Lazy contentment greeted Alex with the morning sun. He hadn’t slept so well in years, and not just because he and Marigold wore themselves out the night before, and once in the middle of the night. Silence blanketed the elaborate bedroom, broken only by Marigold’s deep steady breathing. She lay tucked against his side, one arm draped haphazardly across his chest. Her head rested on his shoulder, and one of her legs hooked over his. It wasn’t the most comfortable position he’d ever woken in, at least not physically, but the intimacy and tenderness of it warmed his heart, turning him into a sentimental old fool.

She was his wife, something he’d never dreamed he’d have. The bed they lay in was soft and warm, peace reigned. It was as far from the bustle and noise and stress of Parliament as he had ever been. The world’s problems seemed distant and unimportant. It felt as though he might actually have half a chance to be the man he’d always wanted to be, a good husband, in Marigold’s arms. He let out a long breath and settled into the pillows, wanting the moment to last forever.

Which was why the hesitant knock at the bedroom door sent spikes of frustration through him. He tensed so hard and fast that Marigold stirred awake.

“Sir?” Phillips’s muffled, embarrassed voice came from the other side of the door.

Alex let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He would murder the man if his reasons for interrupting the morning after his wedding were anything other than national catastrophe.

The knock sounded again, slightly louder. “I’m sorry, sir?”

Marigold drew in a quick breath, clutching the bedcovers to her chest and burrowing against Alex’s side as though Phillips could see through the door. “Who is it? What do they want?” she whispered.

“It’s Philips, my soon-to-be late man of business,” Alex growled, then raised his voice to say, “You’d better have a damn good reason to come knocking at my bedroom door the morning after my wedding.”

There was a slight pause, then Phillips said, “Turpin has called a special session to vote on his repressive bill, sir. Rumor has it that he expects there to not be enough members present to vote it down, since so many of your key supporters were up late celebrating.”

Alex growled an oath that made Marigold’s eyes pop wide and pink splash her cheeks. He didn’t even have time to kiss her as he leapt from the bed and marched across the room. He had to avoid piles of wedding garments as he headed to the door.

“When does the session start, and do you have any idea when during the session this blasted bill will come to a vote?” he asked through the door.

“It’s hard to say, sir,” Phillips replied. “Turpin isn’t following normal procedure by any means, but he has enough supporters to get away with it. They say Disraeli is willing to support him.”

“Blast that man,” Alex thundered.

“He was at the wedding,” Marigold said.

Alex glanced over to find her sitting up in bed, the sheet held to her chest but not doing much to hide her tempting figure. Her golden hair spilled in tousled waves around her creamy shoulders. Her lips were still slightly red from their night’s activity, begging to be kissed again. In spite of everything, a surge of need ran through him, tightening his groin and pushing his frustration higher.

He banged his fist on the doorframe. So much for being a good husband. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he sighed, wincing.

“Yes, sir. I’ll see about rousing your supporters and getting them to Westminster immediately.”

“Good man.”

Alex pushed away from the door, glancing hurriedly around the room for the change of clothes Phillips supposedly left for him the day before. Knowing Turpin and his crooked ways, he wouldn’t have time to bathe properly or shave before dashing halfway across town to Westminster. The blackguard would pay for this.

“Are you leaving?” Marigold asked, scooting her way to the edge of the bed, the covers still clutched around her.

A second wave of regret and frustration stung Alex. “My darling, I’m afraid I have to.” He crossed to the side of the bed as she stood, and took her in his arms. The sheet fell away, leaving them skin-to-skin, which did nothing to stiffen his resolve to rush to Parliament to defeat Turpin. It stiffened other things instead. “I’m so sorry,” he said, tilting her head up to kiss her. In their hours-old marriage, he’d already apologized to her far too much.

“I…I understand,” she murmured when their kiss ended and he stepped away to search for his clothes. “You’re an important man. The nation needs you in vital ways.”

Alex glanced over his shoulder at her as he poured water from the pitcher on the washstand into the matching bowl and splashed the essential parts of himself. Marigold didn’t look as though she understood at all. She looked devastated. And she had every right to. “Today would have been a lot of fuss and nonsense anyhow,” he said, attempting to make her feel better, certain he was only making things worse. “While I’m working, why don’t you make your grand entrance at Croydon House and show all my servants who their new mistress is?” He tried to make it sound like a treat when, in fact, he’d been looking forward to presenting her as his wife and the new mistress of the house himself.

“That sounds lovely,” she said, gathering her robe from the chair where it was draped and putting it on. She tried to smile, but it didn’t look convincing to Alex.

He cursed himself and cursed Turpin doubly as he dried himself off and practically threw his clothes on. Phillips would have had a fit to see him make a mess of things, but Marigold came over to help. Between the two of them, he was dressed, his shoes were put on, and a comb pushed through his hair in about five minutes. Alex marched for the door, but paused to take Marigold in his arms for one more kiss before opening it.

“I will make this up to you,” he promised. “I swear it. I’m so sorry.” He was already picking out which jeweler he would visit on his way home from Westminster, whenever that would be.

“Be dazzling today,” she told him, stroking his stubbly cheek and kissing him one more time. “Don’t let Turpin win.”

“Believe me, I won’t,” he said, stole one last kiss, then rushed from the room.

He was gone. Marigold let out a heavy breath and stared at the door Alex had closed behind him when he left the room. It was the morning after their wedding. They’d spent the most magical night in each other’s arms. She’d discovered things about herself that she would never had guessed at, and already, Alex was gone.

Slowly, she dragged herself away from the door to flop in the chair where her robe had been draped, wondering if mistresses and secret paramours felt the same sense of abandonment after their assignations. She glanced across to the second, empty chair, Alex’s robe untouched over its back. A cold knot formed in her gut.

No, it wasn’t fair of her to resent him for leaving. She pushed herself to stand, even though she’d barely settled in the chair, and moved to the washstand to clean up. The intimate parts of her still carried traces of Alex and the way he’d made love to her. She blushed hot at the realization, feeling unusually awkward as she wiped herself clean. At least it all meant there was solid evidence that she could end up with child soon, if they kept that kind of activity up.

If Alex wasn’t called away to Parliament every time they got cozy with each other.

With a frustrated sigh, she pushed that thought away and focused on practicality. She did have an entire new household to introduce herself to. And her father and siblings would certainly be down for breakfast soon, even though they’d been up late reveling. She finished washing and rang the bell to call for the maid to bring a proper bath, then set about tidying the room and making the best of the situation.

She was washed, dressed, and back in her chair, lacing her boots as Judy, one of her father’s maids, picked up her wedding dress and Alex’s clothes from the night before when the envelope Lady Stanhope had given to Alex fell from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“I’m sorry, miss—I mean, Mrs. Croydon,” Judy said with a smile and a blush. “I’ll get it.” She bent to retrieve the envelope.

“No, no. I’ll take that.” Marigold rose from her chair and crossed to take the envelope.

“It was a beautiful party, madam,” Judy whispered to her, as though she wasn’t sure she should be addressing a woman who had been elevated so high the night before. “You looked like a princess.”

“Thank you, Judy.” Marigold’s first genuine smile of the day appeared. “But you don’t have to be so formal with me all of a sudden. I’m still the same old Marigold I was yesterday.” She winked.

“Oh, no, madam.” Judy looked scandalized. “You’re a married woman now, the wife of an important man.” She leaned closer and whispered, “They say he could be Prime Minister someday.”

“And you can say you knew me when I was just simple Miss Bellowes,” Marigold teased her. She adored Judy, and Gretta and the rest of her father’s servants. The fuss and nonsense of maintaining rigid social ranks had always irritated her, especially considering her grandparents had only been a half-step above the level of servants themselves.

“It’s a shame that Mr. Croydon was called away, though,” Judy went on, laying Marigold’s dress across the bed.

“You heard about that?” A twist of uneasiness and renewed disappointment washed through Marigold.

Judy sent her a sympathetic look. “He’s doing important work though, isn’t he?”

“He is.” Marigold smiled, but it wasn’t powerful enough to drown her discouragement. She tapped the envelope against her free hand, then marched for the door. “Thank you for your hard work, Judy,” she said as she exited.

Alex was doing important work, and he was an important man, but Turpin was the heart of the problem. She strode quickly through the halls of her family home one last time, heading for the breakfast room. Alex would still be in bed with her if it weren’t for Mr. Daniel Turpin. She and Alex might still be doing delicious things. Alex was sensual, and he’d been skilled enough to turn what had started out as raging fear into desire that was far from satisfied. She wanted more of that, more time to explore the wonders of marriage. She wanted more of her husband, and Turpin had taken that away from her.

The breakfast room was abandoned, just as Marigold had expected. Her father usually took breakfast in his study when the entire family was in residence, and her sisters were notorious lay-a-beds, particularly after parties. Marigold’s own arrival in the room was so unexpected that Clarence, their head footman, had to scramble and rush to bring enough food up from the kitchens for her to eat.

As she waited, she opened the envelope and read its contents. Within minutes, her cheeks burned pink with shock and anger. At the party the night before, all Marigold had been able to see of the papers was the name Ruby Murdoch as mentioned in a constable’s report. The story spelled out in the rest of the papers was a horror.

A young woman named Ruby Murdoch had been arrested for prostitution. She had a newborn infant with her that was in a terrible state. The constable who arrested Ruby had enough of a heart to see that both she and the baby were given medical care before being shipped off to the St. Pancras workhouse.

The story had deeper, more sinister roots than that, though. Other papers in the stack Lady Stanhope had given Alex detailed reports that Ruby Murdoch had been employed at a place called the Black Strap Club, although Marigold wasn’t sure that employment was the right word. The papers were cryptic, but the description of the club sent a chill down her spine. It didn’t sound like the sort of place a well-born woman could even conceive of, let alone know about.

But Ruby’s story went further back than that. The oldest papers in the packet were employment records from the house of none other than Turpin. Ruby had been a maid in his house. Along with the simple records was what looked like a letter from a Mrs. Yates to a Mrs. Belvedere, gossiping about the ill treatment Ruby had had at Turpin’s hands. Marigold puzzled through the details as she read. Mrs. Yates had never had a bit of trouble from Ruby, and indeed, had found her to be a good, hard worker and a conscientious girl. Then all of a sudden, she was found to be with child and Turpin demanded she be dismissed.

With a gasp, the pieces flew into place. Turpin had interfered with the girl. He himself was the father of her child. And instead of taking responsibility in any way, he had cast poor Ruby off. But there had to be more to it than that. Shameful as it was, great and powerful men got their maids in trouble all the time, and the fate of those poor women was bleak as a rule. Lady Stanhope would not have presented Alex with the information about Ruby if she were just another fallen creature. There had to be something about the case that was scandalous enough to end Turpin’s political career, but what?

“Good heavens, what are you doing here?” Marigold’s sister, Flora, was so startled to see her as she turned the corner into the breakfast room that she jumped. “Shouldn’t you be…otherwise occupied?” A sly grin spread across her face.

Marigold stood, gathering up the papers and stuffing them back in the envelope. “Alex was called to an emergency session of Parliament this morning,” she explained in a rush. “And I’m afraid I need to be off myself.”

“Off?” Flora blinked rapidly. “Wherever to?”

“Croydon House, of course.” Marigold held the envelope containing Ruby Murdoch’s story to her chest, praying her sister wouldn’t ask about it. “I have an entire household to take control of, after all.”

“Yes, you do.” Flora swept over and gave her cheek a kiss. “I’m so proud of you, Mari. I always knew you’d make a splendid match someday and that you were just holding out for exactly the right man.”

On any other day, the flattery would have touched Marigold deeply. She was grateful for her sister’s support, but her mind was so far away at that moment that it was all she could do to stay focused enough to kiss her cheek in return before rushing out to the hall.

“Levins, could you call for a carriage to take me to Croydon House?” she asked the butler when she reached the front hall.

“Certainly, miss—forgive me, madam.” Levins smiled at her like a proud papa. “Shall I have Gretta bring your coat and hat as well?”

“Yes, please.”

Levins bowed before disappearing down a side corridor.

Marigold was left to wait in the front hall, pacing and running her fingertips along the edges of the envelope. What could be so scandalous about a fallen maid that it would necessitate a man being removed from his office in the House of Commons? Men could get away with murder and keep their seat, and Marigold was certain some probably had. But why would Lady Stanhope consider a minor kerfuffle scandalous enough to be presented as a wedding present?

The questions were still rolling around in her head as her father’s simplest, open buggy pulled up in front of the door. Gretta had already brought Marigold’s hat and coat and helped her put them on, so she hurried out into the street, still puzzling things over.

“Good morning, Mrs. Croydon,” Able, her father’s driver, greeted her in his broad, London accent, with a cheerful grin and a wink. “I’m surprised to see you up an’ about with the dawn chorus.” He hopped down from the buggy to give her a hand into the back.

Marigold was done with giving explanations for not being in bed the morning after her wedding, so she cut straight to business as she settled into the seat. “I’m heading to Croydon House this morning,” she told him as he resumed his place to drive. “But I’d like to run a quick errand first.”

“Anything for you, Mrs. Croydon.” He touched the brim of his hat, then gathered up the reins. He tapped the single horse pulling the buggy into a walk, heading toward the end of the street, then asked, “Where to?”

“Do you know of a place called the Black Strap Club?” Marigold asked.

Able pulled the horse to an abrupt stop and turned to stare at her. His expression turned grave, and splotches of color formed on his cheeks. “Where did you hear that name, miss?” he asked, forgetting her new form of address.

Marigold suddenly felt like a young miss who had put a foot wrong. “I read about it,” she said, not exactly lying, but not willing to divulge the truth. “But I’m still not sure what exactly it is.”

Able glanced anxiously from side to side, as though someone on the peaceful, empty street might call for the police if he put a foot out of place. He leaned closer to Marigold and said, “It’s not a seemly place, miss. Not even now you’re married an’ all. It’s the sort of place where, if me mum heard I even knew about it, she’d box me ears.”

Marigold frowned, feeling as though she were inches from discovering what Lady Stanhope knew. “Is it a brothel?” she whispered.

Able’s cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. “Worse than that, if the rumors are true,” he whispered in return.

Marigold frowned. What could be worse than a brothel? Lady Stanhope must have known. But between the suggestion that such a place was even possible and the anxious look Able gave her, she didn’t have the nerve to ask to be taken to Lady Stanhope’s townhouse to ask about it. Besides, Lady Stanhope was probably still in bed, along with the rest of the world, after the wedding party. And knowing her, she wasn’t in bed alone.

Instead, Marigold leaned forward and cautiously asked, “Could we at least drive by the…place?”

Able frowned and rubbed his chin as if considering it. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to pass through that way. Fast,” he added. “Without stopping.”

“Thank you, Able. And once we’ve seen it, you can take me on to Croydon House.”

Able nodded, his humor changed to business. “Yes, Mrs. Croydon.”

He tapped the horse into motion again, and they headed out onto a wider, busier road. Marigold continued to hold the envelope containing Ruby Murdoch’s story tight, irrationally worried that she’d let it go and it would float away as the buggy sped on. For whatever reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her fledgling marriage depended on bringing Turpin down with the story of Ruby.

The biggest surprise about the Black Strap Club was how little time it took to pass by it.

“There you go, ma’am,” Able said with a nod, his jaw tight, as they passed a stately, unassuming Georgian edifice surprisingly close to Kensington Palace.

Marigold leaned forward to get a better look. There was nothing at all that would hint the building was anything more than a large private residence. Even the front door was boring, though it was painted with black lacquer. There wasn’t so much as a sign giving the building a name.

“That’s it?” Marigold let out an impatient sigh.

“That’s it,” Able echoed gravely.

Marigold was on the verge of believing she’d been sold a bill of goods, or that Lady Stanhope was having a laugh at Alex’s expense, and that there was nothing wrong with the Black Strap Club at all, when the pale face of a young woman appeared in one of the upstairs windows. The woman couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and even though she was yards away, Marigold could clearly make out a huge bruise on the side of her face. She glanced out over the garden across the street with a look of longing that broke Marigold’s heart, as if she had looked out at it day after day but never set foot in it.

The woman turned her head just enough to meet Marigold’s eyes. Something close to panic lit the woman’s expression, and she opened her mouth. Marigold had the horrifying feeling the woman was about to cry out for help, but instead, she snapped back to face something inside the room. Then she disappeared entirely.

A chill shot down Marigold’s spine. “Drive on, Able,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Yes, ma’am,” Able replied, sounding as eager to get away as she was.

Marigold leaned back against her seat, hoping she hadn’t been seen. Her heart raced, and her mind immediately connected the frightened face in the window with Ruby Murdoch. Perhaps there was something worse than a brothel. She wasn’t sure she wanted to dig into the case after all for fear of what she would find.

Then again, if just a glimpse of a face could instill her with such dread, if Ruby Murdoch had ended up in that place because of Turpin, perhaps Lady Stanhope knew how to bring Turpin down after all.