the way. And I’ve never been able to carry off pink convincingly.”
“It’s only his waistcoat, and I’d call it blush.”
The dance ended and he led her off the floor. “Oho, are we standing up for him?”
“Somewhat.” She dismissed the duke with an airy wave of her hand.
“Should I be jealous?”
“Of what?”
“Of all the men here suddenly realizing what a gem they missed when they did not court you.” He turned away from the throng and shot her a look she could only describe as passionate.
Startled, she said, “Abercorn was only joking.”
He smiled. “He’s not the only one to say that tonight, and I don’t think he was entirely in jest.” He glanced around the room. “And I entirely agree with them. I’m very lucky to have you.”
Chapter Twelve
Juliana awoke remarkably refreshed the next day. No dreams. She had never enjoyed a society ball as much as she had last night. She had not joined her husband, but then, she’d fallen into bed tired out, so she didn’t know whether he’d come into her room or not. The door between their rooms remained unlocked. There was no need to lock it now.
Sitting up, she reached for the handbell and rang for her maid. Girard informed her that Ash was out, but he planned to return for breakfast. Slightly put out that he hadn’t told her where he was going or what he was doing, she started her day. She would take the fresh air with Amelia instead, and they would talk about the ball.
After taking a walk around the copious space that was Lincoln’s Inn Fields with Amelia and her maid in tow, she was ready for a hearty breakfast.
Entering the house, they found a hall full of flowers. Nosegays, bouquets and single, exquisite blooms met Juliana’s amused gaze. She did not imagine they could be for her, but Freeman came forward with a pretty bouquet of pink roses and greenery. “From the Duke of Abercorn, with his compliments,” he said. “The duke is in the breakfast room.”
The odor of freshly fried bacon drifted up from below stairs, and her mouth watered.
Ah. Of course the duke was here. Had he got wind that Newcastle planned to drop in today?
Handing the flowers back to Freeman, she left orders for them to be put in a vase. “And the others?”
“Some more for you, my lady, but most of them for Miss Amelia.”
“Me?” Amelia said.
“I told you.” That pleased Juliana more than she could say. Amelia had attended balls at Newcastle House before, but she had not attracted much attention, or so she’d just told Juliana. “If there are any gifts, I would like to see them first.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Not because she wanted to control Amelia, but gifts that were too costly would have to be returned. Anything too particular. Amelia might not know that.
She remembered receiving a diamond collarette from the man who was to become her first husband, and how her mother had insisted she kept it. That was when she suspected Godfrey might be more than a suitor. A few days later, she was informed that she was to marry him.
After she married Ash, she gave the collarette to an orphanage to sell to raise funds. Even touching it made her feel dirty.
After she’d removed her hat and gloves, and gone upstairs to wash her hands, Juliana went down to the large, airy room they used on the ground floor as a breakfast room. The room looked over the gardens, and it was pleasant even in winter. Unfortunately, a fine drizzle had set up since she came back in, and the view was decidedly misty.
She paused as the gentlemen rose. One person she was not sure was a gentleman: Cutty Jack stood across the table from the Duke of Newcastle, with the Duke of Abercorn next to him.
Newcastle, resplendent in full-bottomed wig and dark red cloth coat, Abercorn with his just as rich but more fashionable dark blue velvet, and then Cutty Jack. Jack was almost respectable today, clean, hair tied neatly back, wearing a rust-colored cloth coat and black waistcoat and breeches. His linen was white.
After a quick, disbelieving glance, she turned her attention to her husband, who had helpfully pulled a chair out for her. His face was bland, completely devoid of expression, except for a wicked twinkle in his eyes. He’d enjoyed her shock. She should find a way to serve him right back. She sat, and he dropped a kiss on top of her head.
While she was still absorbing his actions, he went to the sideboard to load a plate for her. The others had plates of food already, so she gestured for them to continue.
Juliana didn’t know where to look. Ash had never, ever shown her affection when someone else was present. He rarely did it in private. Was it to demonstrate their intimacy to those present?
Life was getting complicated.
They set to eating.
Newcastle and Cutty Jack were in close conversation. “I’m a businessman, me lord your grace,” Jack said, without taking a breath.
“Interesting. Do you employ anyone?”
“A few, your grace. When I need ’em.” No cant either. So Jack could speak plain English when he wanted to. No words she had to guess at, or ask Ash about later. “Nowhere near what you do.”
“I presume so.” The duke graciously inclined his head. “I enjoy meeting people, especially those we serve in government.”
“It’s part of your success,” Ash remarked between mouthfuls of pork chop. For a lean man he could put considerable amounts of food away when he put his mind to it. “You’re exceedingly generous, sir. People love you.”
Newcastle gave an undignified snort. “Not all do, I assure you. But the work is fulfilling. You should consider it, Edmund.”
Ash laughed. “Me? I doubt people would follow me.”
“Yer wrong,” Jack muttered. “You’ve got that kind of feel about you.”
Ash and the dukes turned to stare at Jack. Abercorn broke the frozen silence. “He’s right, you know. But I’ve seen you hide yourself in
plain sight, as well. Nobody gives you a second look if you don’t want them to.”
Juliana recalled when he’d helped her escape from her house when the mob had put it under siege. They’d walked away right under the noses of the furious crowd, intent on meting their own sentence of death on her. She’d been numb, shocked, uncaring whether they killed her or not, but Ash had insisted she escape.
“We are getting off the point,” Ash said, putting his knife and fork down and leaning back. “Stanton.”
“Lady Catherine mentioned the name last night.”
“In connection with the Coddingtons.” He sent a telling glance to Newcastle. “That is the news we have, sir. A new name.”
“Rumors can have a single source,” said Abercorn. “Which makes them one rumor, not several.”
Ash nodded. “True. That is something we have to ascertain.”
“There are a lot of Stantons in London,” Amelia observed. “Stanton,” she said thoughtfully. “I was not introduced to anyone by that name last night.”
“You did not dance with him?” Ash said with a smile. “You danced with everyone else last night.”
She bridled. “Do you object?”
“Not in the least. You enjoyed yourself, and you provided a source of gossip. It loosens tongues,” he added. “And gave me the opportunity to correct their assumptions about us. Many complimented me on my choice of wife, and asked me to pass on their best wishes.”
Society had decided not to ostracize her. “Oh!”
“Oh,” he mocked, not unkindly. “But no Stanton. That would be disappointing if we did not have Cutty Jack to rescue us.”
All attention turned to him. He finished his mouthful of food before he spoke, prolonging the tension. “Early in the evening Sir Edmund ’ere tipped me the wink to keep an eye out fer a man by the name of Stanton. I ’ave honest work as a link boy, in which I employ lads ’oo might otherwise be thievin’, so I was outside. We kept an eye open.”
His accent was slipping. He sounded more like the Jack Juliana knew now, the one she loved to listen to. When he did remember to use an aitch at the beginning of words, he over-pronounced it, and added it where it wasn’t needed sometimes. “So just afore midnight, a man leaves on foot. One of the livery boys offered to get ’im a cab and called ’im Lord Stanton. ’E said no. So I steps hup and I arsks ’im if he needs a boy to light his way. ’E said yes, so I took ’im home. He lives two streets away from the Coddingtons, and I made sure to take him past their ’ouse. There’s straw outside the door, and the hatchment above it, so I mentioned it to his lordship, casual-like, as if I didn’t know anything.”
The straw to muffle the sounds of passing traffic and the black-draped hatchment informed everyone passing that this was a house in mourning.
He stared wistfully at the sideboard, but then turned back to his story. “’Is lordship told me he knew the family slightly, and ’e was very sorry for the ’orrible murder. I says, ‘Oh, what murder?’ As if I di’n’t keep my eyes and ears open,” he added, scorn coloring his voice. “But I let on I knew nowt. ’E told me the details as if he was there. You know, Lord Coddington lying on his front and all. A robbery gone wrong, he said, but I said I’d ’eard as they were looking for more. ’E said come the inquest, it would all be over an’ the widder can get on with ’er life. That’s all he said.” He added, “Oh, an’ ’e tole me to mind me own business and not to gossip.”
He shrugged and went back to his methodical consumption of food. Everyone else had finished but that did not appear to disconcert Jack.
“The rumor we all heard connected Lady Coddington with Stanton, not his lordship,” Abercorn commented.
“If that’s true, the widow wasn’t as devoted to her husband as she claims.”
Ash sighed. “I thought Jack’s information worth a breakfast.”
“Worth several breakfasts, by the look of it,” Abercorn commented, and Newcastle laughed.
“Let him be,” Ash said. “He’s earned it. I was looking for a connection on the male side. I convinced myself that Coddington must have a disgruntled mistress. Since Coddington was not robbed, jealousy seemed the most probable cause. Then, when I learned of his gambling debts, that factored into my assumptions. But nothing on the distaff side. Still, it is only one of the theories, and I—we—need to investigate all of them.”
The front doorbell clanged, and shortly after, Baynon slid unctuously into the room. The man could move in dead silence without disturbing anyone. “Pardon me, sir, but the person you expected has arrived. He is waiting in the hall.”
“Ah,” Ash said. “The press has arrived. A journalist I wish to speak to.”
It could only be Ransom. If he found Newcastle here with Abercorn and a street urchin, he would have a field day. His fortune would be made.
Newcastle got to his feet. “The press hounds me wherever I go. They could have seen me come in here.”
“For a casual breakfast with a neighbor,” Ash said. “But I doubt this man saw you, and you may leave without him seeing you, if you wish. Your grace, it has been an honor to receive you. My compliments to your duchess.”
Newcastle gave him a nod. “I’m glad to convey them. My interest in this affair consists of being at that ill-fated musicale listening to one of the worst sopranos it has ever been my misfortune to hear, when you brought the news. The press has reported that I was present, and so I must pay attention.”
Anyone who read the accounts of the duke as pompous, standoffish and stupid would not recognize the man who had sat with a notorious rake, a lawyer and a man who earned his living in dubious ways, and listened to them all. But his grace was a consummate politician, aware and awake.
Abercorn also stood. “I also do not wish my name associated with this affair. At least, not yet. I can hear and speak more freely if I am not linked with it. I will remain an interested party, but not an involved one. I’ll do the round of the clubs and coffeehouses in Westminster. You may take the City.” He went to the doors that led to the terrace. “Allow me to show you the most delightful rose tree, your grace. I believe if we go this way we can enjoy it better.”
“Ah,” said Newcastle, brightening. “Charmed.” He bowed to Juliana and left with Abercorn.
Baynon closed the doors quietly behind them. “Do you wish to see the man here, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” Ash said. “Jack, you’re not to speak unless I ask you to. Ransom needs careful handling.”
“Quiet as a mouse, guv’nor.” Jack reapplied himself to his food. Juliana had long since finished hers, and Baynon quietly removed her plate and replenished her tea dish before he left.
After a few minutes, he ushered the journalist into the room.
Dressed neatly, but his coat showing signs of considerable wear, Ransom entered and bowed. Maids followed, clearing up the abandoned places, and set a new one.
“Do help yourself,” Ash said.
“Thank you. You had visitors?”
“My family,” Ash said mendaciously, since Amelia and Gregory had eaten their meal elsewhere.
Jack took the opportunity to refill his plate.
Ash laid his hand over Juliana’s. “How are you holding up?”
“It’s all very interesting.” She would not allow herself to be relegated to the borders of this affair.
“Yes, that’s one word for it.”
“Any news about the murder?” Ransom asked. He sat opposite Ash. Jack settled at the other end of the table.
“Plenty, but I will decide if you need to know it.”
“Oh?”
“The Falcon,” Ash said.
Ransom stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth. He placed the cutlery gently back on his place. “Did you like it? I thought it was inspired. I mean, we have the Raven. What the public needs, thinks I, is balance. Somebody on their si
de. So I thought back then of the name. I went through all the birds of prey, and Falcon seemed to suit you best.”
“I don’t like it,” Ash said flatly.
“Sorry to hear that.” Ransom finished his gesture, and chewed, making himself busy refilling his fork, as if afraid Ash would snatch the plate from under his nose. He swallowed. “But the public does. You wouldn’t believe how many copies of The Daily Ransom I sold this morning. You’re a hero, Sir Edmund.”
“I’m nothing of the kind.” His words were clipped and precise, a sure sign Ash was in a temper. “I merely bring wrongdoers to justice and exonerate the innocent. Justice is the hero here, not I.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“No.”
“I might anyway.”
Juliana saw disaster looming ahead. Before the scene could escalate, she took a hand. “Do you think you could report this case honestly?”
Ransom jerked his head around to stare at her. “I always endeavor to do so. I don’t use sensation where it isn’t warranted. But a little of it is useful when describing a man murdered at a public celebration.”
“That happens once a month at Tyburn,” Ash snapped.
She would not allow him to distract her, even if he was right. “If you could have the story from Sir Edmund’s own lips, would that serve to make you drop the nickname?”
Ransom chewed his second mouthful and swallowed before he answered. “No, ma’am. I can make up what I don’t know if I need to. That name did the trick. I sold more papers today than I have all week. I’ve a living to make and a family to care for.”
“The making up part is the problem,” Juliana said. She knew how keen Ash was on precision and accuracy. “I keep a private journal about these events, you see, but I have nobody to show it to.”
“Ah.” Ransom put down his knife and fork. They hit the delicate china with a clang.
“I think my husband should have his cases chronicled,” she went on. “But in the right way. I have considered publishing the accounts myself.”