A Bloom in Winter (23 page)

He speared a sausage savagely.

“Someone is in a bad mood,” his mother said from behind him. She kissed the top of his head. “How’s your arm this morning, darling?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re being nice. Why are you being nice?”

“I’m always nice,” she said, her voice mild.

She moved to the ornate mahogany buffet and helped herself to a plate of eggs and ham, and a bowl of strawberries swimming in cream and sugar. Taking a seat across from him, she poured herself a cup of strong coffee, which she far preferred to tea.

His mother was wearing one of her Oriental morning dresses, as she called them, a gauzy, incredibly expensive dress made like a caftan, with a tie under her ample bosom. It showed off her assets, without showing off her equally ample waist.

“You’re never nice, unless you want something,” Kit said.

“See. I knew you were in a bad mood. A mother knows these things.”

He stared as she took a bite of her eggs and she returned his look, her large, dark eyes giving away nothing. For a moment their eyes clashed and then she smiled. “Oh, fine. I’m simply waiting for you to tell me about Victoria.”

“Aha!”

She shrugged. “Other mothers wouldn’t have to stoop to such tactics to find out things.”

He snorted. “I have the only mother in the kingdom to whom being nice to her child is considered a tactic.”

“But other mothers are so boringly predictable. At least your mother isn’t boring.”

“True,” he conceded.

“Now about the girl?” she wheedled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, concentrating
on his sausage. His mother always could read him like a book. But then again, men were her specialty. Secrecy was his only weapon against her.

“That’s not what Colin said when he dropped by to see you yesterday. You were out somewhere, but he looked in need of nourishment.”

Kit closed his eyes briefly. He could see it now. Colin would be putty in his mother’s hands. Most men were. Even though the years had added bulk to his mother’s already curvaceous figure, she still had an exotic air that most men found irresistible. Whether it was the straight, black hair cut in a slashing fringe on her forehead or the almond-shaped eyes that were more an accident of birth than a story about her background, men seemed to believe his mother far more exciting than she actually was. Colin would be no match for her years of experience.

“His young cousin, I believe? It’s odd. I never saw you with a woman that young.”

He snorted again.

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He sighed. He might as well give in. God knew what she already got from Colin. “Victoria isn’t young. I mean, she doesn’t act young. Most of the time. She’s . . . ” He paused, searching for the right word. “Complicated.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Complicated? How interesting.”

“See, you don’t mean that. You say you want to know about her, but then you act like that.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, darling, you’re right. I just find other women’s complications boring. Could you get me one of those pastries next to the sausage? And was your sausage good? Go
ahead and bring me one of those, too. Thank you, darling. Now go ahead. I’ll be good. I promise.”

Kit brought her the food and took a couple more sausages for himself. Oddly, he found himself
wanting
to talk to his mother about Victoria, which just showed how truly upside down things were. He never wanted to talk to his mother about anything.

“What is she like? Colin said he guessed she was pretty.”

He thought about it for a moment. “She isn’t really pretty.
Pretty
is too conventional to describe Victoria. She’s small and rather delicate and her face is rather the shape of a heart and her eyes are blue.”

“Don’t tell me you fell for a blue-eyed blonde? How common.” His mother’s lips curled and he glared. “Sorry, sorry.”

“She’s not like anyone else. She’s tremendously smart and keeps me on my toes. And she’s bold enough to say what everyone else merely thinks about saying. And we’re just friends.”

“Men and women can’t be
just friends
,” his mother said with a dismissive wave.

“That’s what I told her, but I really think we are.”

She shook her head. “No, because one of them always falls in love. If they are lucky, both of them do, but it’s usually just one of them.” She looked at him and Kit thought he saw sympathy in her dark eyes.

“And you think it’s just me?” His voice came out more belligerent than he’d intended.

They ate in silence for several moments before he mused, “She has always said she never wanted to marry.”

“Well, I suppose you will just have to change her mind and then marry her,” his mother told him matter-of-factly.

He looked at her in astonishment. “Married? Who said anything about getting married?”

“Oh, my dear, stupid, boy,” his mother said, shaking her head. “You’ve been talking of nothing else.”

He stood. “Why do I even try to have a conversation with you? You’re quite crazy, do you know that?”

His mother nodded and popped the last of her pastry into her mouth. “But I have never been as crazy in love as you are right now.”

Kit left the room, the sound of his mother’s laughter following him.

P
rudence looked at the silver fish with distaste. It stared back at her with one smoky eye. “I don’t even like bloaters,” she whined to Muriel and Susie, who were both busy getting other ingredients together. “Why do I have to know how to prepare them? Why can’t we have lessons on how to prepare haddock or sturgeon?”

“Because bloaters are cheap,” Muriel told her bluntly. “Sometimes the only meat a family can afford is bloaters, so you want to be able to prepare them in different ways.”

Susie, pounding a horseradish root, ceased long enough to nod. “Plus, they can be good. I like them in a paste and spread on toast or Suffolk rusks.”

Muriel smacked her lips. “I like them poached in milk. By lunch, you’ll be a bloater expert.”

Prudence wrinkled her nose. “I can hardly wait.”

“Good. Then fill that pan about halfway up with water and put it on the stove. Bloaters have been lightly smoked and are kind of hard. You have to soften them first.”

Susie had been there for several days and Prudence kept waiting for a confrontation regarding her tales of city glamour, but to her surprise, Susie said nothing. Suddenly it dawned on Prudence that Susie thought her flat lovely and her furniture from
the Mayfair house quite fashionable. Still, Prudence had trouble brushing aside the shame she felt at lying—falsely boasting, even—to such a kind friend. Susie did, however, take Prudence to task over her lack of servants.

“Why don’t your servants do the laundry?” she’d asked after her first trip down to the cellar.

“I don’t have any servants,” Prudence had confessed. “I made that up.”

Susie’s brown eyes widened. “Why on earth did you tell me you did if you didn’t?”

Prudence shrugged helplessly because she wasn’t sure about that herself. “I don’t know. Maybe because I knew you would tell Vic and Ro what I wrote to you . . . and I wanted them to think I traded Summerset for some grand life in London . . . not for this.” She swept a hand around her flat.

Susie’s mouth turned down and she gave a disapproving sniff. “I’d say you were a bit spoiled if you don’t think this is a fine life. You have beautiful clothes to wear, a lovely flat, and a good, smart man who loves you. You don’t have to conjure up servants.”

Prudence shook her head and smiled over at Susie, still pounding horseradish with ferocity. In many ways, Susie, who had spent only a few years in school before going out to work, was more knowledgeable than Prudence despite her years of education.

“Now you drop the fish in the hot water, take them off the heat, cover them, and let them soak for ten minutes,” Muriel instructed.

Prudence did what she was told. “Now what?” she asked.

“Now the fish plump back up. Remember that bloaters still have their innards, which make them extra tasty.”

Prudence pressed her lips together to keep from whimpering.
Tasty?

A few hours later, after the bloaters had been prepared in several different ways, Prudence had to admit they weren’t as bad as she thought they would be. She had a large jar of paste flavored with horseradish and cayenne pepper to take home for dinner and she was even feeling confident she could duplicate the Suffolk rusks, a sort of twice-baked scone Muriel had taught her to make. Andrew would be delighted.

Her favorite part of the lessons came after they had cleaned the mess in the kitchen and sat down for a cuppa before Prudence went home. It helped break up her lonely afternoons. Today she had the added bonus of Susie, who got along with Muriel, no doubt because they were cut from the same tough cloth. Prudence smiled as Muriel tried to persuade Susie to move to the city.

“But there are so many opportunities for girls such as yourself,” Muriel said. “You don’t have to waste your talents in the country anymore. The world is changing. You could work in a factory or take classes and get a job in an office, like my Katie did. Young women have many more choices these days. And when we get the vote . . . ”

Susie scoffed. “As if that will ever happen!”

“Oh, it will, mark my words! One of the women renting a room from us is working for just such a thing.”

“So is Victoria,” Prudence said.

Muriel nodded. “I know. She works with Lottie.”

So that was how Victoria found her job. “What’s Lottie like?” Prudence asked, curious. She wanted to know about the life Victoria had made that no longer included her.

Muriel made a face. “I guess she’s nice enough. I don’t want
to be uncharitable, but she’s a bit too serious for my taste. Very committed to the cause, though. Of course, women with no prospects of a husband often are.”

Susie laughed.

“Victoria seems very committed,” Prudence said.

“That’s different. Victoria is a saint. Lottie is just lonely.”

Prudence thought about that later on her afternoon walk. Susie had begged off, wanting to write some letters, so Prudence had gone on her own. This time she had taken the Tube to her old neighborhood, a place she hadn’t been to since she had picked up her furniture.

Prudence strolled along, swinging her reticule and umbrella, though she hadn’t needed the umbrella in a week, as unseasonably warm weather had brought March in like the proverbial lamb. Walking the streets of her former neighborhood left her with a lonely, bittersweet feeling. No matter how things had turned out, she had been happy here. Everywhere she looked, memories played out behind her eyes. She spotted the small park where she, Rowena, and Victoria had taken their riding lessons. Three bright, mischievous girls dressed in severe riding habits, following the riding master on three fat, roly-poly ponies. Oftentimes it was just she and Rowena, if Victoria wasn’t feeling well, and Prudence almost laughed out loud, remembering the time she and Rowena had taken off cantering when their master had dismounted to remove a rock from his horse’s hoof. They hadn’t gotten far, of course, they had nowhere to go, but the freedom had felt wonderful.

But as always, the depth of her antipathy toward Rowena colored her memory and she turned away from the park and hurried on. She stood for a moment in front of the Mayfair house, emotion constricting her throat. She wondered what her
life would be like if Sir Philip hadn’t died. She never would have met her husband.

Noting the menacing clouds gathering in the sky, she hurried down the street, hoping to make it to the Tube before the rain let loose. Prudence knew that Susie would have hot tea waiting for her when she got home and supper would be on the stove. Bringing Susie for a visit had been a stroke of genius on Victoria’s part. Prudence loved Susie’s company and would still be drowning in housework without her cheerful help, though with each passing day it felt as if her camaraderie with Susie was alienating Andrew more and more. She resolved to make it up to him. He’d been so very good to her.

The trees, which had just recently sprouted tender young leaves, whipped around in a frenzy, and a newspaper, having been freed from its confines, scattered and blew in the wind like dozens of kites. One hit Prudence in the face and wrapped itself around her head like an octopus. She grabbed at it, laughing, and tried to pull it off as another one curled around her ankles.

“I do believe you’ve been attacked by the news,” a voice said.

Prudence froze, knowing the voice instantly. He plucked the newspaper from her eyes and halted the moment he recognized her. They stared, transfixed. Immobilized. It was like the first time they had spotted each other at Sir Philip’s funeral and when they met again at Summerset. A complete annihilation of everything around them, as if nothing had existed before the moment they met and nothing would exist again after. She hadn’t felt anything like it since the night she had fled from Summerset, alone and beaten by the knowledge of who she really was. Sebastian didn’t know—and if she had her way, he would never know—just how stupid it had been to think even for a moment that they might have had a future together. They
didn’t then, and they most certainly didn’t now. She was married. He was engaged to Rowena.