A Prudent Match (24 page)

“Of course,” she said dismissively. But she did not meet his eyes.

“You really were afraid I wouldn't be back in time for the dinner?”

“I knew you intended to be back.”

He could feel her struggle to greet him warmly. A smile rose to her lips, but it was a forced smile. She said, “Welcome home, William,” but her voice held none of the richness he had so easily become accustomed to. There was even, he thought, a suspicion of moisture in her eyes.

What was this? Had she lost interest in him so easily? “Is everything all right?” he asked, troubled. “You're well?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“And Catherine and the baby?”

“So far as I know they're fine, too. They went home several days ago, but I'm expecting her with Sir Geoffrey and his mother this evening.”

“Good, good.” Ledbetter tilted her chin up with his finger and bent to kiss her. “Will you wear your hair loose tonight, Prudence?”

“Tessie was trying to so something with it when you came in. I'd like the earrings to show. They're so beautiful.”

He saw that she had the diamond necklace on, and the dangling earrings. “You don't want the tiara? It would look magnificent on you.”

“Thank you, no. For a more formal occasion, perhaps. Tonight I intend to wear flowers in my hair.”

“Ah.” Ledbetter wasn't sure he cared for the idea of his wife wearing flowers in his hair, but he knew better than to say so, given the precarious nature of his connection with his bride at the moment. “Will it throw your schedule off if I sit and talk with you for a moment?”

“Not at all. But do allow enough time for yourself, William. You'll wish a bath and your valet has already taken great pains to lay out what he expects you to wear this evening.”

“Has he, by God?” Ledbetter could feel his ire rising, but he shook off such a petty annoyance. What did it matter, after all? Balliot was much better at deciding what was appropriate garment than Ledbetter himself. He pulled up one of the ridiculously fragile chairs that graced his wife's sitting room and sat down on it.

“Mr. Youngblood is actually a sort of cousin, it turns out,” he told her.

“Yes, I know.”

This was not the reaction Ledbetter had expected, and he frowned at her. “How could you possibly know?”

“I spoke with Mr. Newsom, and with Mr. Hidgely.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Newsom can understand perfectly well if you speak slowly and clearly to him. And he's been here such a long time that he seemed the natural person to ask about Mr. Youngblood.”

“What can he possibly know of Mr. Youngblood?” Ledbetter demanded.

“Well, nothing for certain, of course, but he knew when he saw Mr. Youngblood in church that he must certainly be Francis's son. The curly hair, you understand.”

“What are you talking about, Prudence?”

And so she told him. Ledbetter could scarcely credit what he heard. Here he had traveled for several days, meeting constant frustration and being obliged to cross the palms of every person in sight, and his wife had stayed home and disposed of the entire matter. He was not at all pleased with her promises to Mr. Hidgely, though he could understand the necessity for a reconciliation in that quarter.

“But he deliberately allowed my mother to believe that my father had been unfaithful to her. That he'd had a son with some other woman! The little toad.”

“Yes,” Prudence agreed, “but you must admit, William, that your father's behavior might easily provoke just such a reaction. And Mr. Hidgely has come to think of you as being a . . . somewhat similar person.”

“The devil he has! When have I ever raised my voice to Hidgely, let alone call him a jackanapes? Not that I haven't wished to on occasion, you understand,” he admitted, a trace of amusement in his voice. “You are a complete hand, Prudence. I can't believe you managed to unearth all that information—and from a deaf gardener and a self-righteous vicar. I should have stayed home.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said evenly. Then she waved him toward the door. “You need to get ready for our guests, William, and so do I. We'll talk more later.”

“Indeed we will.” He paused in front of her, allowing his hand to caress the line of her jaw. “But we'll do more than talk, I hope.”

A blush suffused her cheeks, and she nodded.

“My adorable Prudence,” he said. Then, with a regretful sigh, he took himself off.

* * * *

As their guests gathered, Prudence did her best to put names with faces. She did not suffer from awkwardness in social situations, but rather enjoyed meeting new people. The fact that Ledbetter stood beside her, and that she was wearing those glorious diamonds, did nothing to detract from her enjoyment at being hostess in her new home.

For too many years she had been the eldest daughter, engaged but in limbo. Though she had seen to all the household duties at Colwyck, her mother was the lady of the manor. Her two sisters closest in age were impatient to have their turns in London, to find themselves potential husbands, but they had shown little interest in assisting Prudence in her efforts. So Prudence had learned how to run a household but had seldom received credit for her exertions.

Talk in the drawing room inexorably shifted to Mr. Youngblood. Prudence felt herself become alert to Ledbetter's replies to his guests' queries. She could see no sign of irritability; rather his openness about his probable relationship to the young man was admirable. He spoke with an almost offhand ease that brought a startled look from Sir Geoffrey. But it was Sir Geoffrey's mother who actually gave voice to her surprise.

“If I had known how much marriage would mellow you, William, I would have urged it on you a good deal sooner,” she teased.

Her bluff manner did not seem to distress him. In fact Ledbetter offered her a mocking bow and said, “I had first to find a woman who refused to tolerate my rough ways, Lady Manning. Of course, she's only had a few days to work on me. Who knows what a paragon I shall become when we've been married for years?”

“I would dearly love to see the day you become a paragon,” the dowager Lady Manning said with a chuckle, “but I don't expect I shall live that long.”

“You wound me,” Ledbetter retorted.

The butler arrived to announce that dinner was served. This was the moment that Prudence had been waiting for. Ledbetter insisted on escorting both the dowager and his wife to the dining room. As they approached and a footman threw open the door, Prudence heard the sharp intake of breath beside her. “My God!” Ledbetter exclaimed.

The high-ceilinged room had indeed been transformed into a garden. Not only were there rows of blooming flowers along the walls, but hanging baskets of them above. A riot of color splashed everywhere—reds, yellows, blues, purples. Plants peeked from behind the miniature hedges and cascaded past a realistic rock wall. Down the center of the table a vine of creeping Jenny twined, its yellow blossoms lushly accenting each place setting.

The candles in the chandelier twinkled gaily, like so many sunbeams, Prudence thought. The effect was even more stunning in the evening darkness than it had been in the gloom of the afternoon. “Do you like it?” she asked Ledbetter, unnecessarily.

“It's the most glorious thing I've ever seen,” he said. “How did you do it?”

“Well, it was Mr. Newsom who did it. He understood instantly what I had in mind.”

Lady Manning, on Ledbetter's other side, said, “Oh, William's mother would have loved this! How I wish she could have seen it.”

“It seemed a more fitting memorial than that great organ,” Prudence explained. “Everyone has mentioned how much she loved flowers and her gardens.”

Behind them the other guests were making their way into the room, exclaiming at the spring garden which surrounded them. Catherine squeezed her hand, and Sir Geoffrey beamed his approval. Prudence flushed with delight at their pleasure. But it was the look on Ledbetter's face—of awe, and gratitude, and something more—which made her heart beat faster.

* * * *

Prudence was exhausted. The evening had gone exceptionally well, but she had been relieved to see the last guest out the door. Ledbetter had turned to her then and caught her to him in an exuberant hug, saying, “That garden was magnificent.
You
were magnificent, Prudence. Lord, you must be fagged to death from all your efforts.”

He had bent to whisper in her ear, “But I hope you will come to me tonight. Please say you will.”

And she had promised that she would. When Tessie helped her to undress, excitedly relaying the pride of the Salston staff in the success of the spring garden and the dinner party, Prudence had smiled and nodded, but her thoughts were on her husband. She had won his admiration tonight, but had she earned his loyalty and consideration? Would he think twice before he up and left her alone at Salston another time? Prudence didn't wish to be merely a hostess to his guests, or even—amazing thought—a mother to his children. She wanted to be important to Ledbetter himself.

Perhaps that was asking too much, she thought as she removed every pin from her hair. She watched Tessie pull the brush carefully through her locks until they shone in the candlelight. This was the way he liked it, Prudence knew, in a wild nimbus around her head.

“That will be all, Tessie,” she said. “Thank you for your help with the dinner. I'm so glad you agreed to come to me. Are you happy here?”

“Oh, yes, my lady.” The girl curtsied before heading toward the door, where she paused to say, “I'm going to learn more about being a real dresser, ma'am. Mrs. Collins says I'm to spend three hours a week with Fenner, as was the dowager's dresser for thirty years.”

She said this with something like reverence. “She's pensioned off now, but she lives in the village, and she'll teach me about fashion and proper cleaning of garments, and all she knows about caring for such a one as you. If it's agreeable with you that I go there, my lady.”

“Why, of course it is. How splendid! Mrs. Collins must be very taken with you to arrange for such a training.”

“As to that,” the girl replied, flushing, “she's been very kind to me, but I think it is her wish to please you which made her arrange it.”

“In any case, I am grateful to her, and I shall tell her so in the morning. Goodnight, Tessie.”

“Goodnight, my lady.”

Prudence sat alone for a few minutes, trying to collect her thoughts. But her tired mind refused to cooperate, so she sighed and rose to make her way across the hall. There were things she needed to say to Ledbetter, matters of importance to her, but she didn't seem to have the will to bring them up, the courage to face him with them. Then again, perhaps they were too insignificant, or too demanding, to be trotted out for his impatient inspection. She drew a shaky breath as she knocked at his door and let herself into his room.

He was seated in an armchair, the second volume of
Emma
in his hands. He set the book down and reached a hand out to her, so that she crossed the room to take it. Then he pulled her gently onto his lap and nuzzled his face against her hair. “You must be very tired,” he said.

“I'm afraid I am,” she admitted. “And we have to get up early for church.”

He groaned. “Where I will be forced to accept Hidgely's apology, and render one of my own.”

“If you could see your way clear to doing it.”

“Oh, I shan't have any trouble with that.” He shrugged at her startled look. “It all seems rather unimportant now. There's something much more significant weighing on my mind.”

“Whether Mr. Youngblood knew all along about the deception?”

He shook his head, drawing a finger along the line where the diamond necklace had rested all evening. “No, not that either. In time I'll discuss it with him and come to a decision about whether he deserves to be welcomed into the family. I don't actually hold with being estranged from one's cousins, whether they're legitimate or not.”

“Then what is it that's of such concern to you?” she asked, puzzled.

“You are.”

“Me?” Prudence felt a little alarmed. “Have I done something to displease you?”

“You know you haven't. But my guess is that I've done something that displeases you. I'm not quite sure what it was, though, Prudence. I fear I'm a little dull, and a little too self-absorbed, to have put my finger on what has upset you, so I can only beg that you will tell me.”

Prudence swallowed painfully. “I'm not displeased with you, William.”

“Now I fear that is not the whole truth, my dear, and I am accustomed to hearing the whole truth from you. There was that certain amount of reserve in you on my return. It would not have been there, I think, if I had not disappointed you in some way. It seemed more than just my being late in returning.”

His finger dipped slightly to the cleft between her breasts, but his eyes remained on hers. Prudence cleared her throat, aware of a tension beginning to blossom in her body. “I . . . I have a strong aversion to being abandoned,” she said at last. “I think I mentioned it to you before.”

He cocked his head at her. “Yes, I think you did. But, my sweet, I merely left for a few days to investigate this problem. You knew I would be back very shortly. Surely you do not consider that abandonment.”

When she said nothing, he tipped her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. “I don't understand. No doubt I'm being very dense, but you'll have to be a bit clearer.”

“It felt like you were abandoning me,” she said. “We'd only been married a few days. I know you married me because of the inheritance, but I didn't want other people to realize that . . . that you didn't care for me, that it was just a matter of convenience.”

Ledbetter was frowning. “I thought we'd cleared this up the night before I left, Prudence. I do care for you, and I cared for you when I married you. Do you want me to confess all?”

“What is there to confess?”

“Mmm. A great deal, I suppose. When you became engaged to Porlonsby four years ago, I was acutely disappointed. I had thought I had some chance with you. You didn’t seem entirely indifferent to me, though you did avoid any attempt I made to fix my interest with you.”