They took their leave, saving their comments until they were well away from the house.
“How extraordinary,” Kitty said, “but I find myself 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 bornafter 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.”
