The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery L.C. Sharp (i read books .TXT) 📖

sturdy walnut kneehole desk, drawers either side. A pot bristled with pens, and the inkpot was a pewter one. Nothing here was for show.

Best of all, a tin bath draped in white towels steamed by the fire. A large can of hot water stood next to it. Juliana had never seen anything more inviting in her life.

“Would you like me to leave you alone while you bathe?” Amelia asked.

Juliana shook her head. “I’m used to having a maid. Not that you are one, but I do need help getting out of these.” She waved, indicating her borrowed clothes.

Amelia regarded her curiously, her head tilted to one side. “You do?”

Juliana unfastened the first hook on her jacket. “I’m not sure I can manage my stays on my own.”

“Ah.”

But getting out of the jacket proved more difficult than Juliana had imagined. Amelia had to tug on the sleeves, because Juliana’s injuries had stiffened, making the action difficult. Then her stays, made of custom-made red brocade had to be unlaced. Amelia sighed as she unfastened them, a small sound that Juliana noted, but did not comment on. The petticoat and shift were her own, too, finest linen, sliding against her skin like silk.

The shoes were sturdy, having previously belonged to her maid. She rolled the plain stockings down her legs and stood, steadying herself with a hand on the rim of the bath.

Unashamed of her nudity, Juliana slid thankfully into the hot water.

Amelia stared down at her. “Did he do all that to you?”

Juliana turned her head away, ostensibly to find the washcloth. “Yes. I’ll need to wash my hair, too. There’s blood in it.” Godfrey’s blood. The maid had only swabbed her down with cold water to make her respectable. She had not taken time cleaning Juliana properly. But now she could. She let out a long sigh of relief as the hot water began to do its work.

“Ash wants you to sketch my injuries,” she said.

“Do you mind?”

“If it saves me from the gallows, no.” Although she did. Used to displaying her naked body in front of people—her maid, her mantua maker, giving glimpses of herself in undress to the petitioners attending her levees—Juliana felt uncharacteristically shy. She felt as if she had caused those bruises and red marks. Somehow she had been at fault. She knew she had not, but the guilt pervaded her as Amelia found a board and pinned a piece of paper to it, and found a silverpoint pen.

“I could never master silverpoint,” she commented, trying to put her companion at ease, for she sensed Amelia’s disquiet. “My drawing master despaired of me.”

“It gives a finer line,” Amelia said. “I always keep some prepared sheets to hand.”

Dragging a three-legged stool across, she took a seat and balanced the board on her knees. “I won’t draw a likeness, just the shape of your body.”

“As you wish. Do you paint?”

Amelia’s cheeks turned a dull red. “I try. I have a room upstairs that I use. The linseed oil and spirits aren’t good to sleep with.”

“Indeed.” Juliana had no idea, but she was used to making polite conversation. “When I had my portrait taken, Mr. Highmore apologized for the smell, but I barely noticed. He had a very well-ventilated studio.” And he had made the process easy, setting up a flow of inconsequential chatter while he worked. That portrait hung somewhere in the family home. She had not seen it in years.

“I was supposed to have a marriage portrait done, but that has not happened yet. Now it never will.” Once again she tried to mourn for Godfrey. But she felt nothing. He was a brute, but he had also been a man. His mother had loved him. In time Juliana might have tamed him, or if she had not, she could have gone to her father. A pity he had not told her that before her marriage. Then at least she’d have known that she had somewhere to escape.

But only when she was pregnant. She shied away from that topic. If it happened, she would think about it then.

Juliana lay back and breathed deep, savoring her life, celebrating it. Testing it, because soon she might not have one at all. If she kept reminding herself of that, then she would not find standing on the scaffold so utterly terrifying.

The scratching sound of the silverpoint pen on paper reminded her she was not alone. When the water cooled a little, she sat up with a whoosh of water, and picked up the washcloth and the fresh cake of ivory soap that sat in a plain china dish by the side of the tub. She washed herself gently, having so many sore spots she could not avoid them all. And between her legs. When she swept the cloth between her thighs, it came back bloody.

She stared at the cloth, her heart sinking. “Do you think he could have hurt me so badly I might die from it?”

“Oh, my dear!” Amelia cried, putting her board and pen aside. “What did he do?”

To avoid looking at her, Juliana swept the cloth over the same place again. This time only a smear of blood came away. “It’s all right. It’s only a bite that reopened in the water. I think I will recover from that.” Forcing a bright smile, she looked up. A mask without the paint. She would have to practice that.

Amelia did not appear mollified. Her mouth was an O of horror. “He bit you?”

Too late, Juliana recalled who she was talking to. Amelia might be Ash’s sister, but Ash had told her he kept his private life to himself. Amelia would have no experience of this, as innocent as Juliana two days ago. “I’m sure I should not be telling you this.”

Amelia waved her hand and picked up her board again, but her hand shook. “Do not worry. Tell me everything. If you don’t mind, would you turn around so that I can mark where the bruises are on your back?”

Juliana