her hand to her face, just to make sure she was still in possession of one, as it’d suddenly gone quite numb. “That can’t be all,” she fretted. “How did Mr. Francesco know to bring you the paper, does it mention our marriage?”
His features became ever more grim. “Thankfully, no.”
“Then…”
He produced the paper and folded it so she could see. “Your portrait, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear God.” She looked down at the likeness, touched by a cold, cold horror. “What a rude sketch! It doesn’t even look like me.”
“Not perfectly, but enough that Francesco stitched it together.”
“What am I going to do?” she cried, unable to stop the words she didn’t want to read from jumping out at her. “They’ve made me out to be a villainess. They’ve all but made the adjudicator’s case for him.”
“We’re prepared for this,” he said, attempting to calm her. “However, I think it’s best we go home.”
“But…I’m supposed to go to the Duchess of Trenwyth’s Ladies’ Aid Society gathering with Farah today.” She looked down at her plate of cooling pasta disconsolately. She wasn’t finished, but she’d lost her appetite.
“I’d rather you didn’t.” He gave his lips and hands one last wipe with his linen before tossing it on the table. “The damned vulture who wrote this, and any other press, will be looking for you. It’s best you stay out of the public eye for a bit, until we get this sorted.”
“I see the logic in that,” she said, her insides twisting with desperation. “Wouldn’t that prove the journalist’s point? I’ll be hiding in disgrace. I’ll look guilty.”
Beyond that, she couldn’t go back to the way it was before, back to only having their quiet staff and dust motes for company. Back to sheer silence and distance from the one man who’d begun to mean so much to her. “How close is this to getting sorted, would you say?”
She’d avoided pressing him about it too much. The past several almost carefree, passionate nights had heralded a new epoch in their relationship, and she’d convinced herself that he’d all but forgotten about his suspicion. That he believed she didn’t have blood on her hands.
That he was looking to exonerate her.
His face became a cool mask of careful emptiness. “I’ve a church full of suspects in Sutherland’s case, and we’re working through them as fast as we are able, starting with those closest at the time of the murder. Lord and Lady Woodhaven, your father, the Vicar, and spreading out from there. I’m even looking at Adrian McKendrick, the new Earl of Sutherland.”
She nodded, scanning the paper again and again. “What about Father?”
“My searches of your father’s warehouses and interests have borne some rather rotten fruit, I’m afraid,” he admitted reluctantly, examining her for a reaction. “I’ve found registers of shipments from ports where the plant is believed to be indigenous. Shipments that bear Sutherland’s name and signature. This intimates that your fiancé might have been in league with your father…and if that’s the case, we’ll need to add the Commissioner to the very short list of lead suspects in his murder.”
“What?” She jerked entirely upright, dropping the paper into her food. “George wasn’t a businessman, he thought trade and shipping were, frankly, beneath him.”
“And so he certainly did,” he agreed. “But impoverished nobility are being forced to consider all manner of desperate means whereby to buttress their dwindling fortunes. Could Sutherland have been one of them?”
Stymied, she shook her head. “I never thought to ask. But I had reason to believe he was after my dowry when I heard that he’d several illegitimate children to support.”
“Disgraceful bastard,” he said beneath his breath.
She knew they shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but she couldn’t bring herself to disagree.
Do you really think he and my father were…dear God. This just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?” With trembling hands, she rescued the paper from her plate, and stared down at the words that damned her, possibly for the rest of her life. “How did they get this information?”
He shook his head. “I thought we’d plugged all possible leaks,” he muttered. “The reverend, perhaps? He’d a jolt of conscience?”
“I suppose…but it’s unlikely. Like you, my family have been patrons for years. He christened us all. What about anyone at the Yard? The judge? The registrar who married us?”
He made a fervent gesture in the negative. “I called in a bevy of favors that you wouldn’t believe if I told you,” he said. “They all knew that hellfire would be