“You said unless there was a good reason,” Hayward turned back to the solicitor. “What would be the reason?”
“Adultery,” the solicitor said with a nod. “If it can be proved a gentleman was disloyal to his wife, then that can often produce a divorce.”
Phoebe shifted in her seat. She didn’t think Graham had ever been disloyal to her, partly because he had never had much interest in that side of life to begin with. He would always much rather hurt her than be intimate with her.
“You say that like it isn’t a certainty,” the Marquess of Dodge spoke up, shaking his head in disbelief.
“It’s not,” Mr Preston said, looking between them all. “I am afraid I have seen many divorces settled if a woman is unfaithful, a man seems to somehow withstand the slight to his character. Often in the court it must be proven that the husband is physically cruel to the wife as well.Thatis a certain way to obtain the divorce.”
“Physically cruel?” Phoebe asked, moving to the edge of the chair again.
“I think you have your way to obtain a separation sorted,” Hayward said. Phoebe snapped her gaze toward him, fearful of what he was suggesting. It meant possibly going up in court to talk of all the different ways that Graham had hurt her over the years. She would have to talk about those moments, to a room full of men, who might well sympathize with a man who tried to keep his wife under control.
“Did he abuse you, my Lady?” Mr Preston asked with a gentleness to his words.
She nodded, unable to admit it aloud.
“Is that enough?” Hayward asked.
“To be honest, not always. If we can add witness testimonies to seeing bruises, proof of the abuse, then we are getting somewhere,” the solicitor said.
“Then you can have my testimony. I’ve seen the bruises,” Hayward said confidently. Phoebe snapped her head toward him, startled he was so ready to stand up in court for her.
“You can add mine too,” the Marquess said, making Phoebe look back to him too.
“My Lady?” Mr Preston asked, gesturing to her. “Do you bear any bruises now? Then I can claim I have seen them as well.”
With shaky fingers, she lifted a hand to the cravat around her throat and pulled down the material for him to see the bruise.
“Will this do?” she asked, knowing the bruise was still not recovered. What had been purple and blue before was now yellowing, but the finger marks were still plain to see around her throat. The solicitor nodded with widened eyes, looking as afraid as Phoebe had felt the night that Graham had grabbed her.
* * *
“Where is the carriage?” Phoebe said with worry as they stepped out of the solicitor’s office.
“It is just a few minutes’ walk down the street, the driver will have had to pull up at the end,” Hayward said, gesturing down the road. He appeared as unsettled as she was.
They had left the Marquess behind to discuss the particulars of the money, whilst Hayward insisted on returning Phoebe home as soon as possible.
“I cannot believe you may have to stand up in court to prove something like abuse,” Hayward muttered as she hurried along beside him. “What is wrong with this world? It’s been born backwards!”
Phoebe could see his anger was raging, but her mind was being drawn elsewhere, to the people around them as they walked to the end of the road. It was growing dark, and she did not miss the way a couple of people were looking their way. She adjusted the hat on her head, nervous of her true face being seen.
“Is it not maddening?” Hayward asked, glancing back at her before walking ahead again.
“Of course, it is,” she said, hurrying alongside of him. “But if it obtains the separation –”
“I pray to God that your husband sees sense and agrees to a separation so that it may never come to the courts,” Hayward said, now so angry that his face was turning red.
“I pray for that too,” Phoebe said as she grew aware of footsteps behind them. In the darkness, she looked back, seeing a shadowy figure that was now pursuing them. “Your Grace?”
“I cannot believe this,” Hayward said again, throwing his arms up in his fury. “Even the solicitor wanted to see the bruises. My word and Josiah’s weren’t enough.”
“Erm…Your Grace?” Phoebe tried to interrupt him and pull on his jacket sleeve, but he barely noticed. His determination to reach the carriage quickly, coupled with his anger appeared to have blinded him.
Phoebe looked back, aware that whoever was following them down the road was getting closer and closer. They were now so near that she could see their clothes. They were dressed poorly, with their jacket in rags, and a patchworked hat. He delved a hand into his pocket and pulled out something – it glinted in the light from an oil-lamppost nearby.
It’s a knife.
