Then Comes Murder

Within the Orchard (part one)

Children threw handfuls of petals, the staff at Leverett Hall wiped their eyes, and the frail duchess smiled. The duke, notably, was not present, but after his performance the evening previous, no one seemed sorry for his absence. The room filled with laughter and smiles as the wedded couple signed their names in the parish registrar. And as they exited the church's doors, arm in arm, the heavens opened up and showered the world in summer rain.

A murmuring of disappointment trickled through the crowd, huddled in the chapel's narrow entrance, and none was more furious with the Heavenly Father than was Lady Leighton who bemoaned the timing of the weather loudly. But Nora saw her cousin's face and, for a moment, no longer worried that Caroline would be unhappy.

Wet with the storm, Caroline's hair turned dark gold. Her eyes were bright. George shed off his coat to shelter her, but she pushed it away and cupped his rain-sleek face in her hand. His serious demeanor washed away slowly, and in the greatest break from tradition, in full view of the world, the soaked newlyweds kissed in a laughing embrace.

As the guests returned to the manor, the rain continued in a stubborn downpour that had forced the servants to frantically move the garden refreshments into Leverett Hall. No one seemed to mind the change in location: the breakfast was a bit wet, but the guests had managed to keep mostly dry. They were, of course, more excited for the evening.

With the ceremony now passed, the conversation had returned to what the Duke of Ashurst might say over dinner. The ballroom, to where the tables of hot rolls and eggs had been relocated, buzzed with the topic. Everyone, even the sarcastic Ian Maxwell, seemed genuinely intrigued by what secrets the duke might continue to reveal. That was, at least, when Caroline or George were not near enough to hear the whispers; Jacob, though present for the ceremony, had disappeared and was in no danger of hearing the gossip; and Charlie, it seemed, was too sad or too far in his cups to stay standing, much less overhear what the party had to say. So it was just Nora, who was always somehow overlooked, who listened to each and every word with growing discomfort.

"Criminals and cowards. His own sons!" Amelia Osborne laughed nervously. "Whatever could he mean by that?"

"Do you truly not know?" Maxwell asked with a sardonic chuckle.

"Well, I imagine the coward comment was for poor Charlie," Amelia said. "He's never really been like his brothers, has he?"

"Charlie's no sportsman, but he isn't a coward," Marcus countered.

"Isn't he?" Maxwell asked. His drawling voice was cut with sharp humor. "He could have challenged his brother for Caroline, and he watched him steal her away."

"Charlie is too young for marriage," Margaret said dismissively. "And, by Jove, Ian, if bravery is measured by dueling over every grievance between siblings, then England would have no brothers left. The good Lord knows I'd have shot mine years ago. "

"Margaret!" Marcus laughed. For a moment, it diffused the speculative gossip.

Ian Maxwell, however, was quick to return to the subject. "The criminal comment, of course, was for Jacob," he said. His eyes met Nora's for a moment.

Margaret scoffed and patted Nora's hand. "Jacob is practically a war hero," she said. "It was tragic that his superior officer died, but from all accounts, Jacob went beyond the call of duty in attempt to rescue the man."

Caught between Margaret and Maxwell, Nora felt like the bit of rope two dogs might fight over. Both of them seemed determined to paint the man in their own colors and to have Nora see him through their eyes. Normally, Nora would have imagined that the truth lay somewhere between. Normally, she would have internally dismissed the argument and started daydreaming about the medicinal plants of Western Europe or made an excuse to slip away. It was strange, then, that she was growing more and more curious about the pieces of the man.