A Worthy Wife(21)

"Shall I have a tray sent up to your room, my lady?" the butler asked. "I realize you said meals were to be taken in the dining room, but"

"No," she said, dashing for the stairs. "I don't think that will be necessary."





Chapter Fifteen


» &#94 «



Some letters are read once, some twice. Some had to be read with crossed lines, and some had to be read between the lines. Kenyon's letter to Aurora, his first ever, was definitely in the last category.

My lady wife , Windham's note began, giving her heart a caress, we have arrived in London at last but are delayed here until Christopher's health improves, on doctors' advice . He did not have to say that the journey was a nightmare and his brother's condition was precarious; she understood. He did not say he missed her, but Aurora decided he was too concerned with his brother to think about any other emotions. And he must be exhausted. Perhaps he was simply not the type to express the more tender sentiments. On the other hand, perhaps he simply did not miss her.

The earl wrote that he would continue his investigations at the East India Company and the shipping offices, and would send his solicitor, Juckett himself, to Bath to question Phelan Ramsey. That meant he was still not resigned to their marriage, Aurora interpreted, her spirits plummeting. Kenyon was looking to disprove her identity, no matter what he said about seeking Podell's motives. He wanted an easy end to their marriage.

Lord Windham went on to say that his banker had transferred additional funds for her use. Oh dear, he was politely telling her that she was up River Tick. What if his pockets weren't as deep as she thought? Lud, she knew she was spending money as if it were water, but there were so many good uses for it. And he had told her to freshen up Windrush for his brother's arrival.

Aunt Ellenette had written to him, it seemed. I understand it is a difficult situation, one you were not prepared for, but please try to ease the turmoil in the house . He obviously agreed with his sister that Aurora was not equipped to manage a great estate. Well, she was at least trying, unlike his last countess. And she would not give Frederick his own chair at the dinner table, no matter how upset Aunt Ellenette said he was. And no matter how many tattletale letters she wrote.

Kenyon's next paragraph was even more damning. He asked her, no, it sounded more like a warning, to be circumspect among the neighbors because he wanted no more scandal attached to his family name. He didn't trust her; that was plain as pudding. What, did he think she was going to run off with the vicar or something? Or did he think that she enjoyed being the center of gossip? No wonder Kenyon did not miss her if he believed she was like the deceitful Genevieve.

Aurora was upset. All her exhausting efforts had gone to make his home more comfortable, to lift some of the burdens of responsibility from his shoulders, to share his concerns. And he thought she was a spendthrift, a troublemaker, an adventuress, uncultured, unreliable, and unlovable. Her eyes were filling, making it hard to read the last lines: When in doubt, consult my sister .

She should take that hobbledehoy harpy as a model of how to go on? Hah ! That spoiled damsel was running Aurora ragged with her demands and derision. Half the bills Kenyon was receiving were for Lady Brianne's new wardrobe, and there was a continual battle to keep the purchases to merely expensive, Brianne's taste running to the extravagant. One would think the lady was planning a second London come-out, instead of putting off her blacks at a few country entertainments. One would also think Brianne was an heiress, instead of a dependent. She still made no effort to help Aurora with the household, but was constantly informing her of how efficient her mother had been, or how beautiful Genevieve had been, and all Kenyon's other mistresses. She'd even hinted that he was in London right now, amusing himself with the likes of Lola. Worst of all, she was barely civil to Aunt Thisbe and Uncle Ptolemy when they arrived.

Aurora's relations, at least, brought her comfort, in the few hours she got to spend with them. They brought their familiar collecting jars and nets and magnifying glasses, their notebooks and identification guides, and disappeared. And they brought her mother's trunks. When Aurora had five minutes to herself, sometime next year, she hoped, she'd be able to look through them. The McPhees were delighted with Derby, and the lower acreage that never drained was a naturalist's nirvana, with spring so close. They commandeered another section of the conservatory for their studies, retreating there for hours when they were not out conducting field research. They were happy to share the succession houses with the monkey, who Uncle Ptolemy was positive he could teach to talk. If Frederick could speak, Uncle said with a wink, the monkey could. Aurora swore Sweety had more sense than Kenyon's sister. Consult Brianne? When cactus grew in that swamp.

Aurora ripped her husband's letter into quarters, then crumpled the pieces in her hand, and threw them into the fire, thinking of her mother's neatly saved letters. She'd be hanged if she saved such a patronizing, pompous piece of poppycock, which was barely legible, meaning his lordship was too proud to wear his glasses in Town. She sat back at the desk, idly straightening piles of correspondence Mr. Dawson had not yet answered or filed away pending his lordship's return. The topmost letter had a name that caught her eye: Harland Podell.

The letter was from the earl's solicitor, addressed to Lord Windham. Mr. Juckett did know she was handling the estate matters, however, and could have marked the letter personal or private if he had not wanted it read by other than the earl's myopic eyes. He had undoubtedly reported its contents to Windham when he returned to London, anyway. Besides, Kenyon already believed her guilty of worse crimes and worse manners. He, moreover, was in London with the Lolas of the world, while she was here with his querulous kin. She liked Lola better, too. Aurora read the letter.

Harland had yet another wife. Another heiress, Miss Nialla Benton was the only child of a wealthy mine owner in Lancashire, the perfect target for a fortune hunter. As Juckett's men had discovered, Miss Benton was seventeen when Podell met her at a local assembly two years ago, a year before he married Brianne, claiming a baronetcy and a promotion in the works.

Mr. Benton was not impressed, deeming his fortune worth a son-in-law with a barony, at least, but Nialla was taken with the lieutenant's looks and address. She was also taken out to the balcony at a different party and discovered in Podell's arms.

How many times had Podell performed his compromising ploy? Aurora bitterly wondered. Enough to be well practiced, for certain. The engagement was announced, then the hurried wedding, then he left to rejoin his regiment. Or search out another bride, Aurora guessed.

Mr. Benton was too downy a bird to hand over a king's ransom to Podell in one huge lump. He'd grown wealthy by not trusting anyone, certainly not a nob, and saw no reason to start now. So he tied Nialla's dowry in trusts, with the interest payable quarterly. He himself kept control of the capital.

Podell could not die a hero's death for this bride, since he had to return to Lancashire every three months to express his devotion to his young wife, and to collect his blunt. He lived like a lord at his father-in-law's expense for a fortnight, then left for another few months. There were, blessedly, no children. The Jamaican Podells seemed to be the legitimate offspring, so the dastard had no bastards.

At the earl's request, Mr. Juckett had written to Mr. Benton, who was naturally outraged on his daughter's behalf. He swore to make her a widow, one way or t'other. Since no one knew where Podell was at the time, before Aurora's mock wedding, Benton declared that he had died in battle like so many other brave boys. His little girl did not have to know the truth, or the shame of her sham marriage. She was blameless, and her fortune was nearly intact, if her maidenhead was not. Her loving father would make sure that Nialla suffered no further at Podell's hands. And he'd send his minions to join the earl's in tracking the cur down. Benton was grateful, the solicitor wrote, and extended his appreciation to Windham for investigating the vermin and bringing Podell's misdemeanors to his attention.

Mr. Juckett concluded his letter to Lord Windham by saying that he would write to Mr. Benton, announcing Podell's departure from England's shores. If the coal merchant wanted to send someone to see that Nialla became a widow in deed as well as in name, the world would not mourn the loss.

Aurora placed the letter back on the pile. They were going to let some poor woman believe that her hero-husband had perished, that he had passed on? He'd passed on to Brianne and Aurora, that's what he'd done, and Lord knew how many others. Miss Benton's whole life would be blighted. She might never come out of mourning. No. Aurora believed that a woman deserved the truth, no matter how painful. And she deserved to hear it from another Mrs. Harland Podell.

"What, call on a Cit?" Lady Brianne bristled when Aurora suggested the visit. "You might count coal heavers as desirable acquaintancesLud knows your aunt and uncle dote on dung beetlesI do not."

"We need to show her that she is not alone. That she should not regret the loss of such a slimy scoundrel."

"But she is a coal miner's daughter, Aurora."

"Does that mean she has no feelings? All women can be hurt, or have you forgotten your own pain?"

"So send her a letter." Brianne turned back to the fashion magazine she was studying. "You can sign my name if you wish."