Chapter 61


    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 ck. “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 willst 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?”


    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 onnd.


    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 nce,


    “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.


    Belongs ? to N?velDrama.Org.


    Violet turned to the magistrate. “Might I have a few moments alone with Lady Penwood?”


    “Of course, mydy.” 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 nce 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 yourte 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 m, but she nodded nheless.


    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 shed 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 tough.


    “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 fa


    ce. 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, mydy.”


    “Well, that’s certainly old enough to make your own decisions. Would you like toe to my home for a


    visit?”


    “Oh, yes!”


    “Posy, you may not go live with the Bridgertons!” Araminta ordered.


    Violet ignored herpletely 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—”


    Sophie shook her head. “You were young. I was young. And I know better than anyone how difficult it is


    to defy her.” She threw a scathing re at Araminta.


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