London was filthy. The very air was dark and dirty. No wonder so many Londoners came to Bath for their health. The sickly on the street corners, though, could never afford the spa, and the wealthy in their gold-trimmed carriages, their furs and lace, seemed hale enough to Aurora. And there were so many carriages! All were traveling at top speed, it seemed, as if the Quality had to hurry lest they miss a moment of frivolity. It was a marvel that the coaches were not constantly crashing into one another. From the shouts and curses, perhaps they were. Her head was spinning from the sights, sounds, and smellsand Windham's smiles at her open-mouthed astonishment. At her first sights of the buildings of Mayfair, she took the houses for royal palaces, government offices, or museums. The earl expected her to live in one of those mansions?
Their carriage pulled up at one of the most imposing.
"Havermore House," the groom announced, letting down the steps.
For all her gentle birth, her mother and Aunt Thisbe having a marquess for an uncle, Aurora thought she'd be more comfortable going around to the rear entrance like a servant or a tradesman. Her gloves were soiled from the newspapers' ink, her hair was coming undone, and her lemon-yellow traveling costume that had seemed so fine in Bath now appeared to be frumpish and out of fashion.
"You'll do," Windham said when she appeared reluctant to leave the safety of the carriage. His casual compliment helped stiffen her resolve as she walked beside him to the servants' entrance, since the knocker was off the front door, and no one answered the earl's raps and shouts. Only a carpenter was in the kitchen when they arrived there, hammering away at high shelves he was installing. Her Grace had gone to her daughter's lying-in in Ireland, the man reported when they managed to gain his attention, and might stay through the summer—until the house renovations were completed, anyway.
Damn, Kenyon cursed as he led Aurora back to the carriage. What the devil was he to do with her now? He knew no other dowagers well enough to ask such a favor, and he was not about to leave the chit with any of the willing widows of his acquaintance, not that they'd be willing to take in a beautiful young innocent.
He definitely could not take her to his own town house. Warriner House had been bachelor quarters since Genevieve had run off. Aurora's reputation would not survive the night, especially since there was not one female servant in the place to lend the minimum countenance. Besides, his brother's army friends were liable to wander in at odd moments, knowing they'd always find a clean bed and a hot meal. Those choice spirits were liable to consider her dessert.
The Clarendon and the Pulteney were out, as the premier hotels would not accept an unaccompanied young female. His own company would, of course, label her a light-skirt. Hell and thunderation. He couldn't just leave her at some lesser establishment either, for who knew what dirty dish would accost her, or convince the gullible little peagoose to run off and get married? He finally chose the Grand, a newer hotel near Green Park which, while respectable, might not be so nice in its requirements. Besides, he was less likely to run into anyone he knew there.
The concierge did not bat an eyelash when the earl requested facing suites, not attached. "Miss McPhee's aunt will be joining her, along with her maid," Kenyon explained. A leather purse pushed across the registration desk made further explanations, such as the aunt's name and direction, unnecessary.
Aurora was simply glad to be out of the coach. Her rooms were well appointed and clean, and far more expensive than she could possibly afford. Without the duchess to help her find a position, she had no idea what to do. When Windham announced he was going to call on his solicitor, therefore, Aurora said she'd go along. Perhaps she'd locate an employment agency along the way.
"No, this is my affair. You'll do better here."
The annulment of her marriage was none of her concern? "If I cannot go along with you, I'll just take a walk in the park, I suppose."
"By yourself? Your maid is not even here yet. Gads, woman, do you know nothing? A female never goes anywhere unescorted in London."
"Of course I know that. I intended to ask that nice footman who carried up my valise to go along. I am sure no one would dare molest me, he was that tall and broad-shouldered."
Kenyon took her with him to the solicitor's office.
Mr. Juckett was an older man with spectacles perched on his hooked nose and tufts of white hair rimming his bald head. He had diplomas on the wall and law books on every inch of his desk. And he was no help at all.
When Kenyon introduced Aurora as Miss McPhee, the young woman who had last fallen into Harland Podell's coils, the lawyer looked at her with sympathy. "Ah, when you rode out in such a hurry, I had hoped you'd be in time to save the unfortunate female from such an unhappy hobble."
"Yes, well, we need to know about getting her marriage annulled."
"But I thought you understood, my lord, that a bigamist's subsequent marriages are immediately null and void, by virtue of being illegal, the same as your sister's. It's as if it never took place, and any children of such a union are declared illegitimate by virtue of their parents not being wed. I am sorry, miss," he said to Aurora.
She tried to explain that it wasn't that marriage they were trying to have set aside. "You see, another gentleman kindly stepped forward with a special license in time to avert a terrible scandal."
"Good for him. And for you, too, miss, I am sure."
"But then Miss McPhee decided they wouldn't suit," Kenyon put in, and went on in a hurry before she could interrupt. "The second marriage was not consummated either, of course, so there is no question of children."
"I see." The solicitor polished his glasses, perhaps hoping to make good on his statement of understanding. To his mind, the female should be happy with a husband, any legitimate husband.
Mr. Juckett wiped so hard at his spectacles, Aurora feared he'd wear the lenses away. "My lord, if I might speak to you in private?"
Aurora raised her chin. "It is my marriage"with a glare to Kenyon for not acknowledging his own participation in the event"so I would hear what's discussed."
Mr. Juckett looked for guidance to Lord Windham, who shrugged. The solicitor cleared his throat. "Yes, well, that's a common misapprehension, it is, that that non-consummation is proper grounds for annulment. But what the law means is that ah, consummation shall be impossible to complete."
"Of course it is, with him staying across the hall."
Kenyon chuckled, Which earned him glares from both Aurora and Mr. Juckett. The solicitor addressed Aurora, although his bald pate turned scarlet in embarrassment. "Physically impossible, as certified by examining physicians in the female's case."
"Oh, dear," Aurora whispered, knowing she would fail such a test, if she did not die of mortification.
At the same time, Kenyon declared, "Miss McPhee shall not be subject to such indignities.
Mr. Juckett nodded. "Then the man must give a sworn avowal that he is, ah, incapable of fathering a child."
Kenyon groaned. He'd have to declare himself unmanned? Hellfire and damnation! And enough opera dancers could refute the claim. "Impossible."
"There is the insanity clause." The solicitor steepled his fingers. "If you wouldn't mind having yourself declared insane, Miss McPhee, you might still have the marriage set aside."
"Gammon, man, Miss McPhee may be addlepated for getting into the fix; she is not attics-to-let."
Aurora did not know whether to be pleased or insulted. She did know she was not alone in this sinking ship on the sea of matrimony, nor was she the only one fit for Bedlam. "Please, sir, there has to be another way."
Mr. Juckett rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking. "Tell me, miss, did your parents agree to this marriage?"
"My parents are long dead. My aunt and uncle formally adopted me years ago, and, yes, they witnessed the marriage ceremony."
"And did you give your own true name?"
"Of course."
He shook his head. "Then I am afraid you were legally married, and married you shall stay."
The earl sighed and stood. "Then, Mr. Juckett, I take great pleasure in presenting you to Aurora Warriner, Countess of Windham." While the solicitor bounded to his feet, bowed, and babbled out his felicitations, Kenyon placed a sheet of paper on the man's desk. "Here is the notification for the newspapers, if you would be so good as to see it inserted. And begin drawing up settlements and such. I have the name of the McPhee family's solicitor here in London. I am sure he'll be in touch."
And then they were in the carriage again, married again.
The poor man was stuck with her, Aurora lamented, trying to keep the grin from her face. How sad.
The poor puss was stuck with him, Kenyon despaired, hurrying her into the hotel before he did a jig right there in the street. Too bad.
Chapter Six
» ^ «
A gentleman of three decades should not have to go courting. He should indicate his interest by a smile, a soft, not quite accidental touch. The lady in question should answer the unspoken question with a nod, or a gentle brush of their bodies, a promise of what was to come. So Kenyon's relationships had always developed in the past.
But marriage was not mistressing, and a wife was not affair fare, so a-wooing he would go. The earl was not about to scribe love poems to Aurora's earlobes, dainty and delicious though they might be, nor to her honey-colored, arched eyebrows. He'd not shower her with costly baublesalthough he did wonder if he could match her sunny-day-skies eyes to sapphiresor pay her flowery compliments. His bride would sniff at Spanish coin. What was left? Dancing attendance at shopping expeditions and social dos? Lud, he was too old for that nonsense.