The Devious Duchess by Joan Smith

nodding her head in emphasis of this grandeur. “A younger son, you know, but his da was a marquess. Why, I could call myself Lady Dudley if I had any hankering for a title. However, the deal was that I couldn’t use his name or title if I was to get my allowance paid.”
    This struck Belami as the appropriate moment to admit that he knew something of her history, as she would soon learn it from Sir Nevil in any case, and he exclaimed, “You don’t mean you are Lord Dudley Patmore’s widow!”
    “None other. Did you know the old bleater?” she asked. There was a suspicious glint in her black eyes.
    “I never met him, but I am familiar with the family. I had no idea Lord Dudley’s wife was such a young lady.”
    “It was a May-December match,” she admitted, her expression softening. Then she noticed Pronto staring at her and turned her attention to him. “And who are you?”
    “Pronto,” he answered. “Pronto Pilgrim. Belami’s bosom bow.”
    If Adelaide knew of Belami’s connection with Deirdre and the duchess, she kept it to herself. “It was a great shock to me,” she said, and drank some more wine. “I wonder if I’ll lose my allowance. Sir . . . A friend of mine tells me a widow has rights.”
    “That would be Sir Nevil Ryder?” Belami inquired, his tone devoid of any emotion.
    “Yes, the old boy’s nephew. He’s the one will be in the honey now, like as not. That’ll be a change for him.”
    “Where are you living these days, Miss Pankhurst?” Belami asked.
    Pronto opened his lips to give her residence, but Belami stared him down. “At Bath,” she said. “Mind you, if I get any blunt from the old gent, I’ll move on to London. A widow has rights. Would you know anything about that, Lord Belami?”
    “There is generally a dowager’s allowance, and a dower house, if the estate has one. Certainly some provision must be made for the widow, by law.”
    She considered this a moment, then spoke. “Then I’ll buy myself a black outfit and go to the funeral. I don’t own a black gown, or I’d be in mourning now. I’ll do him proud at the funeral, though; see if I don’t. I’d best get out to a modiste first thing in the morning.”
    “I suppose you’ll be attending the wake tomorrow?” Belami asked.
    “My friend says that’s not a good idea. My husband’s sister is a regular Tartar, and no mistake about it. She’d cut me dead. I didn’t come here to be insulted, but I’ll go to the church. She can’t do much there. I would like to see the little girl again—Deirdre was her name. Shy as a flower, she was, and so sweet. Ah, well, she’d be all grown up now, and they’d have set her against me.”
    “No, she is still very sweet,” Belami told her. “1 think she would like to see you.”
    “Not at Fernvale, thank you. Happen we’ll arrange something. Well, thank you kindly for the wine, Lord Belami. Will you be sticking around for the funeral?”
    “I plan to remain in town for a few days. I hope we meet again, Miss Pankhurst.”
    “I don’t see much difficulty in it, since we’re both putting up here,” she answered. Her black eyes flashed an invitation.
    Belami arose, pulled Pronto to his feet as well, and accompanied Adelaide to the door. After she had left, he carefully closed it. “What do you make of her?” he asked Pronto.
    “Holds her wine well. A pretty fair toper. Looks a bit older in the light than I thought at the first glance. She don’t have to caulk her wrinkles yet, but they’re there.”
    “She says Dudley wanted to see her. I wonder what he had in mind.”
    “Can’t very well ask him.”
    “No, we just have to take her word for it that Dudley wanted to see her. I don’t see any reason why she’d lie about it.’’
    “She certainly didn’t kill him. She didn’t get here till he was long gone.”
    “If she does know anything,” Belami said, “the likeliest person to learn it is Deirdre. I must make some arrangement for the two of them