Page 7 of Better Off Wed

Ordinarily, the secrets Laura collected were less tangible, and she was forced to chart her triumphs by other means: the gossip columns’ increasingly wild tales about Lady Sterling’s exploits, and the gratitude of the unfortunate young women who came to her for assistance.

If Lord Penhurst’s purse had been lighter, Laura might have looked for a way to pawn the watch and given the proceeds to Betty—though getting rid of such a distinctive item carried significant risk. But his lordship had proven unexpectedly…generous, especially for a man reputed to be penniless. Now that Betty and her unborn child were well provided for, Laura felt justified in keeping the watch herself.

Aunt Mildred’s hand closed around hers, pressing the warm metal into Laura’s fingers as she gave a comforting squeeze. The watch’s steady tick-tock drummed reassuringly against her palm. “I wish you would reconsider coming with me, my dear. You look as if you have the headache again.”

“Just a touch, Aunt.” Laura raised her other hand to press her fingers to her temple.

Her head did ache—or rather, her scalp. Last night, in what might have been either eagerness or desperation, Lord Penhurst had grabbed her wig, tugging the pins that held it in place. Very little frightened Laura, but there had been a moment when she had wondered whether she would be able to get away from him without tearing out her own short curls by the roots. At the memory of it, she shivered.

“You see,” scolded her aunt, taking the shudder that had passed through Laura’s limbs as confirmation of her niece’s incipient illness. “I’m sure the waters would set you to rights.”

Laura smiled, having no intention of accompanying her to Bath. “I am never sick, Aunt,” she declared.

“Then perhaps I ought to reconsider and take that new girl—what is her name? ah, yes, Betty—as a companion. The poor, wan thing. She could use some fresh air.”

At just that moment, Betty stepped into the sitting room and dipped into a curtsy. “Your coach is here, Mrs. Hayes.”

Betty’s eyes were dark circled and red-rimmed, it was true—too many sleepless nights, for one thing, and even tears of joy and relief left their mark. But her cheeks were already brighter and plumper after just a fortnight away from Penhurst House.

“Betty is prone to carriage sickness, ma’am,” Laura explained to her aunt. “I’m afraid the journey would be spoiled for the both of you. And besides, I should not like to stay here all alone,” she added, favoring Betty with a conspiratorial wink.

In point of fact, Lady Sterling was wanted out of town.

“No, no,” agreed Aunt Mildred, who had risen and turned toward the pier glass to adjust her bonnet, “I should worry about you every moment.”

Guilt rippled beneath Laura’s skin, but she shook it from her as if it were of no more consequence than an unwelcome crease in her skirts and rose to plant a kiss on her aunt’s papery cheek.

Deception is protection, she told herself every time she donned the disguise of Lady Sterling, a maxim that applied equally well to the occasional fib told to protect her aunt’s heart.

“No more conjuring dangers that don’t exist, Aunt. You know I shall be perfectly safe, and my headache will be gone as soon as I can be sure you are following doctor’s orders.”

Though worry still clouded her expression, Aunt Mildred nodded. “Well, I suppose I’d best be on my way.” She passed out the door onto the landing, and Betty followed, carrying her hatboxes. “I do hope we can outpace that storm,” Laura heard her mutter on the stair. “I can feel the rain in my bones already.”

From the window, Laura studied the dark clouds on the western horizon. She had been watching them gather for the past hour. She waited patiently as Aunt Mildred’s carriage was loaded and waved when it finally rolled away.

Once it was out of sight, she opened the cover of Penhurst’s watch again. “We shall have to hurry now, Betty,” she said and went to fetch her pelisse.

“Your things are all set, miss,” Betty replied, picking up a valise that had been stowed behind a chair.

“Thank you. Now,” she explained as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet, “since I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, I’ve left letters in the drawer of my bedside table for you to send to my aunt at intervals, so she won’t worry at not hearing from me. You’ll find a variety, depending on the weather and whether she writes to say she is enjoying herself or complaining about the company. You must read her letters first and choose accordingly.”

“Yes, miss.”

In another moment, they were out the door of the sitting room, down the stairs, and onto the pavement.

Laura, who had come to live with her aunt at the age of twelve, did not think she would ever grow tired of Clapham, the only district in London where everyone had a cause. On any given day, the streets and churches were filled with the voices of those whom society termed “radicals”—men and women who opposed the slave trade and who believed children need not die regularly in mines and chimneys and who argued in favor of educating women and the poor.

For her part, Aunt Mildred attended lectures and made generous donations to a variety of causes and even, as on the present occasion, took in serving girls who had been unjustly dismissed from their posts. She was far from immune to the fever of righteousness that permeated the very air of Clapham.

But she would undoubtedly have drawn the line at Laura’s preferred remedy: namely, acquiring the dirty secrets of wealthy men and threatening to expose them if they would not leave their domestics in peace.

In the fight for justice, charm was Laura’s stock in trade. She charmed wealthy ladies into giving more money than they had intended and taking on servants they didn’t need. As Lady Sterling, she charmed men into situations that made it possible for her to punish their mistreatment of powerless young women as painfully as she knew how. She had little doubt she could have charmed herself into a most eligible match, if she wanted a husband. As she did not believe any man would suit her, however, she contented herself most often with charming her aunt into complaisance.

But she knew that her aunt’s liberal mindedness would be strained past the breaking point if she ever learned of the dangerous situations in which Laura frequently found herself.

Journeying to Kent by the public stage to aid an unfortunate governess struggling to fend off the unwelcome advances of her pupils’ father, for example.

The breathless sounds of Betty, hurrying after her with valise in hand, slowed Laura’s ordinarily quick steps. But when the girl reached her side and gasped out, “You’re ever so brave, miss,” Laura wished she had not adjusted her pace.