An Unlikely Countess (23 page)

“It should be washed, but can silk be washed?” The farmer’s wife stroked a sleeve. “Such lovely stuff.”

The child ran under the table, laughing when he went through the curtain of silk and back again, and the women laughed with him.

It was a charming picture, but Prudence fit it too comfortably. His wife would have a maid to take stains out of silk, and her children would have their own servants and be housed in the nurseries. That was where he’d been raised, seeing his parents only on occasion, and he’d enjoyed it that way. His children would be happy with that situation too, but how would Prudence feel?

She seemed so at ease here, where his mother and Artemis would be uncomfortable, but how would she cope with Keynings? It would not only be a foreign land to her; it would be a hostile one. No one would approve of this marriage, and her fine qualities of courage, resilience, and honesty could be seen as unwomanly.

One thing was sure—she must arrive at Keynings armored in fine clothes and full dignity, but he could tell that her efforts to clean the blood were making the silk gown worse rather than better.

“Abandon hope of that,” he said. “As soon as the rain stops, we’ll get you something else from your trunk.”

She dropped the cloth into the basin. “It’s such a waste, though. It was very expensive. Peg, would you like it? There’s yards of material in the skirt and you might be able to make something out of the good parts.”

Damnation
. His countess was already on first-name terms with the farmer’s wife, just as she’d been with her neighbor in White Rose Yard. She might have been born in a manor, but she’d traveled a long way from there and become a different person, one at ease here, but who would be very ill at ease in aristocratic circles.

It was done, however, and he must help her survive.

His first obligation was to confess the truth, but he’d need a moment in private. That explosion wasn’t for public fare.

Prudence became aware of something shadowed in Cate’s mood. Perhaps it was the bothersome weather, or perhaps the ruination of her fine gown. He would prefer that she present herself to his grand relations in silk, she was sure.

She, too, regretted the ruined dress, but in a way she was happier at the moment than she’d been in an age. She was enjoying Peg Stonehouse’s company and the antics of her charming child. In this firelit room, shutters drawn, Green Hollow Farm was a cozy burrow.

Peg was putting a pot full of poppy flowers into a basin.

“What are you doing with those? Potpourri?”

“Nay, there’s no pretty smell to them. I’ll steep them in my rose-hip wine to make a fine cordial. Do you not make poppy water?”

Prudence smiled at the universal nature of wines and spirits, and none of it from France. “No. Show me how.”

“There’s not much to see now. I’ll just put ’em to steep and set ’em aside for a few days. But then I’ll add some dried blackberries from last year and set it in the sun awhile. Add some crushed snails, strain, and there it is.”

“Snails?”

“Powerful good, snails are. Don’t ye know that?”

“No,” said Prudence faintly, wondering what was in Hetty’s mother’s cordial. Perhaps she could make the poppy water without the snails.

“What’s it good for?”

“Most things. The cold, stomach upsets, fever, pain. For stomach, the best thing’s chalk in goat’s milk, but there’s not much chalk around here.”

Prudence encouraged Peg to share her knowledge, wishing she had paper and pen.

“How do you make your own wine?” she asked.

“All ye’ll need is some very sweet fruit and yeast from the ale. Let it stand long enough, lightly covered, and ’tis done. Blackberry’s a fine wine and makes good cordials.”

All drunk for health, but enjoyed anyway.

Farmer Stonehouse poked his head in the back door. “The rain’s stopping, sir. Do ye want to try to open t’boot?”

Cate said, “Assuredly. Do you have a likely tool?” “The spike on me ’ammer’ll likely do it.” He brandished it.

Prudence had seen Cate wince as he moved. If his wound was healing it would burn to be stretched.

“I’ll go,” she said.

“On no account.”

“Cate, it’s a long climb, and your wound—”

“Is nothing.”

Stonehouse said, “I’ll be coming t’elp, sir.”

“Thank you, but there’s no need,” Cate said tersely. “I’m sure you have more work than hours in the day.”

“That’s true, sir. If ye’re sure.” The farmer handed over his hammer and went back to his work.

Cate headed for the door, but Prudence followed. “I’m coming with you.”

“Nonsense.”

“Don’t argue over this!” When he turned on her, she stood her ground. “It would be foolish to carry the whole trunk down here, but how will you know what to bring me?”

“I believe I can choose a suitable outfit.”

“But not the one I’d choose.”

“Prudence . . .”

She suddenly realized she was haranguing him as she’d once harangued her brother, and he was outraged. Though it was an effort, she changed her tactic. “Please,” she asked. “I’ll only worry about you. Let me come.”

She thought he’d refuse even that, but then he said, “Very well. But when your shoes are in shreds, don’t complain to me.”

“I have sturdy shoes in my trunk,” she pointed out.

When he rolled his eyes, she realized she’d fallen back into a starchy tone. Being a meek wife was going to be challenging.

When they opened the front door, she did hesitate. Because the farmhouse sat in a hollow, a mire of mud had formed beyond the step. Having made such a point of it, she couldn’t turn back now.

She took his arm and sloshed into the mud. “These shoes are already past prayers, but at least my skirts won’t trail in the mud. I can’t imagine why we ever wear them down around our shoes.”

“Why not skirts up to the knee?” he teased. “We gentlemen would appreciate that.”

A mad impulse took her. Once they were on firm ground, she raised her skirt that high.

The look in his eye rewarded her. Suddenly hot, she dropped the skirt to set off up the long, slippery lane.

He caught up and hooked arms with her again.

When they turned onto the road, the coach lay just as they’d left it, shattered and on its side, and there was no sign that anyone had come by.

Birds trilled and chirped among wet hedge and grass, and sunshine was forming a rainbow.

“We could seek our fortune at the end of the rainbow,” Prudence said, wanting to wander into the fields and away. Just away, with Cate.

“We have riches enough, wife. Let’s restore your dignity.”

Prudence followed him to the coach, dismayed by how much he seemed to care about her appearance. She could never look aristocratic.

The hammer had a long iron spike opposite the round head and he used it to lever open the boot. Wood shattered and splintered, but amid so much damage, that hardly mattered.

“Hold the boot lid while I pull out your trunk a bit,” he said. “I think I can straighten it without having to put it on the wet ground.”

She did, and he manhandled the trunk more or less straight.

“Your key?”

“Thank heavens I didn’t take off my pockets,” she said, putting her hand through the slit in her skirt and finding the key.

But then she heard hoofbeats.

“Someone’s coming at last!” Cate said.

She stepped out, but it wasn’t a coach. “Only two riders. One gentleman, one groom.”

Cate came up behind her, then limped past. “Perry! How the devil did you get here?”

Perry? His friend?

The cloaked gentleman smiled. “With great difficulty, you madman. Is that your carriage?”

“What’s left of it, which makes you an angel from heaven.”

“I shall be Raphael, I think,” the man called Perry replied. “‘Raphael, the sociable spirit, that deigned to travel with Tobias, and secured his marriage with the seven-times-married maid.’ ” He smiled across at Prudence and bowed. “Has your wife been married seven times before?”

She felt obliged to curtsy, though his manner was ridiculously airy, and her clothes weren’t suited to elegance. Here was her first encounter with someone from Keynings, and she must look like a peasant, a very grubby one.

“Prudence has only been married once,” Cate said as his friend dismounted. “Where does that quote come from?”

“
Paradise Lost
. But referring to the Bible, in which Raphael did assist Tobias to free the beauteous Sara from a demon.”

“How suitable, then.”

“You have a demon?”

“No more. Except for demon poverty, which I hope you’re about to exorcise.”

“Yours, as always, to command.” Perry tossed over a fat purse.

The weight of it was startling, unless it contained shillings. She was sure it did not.

If one could judge a man by his friends, what was she supposed to make of this one? Despite plain clothes and a heavy riding cape, he seemed all air and spirit, both in manner and build. He was shorter than Cate and much more slender, but in some way he didn’t seem
lesser
.

Prudence caught the other rider staring at her, and realized that the groom was Tallbridge’s man, who’d been sent with the message and must now be completely bewildered.

“Wot’appened’ere?” the groom demanded. Where’re the horses, and Mr. Banbury?”

Cate went over to explain, and the fanciful fribble approached her. Prudence dearly wished she were in silk and good order. He gave her an elaborate bow in which his right hand must have inscribed four full circles in the air. “My Lady Malzard, I assume.
Enchanté
, dear lady!”

“Who?” The man was addle-witted as well. “I’m Cate’s wife, Mistress Burgoyne.”

He blinked at her, smile fixed. “Ah . . . of course. A thousand apologies! But that only increases my delight to make your acquaintance, which has not formally occurred, as my friend has so neglected his duties. Let us correct his error. Peregrine Perriam, ma’am”—he bowed again—“very much your devoted chevalier. You may command anything of me. Absolutely anything!”

Prudence curtsied again, thanking him, but having to fight laughter at such a stream of nonsense. Until she realized something.

Mr. Perriam was acutely embarrassed.

He’d expected Cate to be with someone else.

With a Lady Malzard.

He was saying something about the weather and Yorkshire. She responded with something along the same lines, striving not to show her distress.

Cate and another woman, traveling together? That could only mean a mistress. Cate had a mistress and Mr. Perriam had expected Cate to be traveling with her.

A Lady Malzard had to be a married woman.

An adulteress.

Or a widow
.

That was worse. A widow was available for marriage. Lord save her, had Cate begun his journey in pursuit of his one true love and then been snared by her misfortunes?

She’d been silent too long. “My apologies, Mr. Perriam. As you can imagine, events have been distressing.”

But none so distressing as this.

Cate joined them then. “I see you’ve made each other’s acquaintance. My apologies for not performing the introductions. We’re about to find decent clothes for Prudence. At present she’s in something borrowed from the farmer’s wife.”

He was apologizing for her. Lady Malzard, she was sure, always dressed to perfection.

Prudence wanted to crawl into a hole, but instead she turned back toward the trunk. “Let’s be about it.”

She heard Mr. Perriam say, “Cate,” behind her, as if to attract his attention, but then, “Gads, are you wounded?”

“Nothing dramatic. The trunk is the first priority.”

Getting his unwanted wife into something decent was the priority.

Dress a pig in silk . . .

Lady Malzard had to be highborn and elegant. She was probably petite and soft of feature, always charming and sweet, never haranguing her lover, not even for his own good.

Prudence unlocked the trunk. When Cate raised the lid for her, she said, “I can manage.” She wanted him to go away so she could pull herself together. So she could fight the tears that wanted to spill.

“You’ll need another pair of hands. You can’t put things down in the mud.”

He was right, which upset her even more.

Her rust outfit lay on top and was very suitable for travel. Lady Malzard, however, doubtless always dressed in frills and flounces, so she dug deeper and pulled out her yellow stripe.

“That’s too delicate for travel,” he said. “You must have something plainer.”

She took out the blue.

But then she came to her senses. No one would be hurt by that but herself. She tucked it away and passed him the skirt and bodice that made up the rust-colored outfit, then added a pair of plain stockings.

“I just need the bag with my black shoes.”

She dug deep for that. When she straightened with it and turned to him, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

She wanted to tell him exactly what the matter was—she wanted to swing the shoe bag at his thick, thoughtless head—but what was the point? What was done was done.

“Just the effects of the day.”

“Or Perry. It’s unfortunate that he arrived when you were in those clothes, but he can be trusted.”

Trusted not to spread the story of how inferior and unsuitable she was.

“We should get back to the farm,” he said.

“I need to get some gifts for Peg Stonehouse.”

She was glad to turn away to find the soap in its pretty china pot and one of her new, lace-trimmed shifts. Whatever he truly wished, Cate was married to
her
, not Lady Malzard. He was hers, and it was better so. That fine lady wouldn’t have been able to tolerate his poverty. She wouldn’t know how to make bread and hand creams.