Free Captives of the Night by Loretta Chase

annoyed, but not worried.
    Esmond wasn't here. She hadn't seen him since the day Francis had died. She didn't know for certain whether he believed her innocent or guilty, but his absence made her suspect the latter. He didn't want his noble name soiled by association with a murderess, no doubt. For all she knew, he hadn't testified at all, but had used his influence to get out of it.
    No one, of course, had told her who would be called to testify. Despite the fact that one was, according to law, considered innocent until proven guilty and this was merely an inquest, not a trial, Leila had been treated as suspects generally were, i.e., kept utterly in the dark.
    No one had given even Andrew information — because her own lawyer might be so audacious as to use it to
help
her, God forbid.
    Secretive bastards.
    She lifted her chin as she met the coroner's weary gaze.
    In response to his questions, Leila gave him all the redundant information he sought: her name, place of residence, length of residence, et cetera.
    His clerk industriously wrote it all down, just as though no one in the world knew who she was until this moment.
    After that, she was obliged to describe where she had been the night before her husband's death, the mode of transportation which had brought her home, and more et ceteras — all, in short, that she'd told Lord Quentin and the magistrate, repeatedly.
    Only when the coroner asked why she'd cut short her stay at Nforbury House did Leila allow a note of irritation to creep into her voice. "With all due respect, the information you seek is in my signed deposition," she said.
    The coroner glanced down at a paper before him. "You said only that you had changed your mind. Would you care to elucidate for the jurors?"
    "I had gone to the country to rest," she said, looking straight at the jurors. "The visit was not restful. There were many more houseguests than I had anticipated."
    "And so you returned home and immediately went to work?" The coroner lifted an eyebrow. "Is this not odd in one who desired rest?"
    "Since I wasn't going to get any, I thought I might as well try to be productive."
    "Indeed.
Were
you — er — productive?"
    Given at least half a dozen persons' description of the state of her studio — which the coroner had in writing in front of him — she wasn't surprised at the question.
    Leila met his piercing gaze defiantly. "Not at first. As you have doubtless already learned, I had a quarrel with myself, and consequently took out my vexation on the objects in my studio. As you have also already learned, the disturbance woke my husband. Whereupon we argued."
    "Would you describe the disagreement, madam?"
    "Certainly," she said. The onlookers promptly came to attention, as one might expect. Until today, she had consistently refused to describe the quarrel, regardless of how much she'd been coaxed,, prodded, and bullied. They were expecting revelations.
    "Mr. Beaumont made several disagreeable remarks," she said. "I responded by bidding him to perdition."
    Audience expectations sank several degrees.
    "If you would be more specific, Mrs. Beaumont," the coroner said patiently.
    "I would not," she said.
    This elicited a low buzz of speculation. The coroner bestowed a cold stare upon the onlookers. The buzzing ceased.
    Then, somewhat less patiently, he asked if she would do the jurors the courtesy of explaining why she chose to withhold vital information.
    "My husband was evidently suffering the aftereffects of a night of entertainment," she said. "He was irate at being wakened and had a thundering headache besides. Had he not been in this state, he should not have been so disagreeable. Had I not already been vexed before he entered, I should not have even listened, let alone responded, to bad-tempered comments. To attempt to repeat the ill-chosen remarks of the moment is to give them an appearance of veracity and a permanence they do not merit. Even had we meant a fraction of what we said, I should