All Novel Sweet
Chapter 61
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 slack. “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 will last 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 on land.
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 glance,
“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.
Violet turned to the magistrate. “Might I have a few moments alone with Lady Penwood?”
“Of course, my lady.” 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 glance 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 your late 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 clam, but she nodded nonetheless.
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 flashed 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 to laugh.
“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.” © 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.
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, my lady.”
“Well, that’s certainly old enough to make your own decisions. Would you like to come to my home for a
visit?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Posy, you may not go live with the Bridgertons!” Araminta ordered.
Violet ignored her completely 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 glare at Araminta.
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