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“You know, Lady Whistledown said that very thing just last month!” Posy said excitedly. “I told Mother that she—”
“Posy, shut up!” Araminta snapped.
“When I turned twenty,” Sophie continued, “she didn’t turn me out. To this day I don’t know why.”
“I think we’ve heard enough,” Araminta said.
“I don’t think we’ve heard nearly enough,” Benedict snapped.
Sophie looked to the magistrate for guidance. At his nod she continued. “I can only deduce that she rather enjoyed having someone to order about. Or maybe she just liked having a maid she didn’t have to pay. There was nothing left from his will.”
“That’s not true,” Posy blurted out.
Sophie turned to her in shock.
“He did leave you money,” Posy insisted.
Sophie felt her jaw go slack. “That’s not possible. I had nothing. My father saw to my welfare up to age twenty, but after that—”
“After that,” Posy said rather forcefully, “you had a dowry.”
“A dowry?” Sophie whispered.
“That’s not true!” Araminta shrilled.
“It is true,” Posy insisted. “You ought not leave incriminating evidence about, Mother. I read a copy of the earl’s will last year.” She turned to the rest of the room and said, “It was in the same box where she put her wedding band.”
“You stole my dowry?” Sophie said, her voice barely more than breath. All these years she’d thought her father had left her  with nothing. She’d known that he’d never loved her, that he saw her as little more than his responsibility, but it had stung that he’d left dowries for Rosamund and Posy— who were not even his blood daughters—and not for her.
She’d never really thought that he’d ignored her on purpose; in all truth, she’d mostly felt... forgotten.
Which had felt worse than a deliberate snub would have done.
“He left me a dowry,” she said dazedly. Then to Benedict, “I have a dowry.”
“I don’t care if you have a dowry,” Benedict replied. “I don’t need it.”
“I care,” Sophie said. “I thought he’d forgotten me. All these years I’d thought he’d written up his will and simply forgotten  about me. I know he couldn’t really leave money to his bastard daughter, but he’d told all the world I was his ward. There  was no reason he couldn’t provide for his ward.” For some reason she looked to Lady Bridgerton. “He could have provided for a ward. People do that all the time.”
The magistrate cleared his throat and turned on Araminta, “And what has happened to her dowry?”
Araminta said nothing.
Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat. “I don’t think it’s terribly legal,” she said, “to embezzle a young woman’s dowry.”  She smiled—a slow, satisfied sort of smile. “Eh, Araminta?”
Chapter 23
Lady Penwood appears to have left town.  So does Lady Bridgerton. Interesting...
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 18 JUNE 1817
Benedict decided he had never loved his mother more than he did at that very minute. He was trying not to grin, but it was exceedingly difficult with Lady Penwood gasping like a fish on land.
The magistrate’s eyes bugged out. “You’re not suggesting I arrest the countess?”
“No, of course not,” Violet demurred. “She’d likely go free. The aristocracy rarely pays for its crimes. But,” she added, tilting her head slightly to the side as she gave Lady Penwood a very pointed glance, “if you were to arrest her, it would be terribly embarrassing while she defended the charges.”
“What are you trying to say?” Lady Penwood asked through decidedly clenched teeth.
Violet turned to the magistrate. “Might I have a few moments alone with Lady Penwood?”
“Of course, my lady.” He gave her a gruff nod, then barked, “Everyone! Out!”
“No, no,” Violet said with a sweet smile as she pressed something that looked suspiciously like a pound note into his palm.  “My family may stay.”
The magistrate blushed slightly, then grabbed the warden’s arm and yanked him out of the room.
“There now,” Violet murmured. “Where were we?”
Benedict beamed with pride as he watched his mother march right up to Lady Penwood and stare her down. He stole a  glance at Sophie. Her mouth was hanging open.
“My son is going to marry Sophie,” Violet said, “and you are going to tell anyone who will listen that she was the ward of  your late husband.”
“I will never lie for her,” Lady Penwood shot back.
Violet shrugged. “Fine. Then you can expect my solicitors to begin looking for Sophie’s dowry immediately. After all,  Benedict will be entitled to it once he marries her.”
Benedict slipped his arm around Sophie’s waist and gave her a light squeeze.
“If someone asks me,” Lady Penwood ground out, “I will confirm whatever story you bandy about. But do not expect me  to go out of my way to help her.”
Violet pretended to mull that over, then said, “Excellent. I do believe that will do nicely.” She turned to her son. “Benedict?”
He gave her a sharp nod.
His mother turned back to Lady Penwood. “Sophie’s father was named Charles Beckett and he was a distant cousin of the earl’s, no?”