A Worthy Wife (15 page)

“Earthworms?” Brianne raised her eyebrow, peering at Aurora through her lorgnette as though her sister-in-law had also crawled out from under a rock.

“I expected better of Lord Windham’s sister.” Aurora spoke quietly, not permitting herself to be goaded into behavior equally as unladylike.

“Oh? I expected exactly what I got, an encroaching mushroom.”

Aurora knew a great deal about mushrooms. She wished she had some
Amanita phalloides,
or death caps, right now. She wished the butler would announce dinner. She wished the Earl of Windham to Jericho.

Lady Brianne was going on, spewing weeks’ worth of rancor. “You are nothing but a climber, heady with power and newfound wealth. I hear you are spreading my brother’s blunt in the parish, currying favor. As if that would get the neighbors to accept an obscure Bath miss whose family is barely connected to the aristocracy by the thinnest thread. Furthermore, your taste is abominable. I’d be ashamed to invite relatives of
mine
here.”

Since Lady Brianne’s relative was at that moment frantically fanning herself with her handkerchief, Aurora spoke up. “You could have helped, you know. I sent word I was inspecting fabric samples and such. For that matter, you could have refurbished this room any time in the past ten years. Heaven knows the house looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in a decade. The rest of the property was in equally as deplorable a state.”

“Why should I concern myself with Windrush? It’s your house.”

“But you live here. The people depend on you. The
earl depended on you to look after the place while he was abroad or in London.”

Lady Brianne sipped her sherry. “How
bourgeoisie
you sound. And Genevieve was chatelaine here before me, for all she cared. Blame her for the neglect. Besides, she took everything of value with her when she left.”

Aurora gazed pointedly at the diamonds at Lady Brianne’s throat. “Perhaps not everything.”

“Genevieve couldn’t wait to be out of here, and I cannot blame her.” Brianne held a scrap of black lace to her brow, remembering her role as betrayed woman. “I’ll likely end my days here.”

Not if Aurora could help it. “Nonsense. By next spring everyone will have forgotten the circumstances of your marriage.” They’d be too busy digesting Aurora’s. “You can go to London and set up an establishment of your own.”

“On what? I have no income but the pittance my brother doles out to me. No, I’ll spend what’s left of my sorrowful existence in this very house with no friends, no future, and a fortune hunter for family.”

Even Aunt Ellenette gasped at the insult. Not even Frederick had dared suggest such a thing.

Aurora was clenching the stem of her wineglass so hard she feared it would break—or that she’d toss the contents in Lady Brianne’s spoiled, spiteful, squinty face. “Is that what you think, that I married your brother for his wealth?”

“I think you are nothing but an opportunist, Miss Aurora McPhee that was. You tempted Harland and then saw a better chance with Kenyon, so you threw yourself at him like a Covent Garden familiar.”

Luckily, Aurora did not know what a Covent Garden familiar was. “What, you are
blaming me for falling into Podell’s clutches? Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

“He might have come back to me,” Brianne insisted, “if you hadn’t put out lures.”

“He’d had himself declared dead, for goodness sake. And he’d spent your fortune. He wasn’t coming back, you ninny.” This last was from Aunt Ellenette.

Aurora was more shocked that Lady Brianne would
want
the dastard back. “You do know he had another wife, a previous one?”

“Of course I know. Everyone knows. I was never really married, and now I never will be! I am the laughingstock of London.”

“Gammon. You are the widow of a hero who died fighting for his country. That’s all anyone needs to know. Kenyon made sure everything else was kept quiet in Town.”

“Quiet, when he had to ride
ventre á terre
to stop another wedding?”

“We are giving out the story that, learning of your husband’s death, a despicable cad took Podell’s name, since his own was known to the law. Your brother got wind of an engagement and, suspicious of the similar names, investigated. He saved the day and Podell’s reputation. He is also saying that we knew each other for years. You can, of course, deny the whole tissue of lies, which, yes, would make you the fool who is still wearing the willow for the man who ruined her. Since you also ran off with the dirty dish to disoblige your family, no one will doubt your idiocy.”

Brianne fingered her black crepe gown. “Perhaps it is time I put off mourning.”

“We could go to the village in the morning.”

“Faugh, there is nothing worth buying so far out in the country.”

“There is now.” Aurora had sent for Marie the milliner and one of the modiste sisters when she saw how the local women had no fashionable choices. She had set them up in a shop together, and they’d already repaid half her loan.

Brianne’s ears perked up at the word of a new shop, then her shoulders drooped like a weary swan. “But I have no money. I’ve already spent this quarter’s allowance.”

“Kenyon left me enough for both of us. All of us,” she amended, sending Aunt Ellenette into a happy twitter.

“There’s nowhere to go, so there’s no need for fancy togs.”

“Nonsense. There must be assemblies somewhere nearby, but we can call on the neighbors for a start.”

“They’ll never be home to us.”

Aurora might have lived a sheltered life in Bath, but she knew something of human nature. “What, a countess and an earl’s sister? Besides, the local gentry will be scrambling to entertain us once they hear of the ball I am planning to celebrate your younger brother’s return.” Aurora didn’t know how long Christopher’s recovery would take, nor did she have any idea whom she’d invite, but she was going to have a party with every available gentleman she could scrape up. One of them, pray God, would be nodcock enough to fall for Mrs. Podell.

“A ball?” Brianne was saying. “I’m sure you’ll make it a skimble-skamble affair without my help. What could an upstart like you know about entertaining nobility? You’d hire three field hands with fiddles instead of a respectable London orchestra—and serve bread and butter. Lobster patties, that’s what we need. And the monkey must not be permitted in sight. Nor that nasty little boy who follows you around like a puppy. We’ll have to order champagne and additional flowers and—”

“Dinner is served, my lady,” the butler announced, a week too late, it felt to Aurora.

“Do you know, I don’t believe I feel quite the thing. I am afraid you two ladies will have to excuse me,” she said, but they were so busy planning her ball that neither of the Warriner women noticed when she left.

“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

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.