Josie laughed. “Vampires and demons and monsters in the night? Thank God, no. We’d all be doomed, wouldn’t we?”

“Aye, but it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to live forever,” he said, almost silently, “if you could hold on to the people you loved. It wouldn’t be so bad then, would it?”

It was as close as he’d come to speaking of her failing health since they’d been married.

“Was I unfair to you?” she asked. “Should I have refused this?”

“Never.” He tipped her face up to his, and she could see the odd redness in his eyes again. Or perhaps it was only the light. “I’d not trade a moment of our time together, Josephine Shaw.”

“Even when I’m acting like a madwoman when a story strikes me?”

“Especially then.”

She choked back the lump in her throat and patted his chest. “You are the most patient of husbands, Thomas Murphy. We should go down before our guests arrive.”

“Hang our guests. Murphy’s the one who invited them.”

“But I should not neglect my cousin. Even if I do find him somewhat loathsome.”

Tom grunted and held the door for her. “Why did we agree to host this?”

“Because Neville technically belongs to me. And our cook is better than your brother’s.”

“Don’t say that. I might fire her if her food invites company.” He kissed her neck. “Shall we?”

Though they were separate houses, Tom and Murphy’s town houses near Mountjoy Square were adjoining and even connected through the lower floors. It was, in essence, one very large household, which suited Josie to the ground and allowed her and Anne to share much of the domestic burden.

Josie had been tickled to learn her night-loving tendencies were entirely indulged in Tom’s household. Indeed, as her sister-in-law was usually busy during the days, Josie spent most of her time writing, which left the evenings free for family.

As they descended to the drawing room, she heard Anne’s tinkling laughter rising above her cousin’s nasal voice. As Neville had never been particularly amusing, Josie had to guess Anne was humoring him. Tom ushered her in, and she immediately caught the slightly pained look on her sister-in-law’s face.

“You’re finally here,” Anne said. “Did Tom ‘accidentally’ lose his dinner jacket again?”

“Have no idea what you’re talking about,” her husband grumbled, kissing his sister-in-law on the cheek.

“Neville,” Josie said. “How good of you to come.”

Her cousin looked irritated that he’d been distracted from the lovely Anne Murphy.

“Hello, cousin. And belated felicitations on your union.”

“Thank you.”

Murphy came over accompanied by a pale gentleman with a rather unexpected halo of blond curls and a narrow nose.

“My dear Josephine,” her brother-in-law said, “may I introduce Mr. William Beecham?”

“Of course,” Josie said, inclining her head. “Mr. Beecham, welcome to our home. And thank you for joining us for dinner.”

Cunning green eyes glinted at her before he bowed. His skin was frightfully pale, and Josie wondered at the temperature outside. They’d been having a mild winter, but Dublin weather could be unpredictable.

“I thank you for your hospitality, madam,” Beecham said. “And my felicitations on your union as well. Seems Tom fooled you after all.”

There was a meanness in his voice that made Josie want to curl into her husband. Perversely, that fear compelled her to be as clever as possible.

“I assure you,” Josie said, tucking her hand in the crook of Tom’s elbow, “any subterfuge was on my part. I hid all my most irritating qualities and hurried him to the altar. Poor Mr. Murphy never stood a chance.”

The company laughed, but Mr. Beecham’s gaze never left hers. They rested on her with a kind of furtive glee. As if he knew a secret she would soon discover and hate.

“Mr. Beecham, you must be a villain,” she quipped.

Neville laughed, unaware the rest of the room had gone silent. “Why must he be a villain, cousin?” He nudged Beecham’s shoulder. “Josephine tells the most amusing stories, William. She has since she was a child.”

“Has she?” The handsome man’s eyes hadn’t left her. “Pray tell, Mrs. Murphy, why must I be a villain?”

“Your face is too handsome, sir, and your hair too angelic.” She smiled innocently. “I daresay it is your fate to be a villain or a saint. And isn’t a villain the more interesting role?”

Beecham threw his head back and laughed. “Tom, your wife amuses me. I quite approve.”

She felt her husband tense when Beecham said he “approved,” but he only said, “Thank you, Mr. Beecham.”

It was the oddest dinner party Josie had ever attended.

Mr. Beecham clearly occupied some role of authority among the gentlemen, though he was vague about his occupation. Neville seemed to worship the man. Murphy and Tom offered him grudging respect, and Anne ignored him as much as possible. It was so unlike her husband to condescend to a man of Beecham’s character that Josie thought she must have frowned at Tom through dessert.

She and Anne were the only ladies in attendance, so when the gentlemen called for the port and cigars, they both retired for the night. Anne, she could tell, had something troubling her. And though she was growing closer to her new sister-in-law, she did not yet consider herself a confidante.