The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,80
hypocrisy when it came to such matters. Men could visit brothels, entice widows into their beds, and mount expensive mistresses to satiate their sexual hunger, but women were made to feel shame for even having the audacity to admit they had any desire—not to mention an ability—to experience physical pleasure.
She snatched another infernal bill out of the trunk—this one for the cost of a new shaft for a curricle that was no longer in the earl’s carriage house—and put it in chronological order in the pile she had created for 1815.
Fueled by anger and a sense of injustice she worked her way through the chest of documents.
Eventually, she reached out to grab another bill and saw the trunk was empty. Benna glanced at the clock; it was almost noon.
Two hours had flown by in a flash.
She sighed, stretched, and stood. There was that loathsome task done—at least for today.
Next, she gathered up the most recent bills for the cottages.
It was her duty to check them against the blueprints Jago kept in the library, since their carpenter wasn’t above adding additional work to his bills.
It was safe to go to the library since Jago hadn’t yet returned.
The big room felt oddly empty this morning and Benna couldn’t help glancing at the spot where they’d embraced each other last night.
Lord, but his body had felt delicious. She could only imagine what—
A sharp knock on the door cut off her erotic reverie.
It was Nance. “Ah, here you are, Mr. Piddock,” he said, as if Benna had been hiding. “Mrs. Valera wishes to speak to you.”
That must have been the magnificent carriage Benna had seen rolling up the drive not long ago.
“Did you tell her the earl is gone out this morning?”
“Were you not listening?” The old man gave her a testy look. “She wishes to speak with you, Mr. Piddock.”
“Me?”
Nance sighed like a person pushed beyond human endurance.
“Ben?” The female voice came from behind the butler, making the old man jump. A rich, bawdy laugh floated through the air. “I’m terribly sorry, Nance, I’m afraid I followed you. I thought Mr. Piddock might be beavering away in the library.” She appeared in the doorway and laid a hand on Nance’s shoulder, the action earning her a venomous glare. “You needn’t stand on ceremony with me, we’re old friends, after all.”
Nance gave her a look that could freeze water and then turned to Benna. “Tea?” He made the word sound more than a little ominous.
Mrs. Valera answered him, “Goodness no, Nance, I’m only here to ask a quick favor of Mr. Piddock.”
“Very good, ma’am.” He turned stiffly, his posture broadcasting his opinion of women who did not stay where he put them.
Once they were alone, the red-haired beauty gave Benna a smile that could launch a thousand ships. She held out a dainty hand sheathed in lemon-yellow kid, which perfectly matched her form-fitting carriage gown.
Benna had to admit—grudgingly—that if she had looked even half as magnificent in a dress as Mrs. Valera she wouldn’t have minded wearing them so much.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. How may I serve you?”
The other woman’s lips curled in a way that made Benna feel like she was engaged in something wicked.
Her vivid green eyes flickered to the trestle table. “Are those the drawings for the famous hospital we are all hearing so much about?” She didn’t wait for an answer before strolling over to the trestle table.
Benna followed. What the devil did the woman want? “Yes, these are the plans for Mr. Worth’s hospital. Oh, not those,” she said when Mrs. Valera began flicking through the plans that Benna had just been checking. “Those are for two of the earl’s cottages.”
A vee of annoyance formed between Mrs. Valera’s delicate brows. “The earl is building new cottages?”
“He’s not building new ones, but several are in need of a great deal of work.”
“That must cost a pretty penny—doing such extensive repairs.”
The comment puzzled her. Did she expect Benna to divulge the costs? “Er, I suppose so, ma’am.”
“How much has he spent getting them ready?”
Benna stared. Not only was her question intrusive, but Benna found the other woman’s reference to money vulgar.
What a little snob you still are, even after all these years.
She knew that was true.
No doubt Mrs. Valera—the widow of a man who’d made his fortune in trade—probably believed that speaking about one’s finances with complete strangers was acceptable behavior.
“I couldn’t say,” Benna lied. She refused to discuss his lordship’s business with the odiously nosey woman.