Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
“You picked his pocket?” Audrey asked, her jaw loose.
“I’ll return it somehow, but I recalled you saying that objects are easier to…see into.” He looked and sounded uncomfortable, but as she realized what he’d done and why, a vise closed around her throat. When she spoke, her voice was raspy.
“How do you know I didn’t convince him to tell me what he knew?”
He propped a brow. “The pair of you looked ready to do battle.”
“Well, it just so happens I learned a great deal from my discussion with him,” she said, and then proceeded to tell Mr. Marsden what she had remembered from her earlier vision.
Proof that St. John was at Jewell House, that Lady Wimbly might be trying to protect his involvement somehow, and that the letter she mentioned could have grave consequences.
“Not proof,” he said after a moment of consideration. “This information isn’t tangible. It’s not proof unless I can hold it in my hand.” He held the pocket watch out a little farther. “Tell me what it shows you.”
The round watch ticked back and forth like a pendulum. Her eyes followed it. Apparently, Mr. Marsden intended to view her as she read the object.
The beating of her heart was unsteady, her arms quivery as she stepped forward to accept the offering.
The warm gold met her fingertips and she inhaled, opening the door to the first memory the object had to show her: her butler’s incensed visage, sneering at Mr. Marsden.
Audrey pushed back, peeling her way through clear images of his ride to Violet House, to the busy refreshments room at the opera, to the lush hallway at the theatre.
This image was a bit foggier, having been layered over with newer ones since.
But all was still visible. St. John, following the tall, proud Lord Ashbrook, his sister Mary on his arm.
Ashbrook, glancing over his shoulder. His dark brown eyes meeting Audrey’s—or rather, St. John’s.
A slight curve of his lips; an assessing sweep of the lord’s figure, from crown to foot before facing forward.
The grainy memories fell apart completely. There was nothing now but black fog. She sighed and her study filled her vision once again.
Mr. Marsden stood with his arms crossed. “Anything?”
She ran her finger over the watch case cover, the etching simple. It appeared to be a clover.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered, uncertain if she should voice her suspicion about Lord Ashbrook. The look he’d given St. John had not been one of friendship, but of lust.
Philip had always said that there were many men like him in London, and the world over.
More than anyone liked to let on. Being attracted to the same sex was like an invisible flag that he carried and only others like him could see.
Philip swore up and down that his great aunt Marta had carried on a love affair with her best friend Lavinia for decades under the guise of two old maids living in the country together. Theirs was not an unusual story either.
Mr. Marsden stepped closer. “What was it?”
She snapped to attention and held the watch back out to him. “I saw things from tonight, at the theatre.”
He accepted it by its chain, then dropped it back into his pocket. “Nothing more?”
“The further back I push in time, the dimmer the images become, I’m afraid.”
He was disappointed; Audrey could see it in the deep breath he gathered before attempting to straighten his cravat. She considered staying silent about Lord Ashbrook. Hugh knew about Philip’s secret now, but it didn’t make speaking about intimacy of any kind more comfortable.
She started out with, “What do you know about Lord Ashbrook?”
Mr. Marsden paced away from her, toward the fireless hearth. “He is the second son of a viscount, but when his elder brother died a few years back in a carriage racing accident, he became heir. Why?”
Audrey nodded. She recalled the carriage accident now. The tragedy had garnered much attention that summer.
“He was with Lord St. John tonight.” She hesitated before adding, haltingly, “Something makes me wonder if perhaps Lords Ashbrook and St. John were…or are…carrying on a liaison?”
He had ambled toward the window, completely obscured by a heavy tapestry drape. He turned, his interest piqued. “What gave you that impression?”
She shrugged, the gown she’d worn that evening growing hot and heavy. “A look in Lord Ashbrook’s eyes. A certain smile he gave St. John.”
Mr. Marsden rubbed his jaw. “If you’re right, another question arises.”
She nodded, knowing where he was heading. “If St. John prefers men to women, then was Miss Lovejoy truly his mistress?”
“He could enjoy both men and women equally, could he not?” he replied, giving her a pointed look. Flustered heat rose to the tips of her ears.
She moved toward a shelf of books to keep from looking at him. “Yes, I suppose.”
A moment of silence ensued. A question was building in his mind; she could sense it through the thick, tense quiet.
“I take it that isn’t the case with the duke?”
She ran her finger along a few of the books’ spines. “It’s how I knew for certain he couldn’t be meeting with Miss Lovejoy.”
Audrey was curious as to what she would see on Mr. Marsden’s expression.
Revulsion? Apprehension? Philip had once, he’d admitted to her, dreamed of acceptance from those he loved, like his brothers Michael and Tobias; but some of their disparaging comments about molly houses and buggery and unnatural acts had made it clear where they would stand on the issue.
However, society had rigid rules that required following. Walking outside the lines of those rules caused people to question your mental ability, your very soul.
Mr. Marsden walked the perimeter of the small study, hands in his pockets, brow furrowed. “He was meeting with another man at Jewell House. Might it have been St. John?”
Audrey had been slowly coming around to that speculation too. Philip had been meeting a man in those rooms, but not knowing who it was had been a kind of protection from the truth. Putting a face to the man was a different feeling altogether.
“I’m sorry if this is difficult for you,” Mr. Marsden said softly.
She turned from the books in time to see his earnest expression. “Thank you.” It was difficult, though perhaps not for the reasons he assumed. The infidelity alone did not injure her as much as Philip’s keeping it a secret from her.
“I could ask Philip,” she offered before anything more could be said.
He shook his head. “I’d rather you not come to Bow Street again.”
Audrey parted her lips to argue that she would go wherever she pleased, but he continued, “We were seen at the Brown Bear together by some other patrolmen, and I’ve been fielding questions about your involvement.” He cleared his throat and rocked back onto his heels a bit. “About our involvement.”
“Oh.” They had been spending more time than was proper together. More questions would surely arise after tonight at the opera, too. She eyed the drapes, thankfully pulled.
“I will speak to His Grace,” Mr. Marsden offered.
“He won’t tell you anything.”
“I might find a way to convince him.” He came toward her, his hands still in his pockets.
A bubbling of apprehension drove her forward, and she met him at the arm of the sofa. “With threats? I won’t allow it.”
He held up his hand. “No threats. You have my word.”
Audrey drew back, uncertain. She trusted him, but how he planned to convince Philip to speak about his deepest, darkest secret, however, mystified her.
“Very well,” she said. “I won’t go to Bow Street. But Mr. Marsden, please, make it clear to him that you discovered it on your own, that I…that I wasn’t the one who revealed…”
Philip wouldn’t believe she would say anything. Would he?
He nodded. “I’ll be clear.”
A few seconds ticked by. It was time for him to leave. There was nothing more to be said, and yet Hugh breathed deeply and asked, “Indulge my curiosity for a moment?”
She shifted back on her heels a little, curious herself at what he might be about to ask. She could say no; bid him goodnight. He would turn to leave, surely. Instead, she nodded.
“Did you know from the outset? His feelings, I mean…before you wed?”
Strange. Audrey had never discussed this with anyone, except Philip, of course. But at this personal question, she felt like opening the door wider rather than slamming it shut.
Her heart beat faster. “Yes.”
Surprise leaked over his expression in the barest twitch of his brow. “The duke saved you from a marriage to Bainbury, and you accepted him as he was.”
Audrey pressed her lips thin, her defenses rising. “It wasn’t as transactional as that. We were already friends.”
At the time, she’d been accused of being a fortune hunter, of breaking a marriage contract to elevate herself in society and wealth.
There were some who believed it had been a love match, and Audrey and Philip had certainly tried to exude that in the first year of marriage.
Standing close, smiling at each other, Philip lavishing her with presents and adoration.
“Yet you knew he would never be able to give you his heart,” Mr. Marsden said. It was a question posed as a comment; something she imagined he did regularly with those he arrested and interrogated at Bow Street.
She stepped past him suddenly regretful she’d been so accommodating. “You know nothing of his heart. Philip loves me, and I love him.”
“Though differently than other married couples.”
“What does that matter? There is nothing stronger than a marriage based on friendship and trust. That requires heart as well, Mr. Marsden.”
Her voice had been steadily rising, and the sudden hush in the study now was startling. She took a breath, trying to calm herself as the officer mulled over her declaration.
He walked toward the door, where she’d thoughtlessly stepped. It seemed her mind had decided she was done with this conversation.