by Julia Quinn
The magistrate cleared his throat. “You accuse her of a very serious crime.” He gulped. “And she’s going to be married to a Bridgerton.”
“I am the Countess of Penwood,” she shrilled. “Countess!”
The magistrate looked back and forth between the occupants of the room. As a countess, Araminta outranked everyone, but at the same time, she was only one Penwood against two Bridgertons, one of whom was very large, visibly angry, and had already planted his fist in the warden’s eye.
“She stole from me!”
“No, you stole from her!” Benedict roared.
The room fell into instant silence.
“You stole her very childhood,” Benedict said, his body shaking with rage. There were huge gaps in his knowledge of Sophie’s life, but somehow he knew that this woman had caused much of the pain that lurked behind her green eyes. And he’d have been willing to bet that her dear, departed papa was responsible for the rest.
Benedict turned to the magistrate and said, “My fiancée is the bastard daughter of the late Earl of Penwood. And that is why the dowager countess has falsely accused her of theft. It is revenge and hate, pure and simple.”
The magistrate looked from Benedict to Araminta and then finally to Sophie. “Is this true?” he asked her. “Have you been falsely accused?”
“She took the shoe clips!” Araminta shrieked. “I swear on my husband’s grave, she took the shoe clips!”
“Oh, for the love of God, Mother, I took the shoe clips.”
Sophie’s mouth fell open. “Posy?”
Benedict looked at the newcomer, a short, slightly pudgy young woman who was obviously the countess’s daughter, then glanced back to Sophie, who had gone white as a sheet.
“Get out of here,” Araminta hissed. “You have no place in these proceedings.”
“Obviously she does,” the magistrate said, turning to Araminta, “if she took the shoe clips. Do you want to have her charged?”
“She’s my daughter!”
“Put me in the cell with Sophie!” Posy said dramatically, clasping one of her hands to her breast with great effect. “If she is transported for theft, then I must be as well.”
For the first time in several days, Benedict found himself smiling.
The warden took out his keys. “Sir?” he said hesitantly, nudging the magistrate.
“Put those away,” the magistrate snapped. “We’re not incarcerating the countess’s daughter.”
“Do not put those away,” Lady Bridgerton cut in. “I want my future daughter-in-law released immediately.”
The warden looked helplessly at the magistrate.
“Oh, very well,” the magistrate said, jabbing his finger in Sophie’s direction. “Let that one free. But no one is going anywhere until I have this sorted out.”
Araminta bristled in protest, but Sophie was duly released. She started to run to Benedict, but the magistrate held out a restraining arm. “Not so fast,” he warned. “We’ll be having no lovey-dovey reunions until I figure out who is to be arrested.”
“No one is to be arrested,” Benedict growled.
“She is going to Australia!” Araminta cried out, pointing toward Sophie.
“Put me in the cell!” Posy sighed, placing the back of her hand against her brow. “I did it!”
“Posy, will you be quiet?” Sophie whispered. “Trust me, you do not want to be in that cell. It’s dreadful. And there are rats.”
Posy started inching away from the cell.
“You will never see another invitation again in this town,” Lady Bridgerton said to Araminta.
“I am a countess!” Araminta hissed.
“And I am more popular,” Lady Bridgerton returned, the snide words so out of character that both Benedict’s and Sophie’s mouths dropped open.
“Enough!” the magistrate said. He turned to Posy, pointing to Araminta as he said, “Is she your mother?”
Posy nodded.
“And you said you stole the shoe clips?”
Posy nodded again. “And no one stole her wedding ring. It’s in her jewelry box at home.”
No one gasped, because no one was terribly surprised. But Araminta said, nonetheless, “It is not!”
“Your other jewelry box,” Posy clarified. “The one you keep in the third drawer from the left.”
Araminta paled.
The magistrate said, “You don’t seem to have a very good case against Miss Beckett, Lady Penwood.”
Araminta began to shake with rage, her outstretched arm quivering as she pointed one long finger at Sophie. “She stole from me,” she said in a deadly low voice before turning furious eyes on Posy. “My daughter is lying. I do not know why, and I certainly do not know what she hopes to gain, but she is lying.”
Something very uncomfortable began to churn in Sophie’s stomach. Posy was going to be in horrible trouble when she went home. There was no telling what Araminta would do in retaliation for such public humiliation. She couldn’t let Posy take the blame for her. She had to—
“Posy didn’t—” The words burst forth from her mouth before she had a chance to think, but she didn’t manage to finish her sentence because Posy elbowed her in the belly.
Hard.
“Did you say something?” the magistrate inquired.
Sophie shook her head, completely unable to speak. Posy had knocked her breath clear to Scotland.
The magistrate let out a weary sigh and raked his hand through his thinning blond hair. He looked at Posy, then at Sophie, then Araminta, then Benedict. Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat, forcing him to look at her, too.
“Clearly,” the magistrate said, looking very much as if he’d rather be anywhere other than where he was, “this is about a great deal more than a stolen shoe clip.”
“Shoe clips,” Araminta sniffed. “There were two of them.”
“Regardless,” the magistrate ground out, “you all obviously detest one another, and I would like to know why before I go ahead and charge anyone.”
For a second, no one spoke. Then everyone spoke.
“Silence!” the magistrate roared. “You,” he said, pointing at Sophie, “start.”
“Uhhhh . . .” Now that Sophie actually had the floor, she felt terribly self-conscious.
The magistrate cleared his throat. Loudly.
“What he said was correct,” Sophie said quickly, pointing to Benedict. “I am the daughter of the Earl of Penwood, although I was never acknowledged as such.”
Araminta opened her mouth to say something, but the magistrate sent her such a withering glare that she kept quiet.
“I lived at Penwood Park for seven years before she married the earl,” she continued, motioning to Araminta. “The earl said that he was my guardian, but everyone knew the truth.” She paused, remembering her father’s face, and thinking that she ought not be so surprised that she couldn’t picture him with a smile. “I look a great deal like him,” she said.
“I knew your father,” Lady Bridgerton said softly. “And your aunt. It explains why I’ve always thought you looked so familiar.”
Sophie flashed her a small, grateful smile. Something in Lady Bridgerton’s tone was very reassuring, and it made her feel a little warmer inside, a little more secure.
“Please continue,” the magistrate said.
Sophie gave him a nod, then added, “When the earl married the countess, she didn’t want me living there, but the earl insisted. I rarely saw him, and I don’t think he thought very much of me, but he did see me as his responsibility, and he wouldn’t allow her to boot me out. But when he died . . .”
Sophie stopped and swallowed, trying to get past the lump in her throat. She’d never actually told her story to anyone before; the words seemed strange and foreign coming from her mouth. “When he died,” she continued, “his will specified that Lady Penwood’s portion would be trebled if she kept me in her household until I turned twenty. So she did. But my position changed dramatically. I became a servant. Well, no
t really a servant.” Sophie smiled wryly. “A servant is paid. So I was really more like a slave.”
Sophie looked over at Araminta. She was standing with her arms crossed and her nose tipped in the air. Her lips were pursed tightly, and it suddenly struck Sophie how very many times before she had seen that exact same expression on Araminta’s face. More times than she could dare to count. Enough times to have broken her soul.
Yet here she was, dirty and penniless to be sure, but with her mind and spirit still strong.
“Sophie?” Benedict asked, gazing at her with a concerned expression. “Is everything all right?”
She nodded slowly, because she was just coming to realize that everything was all right. The man she loved had (in a rather roundabout way) just asked her to marry him, Araminta was finally about to receive the drubbing she deserved—at the hands of the Bridgertons, no less, who would leave her in shreds by the time they were through, and Posy . . . now that might have been the loveliest of all. Posy, who had always wanted to be a sister to her, who had never quite had the courage to be herself, had stood up to her mother and quite possibly saved the day. Sophie was one hundred percent certain that if Benedict had not come and declared her his fiancée, Posy’s testimony would have been the only thing to save her from transportation—or maybe even execution. And Sophie knew better than anyone that Posy would pay dearly for her courage. Araminta was probably already plotting how to make her life a living hell.
Yes, everything was all right, and Sophie suddenly found herself standing a little straighter as she said, “Allow me to finish my story. After the earl died, Lady Penwood kept me on as her unpaid lady’s maid. Although in truth I was made to do the work of three maids.”
“You know, Lady Whistledown said that very thing just last month!” Posy said excitedly. “I told Mother that she—”
“Posy, shut up!” Araminta snapped.
“When I turned twenty,” Sophie continued, “she didn’t turn me out. To this day I don’t know why.”
“I think we’ve heard enough,” Araminta said.
“I don’t think we’ve heard nearly enough,” Benedict snapped.
Sophie looked to the magistrate for guidance. At his nod she continued. “I can only deduce that she rather enjoyed having someone to order about. Or maybe she just liked having a maid she didn’t have to pay. There was nothing left from his will.”
“That’s not true,” Posy blurted out.
Sophie turned to her in shock.
“He did leave you money,” Posy insisted.
Sophie felt her jaw go slack. “That’s not possible. I had nothing. My father saw to my welfare up to age twenty, but after that—”
“After that,” Posy said rather forcefully, “you had a dowry.”
“A dowry?” Sophie whispered.
“That’s not true!” Araminta shrilled.
“It is true,” Posy insisted. “You ought not leave incriminating evidence about, Mother. I read a copy of the earl’s will last year.” She turned to the rest of the room and said, “It was in the same box where she put her wedding band.”
“You stole my dowry?” Sophie said, her voice barely more than breath. All these years she’d thought her father had left her with nothing. She’d known that he’d never loved her, that he saw her as little more than his responsibility, but it had stung that he’d left dowries for Rosamund and Posy—who were not even his blood daughters—and not for her.
She’d never really thought that he’d ignored her on purpose; in all truth, she’d mostly felt . . . forgotten.
Which had felt worse than a deliberate snub would have done.
“He left me a dowry,” she said dazedly. Then to Benedict, “I have a dowry.”
“I don’t care if you have a dowry,” Benedict replied. “I don’t need it.”
“I care,” Sophie said. “I thought he’d forgotten me. All these years I’d thought he’d written up his will and simply forgotten about me. I know he couldn’t really leave money to his bastard daughter, but he’d told all the world I was his ward. There was no reason he couldn’t provide for his ward.” For some reason she looked to Lady Bridgerton. “He could have provided for a ward. People do that all the time.”
The magistrate cleared his throat and turned on Araminta, “And what has happened to her dowry?”
Araminta said nothing.
Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat. “I don’t think it’s terribly legal,” she said, “to embezzle a young woman’s dowry.” She smiled—a slow, satisfied sort of smile. “Eh, Araminta?”
Chapter 23
Lady Penwood appears to have left town. So does Lady Bridgerton. Interesting . . .
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 18 JUNE 1817
Benedict decided he had never loved his mother more than he did at that very minute. He was trying not to grin, but it was exceedingly difficult with Lady Penwood gasping like a fish on land.
The magistrate’s eyes bugged out. “You’re not suggesting I arrest the countess?”
“No, of course not,” Violet demurred. “She’d likely go free. The aristocracy rarely pays for its crimes. But,” she added, tilting her head slightly to the side as she gave Lady Penwood a very pointed glance, “if you were to arrest her, it would be terribly embarrassing while she defended the charges.”
“What are you trying to say?” Lady Penwood asked through decidedly clenched teeth.
Violet turned to the magistrate. “Might I have a few moments alone with Lady Penwood?”
“Of course, my lady.” He gave her a gruff nod, then barked, “Everyone! Out!”
“No, no,” Violet said with a sweet smile as she pressed something that looked suspiciously like a pound note into his palm. “My family may stay.”
The magistrate blushed slightly, then grabbed the warden’s arm and yanked him out of the room.
“There now,” Violet murmured. “Where were we?”
Benedict beamed with pride as he watched his mother march right up to Lady Penwood and stare her down. He stole a glance at Sophie. Her mouth was hanging open.
“My son is going to marry Sophie,” Violet said, “and you are going to tell anyone who will listen that she was the ward of your late husband.”
“I will never lie for her,” Lady Penwood shot back.
Violet shrugged. “Fine. Then you can expect my solicitors to begin looking for Sophie’s dowry immediately. After all, Benedict will be entitled to it once he marries her.”
Benedict slipped his arm around Sophie’s waist and gave her a light squeeze.
“If someone asks me,” Lady Penwood ground out, “I will confirm whatever story you bandy about. But do not expect me to go out of my way to help her.”
Violet pretended to mull that over, then said, “Excellent. I do believe that will do nicely.” She turned to her son. “Benedict?”
He gave her a sharp nod.
His mother turned back to Lady Penwood. “Sophie’s father was named Charles Beckett and he was a distant cousin of the earl’s, no?”
Lady Penwood looked as if she’d swallowed a bad clam, but she nodded nonetheless.
Violet pointedly turned her back on the countess, and said, “I’m sure some members of the ton will consider her a bit shabby, since obviously nobody will be familiar with her family, but at least she will be respectable. After all”—she turned back around and flashed a wide smile at Araminta—“there is that connection with the Penwoods.”
Araminta let out a strange, growling sound. It was all Benedict could do not to laugh.
“Oh, magistrate!” Violet called out, and when he bustled back into the room, she smiled gamely at him and said, “I believe my work here is done.”
He let out a sigh of relief, saying, “Then I don’t have to arrest anyone?”
“It seems not.”
He practically sagged against the wall.
“Well, I am leaving!” Lady Penwood announced, as if anyone might possibly miss her. She turned to
her daughter with furious eyes. “Come along, Posy.”
Benedict watched as the blood quite literally drained from Posy’s face. But before he could intervene, Sophie jumped forward, blurting out, “Lady Bridgerton!” just as Araminta roared, “Now!”
“Yes, dear?”
Sophie grabbed Violet’s arm and pulled her close enough to whisper something in her ear.
“Quite right,” Violet said. She turned to Posy. “Miss Gunningworth?”
“Actually, it’s Miss Reiling,” Posy corrected. “The earl never adopted me.”
“Of course. Miss Reiling. How old are you?”
“One-and-twenty, my lady.”
“Well, that’s certainly old enough to make your own decisions. Would you like to come to my home for a visit?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Posy, you may not go live with the Bridgertons!” Araminta ordered.
Violet ignored her completely as she said to Posy, “I believe I will quit London early this season. Would you care to join us for an extended stay in Kent?”
Posy nodded quickly. “I would be much obliged.”
“That settles it, then.”
“That does not settle it,” Araminta snapped. “She is my daughter, and—”
“Benedict,” Lady Bridgerton said in a rather bored voice, “what was the name of my solicitor?”
“Go!” Araminta spat at Posy. “And don’t ever darken my door again.”
For the first time that afternoon, Posy began to look a little scared. It didn’t help when her mother stalked right up to her and hissed straight in her face, “If you go with them now, you are dead to me. Do you understand? Dead!”
Posy threw a panicked look at Violet, who immediately stepped forward and linked their arms together.
“It’s all right, Posy,” Violet said softly. “You may stay with us as long as you wish.”
Sophie stepped forward and slid her arm through Posy’s free one. “Now we will be sisters truly,” she said, leaning forward and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Oh, Sophie,” Posy cried out, a well of tears bursting forth. “I’m so sorry! I never stood up for you. I should have said something. I should have done something, but—”
