“I recognize the writing. It’s my husband’s.” Then she asked, quite desperately, “Do you know where he is?”
Chapter 42
Kitty saw it in a moment. Not a mistress, or, at least, not in this woman’s mind. She thought herself married, and she’d not heard from her husband in months.
Lord above, what to do now?
“Your husband’s name, ma’am?” Braydon asked. Kitty wondered how he could sound so calm.
“Braydon, of course. You didn’t know that? I’m Mrs. Braydon. Dorothy Braydon. Please tell me where my husband is, or at least where you found this book!”
Kitty wanted to rush to her and hug her, but it would only alarm the woman more.
“My name is Dauntry, as I said, ma’am—it’s Lord Dauntry. The book was found in my London house. I have reason to believe your husband left it there, but in order to be sure, do you have a picture of Mr. Braydon?”
Oh.Kitty saw his reasoning. It was just possible that the fifth viscount had been taking care of some indigent relative and his family, and it was the indigent relative who’d disappeared.
“A picture? Yes, of course.” The woman hurried out of the room and returned in moments with a small oval portrait, no more than a foot high. The artist wasn’t as skilled as the one who’d executed the portrait that hung at the Abbey, but it was clearly the fifth viscount. He still looked slightly anxious, but in a generally more optimistic way.
He’d been happy here, despite a bigamous marriage, but he’d left this woman in a terrible situation. Especially if...
“You have children, ma’am?” Kitty asked.
“What? Yes. Two. Please, where is my husband?”
Kitty went to her then, taking her hand. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. We have sad news for you.”
The woman looked into Kitty’s eyes and clutched her hand. “He’s dead.”
“Yes.”
The woman sat down. Kitty knelt beside, because the woman kept her grip on her.
“I’ve feared as much. He’s frequently been away on business and sometimes for a month or more, but never so long.” She looked at Braydon. “Why has no one told me? And how? Where?”
Braydon replied in that cool tone that Kitty had encountered at first meeting. It was his defense, she saw, against high emotions.
“He died of a fever, ma’am. In Gloucestershire, at a place called Beauchamp Abbey. He never mentioned it?”
“No. Why was he there? Were they buying pewter?”
“Pewter?”
“That was his business. Trading in pewter. I never understood it, but it brought in enough money for us to live well. Did he die alone?”
“No,” Kitty said quickly. “He wasn’t alone, and he had the best possible medical care, but it couldn’t help him. A number of people died of the illness at the same time.”
“I don’t understand why nobody told me!”
“Nobody knew, ma’am. About you, I mean.”
“But he must have had things on him. His business cards. Letters. Something.”
Kitty looked to Braydon, not knowing what best to say. She saw it in his eyes. Only the truth would do.
But at that moment, four young children burst into the room—two boys, two girls. “Mama! Look what....”
They all went silent, and then one, a dark-haired lad, said, “I’m sorry, Mama. We didn’t know you had guests.”
