The Lie and the Lady by Kate Noble

love.
    If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it.
    Yes, he knew of an impediment. All he had to do was say it. Stand up and say it out loud.
    But he said nothing at all.

6
    Y ou couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”
    That was what she wanted to say. Hell, that was what she wanted to scream from the oaks that lined the drive to Bluestone Manor. Instead, she settled for smiling serenely at Margaret and Sir Barty as they made their way home after church, silently berating herself the entire time for her utter foolishness.
    And she was foolish. She was foolish for thinking she could live free from her past. She was foolish for feeling an ounce of security having become engaged to Sir Barty.
    But she was most foolish for saying yes when Helen and Turner invited themselves over after church.
    Leticia didn’t know how it had happened. One minute, the vicar was reading the banns, and the next, the (rather unenthusiastic) sermon had been completed and everyone spilled back out into the churchyard, eager to get back to the real reason they had put on their Sunday finery that morning.
    The townsfolk were all polite and deferential and held themselves back a bit. Leticia had hoped it was in awe, but she suspected it was more because Mrs. Emory had been spreading whispers across the pew the entire sermon.
    Something that would have to be dealt with, Leticia reminded herself.
    But of all the stiff bows and shy curtsies she’d received, none came from the Turners.
    Because, as she was about to learn, there was nothing stiff or shy at all about Helen Turner.
    â€œHello!” The woman had swooped right in, her son looming behind her like a silent black cloud. “Sir Barty, back from the Continent already! Did you find there were no worlds left to conquer?”
    â€œHardly.” Sir Barty laughed heartily at what must have been an old joke between old friends. “But I found something worth bringing home with me. M’dear, this is Mrs. Helen Braithwaite Turner, a very old friend. Helen, this is Lady Churzy.”
    Leticia started at her name, because she had been concentrating so hard on not letting her panic show . . . not letting her eyes drift to the figure behind Helen . . . and not letting herself wonder what he was going to say—or do . . .
    She managed a dignified curtsy. There, everything was better. Calmer.
    â€œAnd this is my son, Mr. Turner. John,” Helen said.
    Leticia looked at him.
    He looked right back.
    And they each made their bow or curtsy, from a distance the very picture of a pair of people just being introduced. No history between them. Nothing to draw any comment.
    â€œWell, that was all very proper of us,” Helen said, a laugh in her voice, and Sir Barty joined in. Leticia smiled, playing along, but it seemed that Turner did not have that kind of social grace. To avoid making eye contact with any of them, he’d put his attention just over Leticia’s left shoulder.
    â€œMiss Babcock,” he said to Margaret, bowing. “Good morning.”
    Margaret gave a short curtsy, blushed, and mumbled, “Good morning.”
    And suddenly, everything stopped.
    Helen watched the exchange closely, a queer smile playing out over her features.
    Sir Barty, generally oblivious, beamed at his daughter’s good manners.
    And Turner . . . Turner was inscrutable. But he refused to look away from Margaret toward her.
    A ball of dread began forming, solid and heavy in her stomach. What if . . . But no, that was impossible. But what if . . . Margaret wasn’t the only one with feelings? What if John returned them?
    No.
    Utterly ridiculous.
    â€œMiss Babcock, I am so glad to see you this morning,” Helen began. “John was just telling me last night that you are exactly the right person.”
    â€œI am?”