A Worthy Wife (20 page)

Moving down the hall, Kenyon tried Brianne’s door, which was firmly locked. She shouted, “Go away, I am sleeping,” when he called to her. The excursion had not improved his sister’s personality any, then. It was a wonder Brianne hadn’t been the one shot.

Downstairs, Aunt Ellenette was frantically inspecting Frederick for fleas. That’s what came of mingling with the lower orders, she declared, demanding he evict the woman who was obviously no better than she ought to be, the unknown invalid, their various four-footed companions, and his countess while he was at it. “The place has not been the same since she got here!”

“No, it hasn’t, thank goodness.” He left his aunt sputtering and went out to the stables, still hoping to find someone who could provide some information. Oliver, the coachman, was all too happy to see his employer, needing to make sure the earl did not blame him for any of the argle-bargle.

The red-eyed and red-haired female, as Kenyon had guessed, was another Mrs. Podell, although this one claimed her dead husband’s name was Harley. The story Oliver told of her circumstances made him wish once more he hadn’t been so lenient with Podell, whatever he was called. He’d have to make do, Kenyon decided, with taking his horsewhip to the poor chit’s father. If the deep-pocketed poltroon had guarded his chick better in the first place, she’d not have strayed from the nest.

As for the highwayman, Kenyon would hand him over for trial in the morning.

“Happens your ladies might have somethin’ to say about that.”

“No.”

Oliver shrugged. “The bloke’s a gentleman, right enough—and handsome as the devil; smooth-tongued, too. The countess believed his story ’bout gettin’ choused out of an inheritance.”

“No.” Not no, he wouldn’t pardon the bastard for almost shooting Aurora, but no, he would not be cuckolded again, not by a criminal. A French nobleman was
bad enough, but a disinherited knight of the road was too much!

“Lady Brianne won’t take kindly to hangin’ the rascal. Taken with him, she was.”

“My sister? With a common thief?”

Oliver spit his tobacco juice between his teeth and out the stable door. “Ain’t common. Son of a baron.”

“The son of a bitch could have overturned the carriage, killing all of you.”

“Speakin’ of bitches, young Ned took the dog to his own bed. The cat’ll need an earth box.”

“The cat?”

Oliver nodded. “Big, mean ’un. But your lady’s pluck to the backbone, my lord. She’ll have it straightened out in two shakes.”

Two shakes might have awakened Aurora when he returned to her room, but Kenyon was reluctant to disturb her. She’d been through a lot, poor puss. No matter that he needed to hold her, touch her, be with her, be one with her, more than he needed to breathe. Kenyon softly kissed her forehead and turned to leave.

She smile drowsily and reached for his hand. “Thank you, my lord.”

“It was nothing, the merest kiss. I did not mean to wake you.”

“No, I mean for seeing to everyone and managing so well.” She sighed. “I just knew you’d get everything squared away.”

He had not done anything yet; the servants had done all the work. Still, his heart glowed, for the confidence she had in him. He brushed a curl off her face. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She yawned and rolled over, burrowing deeper under the covers. “Good. Remind me to send Dawson back for the diamonds then, too.”

Oliver had not mentioned any diamonds. “What, did you finally select the wedding present I’ve been promising you? I’m surprised you had time for visiting the shops, with all your adventures.” He was venturing closer to the bed, thinking he might just slip under the
covers while she was so sleepy and sweet and smelling of roses from her bath.

“No, silly, the Windham diamonds.”

He jumped back. “What? You drag home a dog, a cat, a watering pot, and a well-born knave, but you lose the Windham diamonds?”

“Don’t forget Lucy’s babies.”

“Lucy? Who the devil is Lucy?”

“She’s the dog. She has four of the sweetest puppies.”

And he supposed she expected him to provide for them, too. “Well, I pray one of the pups can talk like Frederick. Maybe it’ll tell me what I did to deserve this.”

Chapter Twenty

Nialla was up early. One tended not to sleep well in a strange household, with one’s life in turmoil, and a hungry cat sharing the bedroom. She was dressed and on her way in search of breakfast or someone who could direct her to the kitchens when she heard swear words, some of the same ones her father had used when he threw her out of the house. There was no way on this earth she was going to go near anyone that angry again if she could help it, so she crept down the hall, hugging the wall. The cursing was growing more plaintive, though, and weaker, so she peeped into the partly opened door as she passed. A gentleman was tangled in his bedclothes, struggling with one arm to reach something on the far side of the nightstand.

This had to be Captain Warriner, Lady Brianne’s injured brother. He could not order her from the house, she didn’t think. Nialla hesitated but, understanding hopelessness, she stepped inside the room and asked, “May I help you, sir?”

“Deuce take it, girl, yes. The footman left to fetch breakfast, and I’ve knocked my spectacles to the floor, so can’t see which of these blasted bottles has the fever pills I’m supposed to take.”

Nialla forgave his curses, for he was a soldier, and his rudeness, for the poor man must be in pain. She located the glasses and put them in his hand, not daring the familiarity of placing the spectacles on his nose. Then she started reading labels on the scores of bottles on the table.

“What are you doing?” Christopher looked up, expecting to see one of the maids, who probably could not
read. “I can— Well, hello, Sunshine.” This was no maid, but an adorable little redhead with freckles.

Nialla blushed, but found the appropriate bottle and poured out a cup of lemonade for him from the pitcher by his bed. He swallowed, then apologized. “I am sorry, ma’am, for mistaking you for a servant. You must be the Mrs. Podell my brother told me about last night. Welcome to Windrush.”

She stared at the floor. “Thank you, everyone has been so…so kind.”

“You ain’t going to cry, are you? I’d rather face the French cannon again, rather than that,” Nialla sniffled but shook her head, so he went on. “And don’t go thinking that anyone here will be holding what happened against you. My brother told enough for me to wish I could call that cad Podell out myself.”

“He told you? I wish he had not. I am so ashamed.”

“Fustian. No one thinks any the less of you, ma’am. Your father is another story. But you do not have to worry about that kind of thing anymore. My brother will take care of everything. He always does. Great gun, the earl.”

“That’s what Lady Windham said, too, but I cannot help worrying. The earl and the countess and Lady Brianne have been so good to me, going to such effort, for no reason. I am no connection, no responsibility of theirs. And I feel odd, accepting their charity.”

Christopher pushed the cup of lemonade aside, spilling a little, which had him blue-deviled again. “You don’t have to tell me about accepting charity. Confound it, I’ll be a yoke around their necks for the rest of my life.”

“Surely not.” She put her hand to his forehead without thinking. “Why, your fever is almost gone. You’ll be recovering faster now.”

“And then what?” he asked bitterly. “I cannot go back to the army. It was bad enough that my poor eyesight kept me from a field command. Dash it, if Kenyon hadn’t twisted some arms, I’d never have been allowed my colors at all. But now? I would not even be fit for a desk position. Besides, the war is almost over, everyone
says so. But the military was the only career I’ve ever known.”

“You’ll find something else, I’m sure. Some way you can support yourself so you won’t feel so dependent on your family.”

He lightly touched her hand. “And so will you. You’ll come about, I’m certain.”

“How? I have even fewer skills than you.”

Kit did not have the answer, but he smiled, for the first time in months, it seemed. “I know—you’ll feel better about accepting Windham’s generosity if you make yourself useful around here.”

She had to laugh. “You obviously don’t know how many servants Lady Windham has tripping over each other. According to your sister, the countess turns no one away.”

“But those are servants, Sunshine. You could be doing Windham and his bride a great favor if you help me, so they don’t feel obliged to. You cannot imagine how frustrating it is not to be able to turn the pages of a newspaper, or shuffle a deck of cards.”

“Truly? You’re not just being kind, trying to make me feel less indebted, are you?”

“Word of a Warriner. I have spent so much time looking at walls, I’d welcome Old Harry himself if he’d play chess.”

“I’m not very good at it.”

“Even better! I hate to lose.”

“And it would be proper? No one would think it wrong for me to sit with you in your bedroom?”

He laughed again. “You are the least likeliest-looking matron I’ve ever seen, Sunshine, but you are a respectable widow, for all anyone knows. And we’ll leave the door open. Besides, my condition is not quite conducive to an affair. Not yet, at any rate.”

So Nialla sat by the bed, reading the morning newspaper to Captain Warriner, discussing the day’s events and sharing his breakfast when it came. He augmented the war news, and she talked about the latest styles, neither feeling the least awkwardness at her cutting his food, or him spilling the occasional forkful. They decided which
plays were worth seeing, what
on dit
could not possibly be true, and that Windham should speak up in Parliament about the plight of returning soldiers. So intent was Nialla, in fact, that she forgot about feeding the cat. The cat had long since decided to find its own meal, pushing open Nialla’s bedroom door and following its scarred nose down the stairs.

*

Brianne was up early, unusually so for one who seldom stirred before noon, but she had too much on her mind to waste the day in bed. She had to speak to her brother before he made any decisions concerning the Honorable—or not—Wesley Royce. Her high-handed brother was
not
going to hand Brianne’s highwayman over to the authorities. She’d help him escape herself first.

Why this was so, why she was ready to forsake her principles for the sake of a handsome rogue, she was not sure. Not because he had laughing eyes, she told herself, and not because he’d kissed her. How dare he take such liberties! And perhaps he would again if she helped him steal out of the house. “Steal” was perhaps the wrong word to use, she pondered as she scrambled into her gown and pulled a comb through her hair. But she knew what it meant to be trapped, confined by conventions. At least Mr. Royce had taken control of his own fate. He deserved another chance.

Not that she believed her highwayman should walk off, scot-free, she thought as she went down the hall, not noticing the cat sniffing past her. Her brother had too fine a sense of justice, for one thing. But there was no reason Wesley could not work off his misdeeds, like those boys who’d broken the church window last year. Yes, she decided, that was it. Kenyon would find Mr. Royce a position, proving that he did not have to resort to a risky life of crime.

Mr. Royce disagreed. “What, let your brother frank me, after trying to rob his womenfolk? What kind of man do you think me, woman?”

“A prize fool, but I’d see your neck out of a noose anyway.”

“You don’t understand about a man’s honor. I could not accept favors from Windham, and he would not offer. I consider myself lucky not to be facing transportation. His man was by this morning; and said he didn’t think the earl was that angry, but I am not going to press my luck or abuse his hospitality a moment longer than I have to. I’ll be on my way as soon as you leave me to get dressed.”

So she picked up his freshly laundered breeches, his carefully mended coat, and the clean shirt of Kenyon’s that the valet had brought, and shredded them, using the knife on his breakfast tray. “You are staying.”

Wesley threw his head back and laughed. “If a woman feels that strongly about keeping a fellow in bed, he’d be no gentleman to deny her. Come give us a kiss, my impetuous darling, and we’ll talk about it.”

*

The earl was up early. Despite the short hours of sleep, his mind was too restless for him to stay abed. Kenyon needed to reassure himself that his wife had not taken any ill-effects from her brush with Benton or the bandit. He pulled on his robe and opened the connecting door.

Aurora was still asleep, looking warm and rosy, and so damn appealing Kenyon wanted, quite desperately, in fact, to crawl into bed beside her. But she needed her rest, and he needed to make sure that his brother was still on the mend. Leaving him in the hands of servants was worrisome.

He need not have troubled himself at all, for his brother was eating and drinking and, yes, laughing with little Mrs. Podell. She wasn’t even weeping, bless her skitter-witted soul.

They never noticed him in the doorway, or when he left. He never noticed the cat creeping down the stairs. He was too busy marveling that his sister was also up and dressed before luncheon, and visiting with the highwayman. Oliver must be right, then. Lud, a highwayman for a brother-in-law! Of course it was better than a bigamist. And if Royce made Brianne happy—and out of Kenyon’s hair—he’d send his solicitor to see about the
man’s inheritance this very morning. Hell, he’d pay it himself.