Page 4 of The Rogue and the Viscountess

According to Mathry, Calvin Vaughn had seduced her when she was a maid working at Greenfield, then had his mother toss Mathry out of the house when she fell pregnant. Vaughn had then tried to coerce Gwen into marriage, on account of those mines she had inherited.

Would he make a play for Prunella? She was a viscountess, after all. Even if she married beneath her, Prunella would get to keep her title. The one thing a woman could keep was her title—the only thing, in some cases.

Calvin Vaughn’s watery blue eyes focused on Anne, and Prunella shook off a fleeting prick of irritation. Of course he would go for the waif.

Perhaps Prunella had enchanted a man once, only once, and never would again.

All the more reason to settle the matter of her future herself.

She cornered Penrydd while Gwen and her matron of honor cut the cake. Most of the guests had eaten and were growing garrulous. Prunella plopped herself down at the head table, in Gwen’s seat, sparing a small smile of flattery for the Earl of St. Vincent, who was enjoying his glass of elderberry wine.

She adjusted her velvet toque, hoping she looked demure and appealing. The new Prunella Price was forthright, not a wilting wildflower like Anne Sutton. Prunella Price was a sterner sort. A thistle, if need be.

She drew a rallying breath. “Rhydian. I do not know how, or why, Edwin accrued debts that you are being held responsible for.”

The plaintive note in her voice surprised her. She’d known nothing of Edwin’s losses, his troubles, his fears. He’d not confided in her, and she’d not seen a hint in the household accounts that he was bleeding money on foolish bets and taking loans from dangerous men. One could marry a man but not really know him, even years later.

She swallowed hard. “What I am asking, I suppose is…if you will expect some sort of repayment from me.”

She prayed not. She had no money of her own and had no wish to go begging to her family. The thought was enough to bring her near tears. Dratted weddings and their dratted sentiment, with the promise of love that never had been, and never would be hers.

Penrydd’s gaze widened with alarm. “Certainly not. My secretary, Ross, is better informed about my finances, but I will see that you are provided for, Prunella. It is the very least I can do.”

“Assuming funds are available. Given Edwin’s debts,” she pressed.

“Er, yes.” His gaze drifted back to his wife, who was laughing over the cake with Mrs. Evans, the beautiful African woman who now ran St. Sefin’s. “Ross will know the particulars.”

But she was hardly to go shaking down Ross, was she, while he was following after Mathry like a mooncalf?

“How soon?” Prunella asked desperately. “Until I might know the particulars?”

“We must be careful for a while, my dear Prunella. That is all.” And of course, here was the Dowager Viscountess, pushing in. Lydia would not allow Prunella to have one conversation she did not direct or overhear.

“I have booked us lodgings in Bath until September,” Lydia went on. “It is not the Season there, I know, but London will be too hot and sultry, and it will be more economical to keep a small apartment in Bath rather than try to open Elderwood in the summer.”

Elderwood was the estate near Saffron Waldren, a lovely, pleasant manor with around twenty bedchambers and four, no, five grand receptions rooms. It required a staff of dozens, and staying there would require feeding the household, the gardeners, the coachman and grooms of the stable and horses, along with the viscountesses and their guests.

Bath was hot, poky, and devoid of company in the summers. Everyone said so. Prunella’s heart sank well below the waistline of her fashionable gown.

“I was thinking, Lady Mother, I might inquire about setting up an establishment of my own.” Prunella forced a cheery smile. “So I might not be a charge on you or your company. You have been so good as to put up with me all this time since Edwin’s—since Edwin. But surely you must long for your own liberty, without having to look after me.”

There, she’d said it. And she’d cleverly phrased her bid for freedom as if she were doing a service for Lydia, which was what Lydia felt the world, when properly ordered, should do.

Lydia gave her a level stare. Prunella could see why her father-in-law had chosen her for his second wife. She had kept her looks well, a severe beauty preserved because she rarely made any expressions that would leave wrinkles on her face.

“Nonsense, Prunella. You know a young woman requires a chaperone.”

“I am a young widow,” Prunella argued. “I can arrange for a maid of my own—”

Lydia raised a gloved hand. She never removed her gloves, not to eat, not to shake hands. She slept in gloves, after she’d rubbed cream into her palms and fingers to keep wrinkles and age spots from creeping in while she was not on guard.

“I won’t hear of it. It is more reasonable to share a maid, as we have been doing. Besides, you are amusing company, my dear. And you are too social a creature to wish to be alone.”

Prunella stared mulishly back, feeling the reins tighten. So there was no money after all, or at least not enough to support separate households. Prunella must return to being Lydia’s spaniel, trotting at the heels of her mother-in-law and kept on her tight leash. She crushed her delicate linen handkerchief in her fist—the handkerchief embroidered with her married initials, the name she would now bear all her life.

“You are both welcome at Penrydd Castle, of course,” Penrydd said.

Lydia gave him a stiff nod. “Thank you, Rhydian. Penrydd,” she corrected herself. She would be courteous to the end, but she would submit to the rack before she would live with Rhydian, whom she disliked even more than she’d disliked Edwin, especially when Edwin became Viscount Penrydd and had charge of the purse.