The Viscount Needs a Wife (35 page)

“Which is probably exactly what he intended. He hoped for tears and pleas not to go.”

“Yes. Yes, he did, the wretch! All the same, I wish him well.”

“As do I—at the antipodes.”

She smiled and wanted to give him the gift then, but she had the letter in her hand. She snapped the seal and unfolded two sheets of paper. “Whoever it is hasn't tried to save us money. Oh! It's from the Hartleys. Now we
might unravel the last mystery and learn what happened to Diane. I'd like to have something to tell Isabella.”

“As long as it's suitable,” he warned.

“She has to know it's scandalous,” Kitty said, and read the letter aloud.

My dear ma'am,

I have delayed in responding to your enquiry, for I couldn't decide what best to do. The Braydon family treated my daughter shamefully, and I hold no kindness for them.

She looked to the bottom of the letter. “It's from her mother, Lady Hartley. Is Sir Allenby dead?”

“Read on and we may find out.”

The fifth Viscount Dauntry seemed a kindly man and truly fond of our dear child, who was only nineteen at the time of their marriage. My husband and I gave our consent, having no suspicion of the place to which he would take her, nor that he would fail so miserably in protecting her from one intent on crushing her bright spirit.

“I sympathize with a grieving mother,” Braydon said, “but I suspect that Diane was a spoiled chit.”

“Sympathy with the dowager?”

“She's selfish and domineering, but I don't think she's evil or mad. She must have had some reason for attempting control. Continue.”

We were horrified by our daughter's abandoning her husband and children and confess that if she'd come to us, we would have had to send her
back, though we would have attempted to improve matters. Perhaps that is why she fled abroad, and died in foreign parts.

“Ah, poor Diane,” Kitty said. “I hope she flew free in happiness for a while.” She turned to the second sheet.

We chose not to inform her husband that he was free to marry again. My husband had already informed Lord Dauntry that if he sought to divorce Diane, we would present her letters in court as evidence of her ill treatment. It would not have blocked a divorce, but it would have exposed him and his mother to the eyes of the world. In retaliation, he refused us all contact with Diane's children.

“The dowager's work,” Kitty said.

“Read on.”

If the viscount had known of my daughter's death, he would have married again and we wished to prevent that. An unchristian attitude, I admit, but he deserved to suffer.

“He did,” Braydon said. “For allowing his mother's actions.”

“She's a hard woman to oppose.”

“One only needs a spine.”

However, your letter alerted us to the fact that there is a new Viscount Dauntry of only the remotest connection to Diane's persecutors, who perhaps should know the facts. Sir Allenby still wished to ignore your request for information, but I felt it
right that the truth be recorded now that it can do no harm. My poor daughter lived less than a year after leaving her husband. She died on board a ship to America on the eighth of August, 1808.

Lady Allenby had simply signed her name at the end.

“How sad,” Kitty said, refolding the letter. “I'd hoped for better.”

“So much unhappiness sprung from one woman.”

“But the dowager might not have been so ruinous if her husband and children had lived.”

“Wounds do not excuse viciousness.”

“At least now we know, and the events are all in the past. Can we hope for a simpler future?”

“I think we can.”

His tone alerted her. “What?”

“Heaven has smiled on me after all, and on you, I hope. Will you weep tears if you are not Viscountess Dauntry?”

“Of course not, but how?”

“If Diane truly did die in 1808, my predecessor's marriage to Dorothy could be legal.”

Kitty stared at him. “Not bigamy at all?”

“As long as he married in proper form, using his real name, and it seems he did. It will depend upon the date. Dorothy mentioned the king being unwell at the time but not known to be mad, so before the Regency in 1811, and probably before 1810.”

“Your memory again. But I can add something. She mentioned Alfred talking to her father about the Battle of Talavera. When they first met.”

“Did she, by gad! My brilliant darling. That nails it. Talavera was July 1809, after Diane's death.”

“We're free?”

“As good as.” He was actually grinning. “It will have
to go before the courts and the College of Heralds, but I see no reason that little Johnie shouldn't be accepted in due course as the sixth Viscount Dauntry, replacing me.”

“Oh, but should we inflict that on him?”

He chuckled. “Such horror over a title. In fact, we have no choice. If the truth ever comes out—and why shouldn't it?—the situation would be more complicated than it is now. I judge Dorothy to be strong enough to withstand the shock, especially with our help, and the lad is promising. I'll stand patron to John, Lord Dauntry, and arrange for his schooling.”

“Away from the Abbey.”

“Precisely.”

“We should evict the dowager before they arrive,” Kitty said. “No?”

“That decision will be Dorothy's once she's in full possession of the facts. It's lamentably weak of me, but I feel Alfred's mother should have her chance at repentance and reform. She will have a new vessel for the Godyson blood, which might gentle her. Consider the fact that Isabella doesn't hate or even dislike her grandmother. She must have good memories of her.”

“Definitely not a cold marble box,” Kitty said, smiling. “I have a gift for you.” She took the box out of her pocket and offered it.

He rubbed his thumb over the old ivory. “It's lovely, but why?”

“You've given me gifts. And this is the one-week anniversary of our wedding.”

“Is it only a week, Mrs. Braydon?”

“Mrs. Braydon?”

“It's only prudent to cease using the title when my right is so uncertain. Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest! I thought once that it suited you—Dauntry and daunting—but no longer. And I'll be
much more comfortable without pomp, precedence, and protocol.”

“You would have looked magnificent in scarlet robes and coronet.”

“But as compensation, we're no longer tied to the Abbey. We can live in Town all year round.”

“How your eyes shine. We'll have to take care of the place during the transition and to assist Dorothy.”

“But it won't be a life sentence. And Ruth and I will be close again. What's the Shakespeare play?
All's Well That Ends Well
. How clever he was.”

“I could add
Much Ado about Nothing
, for the princes' affair.”

“And even
The Comedy of Errors
,” Kitty said. “But not
The Taming of the Shrew
.”

He traced her cheek. “Shrewd, but not shrewish. Insightful and perceptive. Perhaps it comes from all those years observing and being kind to young men.”

She had to ask. “No jealousy?”

“I'm determined to transmute it into pride. Don't answer if you don't want to, but did Cateril ever hit you?”

Instinctively, Kitty wanted not to answer, even to deny it, but she said, “A few times. When his pain was bad and his spirits low.”

“That's no excuse.”

“He never claimed it was. He was always repentant. Once I cracked a jug over his head, so I wasn't above violence, either.”

“No meek Desdemona. I love my bold, strong wife, but I could wish you'd had a gentler life.”

“I'm not sure about that. Too much peace and quiet and I'd probably seek out mayhem. So I do hope you'll find a way to involve me in your work.” But then she said, “Open the box.”

He did so. “A heart. Yours?”

“You have my heart, but that is yours. When we first met I thought you a cold marble box, but I sensed fire inside. There is fire, but above that, there's a warm heart, and there's nothing of cold marble about you, my love.”

He drew her onto his knee for a kiss that, as always, turned passionate, but they both controlled it. In this she could be patient, as could he. Especially as a kiss could last as long as a feast, with a banquet to follow in the night.

Christmas Day at Beauchamp Abbey

T
he five children chased Sillikin and Pirate around the brightly decorated hall, the dogs sometimes skidding on the marble floor. Pirate was Johnie's dog and was a black-patched mongrel, but she had a friendly disposition, and she and Sillikin played together well.

The children were Johnie and Alice Braydon, their Edgware friends Harry and Bella Pickering, and little Arthur Lulworth. Arthur had been hesitant, but Johnie had befriended him, and Sillikin had added encouragement.

Three mothers and two military officers kept an eye on the noisy chaos. Isabella was watching from the gallery above, looking as if she wished she wasn't too old to join in, especially given the involvement of the officers.

Kitty and Braydon had delayed their departure from Town to take the news to Edgware, and then set in train the legal processes to do with Johnie's claim to the title. They'd ceased using the title and sent notices to the papers to that effect, and then worked hard to convince the world that they were at peace with the situation. Sir Stephen Ball had called to learn more details, promising to help in any legal matters, and to write to friends around the country about the matter.

Dorothy's first reaction had been dismay and, Kitty suspected, fear, but her son's situation ruled. He was a viscount and must have his due. Wisely, she made no attempt to have either Johnie or herself referred to by a title until all was formally settled, but she did agree to move to Beauchamp Abbey. The children were less positive, for the prospect of wealth and a title meant nothing to them, whereas leaving their friends and familiar area did.

Again wisely, Dorothy invited her friend Mary Pickering to come with them, along with Harry and Bella, her children and the best friends of Johnie and Alice. Then it all became a huge adventure, especially when Braydon mentioned the probability of ponies. Mary was also a widow, but less well provided for than Dorothy. She was now Dorothy's official companion and treated like one of the family. She was blossoming day by day.

Kitty had been impressed by the ease with which Braydon had arranged the transportation of two families and much of their worldly goods to Gloucestershire, undaunted by a blast of wintry weather that had put inches of snow on the ground.

At first the Abbey had daunted the new residents, and the Abbey servants had been thrown into confusion. They'd wanted to call Braydon “my lord,” and if not he, who? Braydon had made the situation as clear as it could be, and Kitty had worked with Dorothy to hand over the management of the house.

Braydon and Kitty had taken on the task of informing the dowager of the situation.

“My son married without a word to me? Nonsense.”

“I have the documents with me,” Braydon said, “if you care to see them.”

“I do not. I don't believe a word of it. It's part of your plot to evict me from my home.”

“You have two new grandchildren,” Kitty said. “One a son.”

“You are trying to foist guttersnipes on me for your amusement.”

Kitty recognized that she'd become so accustomed to being aggrieved and difficult that she was chained by it. She left to get Dorothy and the children.

As soon as the dowager saw Johnie, she'd melted, tears welling in her eyes. “My boy. It's as if my boy is returned to me! Come to me!”

Not surprising if the child held back from the mound of black on the thronelike chair, but Dorothy gently steered him forward. “Make your bow to your grandmother, dear.”

At which, miraculously, he'd smiled. “Grandmother?” He'd bowed and said, “I've always wanted a grandparent.”

And the dowager had smiled. If her eyes hadn't been so pouched, a twinkle might have shown. She didn't insist on an embrace, but said, “I will try to be the best grandmother possible, dearest boy.”

The sweet mood hadn't held, and once the children and their mother had left, the dowager had settled, perhaps with relief, into bitter complaint about her son hiding his marriage and her grandson, the hope of her line, from her. They'd decided not to tell her he hadn't known he was free. The fewer who knew about that, the better.

Over the next weeks she had mellowed, and she'd certainly become careful not to create too much trouble. She'd been indulgent, perhaps overindulgent, to Johnie, but he—perhaps instructed by his mother—had refused any treat that didn't include the other children.

As Kitty had said to Ruth on her first visit to the parsonage, “I thought the old beldame would turn vicious at that, but she's not stupid, and she has Dorothy's measure.
There'll be no visits from the children except on Dorothy's terms, and if the dowager's not careful, she'll end up in the Dower House or worse.”

“She deserves to be evicted. Are you sure it's wise to allow her to continue at the Abbey?”

“Where's the quality of mercy and all that?” Kitty asked. “She is thawing, especially as Dorothy has agreed that they'll be Godyson-Braydons.”

“That odd obsession.”

“Bloodlines mean a great deal to some people. It helps that the dowager was instantly besotted with Johnie. He does quite resemble her son, but he has the bright spark the fifth viscount always lacked.”

“She was disappointed in him?” Ruth said. “Poor man.”

“Mothers and sons,” Kitty said, tempted to tell Ruth about the queen, but she overcame that. “As Dorothy says, the addition of a name is a small adjustment in order to win peace. There couldn't be a better woman for this situation, Ruth. She's so steady and calm. Exactly, in fact, the sort of woman Braydon wanted for a wife.”

Ruth looked alarmed for a moment, but then she smiled. “No longer, I assume.”

“No longer. We get along very well.”

“More than well, I suspect.”

Kitty just smiled. For some reason, confessing to a madness of love seemed impossible, but she was sure Ruth understood.

“The children have certainly shattered the ice palace,” she said. “They are no longer awed by Abbey, parkland or anything, and are running their servants ragged. Yesterday Harry Pickering tried to ride one of the deer.”

“Was he injured?”

“No, thank heavens. His mother spanked him, and Braydon arranged riding lessons on the quiet horses
until the ponies arrive, which should be soon. The horses are far too big for them, of course, but they're content for now to sit on their backs and be led around the paddock.”

“And you drove over here,” Ruth said.

“With a groom, of course. I won't have much need to drive myself when living in Town, but I think I'll improve my skill. I enjoy it.”

“Will you be one of those dashing, fashionable ladies with her own curricle and pair?”

Kitty laughed. “I doubt that. But I might enjoy being fashionable in other ways.”

“You won't miss being mistress of Beauchamp Abbey?”

“Not a bit! Like Braydon, I've had a very lucky escape.”

“How is Isabella behaving?”

Kitty pulled a face. “Cautiously. She's become accustomed to following her grandmother's lead, but now she doesn't know what to do. I think she feels that Johnie is supplanting her brother, but yesterday she helped Alice and Bella to make love knots out of scarlet ribbon to decorate the hall.”

“A promising development.”

“I'm hoping military reinforcements will carry the day.”

Ruth raised her brows in a question.

“I've invited two young officers to spend Christmas at the Abbey. Cully Debenham, who for some reason wants to avoid his own family Christmas, and Captain Fallerton, who comes from Northumberland and can't take the time for such a journey in chancy weather. I'm hoping they'll crack her shell.”

“I hope that's not a euphemism!”

Kitty chuckled. “For a maidenhead? Certainly not. They're good fellows. Handpicked for the job. You'll meet them on Christmas Day.”

And here they all were, in a merry throng. They'd all gone to Beecham Dab for the service and were now waiting for Christmas dinner to be served, which would happen when the dowager came down. Or without her, if she delayed any longer. But here she came, carried down the stairs by two sturdy footmen, whereupon Quiller announced the meal.

Everyone was present except baby Maria. Johnie, pink with excitement and perhaps embarrassment, was seated at the head of the table, with his mother at his side. The dowager had the next-most-important place at the foot. Her mourning was a little less dense today, and she was wearing a short string of very large pearls.

Kitty suspected they belonged to the viscountcy, not her, but that was no longer her concern. She had regretted, just a little, the jewels she'd been shown, but it was already clear that Braydon would amply replace them. Today she was wearing rubies with her red dress and cashmere shawl.

Isabella was wearing a tiny black cap and a set of delicate pearl and silver jewelry that had also been a gift from Braydon. She was seated, glowing, between the two officers.

There were additional guests. The Misses Purslow, Mr. and Mrs. Whitehall, and Dr. Lowell. Worseley was spending Christmas with his family, but he had agreed to stay on at the Abbey to serve Dorothy and Johnie. He was young enough to perhaps be a good influence on the lad, but soon there'd be a tutor and a governess in residence to attend to the children's education.

Every now and then, the dowager would slip into a sour face, but whenever she looked at Johnie, her expression softened. He often smiled down the table at her without any reserve. John, Lord Dauntry could well prove too clever and charming for everyone's good, but Braydon would steer him right, and for now he was perfect.

After dinner they all played games, including a very complicated game of Speculation, in which the adults connived for the children to win most of the points. After the children had been reluctantly persuaded to go to bed, Arthur going with them for now, Kitty suggested some dancing. Though she made it seem impromptu, it was planned. She'd made sure Dorothy had no objection, and one of the servants was ready to play tunes on his fiddle. She could only hope the dowager wouldn't rage.

She didn't, only saying she was weary and would retire. It could even be true.

Dr. Lowell asked Miss Mary Purslow to dance, and gallant Cully asked Miss Martha, which caused her great but pleasurable confusion. The Whitehalls danced together, as did Ruth and Andrew, and Braydon led out Mary Pickering. Dorothy had said that she wouldn't dance.

Captain Fallerton asked Dorothy if it would be proper for Isabella to dance. This, too, was prearranged, and Dorothy said, “I can't imagine why anyone would object.” She turned to Isabella. “Would you like to dance, dear? This is a private affair, and I'm sure your father and brother would only want your happiness.”

Isabella seemed torn between an attachment to mourning and a strong desire to dance. Of course, dancing with a handsome young officer won and she went forward, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

Kitty sat with Dorothy, Sillikin over her toes, watching the merry couples. “Do you feel blessed or cursed?” she asked.

“Blessed to high heaven,” Dorothy said. “You and your husband truly didn't want any of this?”

“Truly. We all have different ideas of heaven, don't we? For my first husband, clouds and harps would have been torture. I have to hope he's found the Norse heaven,
where the men fight battles every day and rise from the dead to fight again.”

“Why on earth would anyone want that?”

“As I said, different blessings and curses. Thank you for agreeing to sell the town house to us. I don't know what it is about it, but I believe we can be happy there.”

“I gather it's not part of the entailment, and I can see no use to us for many years, especially as you've agreed to introduce Isabella to the world in due course. It's odd to think she's my stepdaughter when she generally terrifies me with her haughty ways.”

Kitty chuckled. “You hide it well. She'll improve in time, I think, and be off your hands entirely in a few years. You know that you and the children will be welcome at the town house at any time.”

“That will be rarely. Country life suits us very well.”

“All's well that ends well, indeed.”

The first dance ended, and Kitty captured her husband as partner for the next.

First he steered her beneath the mistletoe.

Kitty put on a frown. “I believe, sir, that a couple's supposed to kiss only once beneath the mistletoe, and this would be our third.”

“Fourth. I never forget a kiss, and I know which rules to ignore. Happy Christmas, Mrs. Braydon.”

Their kiss was light, but special, as always. Then Sillikin gave a little yip.

“You object?” Braydon said, looking down.

“Simply agreement, yes?” Kitty said to her dog.

“Yip!”

Braydon chuckled. He, too, had fallen into the habit of talking to the spaniel, though perhaps he didn't understand the responses as well.
Yet.