by Emma Jameson
“Studying.” Ben accepted the cut-crystal glass Ethan handed him. The drink was crisp, sweet, and thankfully double-strength.
“Studying?” Ethan tutted. “What about you, Jack? How did you spend your youth?”
Duggin looked up, expressionless. “Don’t remember.” He turned his attention back to his fingernails.
Ethan didn’t seem offended by his solicitor’s unwillingness to be drawn out. “Lovely to be home again.” He settled into his armchair. “No matter where the tide takes me, Belsham Manor has a place in my heart. When Ju and I were newlyweds, we rarely emerged from the bedroom before noon. Those were halcyon days.”
Ben said nothing. He wasn’t sure Ethan was trying to engage him in conversation. Perhaps he just enjoyed hearing himself talk.
“But all good things must end, eh?” Ethan said, glancing toward the door Lady Victoria had closed behind her. “No disrespect to Ju’s mummy. I hold her in the highest regard, but she fell prey to lies and half-truths, and once she turned against me, Ju was sure to follow.”
Ethan paused, pointedly looking at Ben. He forced out a neutral sound that could be construed as interest.
“Oh, yes,” Ethan said gravely. “The grandmother, you see. Beastly woman. Dredged up my youthful indiscretions and shamelessly exploited them. As for my alleged misdeeds after our nuptials—well. Jack here never married. But you’re a widower, Bones, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“As a former member of humanity’s most populous club, you’ll understand. I never claimed perfection. Who hasn’t forgotten himself and chatted up a fetching bit of stuff? Conviviality is no sin.” Ethan looked to Duggin for agreement, but the man seemed miles away.
“Alas, every time I crossed paths with a member of the fair sex, every time I dared have a bit of discreet fun, it was blown out of proportion and presented to Ju as further proof she’d married a cad. As if a man’s philandering ever has anything to do with his wife.”
A log popped loudly on the fire, attracting Duggin’s interest in a way Ethan apparently could not. The clock on the mantel ticked, and Ben shifted on the sofa, which creaked.
“Are you men or mice?” Ethan boomed. If the parlor had better acoustics, his question would have carried all the way to the Sheared Sheep. “Duggin? Not a word of commiseration? Fine. What about you, Bones? What do you say?”
“Past is past.”
“Quite right. Jack,” Ethan said, loud enough to make the dour man look up. “Behold the mystery of the man before us. When I met him, he was entertaining my wife in the dark of night behind closed doors. Never so much as a sorry. Now he turns up here tonight, when any decent sort would have stayed away to give Ju and me a bit of privacy. Yet he doesn’t push with both hands, does he? No. He comes dressed in rags and speaking in monosyllables. Aims to be underestimated, I think.”
Ben set down his drink and stood up. “On your feet.”
“No, no, no,” Ethan laughed, still in his armchair. “I’m not criticizing you, Bonesy, my lad. I’m admiring your tactics. Take this bloody war. You’ve arranged it to your satisfaction. Most men have an appointment with destiny, but not you. You’re snug in your reserved occupation. Safely out of London, too. All those kiddies and governesses pouring into the country to escape the threat of bombs. And then came Bones, hard on their heels.”
“I don’t see your uniform.” Ben’s face was hot. His heartbeat thudded in his ears.
“No. So surely we might have a civil discussion without fisticuffs?” Ethan grinned at Duggin. The lawyer had finally decided their exchange was more interesting than his manicure—though perhaps only just, if his stone face was any indication.
“I don’t want to fight a man Ju considers worthy,” Ethan said. “Nor can I fault you for being impressed with her worth. The entail’s been kaput for a while, as you no doubt knew. As Ju’s second husband, you’ll be sitting pretty when she inherits Belsham Manor.”
Mention of money threw cold water on Ben’s ire. Accusing him of avoiding the fate of other men his age touched a nerve. Accusing him of a mercenary plot against a friend made him smile.
“You’ve confused your motives for mine, Bolivar. I expect that’s why you’re finally willing to accept the divorce. You know it’s your last chance to squeeze another penny out of Lady Juliet. But not to worry. Before long there’s sure to be any number of lonely widows. One may keep you, if you play your cards right.”
Ethan stood up. Duggin’s expression didn’t change, but he sat up straighter.
“Little man with a pretty face.” Ethan glared down at Ben. “I’ll never let Ju go. This gold mine is claimed. She may be tiresome as a toothache and homely as an old mule—”
Ben punched him in the solar plexus as hard as he could.
Ethan staggered, wheezing. Ben hit him again, square in the jaw. It was like hitting a brick wall. Pain rocketed through his knuckles all the way to his elbow, but the sight of Ethan on the rug, shielding his head to ward off more blows, more than made up for it.
“I think that’s sufficient. You’ve made your point,” Duggin said laconically. He hadn’t risen during the altercation and showed no inclination to get up now that it was over.
“I bwit my tongth,” Ethan moaned. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.
Ben dared a glance at his hand. Had he broken a finger or fractured a knuckle? It looked all right, but every time his heart beat, it throbbed, both red hot and ice cold.
Ethan wiped his mouth and struggled to his knees. “You’re a dark horse, Bonesy,” he said from the floor. “Good God. Wee dogs have the worst bite.”
“You’ve never seen a Doberman go at a man’s throat,” Duggin said.
The drumbeat of pain in his hand made Ben’s eyes water. Before he could surreptitiously swipe them, Lady Juliet and Lady Victoria burst into the parlor. Their presence consigned him to suffering in silence, but for the occasional blink.
“Dr. Bones!” Lady Victoria cried. “What did he do to you?”
“I’m fine,” Ben said, backing away before she could touch his hand.
“I’m the one on my knees,” Ethan said.
“And you’ll stay there if you know what’s good for you.” Lady Juliet loomed over him menacingly. “What’s your role in all this?” she demanded of Duggin.
“Spectator. Hostage. Some combination of the two.”
“What’s wanted is a cooling off period,” Lady Victoria said, latching onto her daughter and pulling her away from Ethan. “Mr. Duggin, I’m sorry to intrude upon your serenity, which is nothing short of remarkable, but would you help your client back into his chair? Thank you.” She turned to Lady Juliet. “Darling, Dr. Bones could surely use a moment to collect himself. Why don’t you accompany him to the library?”
* * *
The library was a part of Belsham Manor that Ben had never seen. Given Lady Juliet’s love of books and reading, he expected a vast space with tall windows, richly carved wood panels, overstuffed armchairs, and green-shaded lamps. But that would have required her ancestor, Sir Thaddeus Linton, to have competently designed such a space. Instead, Belsham Manor’s library turned out to be a windowless room. The walls were crammed with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Near the small hearth was a desk, love seat, and coffee table.
“We’re not really tipplers, so there’s no drinks trolley,” Lady Juliet said as she ushered Ben inside. “However, Mother takes a little brandy now and then, so there’s a decanter hidden behind Silas Marner, which may very well drive one to drink. Shall I pour you a glass?”
“Yes, please,” he said, flexing his right hand. No fractures, no torn ligaments, but it would be sore for days to come.
She handed him a cut-crystal glass filled with amber liquid. “Sit down. How’s your fist?”
“Better than my conscience.”
“What do you mean?” She sat down beside him.
“If Ethan was looking for an excuse not to cooperate, I’ve given it to him, haven�
�t I? He’s probably storming off as I speak.”
“You’re forgetting the blackout. You also don’t know him very well.” Lady Juliet smiled. “Even if the road from the manor to the Sheared Sheep was lit, he wouldn’t storm off. Not before he had his supper, brandy, cigar, and any little objet d’art he can palm when Mother isn’t looking.”
“I hope you’re right. I got the feeling his solicitor will drive a hard bargain. Maybe too hard for you to accept.”
Lady Juliet sighed. “I had the same thought. I’d be a lunatic not to. And I don’t like Mr. Duggin’s eyes. But the truth will emerge soon enough. Now. You simply must tell me—what did Ethan say to provoke you?”
“I don’t know,” Ben lied, wishing he’d formulated a response to this obvious question on the way to the library. “He spouted a lot of rubbish.”
“Of course. Ethan’s all talk. Perhaps literally.” She smiled. “There’s a good chance he has no skeleton and maintains his shape the way a balloon does—with hot air. But what did he say just before you punched him?”
“Oh. Er.” Ben took a sip of brandy. “He insinuated I was a coward. That I took a post in the country because it was safer than London.”
She made a disbelieving noise. “You wouldn’t hit him for that.”
He met her gaze. Her light brown eyes were warm, kind, and easily injured, despite all her polysyllabic rants to the contrary. Under no circumstances would he repeat what her husband had said about her.
“What’s that you’re wearing?” He suddenly became aware of her dress. It was fluttery-sleeved and emerald green, set off by a double strand of onyx beads that fell to her waist.
“This? It’s what I wore to the fête,” she said, referring to an occasion which had ended in disaster. “I’d planned to set it on fire, but Mother said no. I assumed she’d donated it to the less fortunate. Tonight, when I said I had nothing to wear, she brought it out and suggested I try it again—this time without the hat, gloves, earbobs, et cetera. She did away with the belt, too, and loaned me this necklace.”
“Oh. Right. Wise woman, your mother,” Ben said. Lady Juliet had never looked better, and it was a testament to the pain in his hand that it had taken him so long to notice.
“But I won’t let you get away with changing the subject. What did Ethan say, verbatim, to make you strike him?”
“Called me a coward. I told you.”
“I see.” Rising, Lady Juliet made for the door. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll send Dinah to fetch you when we’re called to dinner.”
“Where are you going?”
“To hear the truth straight from the horse’s arse.”
Doing One’s Bit
Juliet found Ethan where she’d left him, sunk low in his fireside chair, legs splayed and arms spilling limply to either side. His tie was undone and a damp flannel had been laid across his brow. In the other leather armchair, Duggin appeared to be napping.
“How is Dr. Bones?” Lady Victoria asked from the sofa. Her tone was serene, but she’d put on her spectacles and brought out her embroidery, a sure sign of distress.
“Never better,” she said. “Enjoying a pre-prandial refreshment as he peruses our literary potpourri.”
Juliet’s unintentionally alliterative reply caused Duggin to open his eyes. His faint, perhaps imaginary, flicker of amusement brought her rage to a boil.
“You. Begone. Now!”
“Juliet!” Lady Victoria cried.
“Forgive my rudeness, Mother, but surely a man who facilitates divorces becomes inured to abuse. I need a word with Mr. Bolivar.”
“Your husband,” Ethan said weakly. “I’m still your husband.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Duggin,” Lady Victoria said, rising. “Might I offer you a tour of Belsham Manor?”
For the first time, the dour man smiled. “Why not? Might come in use if I pass this way again.”
Juliet waited until she heard the pair ascending the stairs. Then she snatched the damp flannel off Ethan’s head and threw it into his lap.
As expected, he jumped out of the chair, brushing the flannel away from his trousers and inspecting them carefully for any blemish. He would have come out of a coma if that’s what it took to rescue his crotch from a mortifying wet spot.
“What did you do to Dr. Bones?” There was no better time for Juliet to demand the truth than when Ethan was psychologically weakened by concern for his appearance.
“I tested him.” Ethan turned toward the fire to dry the dampness. “And rather brilliantly, I might add. If you persist in this course, Ju darling, and actually divorce me, fortune-hunters will come out of the woodwork. I thought perhaps he was the first. So I felt about for weaknesses.”
“Like what?”
“Anything I could think of. His height”—he glanced at her over his shoulder—“or lack thereof. His looks. His clothes. His courage. None of that had much effect, so I floated the notion he was a gold digger. I suggested he’d set his cap at becoming your second husband in pursuit of the estate.”
“And that’s when he hit you.”
“No.” Ethan adjusted his monogrammed gold cufflinks. “Though I think he was on point of ordering me out, or giving me a stern talking-to.” He chuckled. “Finally, I said you were tiresome. Homely as an old shoe—or was it an old nag? No idea. The little blighter bruised my chest and loosened a tooth.” Rubbing his jaw, Ethan turned away from the fire, smiling in a way she’d once found irresistible. “He didn’t care to hear you insulted. If I’d said something worse, I think he might have beaten me black and blue. Which is all to the good. I’d never abandon you to a mercenary suitor.”
His hypocrisy was too breathtaking to ridicule. Juliet folded her arms and sighed.
“Ju. Listen,” Ethan said. “I came to win you back. I made terrible mistakes. It took exile in the wilderness for me to realize what I had in you. But I see I’m too late. And though it pains me, I can find no fault with Bones.”
“You—you—” Juliet spluttered, unable to think of a bad enough word. “You’ve always been a fast talker, but this—this mountain of mendacity—takes the biscuit.”
“Ju. Look at me. Please.”
She did so, glaring, ready to send that loose tooth flying.
He reached into his inner coat pocket and took out a fountain pen. “Bring me the papers.”
* * *
Juliet would have gone to the library to collect Ben, but she was too excited by the prospect of Ethan signing to delay his action even a moment. Rushing into her bedroom, she opened her lockbox, seized the divorce petition, and raced back to the parlor. To her relief, Ethan was still there, pen in hand.
“You should know, I have various copies hidden away,” she said, spreading the papers across the coffee table. “So melodramatic gestures, like ripping it to shreds or tossing it into the fire, will avail you nothing.”
“You do think of everything.” Chuckling, Ethan sat, held the first page at arms’ length, and struggled to read it in the soft light. Then he sighed, brought out a pair of spectacles, and reluctantly put them on. “It’s come to this. No sooner did I pass forty than the indignities began.”
Ethan read the first section, the declaration that Juliet would retain the entirety of the Linton estate, both her small personal holdings and the larger one to be inherited from Lady Victoria.
He signed.
Ethan read the second section, the distribution of their assets acquired during marriage. They were few—two paintings, a sculpture, and some jewelry—and Juliet had directed he receive them all, to keep or sell as he saw fit.
He signed.
Ethan read the third section, the petition for the dissolution of their union. It was based on proof of adultery between him and Helen Parr, a secretary from Plymouth whom Juliet had briefly counted as a friend. The King’s Proctor had already examined the evidence, provided by the private detective Grandmother Ellisson had hired. Juliet would have preferred to take those humiliating deta
ils to her grave, but divorce was an adversarial process. It was either prove adultery or prove abuse, and Ethan had never raised a hand to her. As it was, the King’s Proctor might reopen the case to ensure there’d been no collusion between them. Husbands and wives who came together to manufacture the appearance of an affair were guilty of seeking a divorce based on mutual incompatibility, and that was against the law.
He lingered over the page, rolling his handsome gold-accented pen between thumb and forefinger.
“Helen,” he murmured. “Nice girl. Bit flighty. Have you spoken to her lately?”
“No,” Juliet said, calling on heretofore unimagined reserves of self-control to keep her answer to that one word.
“And we’re back where we began,” Lady Victoria said loudly from just outside the door. Then she swept in, smiling determinedly, with Duggin at her side.
Ethan looked up. “Hallo, Lady Victoria. Jack—you nearly missed the big moment.”
Duggin shrugged. Drifting to Ethan’s side, he merely stood there, reexamining his manicure.
“Never let it be said I didn’t invite your solicitor to read the agreements,” Juliet said nervously. Something was wrong, but she didn’t know what.
“He’s witnessing this momentous occasion. That’s sufficient.” And with that, Ethan put pen to paper, adding his sprawling signature to the decree.
“There we are,” he said, capping the pen. “Done and dusted. Surely it’s time for dinner. Someone dig up Bones. Ha! I’m so famished, I’m speaking in puns.”
* * *
After Juliet locked the papers in the library safe and told Ben the news, stammering over the words in her jubilation, she sat down to dinner, which she experienced in a sort of happy delirium. She let Dinah, who was serving at table for the first time, give her a portion of each dish: consommé de Volaille, poached mackerel, canard à l'Orange, braised onions, and stuffed marrow. As the meal progressed, Juliet chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with Côtes-du-Rhône, tasting nothing but the prospect of her own freedom.
