Page 78 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
Epilogue
One Year Later
Society Shocked At Sentencing!
Dedicated readers of theWeekly Whisperwill have followed with great eagerness the events of the Morendale Murders. All of England was shocked at the news that Lord Clayton Tidemore and his mother, Lady Thomasin Tidemore, had been arrested for attempted murder. In a twist worthy of Mrs. Radcliff, the murderous pair had in fact been slowly poisoning their cousin and nephew, none other than the Marquess of Morendale. Assisted by a physician, it is rumoured that the previous Lord Morendale’s death from a mysterious affliction was in fact due to this murderous pair.
However, this was not proven. It matters not, as the three accused were today found guilty of attempted murder and sent to a penal colony, after a delay of almost a year.
The Marquess survived and is said to be living a quiet and genteel life in the countryside, and he is said to have been blessed with the first Tidemore heir. He was unreachable for comment on this development.
This author promises faithfully to keep you, my dear readers, abreast of the latest development in the delightfully scandalous Morendale Murders!
Patrina rose to her feet, clapping loudly for silence.
“Come on, everybody! You’re going to scare the baby with all your chatter!”
It didn’t work. Sighing and rolling her eyes, Patrina walked away from the table, leaving her friends and relations to chatter on as they pleased.
It was a warm day, and so they’d set out the tables on the lawn. Over by a spreading oak tree, Cynthia had set out a picnic blanket, and Mr. Stilton sat beside her. Their courtship was very new, and generally not approved by Society, but Cynthia cared for him and he clearly adored her, so Neil had given his full approval.
Agnes and Gillian sat at the table, chattering eagerly with Emma, discussing something about Gillian’s Season.
The baby, the tiny, newborn creature they had all gathered to see, lay in a little crib on the patio, a watchful nurse nearby. Lord and Lady Marshville stood over the crib; arms wound around each other.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Patrina murmured. Her parents turned to face her, smiling. Lady Marshville held out an arm, and Patrina nestled against her.
“Heisbeautiful,” Lady Marshville agreed. “And Arthur is a fine name. You were lucky to be blessed with a healthy son, so soon after your marriage!”
“Luckier still for Neil’s health to improve so rapidly,” Lord Marshville rumbled. His wife shot him a pointed look.
Everybody in Society knew, of course, about the infamous Morendale Murders. There had only been one murder, and that one not quite provable, but somehow Morendale Murders was a little more intriguing.
They hadn’t gone back to London, and Patrina found that she did not miss it. There was more than enough here to keep her occupied. Her baby, for example.
Bending over the crib, Patrina smiled down at Baby Arthur. He beamed gummily up at her, waving his chubby arms around. She reached out, touching her fingertip to the imperfect little circle of his palm. He clung on, tiny fingers curling around her finger.
“Heisbeautiful,” Patrina repeated, allowing herself a smile. “Emma dotes on him, you know. She loves having a grandson. I’m not sure that Cynthia knows what to do with him, but she tries her best. And the birth was better than I expected. I think it’s because I had a very fine physician in attendance.”
“Oh? Mr. Stilton, I assume?” Lady Marshville asked, eyebrows lifting.
“No,” Patrina answered, grinning. “Miss Agatha Simms.”
“Miss Simms? But she isn’t a… she can’t be a physician.”
“Not at the moment,” Patrina shrugged. “But she ought to be. And in the future – well, who knows? Mr. Stilton has the sense to seek her advice on many of his cases.”
Lord and Lady Marshville exchanged glances.
“Well,” Lady Marshville said at last, “the worldischanging. One never knows.”
Baby Arthur began to gurgle, his tone changing as if he were considering starting to wail. In a flash, Emma had left the table and headed towards the patio.
“Is he crying? He might be hungry, or perhaps cold?” Emma asked, seeming to be talking to herself more than anybody else.
“Not to worry,” Patrina laughed, laying a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “I’ll take him. We’re going to search for his papa, aren’t we, Arthur?”
She picked up her baby, and the grousing immediately stopped. Arthur beamed gummily again, pressing his damp little cheek against the side of Patrina’s neck.
