Lindenstein sat next to Mira and took her hands in his. "Your hands are cold,Liebes," he remarked.
Atherton scowled at him. "Stop calling her that and stop touching my wife."
"I am not his wife," she declared for the one-hundred-and first time.
This time Aldingbourne had heard her. He whipped out a sheet of paper and spread it out on the table.
"This is a copy of the entry in the parish register of Fowey," he explained. He cleared his throat. "'Christopher Robert Taylor, blacksmith, of the parish, bachelor, and Mirabel Jane Allen, spinster, of the same parish, were married in this church by banns this fourteenth day of June, in the year one thousand eight hundred-and-seven, by George Knox, vicar. Signed with two witnesses, Mary Smith and John Williams'. It appears to be a valid registration in every respect, the groom being of age at one-and-twenty, the bride, still a minor at eighteen, having been given consent by her guardian, a certain Miss Leonora Pearson. Both parties were unmarried prior to the event. The residency requirement was met. The banns were read on three consecutive Sundays before the wedding. This is your signature, is it not?" Aldingbourne pointed to the paper.
Mira stared at the carefully crafted, childlike cursive that read Mirabel Jane Allen.
She furrowed her brow. "It doesn't say Christopher de Lacey, Marquess of Atherton anywhere. I married a blacksmith, not a marquess. It cannot possibly be valid."
The duke polished his lorgnette. "As Atherton's long-standing friend, I have, for his sake, spent a considerable time in studying the law to become something of an expert in all things marriage legal and otherwise. Here are the facts. A valid marriage had to meet the requirements of the Hardwicke Marriage Act of 1753, which in your case it did. A marriage was valid if the banns were read; neither party was married so bigamy was out of the question; consent or parental consent was given; the residency requirement was met; you were not closely related in the sense that you were siblings; you were both of sound mind at the time of the marriage."
Lindenstein lifted a finger. "Not to forget the most important aspect."
"That being?" Aldingbourne raised an eyebrow.
Lindenstein grinned. "With apologies to the ladies, but I take it that the marriage was consummated?"
Lady Randolph clapped her hands over Rose's ears.
Princess Florentina snorted.
Evie gasped.
"Well, Atherton?" Lindenstein crossed his arms. "Was it consummated?"
"What do you think?" Atherton drawled. His green eyes twinkled devilishly as they met Mira's wide ones, daring her to deny that summer afternoon under the yew tree.
All eyes were on her.
Mira blushed to the tips of her toes.
She was in a quandary.
No matter what she said now, it would be wrong. Her first impulse was to deny it vehemently, but by tomorrow, she would be proven wrong. She could also admit it and hammer a nail into her own coffin.
She crossed her arms. "I refuse to comment," she declared, the bright red patches on her cheeks serving as a sufficient statement.
Atherton grinned, and she scowled.
"Knowing Atherton, let us assume that it was." Lindenstein leaned back, satisfied.
"Consummation is actually not a requirement for a valid marriage, and non-consummation alone is not a sufficient cause to annul a marriage in England," the duke explained, not at all put off by the subject. "Says the law."
Mira threw him a dark look. "You could have said that earlier."
He threw her an apologetic look. "Not that it matters because not even the old marquess, devil that he was, has been able to render this marriage void, even though he tried to pull all the strings and move heaven and hell to do so. Therefore, this marriage is valid and shall remain so until the death of either party. Case closed."
The duke had spoken. Having said his part, Aldingbourne proceeded to fold the papers.
Mira stared. "Wait. Did you just say that the old marquess attempted to render our marriage void?"
"Ah, at last." Lindenstein clapped slowly.
"Did you hear that? She just admitted it," Atherton said triumphantly.
