A Murderous Marriage

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “What happened?”

  “They were finally overpowered, charged with treason, and most of the leaders were executed in short order. About forty of them.”

  Her hand flew to her lips. “Owen, that’s horrible.”

  He nodded. “It’s not something most British diplomats are proud of, but it happened all the same.”

  “Did Gil have anything to do with it?”

  “Not directly, as far as I know. They continued in the administration until a year ago and retired, as is their due at their age.”

  “Eva overheard something earlier that makes me worry for Julia’s safety.” She related what Eva had told her. “Could these stem from Gil’s time in Ireland?”

  “Perhaps. Or it could be any number of things. Gil is a businessman and an industrialist, and such men make enemies, unfortunately.”

  Phoebe darted a look at Owen’s fine features. “Have you?”

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. There’s been nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Owen . . .”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Remember, I’m a fair man, and I neither take advantage of those who work for me nor renege on my financial obligations to those I do business with.”

  Admiration filled her, and gratitude that such a man had entered her life. Someday, she thought, she and Owen might marry and build a life together. Most women would call her a fool for postponing that day, but before she became any man’s wife, she wanted to become self-sufficient in her own right. Would Julia ever aspire to a similar goal? She didn’t think so. “I just wish . . .” She shook her head. Wishing would change nothing. Just as pleading with Julia to reconsider her decision to marry Gil had changed nothing.

  Owen brought them to a halt, and they stood facing each other beneath the umbrella. His fingertips grazed her cheek. “I wish I didn’t have to leave tonight.”

  “You need to get back to Yorkshire. You have a business to oversee and your own problems to contend with. Labor union demands can’t simply be dismissed. You’ll have to deal with them. Our family matters will work themselves out.”

  “I know they will. It’s just that . . . I don’t know . . . Something doesn’t feel quite right.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Is it any wonder? This marriage isn’t right. But what’s done is done. Besides, despite recent history, we have no reason to think the past will repeat itself. Surely no one can be that unlucky.”

  She spoke of the three incidents in the past year that had involved murder—one at Foxwood Hall, another at the Haverleigh School for Young Ladies, and, finally, at her cousin Regina’s home of High Head Lodge. With an ironic smile, Owen held her hand with his free one and drew her closer to him beneath the umbrella. Phoebe darted a glance around the park and the esplanade, hoping they would not be observed, then realized she didn’t care. She raised her lips to his and parted them for his kiss. A sense of calm and contentment flowed through her, and when he lifted his face away, she smiled.

  “Despite what I just said, I wish you didn’t have to go, too.”

  He bowed his head again, this time to press his brow to hers. He sighed. “Please don’t go looking for trouble while you’re here.”

  She frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Ha.” He straightened. “As if I needed to explain.”

  “I’ll have you know I never go looking for trouble.” Her attempt to look indignant was halfhearted at best. “For some reason, trouble has a habit of looking for me.”

  “Indeed.” He swung the umbrella to the ground and reached for her again, pulling her close. His lips nudged her chin upward and then covered her mouth, deeply and filled with promise, just as the rain misting their faces and the park around them promised to bring the fresh life of springtime to the island. It wasn’t until the breath left her entirely that he eased away. “We’d best get back to the hotel before someone comes looking for you.”

  * * *

  A muffled knocking yanked Eva from sleep. For a sluggish moment, she forgot where she was, then recognized the lumpy cot beneath her, placed in the dressing room of the hotel room shared by Ladies Phoebe and Amelia. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and reached for the alarm clock she had brought from home. A scrap of moonlight illuminated the dial, which read a quarter to two.

  The knocking continued. With a sense of trepidation and racing speculations, Eva came to her feet, grabbed her wrapper, and swung it about her shoulders as she hurried into the main room. Phoebe and Amelia were awake, as well; Amelia huddled in her bed while Phoebe padded to the door. They had switched on the table lamp between their beds.

  Another pounding was followed by, “Phoebe, let me in.”

  “It’s Julia.” Phoebe reached the door and quickly unlocked it. When she swung it open, Lady Julia rushed inside, brushing past her sister almost as if she didn’t see her.

  Eva crossed the room to her. “My lady, what is it?”

  “Oh, Eva!” Without a word of explanation, Lady Julia fell into Eva’s arms and sobbed against her shoulder.

  “My lady . . .”

  “Julia, what is it?” Lady Phoebe moved behind her sister and stroked her back. “What’s happened?”

  Lady Amelia tossed her covers aside and padded barefoot to them. “Julia, you’re scaring me.”

  Lady Julia trembled against Eva, frightening her, too. She had never seen her like this, had rarely ever seen her as anything but fully in control of her emotions. Which made this all the more alarming.

  “Come, my lady. Let’s sit down and talk about what’s troubling you.” Eva started to guide the others to the sitting area but decided all three of her ladies were so distraught, it might be better to sit where they might offer physical comfort to each other. With her arm around Julia’s shoulders, she walked her to one of the beds, and the other two sisters followed. They surrounded Julia. Amelia reached to hold her hand but pulled back with a gasp.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  A silk scarf encircled Lady Julia’s right palm. Eva lifted her hand to inspect it and saw flecks of blood that had come through the pale yellow fabric. Fury rose up in her, directed at whoever had done this. If that individual, whether the viscount or someone else, had entered the room at that moment, she would have flown at him and most likely clamped her hands around his throat.

  Hysterics would achieve nothing. She drew a breath to contain her ire and spoke as calmly as she could. “My lady, what happened? How did you hurt your hand, and how did you get here?”

  Lady Julia wiped her tears with the back of her uninjured hand, but to little purpose, for they continued to fall, albeit more slowly. “I made the deck steward row me over. He didn’t wonder why. The entire crew knows what happened.”

  “But we don’t, Julia,” Amelia said soothingly. “Please tell us.”

  Lady Julia bowed her head and shook it slowly. “He’s horrid. I cannot live with him.”

  “Gil?” Phoebe ventured.

  “Of course Gil. Who else? We . . . we . . .” She shook her head again. “We argued terribly. He accused me of flirting with the photographer, said that I encouraged him to make advances.”

  Eva’s insides turned cold. Blasted man, that photographer. She had seen his familiarity. Everyone must have seen it—obviously, the viscount had. But to accuse Lady Julia of instigating the man’s behavior . . . and on their wedding night? It was unconscionable.

  “Did you tell him you have no control over another person’s actions?” she asked gently.

  “What do you mean? What actions? The photographer, Mr. Mowbry, merely took pictures. He told me how to stand, where to look—” She broke off, sobbing once more. She buried her face in her palms.

  Phoebe patted her sister’s shoulder. “After Gil accused you, what happened next?”

  “We argued over it for quite some time, with Gil becoming more and more angry. He called me some frightful things—gold digger, for one.” A heavy silence fell as Eva, and no doubt Phoebe and Amelia, remember
ed Julia’s words that morning at the Royal Yacht Squadron. Julia blew out a breath. “Yes, all right. Perhaps it’s true. Perhaps I did marry him for his money. So what? Am I the first woman to do such a thing? It would not have been an empty arrangement. I have—or had—every intention of being a good wife to Gil, of making him happy for as long as . . . well, for the rest of his life.” She treated them all to a defiant look. “I would have given him no cause for complaint.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” Amelia reached over to give Julia a hug.

  “What happened next, my lady? How did you hurt your hand?” Eva held her breath.

  “Gil finally became so fed up, he stormed from the room, and as he did, he stumbled. His shoulder hit a small mirror hanging near the door, and it fell.” Julia paused to dab at her damp cheeks with the back of the scarf around her hand. Phoebe belatedly went to the bed table and brought back a handkerchief. “It shattered, and I cut my hand trying to pick up the pieces. You see, I knew the crew must have heard us. I didn’t want one of the maids coming in and thinking my husband had become violent with me.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t bear the humiliation of anyone thinking he’d begun throwing things or threatening me.”

  Eva wavered between feeling as though her heart were about to break for her lady and wanting to throttle Lord Annondale. She needed the answer to one question. “Did he, my lady? Did he become violent or threaten you?”

  Her relief came in a great wave as Lady Julia shook her head. “He did not, at least not physically. But he made his anger and his distrust perfectly clear to me. So clear, I don’t know how I can ever bear to be in the same room with him again.”

  Phoebe caught Eva’s gaze, and Eva saw her own anger mirrored in her eyes, and a sobering lack of surprise. They had both known that Lady Julia and the viscount were not compatible, that they would never suit each other once the initial glow of the wedding had faded. But surely neither of them had expected reality to sink in this soon.

  “Then end it, Julia,” Phoebe said quietly. “You can have the marriage annulled.”

  “And come home,” Amelia put in longingly.

  But Julia was already shaking her head. “There can’t be an annulment. You see, we argued after we . . .”

  “After you what?” Amelia asked and then contracted her mouth into a little ball of understanding.

  Eva’s heart sank to her very toes. The marriage had been consummated, which meant if Lady Julia chose to leave him, there must be a divorce. And the Renshaw name would be dragged through the gossip rags. Not to mention that, even though there had been only the one time, there could be a child.

  What a disaster.

  Judging by her grim expression, Phoebe thought so, too. “Perhaps Grampapa can intervene in some way.”

  “How?” Julia gave one adamant shake of her head, which quashed that notion. “No, Grampapa must not be involved in my mistake. His health . . .” She trailed off, and Phoebe and Amelia nodded sadly in agreement.

  “Then what will you do, my lady?” Eva purposely kept her dismay and heartache from revealing themselves in her voice. Without the possibility of an annulment, and with Julia’s refusal to allow her grandfather to become involved, her choices were few. What she needed now was support in making her decisions, not a display of emotion.

  “What will I do?” Julia repeated in a murmur. With the handkerchief, she wiped the last of her tears away and let out a long, shuddering sigh. “There is only one thing to do. I made my bed. I must return and lie in it.”

  “No, Julia,” Amelia said urgently. “You can’t.”

  Julia slid off the bed and straightened to full height. “I don’t know why I came here. A moment of cowardice, I suppose.”

  “Julia, don’t,” Amelia continued to plead.

  Phoebe remained silent, her head bowed, her brows knit.

  Eva came to her feet. “Shall I go with you, my lady?”

  Amelia let loose a sob, and Julia bent to give her a hug. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you, darling. You mustn’t worry about me. Married people argue all the time. Not usually on their wedding night, mind you.” She made an attempt at laughter, which came out brittle and stilted. “But it will be all right. We’ll sack Mr. Mowbry, though I’ll be happy to give him a good reference for his next engagement, as long as I can manage to do so on the sly, without Gil knowing.” She kissed Amelia before releasing her and straightening. Turning to Eva, she shook her head. “No, I’ll go back alone. I . . . actually told the steward to wait.” She studied her feet. “I knew all along I had no choice but to return. I just needed to . . .”

  She surprised Eva by tossing her arms around her and burying her face in Eva’s neck. Eva embraced her in return, patted her back, and whispered assurances that if anyone could make a success of even the darkest of circumstances, Lady Julia could. She only wished she could believe her own words.

  Lady Julia dabbed her eyes a final time. All the while, Phoebe had looked on silently, her face nearly expressionless. Now she said, “Men get over their jealousies. Gil will get over this, and everything will be all right.”

  “Indeed. Thank you, Phoebe.”

  But as Julia and Phoebe exchanged glances, Eva saw the pain on Phoebe’s features, the hurt in her eyes. And on Julia’s features, she witnessed a flash of guilt, which vanished with a final, audible breath and a squaring of her shoulders. Not for the first time, Eva silently begged to know why these two young women couldn’t breach the barriers between them and simply be sisters, and enjoy the comfort and strength and love that sisters should be able to afford each other. The answer had always eluded her, and she shook her head at her own inability to help them.

  “Not a word of this to Grams and Grampapa,” Lady Julia admonished her sisters, who nodded.

  After exchanging her wrapper for an overcoat, Eva walked her out of the hotel and to the water’s edge, where the skiff waited beside a short pier. The seas had calmed since that afternoon, and Eva needn’t worry about Lady Julia’s safety on the return trip. The man at the oars, the deck steward, seemed inordinately relieved to see her. He handed her into the boat, untied the small craft, and dipped the oars quietly into the blackened waters of the Solent.

  CHAPTER 5

  Phoebe tiptoed across the hotel room, being careful not to wake Amelia as she opened the door into the dressing room. She found Eva already up and dressed.

  Eva regarded her with evident surprise. “Why are you up so early, especially after such a late night?”

  “Quickly, help me dress, Eva, and then you and I are going out to the Georgiana. I can’t let Julia set sail without checking on her this morning. She and Gil should already be up, since they’re planning to leave early. If we hurry, we can go and be back before Amelia and everyone else is awake.”

  Not a quarter hour later, she and Eva squeezed into the rear seat of the small runabout she was able to hire at the Royal Yacht Squadron. The sleek, open boat with its glossy finish and outboard motor made short work of the distance to the Georgiana. When they arrived, a member of the crew met them and helped them board. Phoebe immediately realized something was wrong by the man’s brisk manner and refusal to meet her eye.

  He led them into the saloon and left them. All traces of the wedding had been cleared away. The aroma of coffee drifted from the dining room. Moments later, Julia hurried in to greet them, yet she dispensed entirely with civilities.

  “Gil is missing,” she said. Phoebe noticed at once that the silk scarf Julia had worn around her hand last night had been replaced with a proper bandage.

  She exchanged a puzzled glance with Eva. “What do you mean, missing?”

  “He never came to bed last night, and we’ve searched the boat for him.” Julia gestured wildly with her bandaged hand. “I thought he merely chose to spend the night elsewhere than with me, but this morning he’s nowhere to be found.”

  “Maybe he went ashore,” Phoebe ventured, “as you did.”

  “That’s not possible, unles
s he summoned a boat from shore to come and get him. No one here brought him, and none of the small boats are missing. We wired the yacht club just in case, and he hasn’t been seen there. I can’t imagine where else he would go.”

  “He was angry last night,” Phoebe said. “Perhaps he did arrange to be picked up and doesn’t wish to be found yet.”

  Julia let out an impatient sigh, but rather than comment on Phoebe’s suggestion, she motioned for them to follow her into the dining room. “Have you eaten?”

  The smaller tables were gone, leaving only the dining table and chairs. Phoebe’s stomach rumbled in response to Julia’s question. A light repast of scones and fruit had been laid out on a sideboard. Phoebe and Eva helped themselves, poured coffee, and joined Julia at the table. At least Phoebe did. Eva remained standing, holding her cup and plate.

  “Shall I go below, my lady? Perhaps see if I can assist Hetta with anything?”

  “Don’t be silly, Eva.” Julia waved a hand dismissively. “Sit. Eat. I’m glad you both came. I’ve . . . Well . . . there’s no one here I can talk to. Hetta’s a dear, of course, but you know how her English is.”

  Julia’s admission warmed Phoebe as nothing else had during her time in Cowes—except, perhaps, Owen’s parting kiss last night.

  “My lady,” Eva said after a sip of coffee, “is the crew sure the viscount didn’t fall overboard?”

  A look of alarm entered Julia’s eyes, but then she shook her head. “Gil is too experienced a yachtsman to have fallen overboard from an anchored vessel in relatively calm waters. Even with his prosthetic leg,” she added, as if either Eva or Phoebe was going to suggest otherwise.

  “That’s quite right, my lady. The viscount could not have gone overboard. Not without being pushed.” Miss Blair, in a sleek-fitting velvet ensemble of midnight black and scarlet red, pushed through the pantry door. “Ah, I’d heard we had visitors.” She offered a differential nod to Phoebe, then frowned as she noticed Eva sitting at the table. Phoebe tensed to defend Eva’s presence in the dining room, but Miss Blair gave an infinitesimal shrug.

  “How dare you say such a thing, even in jest?” Julia chided her.