“Lady Penwood is notorious for mistreating her servants. She’s gone through three lady’s maids this year. Stole Mrs. Featherington’s right out from under her nose, but the poor girl only lasted a fortnight.”
Benedict listened patiently to his sister’s tirade, amazed that he was even interested. And yet for some strange reason, he was.
“Marie will come crawling back in a week, asking us to take her back on, you mark my words,” Eloise said.
“I always mark your words,” he replied, “I just don’t always care.”
“You,” Eloise returned, pointing her finger at him, “are going to regret that you said that.” He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Doubtful.” “Hmmph. I’m going upstairs.” “Do enjoy yourself.”
She poked her tongue out at him—surely not appropriate behavior for a woman of twenty-one—and left the room. Benedict managed to enjoy just three minutes of solitude before footsteps once again sounded in the hall, tapping rhythmically in his direction. When he looked up, he saw his mother in the doorway.
He stood immediately. Certain manners could be ignored for one’s sister, but never for one’s mother.
“I saw your feet on the table,” Violet said before he could even open his mouth.
“I was merely polishing the surface with my boots.” She raised her brows, then made her way to the chair so recently vacated by Eloise and sat down. “All right, Benedict,” she said in an extremely no-nonsense voice. “Who is she?” “Miss Beckett, you mean?” Violet gave him one businesslike nod. “I have no idea, save that she worked for the Cavenders and was apparently mistreated by their son.” Violet blanched. “Did he ... Oh dear. Was she ...”
“I don’t think so,” Benedict said grimly. “In fact, I’m certain she wasn’t. But not for lack of trying on his part.”
“The poor thing. How lucky for her that you were there to save her.”
Benedict found he didn’t like to relive that night on the Cavenders’ lawn. Even though the escapade had ended quite favorably, he could not seem to stop himself from racing through the gamut of “what-ifs.” What if he hadn’t come along in time? What if Cavender and his friends had been a little less drunk and a little more obstinate? Sophie could have been raped. Sophie would have been raped.
And now that he knew Sophie, had grown to care about her, the very notion chilled him to the bone.
“Well,” Violet said, “she is not who she says she is. Of that I’m certain.”
Benedict sat up straight. “Why do you say that?”
“She is far too educated to be a housemaid. Her mother’s employers may have allowed her to share in some of their daughters’ lessons, but all of them? I doubt it. Benedict, the girl speaks French!”
“She does?”
“Well, I can’t be positive,” Violet admitted, “but I caught her looking at a book on Francesca’s desk that was written in French.”
“Looking is not the same as reading, Mother.”
She shot him a peevish look. “I’m telling you, I was looking at the way her eyes were moving. She was reading it.”
“If you say so, you must be correct.”
Violet’s eyes narrowed. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“Normally,” Benedict said with a smile, “I would say yes, but in this case, I was speaking quite seriously.”
“Perhaps she is the cast-off daughter of an aristocratic family,” Violet mused.
“Cast-off?”
“For getting herself with child,” she explained.
Benedict was not used to his mother speaking quite so frankly. “Er, no,” he said, thinking about Sophie’s steadfast refusal to become his mistress. “I don’t think so.”
But then he thought—why not? Maybe she refused to bring an illegitimate child into this world because she had already had an illegitimate child and didn’t want to repeat the mistake.
Benedict’s mouth suddenly tasted quite sour. If Sophie had had a child, then Sophie had had a lover.
“Or maybe,” Violet continued, warming to the endeavor, “she’s the illegitimate child of a nobleman.”
That was considerably more plausible—and more palatable. “One would think he’d have settled enough funds on her so that she didn’t have to work as a housemaid.”
“A great many men completely ignore their by-blows,” Violet said, her face wrinkling with distaste. “It’s nothing short of scandalous.”
“More scandalous than their having the by-blows in the first place?”
Violet’s expression turned quite peevish.
“Besides,” Benedict said, leaning back against the sofa and propping one ankle on the other knee, “if she were the bastard of a nobleman, and he’d cared for her enough to make sure she had schooling as a child, then why is she completely penniless now?”
“Hmmm, that’s a good point.” Violet tapped her index finger against her cheek, pursed her lips, then continued tapping. “But have no fear,” she finally said, “I shall discover her identity within a month.”
“I’d recommend asking Eloise for help,” Benedict said dryly.
Violet nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea. That girl could get Napoleon to spill his secrets.”
Benedict stood. “I must be going. I’m weary from the road and would like to get home.”