The Viscount Needs a Wife

by Jo Beverley

  He took the tea and sat on the sofa. “Of course. Are you in need at the moment, ma’am?”

  Dorothy’s face was still marked by the news, but she seemed composed. She was a strong woman. She’d need to be.

  “In need? No. Alfred arranged an annuity when we married. I didn’t see the need, for his income was ample, but he insisted. It provides a monthly income, and I was told that will continue until I die. It’s provided the necessities for us in his absence. There was also some arrangement to provide for the children’s future. He was a good man.” She looked between them. “You are quite sure he’s dead?”

  “Quite sure,” Braydon said.

  Dorothy sighed. “Where’s his grave? I’ll want to visit it.”

  “In the grounds of Beauchamp Abbey.”

  “Why there? Is it a ruin?”

  “No, it’s a house. My house, in fact. Ma’am, I’m sorry to say that we have some more bad news for you.”

  “More? What could be worse than my husband’s death?”

  Kitty wished desperately she could fend off the coming blow.

  “That your husband wasn’t your husband, ma’am. He wasn’t free to marry you.”

  The cup and saucer tilted. Kitty caught them in time.

  “I don’t believe you! Alfred would never have done such a thing! We were married in Cirencester, in good order.”

  “All the same, he was already married to a woman called Diane. She left him for another man, but he never divorced her. He was not free to marry.”

  “I don’t believe it,” the poor woman repeated, but she did. She’d aged in the minutes since hearing the news. “Oh, my poor, poor children! How am I to tell them this?”

  “I suggest you don’t, ma’am,” Braydon said. “There’s no need to make this public in any way.”

  Dorothy stared at him. “Not . . . I’m to live a lie?”

  “For your children’s sake and your own. There’s no reason anyone should find out.”

  He was being cool and logical—the marble box again—but Kitty wasn’t surprised when Dorothy shot to her feet.

  “You speak as if this is a matter of mere practicalities, my lord! My husband is dead, and now you tell me I’m a bigamous wife and my children are bastards, but I should put it all out of mind?”

  Braydon had risen. “It’s the only sensible thing to do.”

  Kitty stood, too, shooting him an angry look. “It’s all a terrible shock, Dorothy, but Dauntry’s right. Of course you can’t put it out of mind, but do nothing hastily. What purpose will be served by your telling the world? You and your children will suffer.”

  Dorothy’s hands gripped her apron. “But what if someone finds out? Can I be jailed for this?”

  “No, I’m sure not. She can’t, can she?”

  Braydon said, “You’re an innocent party, ma’am. If the truth does come out, we’ll deal with that together. However, there is more.”

  “More.” Dorothy wavered, and Kitty eased her back into her chair. “Perhaps we shouldn’t . . .”

  But Braydon continued, “Your husband was Alfred Braydon—”

  “Well, thank God for that!”

  “But he was also Viscount Dauntry. His travels were not on business, but to keep up his role as Lord Dauntry in Parliament and at his estate. I’m sure he didn’t enjoy that part of his life and that you and your children were his joy, but he couldn’t neglect his duties entirely.”

  “Viscount Dauntry.” Kitty wondered if Dorothy would faint, but instead she gave a kind of laugh. “Poor Alfred. He must have hated that. Did he speak in Parliament?”

  “I don’t know,” Braydon said. “I never thought to check.”

  “Probably not. He had a stutter, you see. It wasn’t too bad at home, but it sometimes afflicted him when we were with others. It always seemed worse when he returned from his trips.”

  “I’m not at all surprised,” Braydon said. “I must tell you that he also had two children by his wife. The boy, Alfred, died of the same fever, which is how I came to inherit the title, but the girl, Isabella, was spared. She’s nearly seventeen.”

  Kitty thought all this information might tip poor Dorothy’s wits, but it seemed to help.

  “Seventeen, and he never mentioned her.”

  “How could he? I’m sure he felt a fatherly affection for her. One of his last acts was to make sure she was well provided for.”

  “Will I be able to visit his grave?”

  “I recommend that you don’t. It would be bound to raise questions. I suggest that you commission a memorial for the church here. It will serve the purpose as well.”

  Kitty wondered about that, but Dorothy said, “I suppose so. I’ve never felt attachment to my parents’ mortal remains. He had my father moved here when we married. He wanted to be close to London for business purposes—or so he said.” She shook her head, still coming to terms with the reality. “So he bought this house for us. He moved my father here and hired an attendant so I needed only to supervise his care and was free to come and go. Like the queen, though at that time we didn’t know the worst about the king, only that he was unwell . . .” Perhaps she realized she was wandering, for she composed herself. “He was a good, kind man.”

  “He loved you,” Kitty said. “And you made him happy.”

  “I do hope that’s true. It’s so very odd to think he’ll never return here. That we made no special farewells.” Dorothy straightened and looked at Braydon. “What should I do now?”

  “Inform your children and your friends and neighbors of the death, as you would do if matters were regular. You can say that he died of a virulent fever and it was thought best to bury the body quickly. It’s true. Then continue on that road. Can you do that?”

  “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 mys
elf 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.”

  Chapter 43

  They 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 servant
s 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.