A Worthy Wife by Bárbara Metzger

bright boy. Why, he could grow up to be a Bow Street Runner with his aptitude, and Windham’s sponsorship.
    “Bloody hell, he’s a waif off the streets!” The earl did not appear pleased with his new dependent. “And filthy to boot. And the management of the hotel is complaining of the lines of beggars waiting outside for you, and—”
    “They were waiting for you. I had no idea what to do with all those people in search of positions.”
    “What am I, an employment agency?” Windham was trying to hold on to his temper; shouting at the peahen was not his idea of turning Aurora up sweet. Was it just a few hours ago that he’d promised himself he’d woo his bride into submission? ’Twould be a miracle if he did not wring her neck! Pasting a smile on his face, he asked, “And just what the deuce am I supposed to do with a horse that can barely hold its head up, much less pull a cart?”
    They were having dinner in the sitting room of Aurora’s suite, and she could tell Kenyon wasn’t really angry because he kept smiling at her. And he had sent a lot of the unemployed soldiers over to his town house to help with the cleaning, since they’d be moving sooner than he’d planned, with the hotel management’s encouragement. He even got Ned to agree to a bath, by banishing him until he was clean and free of vermin. Truly her husband was a kind and generous man, despite his blustering. He was beautiful, besides, in the formal evening dress that his valet had brought from Warriner House, handsome being much too insipid a word for such magnificence. Of course Aurora had found him attractive in the altogether, but she would not think about that, not for a month. They should be good friends by then. She would also not dwell on the fact that his valet had unpacked the earl’s bags in the other bedchamber of her suite, not the one across the hall.
    Finished with his soup, Kenyon brought his quizzing glass to his eye. “This hotel is never going to be a success at this rate. All the flowers are wilted.” Then he studied the young person waiting to take the covers off the next course.
    Noting his raised brow, Aurora took a drink from her water glass and said, “That’s Judith, my maid.”
    Judith bobbed a curtsy. Kenyon nodded politely, but addressed his wife. “Correct me if I am in error, but isn’t your maid, Margaret Baggins, a proper, gray-haired woman of middle years?” He knew dashed well she was, for he’d hired the woman precisely because of her respectability.
    “Oh, Baggins found that she missed Bath, my lord. She found London agitating to her nerves.”
    London or Lady Windham? he wondered. From the evidence awaiting his return to the hotel, Aurora’s afternoon had been enough to daunt the staunchest soul. But Aurora was going on. “Happily, Ned Needles found me Judith, who had been employed as abigail to two sisters making their come-outs this Season. Wasn’t it lucky that she was available?”
    Lucky wasn’t quite how he would have described the young woman’s availability. With his looking glass now dangling from its ribbon, he drawled, “Were you aware, my pet, that your new maid is increasing?”
    Aurora leaned forward. “Ssh, Kenyon. She’ll hear you.”
    He edged his chair nearer to hers conspiratorially and whispered back, “I think she knows it.”
    “It wasn’t her fault. The two young ladies had an older brother, the bounder. Judith was tossed out, while the libertine was merely sent back to university. That’s not fair!”
    “It never is,” Windham agreed. “But how do you intend to right the wrong done to the girl? You do know you cannot keep her on as your dresser, don’t you?”
    “Of course, but I could not let her go to the poor-house, could I? I thought you’d have the answer.”
    “I suppose I should be warmed by your confidence in me, my dear, but I have already saved one damsel in distress. That’s my limit. I’m not taking a page from Podell’s book, not even for