Mrs. Pearson looked up, her dark eyes wide. “Is your sister Delia?”
“Yes,” I said with an enthusiastic nod.
Then she turned to Mr. Romano, and they began to have a hushed conversation in rapid Italian. At first, the gentleman shook his head fiercely, but then she said something that looked and sounded like a plea, and he eventually relented with a single nod. She reached across the table and took his hands in her own as she whispered her thanks. All in all, it seemed a very intimate exchange to have right in front of two people they had just met.
Mrs. Pearson then rose. “Let us go to our rooms.”
Her companion immediately pushed back his chair and stood, though his full lips were still frozen in a disapproving scowl. The man was taller than I realized, with broad shoulders and well-formed arms. He certainly possessed the physical strength needed to kill Charles Pearson. What remained to be seen was whether he possessed a motive. I exchanged a look with Mr. Dorian, who seemed to share my thoughts, and we followed them out of the lounge to the elevator.
Despite his lover’s pleas, Mr. Romano did not appear at all happy with this development and spent the entire ride glowering at both myself and Mr. Dorian. I avoided his gaze as best I could, but it was difficult in the cramped space. Thankfully, it was not long before we reached the top floor. Once we exited the elevator, Mrs. Pearson showed us into a luxurious suite decorated in sumptuous tones of pink and gold.
“Please, sit down,” she said, gesturing to a small sitting area by the hearth. Mr. Dorian and I took the sofa, while Mrs. Pearson sank into a wingback chair opposite us. Mr. Romano moved to stand behind his inamorata until she glared up at him. “Dante, I can’t think with you hoveringlike that,” she snapped and pointed to the chair parallel to her. “Sit there, and stop glowering at them,” she added, giving me an apologetic smile.
I half expected the man to protest, but instead he let out a sulky grunt and took the seat across from me. His manner reminded me of Cleo when she was in a mood about something, and only then did I notice that he was quite young. I estimated that Mrs. Pearson was about my age, but her companion couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
“How is your sister faring?” Mrs. Pearson asked, drawing my attention away from studying his profile.
“It has been a very difficult time for her,” I replied, “as I’m sure you can understand.”
Mrs. Pearson glanced at her companion. “Yes. But it has been many years since Charles and I were together.” Mr. Romano pointedly turned away from her. She rolled her eyes, but did not otherwise comment on this bald display of jealousy. “We were very young and incredibly foolish when we married, you see,” she explained. “Neither of us understood what it meant to pledge a lifetime to the other.”
I wondered if they had been any younger than Mr. Romano, but kept that to myself. “Is it true that his father didn’t approve?” I asked instead.
“Oh yes. He was furious when Charles told him and demanded we get an annulment. But it was too late for that.” She paused for a moment, as if sifting through the memories. “And it seemed unthinkable to us at the time. But ever since I heard the news, I can’t help but wonder how different everything might have been if we had just ended things then.”
I leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
She furrowed her brow. “Charles lied about getting an annulment and insisted that we keep the marriage a secret. But he was constantly worried that his father would learn the truth anyway and disinherit him. It put a terrible strain onus, and eventually I had enough. When the opportunity to perform in Paris came up, I took it. I was happier than I had been in months. Charles was too, though he wouldn’t admit it at first. Male pride, you know,” she said with a faint smile. “But eventually he came around, and we agreed the marriage would be in name only until his father died.”
“But that was several years ago, no?” I asked.
Mrs. Pearson shrugged. “I told him I would sign divorce papers whenever he wished, but he kept putting it off. Though I am certain that was purely due to an aversion to paperwork rather than any lingering affection,” she added with a firm look at her companion before turning back to me. “Then he met your sister.”
I shifted in my seat. “When was this?”
“He first wrote to me about her last spring. There had been other girls before, of course, but I could tell right away that she was different.” A smile flitted across her lips. “By then we had a firm friendship, so all I really wanted was his happiness.”
“And you had no reason of your own to ask for a divorce?” Mr. Dorian asked with a not-so-subtle glance at Mr. Romano.
“No, not really,” she said with an easy smile. “My illusions about the institution were flimsy to begin with, and my own marriage did nothing to strengthen them. Besides, Dante is terribly religious.”
“Is he now?” Mr. Dorian replied dryly, ignoring my warning look.
We couldn’t afford to offend her, but Mrs. Pearson seemed unaffected.
“He wants me to convert to Catholicism, but I’m not in a hurry.” Then she turned to Mr. Romano with a look so full of love and admiration that I had to resist the urge to turn away. “Being with him is more than enough.”
I cleared my throat. “How nice.”
She turned back to me, her eyes still full of warmth. “How long have you been married, Mrs. Harper?”
“I’m a widow,” I said mildly.
“I’m so sorry,” she replied with genuine compassion.
“So what brought you to London after all this time?” Mr. Dorian prompted. “Was it simply a coincidence that you happened to be here when he was killed?”
Mrs. Pearson arched her brow. “Are you suggesting that I had something to do with his death?”
