So in the drawing room of Sir Edmund Ashendon’s town residence, Juliana changed her surname and style for the second time that season. A delicate pleasure enveloped her when she said the final “I do.”
Edmund used his birth name of Humiliation. “To ensure the legality of the records,” he informed her. The vicar didn’t turn a hair, so he must have known the family well.
This time there was no formal wedding breakfast, only dinner, to which the vicar was invited. Juliana remained largely silent, but only because the others were chattering so. And, as befitted the lady of the house, she sat at the bottom of the table, ensuring everyone was served properly and had what they needed.
Did she? Have what she needed, that was? Ash’s story should have broken her heart, but it didn’t. That had been broken when her father had married her off to a known roué. That he would then turn around and wed her to a poxed old man hadn’t come as a surprise. After all, he wanted his heir and only she could give him a child that had even a remote chance of seeing the Hawksworth title live on.
Would he consider Ash a suitable son-in-law? Juliana doubted it. And that came as a relief to her, too.
She had returned Ash’s signet ring to him, in return for a new, shiny gold band. No diamonds decorated this circlet, like the one she’d worn until yesterday, as the widow of Lord Urmston. Tucking that one in a pouch, she decided to return it to Godfrey’s family.
She spent most of the evening in the room she shared with Amelia, composing a letter to Godfrey’s parents. He had been a poor excuse for a man, but his parents had loved him. They deserved to know what she had done. Delicately, she said she was sorry that he had died in such terrible circumstances, but she was now absolved from the crime. She assured them she would not rest until she had found the real murderers and brought them to justice.
Going downstairs, she found Ash in his study. She gave him her letter. “I can’t frank it for you,” he reminded her with a smile. “I’ll have it delivered by hand.” Only members of Parliament could have letters sent free, by scrawling their signature across a corner of the letter. Ash was neither a Member of Parliament, nor a peer of the realm, entitled to a seat in the House of Lords.
“Read it. See what you think.”
He scanned her missive. He was still wearing his grand wedding attire, but apart from that, this could be another day like the others she had spent in this house.
Was she really safe? Could she look forward to a future here?
“I’ll write a note of my own, if you will permit. I’ll remind your parents that you are none of their concern any longer. You have given yourself to my guardianship.” He sent her a smile. “Of course I will not coerce you to do anything you don’t wish to do.”
“What if I want to sit in the parlor eating sweetmeats and drinking wine all day?”
The smile broadened. “Then I’ll have a well built, drunk wife. Just don’t break the cherub on the mantelpiece. It was my sister’s pride and joy, that thing. She used to take it to bed with her when we were children, since the girls weren’t allowed dolls.”
“Oh.” She’d wondered about the solitary porcelain figurine, much the worse for wear, but hadn’t liked to ask. So Ash had a sentimental streak, did he? He’d shown no signs of that so far. It must be a part of him that he kept very well hidden.
Her lightness of spirit threatened to overflow into laughter. She was not completely free; until they caught the true killer, she would be forever accused of her husband’s murder—her late husband, that was.
After putting the letters in a drawer and locking it, Ash got to his feet in a smooth move and walked around his desk. “Come. I have something to show you.” He held out his hand.
Juliana looked at his outstretched palm, then at his face. He remained still, waiting.
She put her hand in his. Gently, he closed his fingers over it.
Something had changed in that simple gesture. He had invited her to take his hand, giving her the chance to refuse it. Without her having to tell him, he would not take offense if she refused to take it. Because he understood. Her problem with being touched would not go away soon, but because he waited for her, she was confident that she could trust him to take care with her.
The corner of his mouth lifted before he turned and led her out of the room.
They went upstairs to the main floor, and turned left, in the direction of his bedroom. Juliana tried to breathe regularly, to stop her heart fluttering in her chest. She had not given him permission to do anything else; did he assume she had? Her throat caught in panic, as they approached his bedroom door.
But before they reached it, he stopped and leaned over her, opening the door to a room she had never entered. “Here,” he said. “Would you like to take this room for yourself?”
“Oh.” She stood in the doorway, forcing her panic to subside.
A room for herself? She’d never had one of those before. A room she could shut herself away in, and be totally selfish. She’d had her set of chambers in her parents’ houses, but they had never belonged to her. Someone had arranged her clothes, chosen them for her. They could walk in anytime they chose.
She was looking at a large, canopy bed set against the wall nearest the door, so that she could, if she wanted to, sit up and look out over the garden. Two large sash windows gave her access to it. The room was draped in white, the walls covered
