Juliana laughed. She thought of the fine riding habit now ensconced upstairs in the clothespress. She had quite edged Amelia out of it, a matter she needed to address, but she’d only discovered Wood had taken over the storage areas two days ago. That had to change.
Again, the day was fine, sunshine pouring down on them. On her best behavior, Juliana did not tip her head back today, but she enjoyed the walk, short though it was.
A sense of familiar unfamiliarity seized her as they ascended the steps to the grand front door of Newcastle House. Before they reached it, the door was flung open by unseen hands, and they walked through, the doorway wide enough for them to enter together.
She remembered the house from two years ago. She had stood on the marble-floored hall and ascended the gracious, sweeping staircase before. But not like this. And not at this time of day.
“His grace is expecting you,” the butler said. If his nose lifted any higher, Juliana would be able to see right up his nostrils. “If you will follow the footman, he will escort you to his grace.”
Had she actually accepted that kind of behavior as normal? Being passed from one servant to another, going through the ritual of removing her hat, of passing a tip to the maid who took it, the woman avoiding meeting her eyes, for fear she would be offended.
Yes, yes she had. This had been her existence. She had been the prize in the gilded, jeweled chamber, the treasure at the center of the maze. How glad she was that she had abandoned that life!
She would have her dowry if Ash cleared her of any suspicion of killing her husband. The marriage contract had allowed for an annuity if she became a widow. Which, she supposed, she was.
As a last resort she could apply to her father. He would not allow her to become destitute. He would not dare. It reflected badly on the reputation of the whole family. Perhaps she’d apply to receive both. She wouldn’t mind agreeing to remain out of the public eye in return for a comfortable sum, since she intended to do that anyway.
To be fair, not everyone was like her father. The Duke of Newcastle actually worked with his brother for the country’s good. As well as lining his pockets, of course, but every politician did that. Since they weren’t paid, they were almost expected to. Anyone who won the position of Paymaster General who did not use it to ensure his future was taken for a fool. Or dangerous.
The Duke of Newcastle waited for them in a salon with bone-white walls and elaborate gilded decorations. Portraits hung on the walls, and a large pier glass was hung over the marble fireplace.
He was alone. Why Juliana had expected to meet his wife she wasn’t sure, but her absence emphasized that Juliana was no longer part of the world she had always belonged to. An outcast, in fact.
By the way a muscle in Ash’s arm twitched under her hand before she removed it to make her curtsey, she knew he had noticed. But she took care with her greeting, ensuring she dipped exactly the right amount, and kept her head bowed until she rose, lifting her chin at the last moment to meet his eyes. After a slight hesitation, the duke gave her a cursory bow.
In his midfifties, the Duke of Newcastle was a stately man, still wearing the full-bottomed wig that was fashionable in his youth. He wore a coat of fine red velvet, and a waistcoat embroidered so heavily Juliana could barely see the fabric beneath. His heavy, slightly jowled, long face was punctuated by the distinctive aquiline nose that was a feature of all the members of the Pelham-Holles family.
Juliana remained silent, and let Ash take the lead.
“I appreciate you receiving us today,” he said. “I am delighted to inform you that Lady Uppingham is no longer under suspicion of murder. She did not commit the appalling crime she was accused of.”
The duke spared her a glance. “Indeed,” he said.
“Indeed,” Ash said firmly. “We discovered that both Lord and Lady Uppingham were drugged, by means of the wine delivered to their chamber. At least his lordship would not have known any pain.”
“Why was her ladyship not murdered, then?” the duke demanded.
“To cast guilt on her,” Ash said. “She was a convenient scapegoat.”
The duke paused, and let his gaze wander over Ash, and then Juliana. “Won’t you take a seat,” he said, motioning to a gilded sofa nearby.
Relief swept through Juliana, and finally she could breathe again. How foolish, to assume she would be rejected at the door, or thrown out on her ear. She was acceptable again. While she had no intention of returning to society, she appreciated not having the door slammed in her face.
“My wife is indisposed. She will be sorry to have missed you,” his grace said after sitting in a chair that strongly resembled a throne, with lion’s paw feet and an elaborately carved wooden rail behind his head.
Even better. He had acknowledged that he was at fault, receiving Juliana without a female present. Juliana read society better than most other people. Perhaps better than Ash. “Please convey to her grace our deepest wishes for a full recovery,” she said smoothly.
The duke, too well mannered to comment on Juliana’s new appearance, nevertheless kept shooting glances at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was looking at. She didn’t mind. She expected a few people in her future would do that. Or just stare.
“Thank you,” he said, and turned to Ash.
As always, Ash had a leather folder with him. He untied the ribbons holding it together. “Our visit is about Lady Uppingham’s position. Although she is no longer suspected of his murder, we are still unaware who committed the crime. However, we do have an indication of the motive.”
He had cleverly
