A Worthy Wife (16 page)

How many times had Podell performed his compromising ploy? Aurora bitterly wondered. Enough to be well practiced, for certain. The engagement was announced, then the hurried wedding, then he left to rejoin his regiment. Or search out another bride, Aurora guessed.

Mr. Benton was too downy a bird to hand over a king’s ransom to Podell in one huge lump. He’d grown wealthy by not trusting anyone, certainly not a nob, and saw no reason to start now. So he tied Nialla’s dowry in trusts, with the interest payable quarterly. He himself kept control of the capital.

Podell could not die a hero’s death for this bride, since he had to return to Lancashire every three months to express his devotion to his young wife, and to collect his blunt. He lived like a lord at his father-in-law’s expense for a fortnight, then left for another few months. There were, blessedly, no children. The Jamaican Podells seemed to be the legitimate offspring, so the dastard had no bastards.

At the earl’s request, Mr. Juckett had written to Mr. Benton, who was naturally outraged on his daughter’s behalf. He swore to make her a widow, one way or t’other. Since no one knew where Podell was at the time, before Aurora’s mock wedding, Benton declared that he had died in battle like so many other brave boys. His little girl did not have to know the truth, or the shame of her sham marriage. She was blameless, and her fortune was nearly intact, if her maidenhead was not. Her loving father would make sure that Nialla suffered no further at Podell’s hands. And he’d send his minions to
join the earl’s in tracking the cur down. Benton was grateful, the solicitor wrote, and extended his appreciation to Windham for investigating the vermin and bringing Podell’s misdemeanors to his attention.

Mr. Juckett concluded his letter to Lord Windham by saying that he would write to Mr. Benton, announcing Podell’s departure from England’s shores. If the coal merchant wanted to send someone to see that Nialla became a widow in deed as well as in name, the world would not mourn the loss.

Aurora placed the letter back on the pile. They were going to let some poor woman believe that her hero-husband had perished, that he had passed on? He’d passed on to Brianne and Aurora, that’s what he’d done, and Lord knew how many others. Miss Benton’s whole life would be blighted. She might never come out of mourning. No, Aurora believed that a woman deserved the truth, no matter how painful. And she deserved to hear it from another Mrs. Harland Podell.

“What, call on a Cit?” Lady Brianne bristled when Aurora suggested the visit. “You might count coal heavers as desirable acquaintances—Lud knows your aunt and uncle dote on dung beetles—I do not.”

“We need to show her that she is not alone. That she should not regret the loss of such a slimy scoundrel.”

“But she is a coal miner’s daughter, Aurora.”

“Does that mean she has no feelings? All women can be hurt, or have you forgotten your own pain?”

“So send her a letter.” Brianne turned back to the fashion magazine she was studying. “You can sign my name if you wish.”

“She needs to be told in person, and you need to see that I did not steal Harland’s affections from you, once and for all. The man was a pernicious polygamist.” Aurora was tired of her sister-in-law’s sniping and sour disposition. She was also tired of arguing about money. “Besides, I shall not leave you here to bankrupt your brother’s estate. In fact, I have already instructed Mr. Dawson to deny you any more funds, and I have informed the dressmakers and other merchants that I will not honor any more of your bills.”

Brianne threw the magazine to the floor and shouted, “How dare you.”

Aunt Ellenette put down her novel and picked up her pug, then sidled out of the room before Brianne threw herself into a full-fledged tantrum.

“Why, you’re no better than a tradesman’s daughter yourself, and your father didn’t even manage to make his fortune in India. You cannot tell me what to do, what to wear, where to go.”

“It’s my money,” Aurora said quietly. “Or your brother’s. He will always provide for you, naturally, but he does not have to go into debt for you. He is already complaining of the outlandish expenditures, and not half the dressmakers’ bills have arrived. You may discuss your financial situation with him when he returns. Till then, I hold the purse strings, and I say when they will be loosened.”

“But I cannot leave now, while planning for the ball is in such a crucial stage. I have been thinking about rewording the invitations.”

“Plans for the ball will have to wait until we hear from your brothers. We were too optimistic, I fear, concerning Captain Warriner’s condition.”

“Nonsense, Kit always loved a good party.”

“And he will love this one, when he is ready to dance and enjoy the company. I am afraid you will have to make do with whist parties and charades with the vicar in the meantime. You could always try putting your hand to hemming the new draperies.”

Brianne waved her manicured hand in the air. “Oh, I suppose I cannot let you go to Lancashire alone. Kenyon wouldn’t like it above half. He asked me to keep an eye on you, you know.”

“And you’ve been so good about watching me sew the curtains. But you have been complaining about the wall coverings in your bedroom”—and everything else—“so this would be a good opportunity to have the work done without suffering the mess and bother. I expect we shall be gone for two days at least.”

“That Chinese silk with the gold bamboo? It’s hardly worth doing, else.”

And that was extortion, plain and simple, but Aurora agreed. She’d have no peace otherwise, for one thing, and Brianne would be less likely to notice the improvements she was making on the nursery floor and report them to Windham, for another. The schoolroom and one of the bedrooms were being overhauled for Andrew, for the time when Aurora convinced her husband to bring their son home. The nursery itself, with its dusty crib, could wait—another decade, it was seeming. “Shall we leave as soon as the rolls of paper arrive?”

Brianne nodded. “But I will not travel with that guttersnipe page of yours, nor the ape.”

Aurora saw no reason to take Ned out of school, and she saw no reason to travel with a monkey again, ever. “Very well, but I will not travel with Frederick, either. He slavered all over my skirts the last time your aunt insisted he come along.”

“And I’ll want my own maid along, not one of your charity cases. And a room of my own when we put up at inns. And I get to ride facing forward.”

Aurora simply made note of her sister-in-law’s demands and stipulations. She was happy enough getting the lazy creature out of the house. With any luck, Aurora might even convince Lady Brianne to think of Miss Benton’s welfare instead of her own, for once. Now if she could only convince her to leave the diamonds home.

Chapter Sixteen

As Uncle Ptolemy always said, what cannot be cured must be endured. He was speaking of gnats, though, not nags. Short of putting a gag in her mouth, Aurora saw no way of putting a stop to Brianne’s complaints. The carriage was too crowded, the road was too bumpy, her throat was parched, and her eyes were tearing from the dust. Perhaps Aurora should have taken the monkey, after all.

Aunt Ellenette had stayed home, on Frederick’s recommendation. Of course he’d tell her not to go if he couldn’t; the servants would strangle him in her absence. And Brianne’s maid, wise woman, developed a cough, rather than share a coach with her lady. They took Maisy instead, who sat up front between the driver and the guard. Maisy was thrilled to be jaunting about the countryside, and delighted to be squeezed next to Richard, the guard.

Aurora squeezed her eyes shut, hoping Brianne would take the hint and be still. She hoped in vain. Heavens, had no one ever taught the woman manners? Granted Lady Brianne had lost her mother at an early age, and had a father who thought the sun rose and fell with his baby girl, but she’d had governesses and gone away to school. The previous Lord Windham should have asked for his tuition fees back.

At least now Aurora understood why the current earl stayed away from Windrush so much, letting it fall into disrepair, and why no one had chased after Lady Brianne when she eloped with Podell. The only wonder was how Podell had lasted the entire way to Gretna Green without leaping out of the coach. Brianne’s dowry must
have been large, indeed. Aurora was developing a headache already, and they had barely left the carriage drive.

They did arrive at Mr. Noah Benton’s home eventually, and Aurora would have been happy if it was a coal miner’s cottage, so long as they’d reached their destination. Benton’s residence was no humble thatch-roofed house, though; it was a mansion to put Windrush to shame. Palladian columns fronted the sprawling building, and wings reached back in both directions. The vast lawns were as smooth as a billiards table, and the flower beds rivaled Bath’s Sydney Gardens. The windows shone, the brass gleamed, and swarms of servants hurried out the door to meet them and see to their needs,

Lady Brianne fingered the diamonds at her throat with a smirk. “I told you we needed to show the Cits our superiority.”

As it turned out, no one was impressed except the servants, who rarely got to offer refreshments to two ladyships. Mr. Benton was at one of his mines, they said, not expected back until suppertime, and Mrs. Podell was away, visiting her old nanny. Aurora accepted the offer of tea, rather than face the carriage again so soon. Trying to decide if they should stay in the neighborhood overnight, Aurora complimented the housekeeper on the excellent strawberry tarts, then asked after Mrs. Podell’s welfare.

“We are thinking that she must be related to my sister-in-law’s dear departed husband, who was also a Podell. While we were in the neighborhood, we decided it was only proper to make our condolences for your Mrs. Podell’s own recent loss.”

Brianne almost choked on the tart she was eating, her third, Aurora noted. Aurora pushed the plate away, lest she have to purchase another, larger, new wardrobe. The housekeeper also coughed, then cleared her throat. “I’d be that happy to pass your sympathies along, my lady, but there’s no saying when Miss Nialla, Mrs. Podell, that is, will return. Sometimes she stays overnight with Nanny Dunn, and sometimes for…for days.”

“She must be very fond of her nursemaid,” Aurora said, to which the housekeeper bobbed her head so vehemently in agreement her mobcap nearly flew off. “I suppose we could stop by Nanny Dunn’s to pay our respects.”

“Oh, no, my lady, you wouldn’t want to do that. Why, Nanny lives up in the hills. Carriages can’t get there, no, not a’tall. You’d have to walk.” When Brianne gasped at the idea, the older woman nodded again. “That’s right. Two or three miles, it is. And…and Nanny doesn’t like strangers.”

That seemed to be the end of it. Aurora got up to go, saying, “I suppose I could send a letter after all.”

As Brianne stuffed a strawberry tart in her pocket and another in her mouth, she mumbled her agreement. “The chit is living in the lap of luxury, wanting for nothing. Why would you want to meddle? She’ll get over Podell, and her father will buy her another husband. A wealthy, titled one this time, you can wager on it.”

Maisy reported otherwise. One of the servants there made friends with her. Well, he made advances, but Maisy saw no need to tell her mistress that she’d been flirting with a footman behind the bushes. It was Jeb who warned her the ladies wouldn’t be staying, that they wouldn’t be seeing Mrs. Podell, not today nor any day. When she told him that her mistress was that determined to have a coze with the young widow, Jeb snorted. It wasn’t likely that anyone in the house would be giving out Miss Nialla’s direction, he said, not if they wanted to keep their jobs. Jeb was taking a post in London next month, so he did not care.

While Lady Brianne was washing her hands in a spare guest chamber, Maisy was trading kisses for information. Contrary to what he’d told the earl’s solicitor, Mr. Benton had not calmly accepted his daughter’s dissolved marriage, nor had he told her that Podell was dead. Instead of offering solace, in fact, he’d tossed her out of the house, like a soiled dove. By selling her jewels and clothes, Nialla had managed to purchase a cottage in a nearby village, where she was stigmatized as a fallen woman. Heaven knew what she’d do when her blunt ran out—likely become the whore her father named her.

“I do not approve of servants’ gossip, Maisy,” Aurora firmly chided. “What’s the direction?”

*

Nialla’s house was a hovel at the end of a rutted road that was more of a cow path. The grass was overgrown, the shutters were hanging, and the roof had collapsed over one corner. Brianne refused to step out of the coach. Aurora was getting down when the door to the cottage opened and a petite, pretty redhead came out. The girl’s freckled face was alight until she saw that the luxurious coach was not her father’s, come to take her home. Her eyes filled with tears, and she clutched an already damp handkerchief. They had obviously found the latest Mrs. Podell.

“If you are looking for the village,” she told Aurora with a sniffle, “you have missed the turn. It’s back that way.” She waved a reddened hand in the right direction, almost as if she were waving to her former life.

Before the woebegone young woman could back through her doorway, Aurora introduced herself as Lady Windham, to which appellation she was becoming accustomed. Nialla curtseyed, but without recognition of the name. Then Lady Brianne stepped out of the carriage. While she was making the introduction, Mrs. Harland Podell to Lady Brianne who was also Mrs. Harland Podell, Aurora noted that Brianne had removed her necklace, thank goodness. At least her sister-in-law had some drops of human kindness in her blue blood, not flaunting the diamonds in front of the downtrodden.