Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,45

as I am with the lady herself,” Marissa said. “How lovely to see you again, Lady Pendleton.” At Lady Higgins’s surprise, she said, “My late husband’s estate borders that of Viscount Pendleton. We are old friends, aren’t we?” She placed a hand on Lydia’s forearm as if in affection, gratified when the old witch flinched as if Marissa had seared her with a poker.

“A pleasure to see you, Lady Cupps-Foster.” Lydia sounded brittle, as if chips of ice were lodged in her throat. She stepped back just enough for Marissa’s fingers to drop from her sleeve.

Marissa gave her a sweet smile.

“Lady Malden,” Lady Higgins started, “I wanted to thank you personally for your generous donation to the Chenwith Society. Your patronage has come as such a pleasant surprise. We are a small organization and there are those who feel our charity isn’t needed, but we do very good work.” Lady Higgins beamed, her passion evident. “So many of our miners lack proper food and medical care, as you will hear when Dr. Linwood speaks. Worse, if they perish while toiling away, their families are left to starve with little recourse. Or sent to the workhouse. And I don’t believe any childhood should be spent digging for tin.” The small curls dangling against her temple quivered in subtle indignation.

“I’ve always felt it a duty,” Arabella placed a hand on her chest, “to help others when we can, regardless of their station in life. You are to be commended, Lady Higgins, for your generous heart.”

Another blush of pleasure pinked Lady Higgins’s cheeks. “I knew we were of like mind, Lady Malden. Sir Richard has been ridiculed by some of our acquaintances because he does care for those less fortunate. Viscount Pendleton has fortunately embraced such reforms.”

“I understand him to be one of Parliament’s brightest stars,” Arabella said.

“I’ve never seen anyone so passionate and devoted to the welfare of others,” Lady Higgins said, her admiration for Pendleton evident.

“How gratifying for you, Lady Pendleton,” Marissa said, struggling to hide her amusement as Lady Higgins extolled Simon’s virtues. She wouldn’t be quite so effusive in a month or so.

“Incredibly so. Pendleton has made something of his life.” Lydia’s eyes, like bits of flint, glared at Marissa. “Unlike other young, overindulged gentlemen who due to their poor upbringing lack the discipline to finish their studies and make something of themselves. Breeding itself is no guarantee a gentleman won’t fall in with disreputable company. One wonders how such men avoid the gallows given their cutthroat tendencies.”

Lydia really needed to work on her insults. Perhaps she was out of practice. Her mild slurs against Brendan and Spencer barely roused Marissa’s anger.

“True. I do wonder how Lord Pendleton became such a paragon, but then I recall you had an excellent nursemaid for him. And a governess.” She smiled sweetly.

Oh dear. When Lydia’s eyes bulged, she was very unattractive.

“Are you enjoying the round of parties this season, Miss Higgins?” Marissa turned to the girl Lydia meant to have as a daughter-in-law.

Miss Higgins, shy to a fault, murmured something adequate and stared back down at her slippers.

Marissa had the inclination to shake the docility right out of prim little Miss Higgins. She didn’t subscribe to being well-mannered to the point you disappeared. A girl must possess some spirit.

She cast a sideways glance at Lydia, taking note of her bloodshot eyes and the deeply etched brackets around her lips. A whiff of the air around her brought forth the scent of spirits.

Brandy.

Arabella purposefully placed her hand on Lady Higgins’s forearm, leading the woman and her daughter away, asking if they’d been to the opera.

Her niece disliked the opera.

As soon as Lady Higgins and her daughter moved several paces away out of hearing range, Lydia pounced, as Marissa knew she would, curling up to her like the venomous snake she was.

“If you think you’ve somehow outsmarted me, Marissa, think again.” The brandy on Lydia’s breath was sharp. “No court in London will entertain your ridiculous request that we repay the proceeds of the Blue John mine dating back over twenty years, especially since you can’t prove the mine even belongs to the Earl of Morwick.” Lydia gave a flutter of her beringed hands. “All you have is an old survey which is likely a forgery.”

“If you feel that way, Lydia, one wonders why you would have bothered to murder my husband all those years ago.”

Lydia’s left eye twitched. “Hearsay,” she hissed, the brandy fumes floating out in a cloud. “You’ve not a shred