Page 77 of The Ladies Least Likely
At last his eyes moved to her, and a rush of air filled Gwen’s body like the fuel of a hot-air balloon. The shifting world settled. Pen was here. He was here to witness her disgrace, the last thing she wanted, and yet his being here made everything hurt less.
“You own it!” Vaughn yelped. “But you—you’re the man?—”
Penrydd watched him with the cool curiosity he might show a new kind of insect. “The rough, worthless man described as causing fights and—how did you put it—keeping company with Miss Ewyas?”
Oh, yes, company was kept. She carried those memories on her skin. Gwen enjoyed watching Vaughn’s Adam’s apple bob up and down his throat as he attempted to find the words to redeem himself. “But you—you?—”
“I was lodging on my own property to discover its state of repair before attempting to sell it,” Pen drawled. “I doubt that is a chargeable offense, Your Worship.”
The spectators tittered. Pen had won them all in a moment. It seemed by Sir Robert’s chuckle that he’d won him, too, by his name alone. Indignation and gratitude sparred in Gwen’s breast. She wanted to win this case on her own merit, but Pen swept heraccusers before him in a way she never could, as if they were so much rickrack on the Severn’s tide.
“Penrydd,” Sir Robert said with respect in his tone. “Heard you fought under Nelson at Tenerife. Rather a bad time, wasn’t that?”
“Rather,” Pen said. Every line in his body went taut, and Gwen ached to soothe him. All those nights he woke screaming, transported back to that living nightmare—who came to him now, in his rooms at the inn, to whisper him out of his dreams?
“That Penrydd.” Daron finally made the connection. “You made Gwen your mistress?” His nostrils flared.
“On the contrary, I mean to make her my wife,” Pen said. “I’ll wed her as soon as she consents for the banns to be posted.”
The crowd rustled like shorebirds when a morning fisherman set them to flight. Gwen’s eyes tightened against a sudden threat of tears. Marriage was taking things too far. No one would believe this magnificent man would want her, in her dowdy gown and mended lace.
Daron snapped his jaw shut. “You can’t marry her. She’s?—”
“She’s what?” Pen crossed the room in a few bold strides. Gwen caught the trace of a limp and wondered what he’d been doing to strain himself this early in the day. Concern melted as he lifted her gloved hand and kissed the back of it. Sighs rose from the females in the audience. Gwen curled her fingers around his out of sheer instinct.
“Ruined!” Sutton exclaimed. “She’s been—I, a long time ago—and this place—the business there?—”
Pen lifted one brow, waiting, and Gwen adored his supercilious mien at the same time she cringed at it. The viscount was out in full display. This wasn’t Pen, the man who made her laugh, the man who surprised and delighted her, the man who brought her to heights of pleasure and then picked fennel for her besides.
But itwashim. These were all aspects of him, and if she loved the man, she had to accept all of him. She couldn’t pick and choose the parts to leave and the parts to keep.
“Vaughn told me what goes on there!” Sutton sputtered. “Day and night. She’s available to any man who pays for her and trots all about the countryside at their bidding. And the company she keeps, the dregs of society—it’s hardly respectable! My lord,” he added, belatedly realizing he was swinging at an opponent far above him in weight.
“Choose your words wisely, Sutton,” Penrydd said. “You are making claims against my future viscountess and doings on my property, and the clerk of the peace over there is writing all of this down. Sir Robert, remind me—is there still a penalty on the books for insulting a peer of the realm?”
Ross coughed into his fist. “Scandalum magnatum,” he said.
Sir Robert’s eyebrows shot up. “Slander of the great? Not prosecuted much these days, but still a chargeable offense, yes. Need a jury for that trial, though. Have to go up to quarter sessions at the least.” He turned toward the plaintiffs. “And a much higher penalty, if the slander is proved.”
Vaughn, impossibly, turned even paler and took a step backward. Sutton’s lip curled as if he’d swallowed something sour.
“A case for another time, then,” Pen said, his voice as silky as the morning mist that rose from the basin of the Usk. “To the one at hand—have you had time to consider the evidence, Your Worship? Keeping a disorderly house, nuisance to her neighbors, and all that.”
Sir Robert fidgeted with the piece of parchment before him on the table. “According to Mr. Stanley, a man from whom I have never known an untruth to be uttered, the establishment of St. Sefin’s is a public good and has kept any number of people out of the workhouse and off the poor rolls. As a private home thatdoes not charge fees, I see no licensing requirement that must be met. And I find it unlikely a collection of widows would be running a bawdy house, with children about. As to the matter of Miss Ewyas and her personal conduct—” He gave Gwen a sidewise glance. “I feel certain, Lord Penrydd, that you would only offer for a woman of the highest moral character.”
He pounded on the table with his gavel. “Defendant is not guilty. The charges against Miss Ewyas are dismissed.” As an immediate babble resulted, Sir Robert raised his voice and fixed a protuberant stare on Vaughn and Sutton. “The surety of the plaintiffs given as recognizance is forfeit to this court,” he shouted. “And—there is a fee for my services, gentlemen.”
It was over. Not guilty. Case dismissed. Gwen’s knees went as watery as goat’s milk, and she clung to Pen for support as he drew her away.
“Surety?” she murmured.
Pen nodded. “Sutton and Vaughn had to pay the constable twenty pounds each in bond as testament they had a valid complaint. Keeps the justice from wasting time with frivolous suits. Since the evidence didn’t stand, they lose the forfeit. And as justices of the peace don’t have a stipend, they are at liberty to request fees for their services. Robert has daughters to support.”
Gwen stifled a laugh. “Thank goodness I wasn’t levied a fine. We’ve no money.” She tugged at Pen’s hand, so strong, so firm around hers. “You must let me buy St. Sefin’s nevertheless. We will find the funds somehow.” It seemed miraculous that she’d been spared. Now, finally, she could settle the thing she’d wanted from the beginning: his promise that St. Sefin’s would be hers.
He lifted one eyebrow in that manner she hated. “And deny me the pleasure of defending you in court? I quite enjoyed this little fracas. So rare that I get to win. Besides, any property of yours will become mine when we marry.”
He slipped an arm around her and nodded as people clustered before them, delivering congratulations along with curious stares. He’d made a wonder of her with his claim that she would be his viscountess. Baronets were the biggest titles they saw in Newport, and he was Penrydd, one of their own.
