The Viscount Needs a Wife (32 page)

“I can do whatever I must for my children's sake.”

“You are a splendid woman. Do you know if he made a will?”

Kitty looked sharply at him. There'd been a will. What happened if there were two?

“I don't think so,” Dorothy said. “I did ask him about it once, thinking he should, but he assured me he'd made all proper arrangements for us with the annuities. I didn't like to pursue it.”

“As you say, he made other arrangements. However, I suspect that legally this house now belongs to the viscountcy. I'll sign it over to you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. This is all hard to take in.”

“Time will solve that, at least. If you have need of anything, cousin Dorothy, don't hesitate to contact me.”

“Cousin.” That comfortable word that acknowledged a family connection without necessarily implying a close one.

He took out a card and wrote something on the back. “Any of those addresses will find me.”

“And we'll visit,” Kitty said. “To make sure you're all right. After all, Johnie and Alice are relatives of ours, no matter the legalities.” She hated to leave. “Are you sure you're all right? We could stay longer.”

“No, thank you. You've been as kind as possible. I have friends here.”

And we are not friends,
Kitty understood,
but strangers bearing bad news.
Cousin Dorothy could be a difficult woman, but she was a strong one.

Braydon said, “If I may offer one more piece of advice, cousin, keep that portrait out of sight. The chance of someone visiting here who would recognize it is remote, but why take the risk?”

Dorothy was sensible enough to recognize good advice. “I'll keep it in my bedroom.”

Tears were beginning, and she blotted them with a handkerchief, but Kitty guessed she'd rather they leave. She had friends, she'd said, and why not? She'd lived here for something like seven years.

They took their leave, saving their comments until they were well away from the house.

“How extraordinary,” Kitty said, “but I find myself pleased that the fifth viscount had happiness in his life. A stutter. Poor man.”

“Yes, but if he'd divorced his wife, he'd not have left that woman in such a situation. Milksops create more problems than bullies.”

“This is all the bullying dowager's fault. That's probably why he didn't divorce Diane.”

“How do you reason that?”

“At first it would have been too much attention and drama for him, but when he met Dorothy, he might have realized that getting the divorce and marrying her legally—”

“Would have taken a long time? Worth waiting for.”

“Don't put words in my mouth. Marrying her legally would have made her Viscountess Dauntry and dragged her into the dowager's orbit. After what happened to Diane, he'd want to protect her from that.”

“Leaving her in this situation? Illogical. But I think the dowager is innocent of one crime. I've been holding her responsible for the missing money in the viscountcy's accounts, thinking that she'd secretly squandered it on yet more ornamentation of the Abbey and on bribing gifts to the servants. Instead, it was almost certainly Alfred sneaking out funds to support his Edgware love nest. Shall we see if the White Hart can provide some decent food?”

“I think it best that we leave Edgware without drawing any more attention to ourselves. There will be other inns on the way back to Town.”

“Wise lady.”

T
hey stopped at an inn in Brent Bridge, which served them a meal in a hastily warmed private parlor. Kitty kept her cloak on. As they ate their soup, she said, “I thought I'd heard that if a spouse disappears for seven years or more, a person could marry.”

“I believe so. Some people's deaths aren't clear, for example in foreign parts.”

“Eaten by a tiger in India. Swallowed by a whirlpool in the South Pacific.”

“Perhaps you should take to writing novels.”

She smiled at that. “My point is, if Alfred could have had Diane declared dead, he could have made an honest woman of Dorothy a few years ago, without the scandal of a divorce. He wouldn't have had to announce her to be Lady Dauntry. To marry, he'd only have to use his name, Alfred Braydon, wouldn't he?”

“Yes, but consider this—he'd have had to confess to Dorothy that their original marriage had been bigamous, and the new marriage wouldn't have legitimized Johnie and Alice.”

“Ah. Poor innocents. But any future children would have been legitimate.”

He pushed his soup plate away. “Which could have made matters worse with a title in the mix. A son born
after the legal marriage would have inherited the title over Johnie.”

Kitty also abandoned the soup. It was very dull. “I see. That would be a very difficult situation.”

“Something similar is currently haunting the Cavendish family. As things stand, if Dorothy's nerve holds, her children will be none the worse for all this. The fifth viscount did his best for her and his children.”

The next dish was rather tough roast beef.

Kitty sawed at it. “I've just realized that the dowager has more vessels of the Godyson blood than she knows.”

He looked up from his plate. “You're intending to inform her?”

“Heavens, no! Though perhaps she might welcome them?”

“Only if they can inherit the title and preserve the glory that is Beauchamp Abbey.” He put his fork down. “Shall we abandon this sorry excuse for food?”

Kitty was hungry, but she agreed.

Once they were on the road again, she considered the Braydon family. “So many odd mothers and unsatisfactory marriages. Ours feels blessed by comparison.”

One of his rare smiles lit his eyes. “It's blessed by any standard.”

“Then we should burn incense to the goddess of chance.”

“And a comment like that confirms it.” He tugged at the bow in her bonnet ribbons to loosen it and remove the obstruction to a gently satisfying kiss.

The light was fading on the short winter day, and they paused so the carriage lamps could be lit. That made the countryside beyond their glow seem darker, and Kitty was relieved when they entered the outskirts of London, and especially when they reached the lamp-lit streets.
Soon after that, they were home, and Sillikin was giving Kitty an ecstatically wriggly greeting.

“Yes, yes,” Kitty said, fondling her. “I'm sure you've had wonderful adventures and not missed me at all.”

Braydon said, “I hope a decent dinner's preparing, Edward, and can be served soon. We dined poorly on the road.”

“Yes, sir. There's a message, sir.”

Kitty glanced over.
A message on Sunday?

She had to straighten so Henry could take her cloak. “Perhaps your jaunt was pleasant otherwise, ma'am?” Henry asked.

“It was certainly interesting.” Kitty would have liked to say more, but the fifth viscount's adventures were definitely better kept to as few people as possible. As, probably, were the contents of the message Braydon was reading.
Sidmouth again?

“From Sir Stephen Ball,” Braydon said. They went into the library and closed the door. Sillikin came with them, but she could keep secrets.

“‘
Took an opportunity at church to speak to Sussex,'”
Braydon read out. “
‘He wishes to speak to you.
' So I don't escape that duty, after all, but it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Will he, too, urge you to cease investigations?”

“If so, it'll be an interesting indication.”

“That Sussex was behind the plot?” she asked. “He's sixth in line.”

“The explosion could have disposed of two of his older brothers, and the Regent is unwell. That would leave only York and Cumberland in his way, both of them in marriages that are unlikely to provide offspring.”

“If that's the situation, would Sidmouth and the Regent want the matter forgotten?”

“What purpose would be solved by making a public scandal of it?”

And what steps might be taken to avoid that?
Kitty wondered.

“Perhaps you shouldn't obey the summons,” she said.

“Why not?” He must have guessed her concern. “No, Kitty, that would be too Gothic.”

“We're talking about a royal duke. In the past he would have been able to throw you into the Tower.”

“But no longer. He can't even vent spite on me. I can't be deprived of employment or evicted from my title, unfortunately. I need no royal favors in the future, and I certainly don't pine for an approving word. That's one reason Hawkinville involves a number of gentlemen of independent means.”

He seemed certain, so Kitty let her fears subside. “And perhaps ladies?” she said.

“I shouldn't have put that idea into your head.”

“But you did.” She put a hand on his chest. She needed to touch him, even through layers of clothing. “I enjoyed unraveling the mysteries of the fifth viscount's affairs, and I did well, didn't I?”

“It mostly unraveled itself,” he pointed out, but he'd covered her hand with his.

“Once we visited Edgware.” She crept her hand upward. “Which was my idea.”

“You do have a nose for the important detail.”

She touched his nose. “So?”

But there was a knock at the door. By the time Edward came in and announced dinner, they were decently apart. As they went to the dining room, she remembered the reality of their situation. It would be a long time, if ever, before she could investigate any mystery, unless the crime took place at Beauchamp Abbey.

There'd be no benefit from going over that, so as they
began their meal, she said, “Do you realize that we've not spent a Sunday at the Abbey? How does it go?”

“The chaplain conducts a service in the dowager's boudoir. The senior servants attend. After one such service, I chose Beecham Dab instead.”

“I'd forgotten the chaplain. Where does he live?”

“In a house in Stuckle, close by the ancient chapel. He conducts a service there for the Stuckle people and is well regarded.”

“So even he avoids the Abbey. Things will have to change.” Kitty rang for the next course. “There's some hope for Isabella. She's not immune to the enticements of the world, and she asked me to buy her some new novels.”

“Will they improve her temperament?”

“I chose them carefully. Not all are Gothic horrors.”

They went silent as Edward brought in portions of roast duck in sauce and side dishes. When he'd left she said, “It's not yet a full week since we married. Isn't that extraordinary?”

“Do you regret our lost honeymoon?”

“Not at all.” She ate some of the tender duck, comparing it to the inedible beef. “So delicious. What is a honeymoon, after all? If it's for enjoyment, I've enjoyed the past days more for being here. If it's for increased ease with each other, I suspect that's also better for being away from the Abbey.”

“Despite the plots and connivances?”

“Because of them, most likely. I don't think I'm made for a tranquil life.”

“Nor am I, but there are times for tranquillity.”

The look in his eyes told her he was thinking of the night. She smiled to show she echoed it.

In due course, at a proper time, they retired for the night, and if their explorations were not entirely tranquil, they were slow and gentle in parts. Braydon surprised Kitty
with some soft laughter at one point, so that she woke in the middle of the night with tears dampening her pillow. It had come upon her, not as an explosion but as a powerful wave, that she loved him. She'd known she admired him, delighted in him, desired him, and enjoyed him. But enhancing everything now was that insane magic the poets tried to capture, and that had eluded Dorothy, despite her best intentions. Romantic love, which brought passions, addictions, and even tragedy, but, if blessed, was the most delicious delight.

Yet soon they must part.

Many loving couples spend time apart,
she reminded herself,
especially if the husband is a soldier, sailor, or merchant.
Dorothy hadn't found it odd that her husband had to spend stretches of time away from home.

Men came to Town for Parliament and didn't always bring their wives and families. Many wives preferred to spend spring in the countryside, especially if their children were young. Perhaps a honeymoon was designed to wear out the first mania so that married lovers could resume a normal life.

Very well. She would not be manic. She must return to the Abbey soon, so on the next day, she must attend to Abbey business more seriously.

She breakfasted with Braydon, but when he went out to visit Sussex, she sat to make lists of what she needed to buy or order. She took the list to Henry for advice, and she suggested a few additions.

But then Henry said, “I was thinking this would be a good opportunity for you to interview some lady's maids, dear. You might not be back in Town until the spring.”

Kitty wanted to protest, but Henry had only been on loan to her.

“Miss Ecclestall must be missing you,” she said.

“She is, but I miss her and Lady Sophonisbe, and my family thereabouts. I'd like to be home for Christmas.”

“You have family? You've never mentioned them.”

“Two brothers and a sister, and many nieces and nephews.”

“Then of course you must go home,” Kitty said, hoping her good cheer was convincing. “How do we go about hiring a new maid?”

“There are agencies. You could write to ask them to arrange interviews in the next day or two.”

“Very well. But you must assist me to make the right choice.”

“Of course, dear. I won't leave until I'm sure you have the right person.”

That tempted Kitty to be dissatisfied with all of them, but she wouldn't. Henry deserved to be happily in her right place.

She sent the letter to the agency and then, with her entourage, she toured shops and warehouses to select everything she needed to make her suite of rooms at the Abbey tolerable. She regretted not having Ruth to advise her, but she'd do her best. She also stayed alert for Christmas trimmings—the brighter, the better—and anything that might be a suitable gift.

She'd never clung to a dark mood, and this day was no different, especially when she could make choices without a care for the cost. She couldn't help but enjoy the way she was treated as a titled lady with two servants. Frequently the owner of an establishment would hurry out to give her special attention, offering refreshments and an abundance of samples to take away.

At one point Kitty murmured to Henry, “I could have refurbished my rooms in Moor Street with all these so-called samples.”

“Then you'll be able to pass them on when you no longer need them, dear.”

Benevolence. Something else she'd rarely been able to indulge in. When she thought of Beecham Dab and the Abbey, she didn't see much need, especially with Ruth and Andrew doing their duty so responsibly.

There's an abundance of need in London, which is why there are so many charities, many needing noble patrons and patronesses. . . .
That way lay the dismals, so she plunged into the investigation of some small rotating bookcases. As she turned one, testing how smoothly it moved, she wondered how Braydon was faring with the Duke of Sussex.

This was 1817, not the middle ages, or even Tudor times, but she worried that a royal duke could retaliate if threatened. Braydon had been too dismissive of that.

She shook her head. They described love as a madness, and it must be if it led to her thinking Braydon couldn't cope without her at his side.