An Unlikely Countess (28 page)

That intimate kiss jarred with his words. She didn’t want to be only a companion, or only attend to her duties, but it was probably all she could dream of. Cate was good and kind and he didn’t love another, but he didn’t love her.

She would cause him as little trouble as possible. “Tell me about the local families.”

But he said, “There you need Mother. I can give you only the slightest sketch.” He began to list gentry families and their houses.

Eventually she said, “You’ll have to repeat all this when I have pen and paper. My head’s full.”

“Mother will probably write it all out for you anyway.” She thought he was going to say something else on that, but instead, he touched her forehead. “Does your stuffed head make you feel more at ease?”

“No.”

He drew her into his arms. “It will be difficult, Prudence, but not hellish.”

“No? I’ve never given an order to a servant. Well, to our maids-of-all-work when we had them, but that’s not the same.”

“At heart it is. Your hat’s in the way again.”

Smiling, she tilted her head and was kissed. “Don’t scramble it off, though, sir. I will arrive in the best condition possible.”

“If you insist. As for servants, simply make your wishes reasonable and clear and don’t tolerate impudence or shirking.”

“I suspect that sounds easier than it is. They’ll soon learn all about me. The Darlington scandal. My background. White Rose Yard, even.”

“They’ll know none of that when we arrive. That’s why the right first impression is crucial.”

“Thank heavens for the hat.”

He laughed. “A magnificent piece of armor.” He tilted her head and kissed her again. His fingers slid into her hair above her ear.

She moved back. “Be careful.”

“Kissing without disturbing a lady’s hat and hair is a necessary skill.”

“
Your
hair’s escaping its ribbon,” she pointed out.

“It always does. I’m sure you could tie it more firmly.” He shifted to present his back.

Why a broad back and loosely tied hair should be so alarming Prudence couldn’t think, until she tugged the ribbon off. A man’s loose hair was somehow . . . loose. It reminded her of his naked back when she’d tended his wound, his wide shoulders, long spine, strong buttocks. . . . Even though it was all covered now, she wanted to stroke down his jacket, thinking of all that lay beneath.

She swallowed. “Your comb?”

He took it out of his pocket and passed it back to her.

She combed his dark hair, feeling the springiness that must fight to be free of restraint. As did he.

“I’m sorry you had to become an earl,” she said, drawing the comb down through his hair.

“You’d rather have been an ordinary wife, I know.”

His hair was combed enough, but she didn’t stop. “Not for me, for you. You didn’t want such a burden of responsibilities.”

“I was an officer in the army.”

He didn’t sound offended, and she knew through his back and the tilt of his head that he wasn’t.

“An earldom is different. It’s relentless, and for life.”

“Wise woman. I was forced in an instant to be a different person. As you were.” After a moment he said, “I did want Keynings, however. Very, very much. I’ve not admitted that to anyone else.”

Prudence’s breath caught, but she continued to comb in long, slow strokes.

He added, “Sometimes we love ‘not wisely but too well.’”

“
Othello
,” she said. Then, still combing steadily, she risked the question that came to mind. “You were jealous of your brother?”

“Not that he’d become earl. But when I came to an age to realize that Roe would stay at Keynings all his life and I would have to leave, then I thought it unfair. I tried to become a parson.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh. “You?”

“I’ve known a few as unsuited, but it was solely in hopes of having the living near Keynings. Of staying at home.”

She gathered his hair together, her fingers brushing his warm neck. “So you lost your home too.”

“Yes. But I never wished Roe dead. I’d bring him back to life now if I could, even if I had to remove entirely to the Americas or Indies.”

“I know you would,” she said, and tied the ribbon as tightly as possible. Then she couldn’t resist kissing the little bit of skin between his hair and his neckcloth.

He turned and kissed her lips. “Now you know all my secrets.”

“And not a thing to your discredit.”

“I hope not, but there is one other thing.”

The coach changed directions and he looked out. “We’re getting close. It’s a complicated story. I’ll tell you later, but I have made mistakes. It doesn’t concern you in any way, except that you’ve married a man with a shadowed reputation in some circles.”

“Whatever it is, I know you did no wrong.”

“Such faith in me?”

“Yes.”

“Our acquaintance is very short, you know.”

“But deep.”

“Wise again,” he said. “I’ve been closely acquainted with some people for years and not known them as I know you, Prudence Malzard.”

She frowned at him. “Not Prudence Burgoyne?”

“A peer’s wife uses his title as her surname.”

“Lord. Something as simple as that and I didn’t know. How will I manage?”

“You will. You’re the strongest, bravest, and most resourceful woman I’ve ever known, and kind as well. You’ll triumph, my warrior queen.”

“Remember Boadicea.”

“Think instead of Elizabeth, emboldening her troops before the armada.”

“‘I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king
.
’ I always liked that.”

“I’m sure you did. I’ll buy you a new knife, I think. An Italian dagger, with a hilt of gold and set with pearls, for you are all steel, and gold, and pearls.”

“Extravagance, sir!” Prudence protested, but she was melting at such praise.

“You vowed to obey me, and I command you to appreciate all my gifts without protest.”

“Thank you, then, for the cross and brooch.”

“You have many grander jewels, if Mother and Artemis don’t cling to them.”

That burst her rainbow bubble. She was approaching a house already ruled by two women, each of whom had training and lineage far beyond hers.

Then Cate took out two rings and slid them onto his fingers—the heavy gold signet ring and a circle of gold and black. A mourning ring.

There’d been mourning rings and black gloves for those attending her father’s funeral, even though they’d not been able to afford it. At her mother’s simple funeral, there’d been no question of extra expense.

He had a strip of black cloth. “Can you fix this around my arm?”

She did so, but with fumbling fingers. “Why did you take these things off?”

“I was escaping. Perhaps even the reality of Roe’s death. Foolish. I won’t do such a thing again.”

She tied a neat knot underneath his arm, a sick feeling rising in her.

“Cate, we’re approaching a house of mourning, and here I am in red!”

She saw him stop some blistering curse. “How could I have neglected that? It’s also your wedding day, but . . . Your ribbons. Turn, quickly.”

She did, understanding. She felt him cut loose the multicolored knot of ribbons on top of the hat. It would be plain now. Much more suitable.

His large hands were struggling with the ribbons, so she took the knot and quickly untied it all. She discarded the rust ones.

“Take off my cross and chain,” she said as she unfastened the brooch he’d bought and put it in her pocket.

The frogging on her jacket was black, and the rust color wasn’t quite as bad as a bright red. She took the cross off the chain and managed to thread a length of black ribbon through the ring. She turned. “Tie it on.”

He did so. “You’re astonishing. A silver cross on a black ribbon. That does make all the difference. Here, I’ll wind the rest around your sleeve. It’s more usual for men, but will do.”

Prudence took off the garnet ring, and the pretty one with pearls and the yellow stone, leaving only her wedding ring. But she rubbed her hands together nervously.

“The best we can do for now,” she said, “but what of tomorrow? I have no mourning clothes.” She laughed. “Not long ago, that was all I had, for I plunged everything into a dye bath after my mother died. Except the blue. I could dye the blue.” She looked at him. “Is a countess allowed to dye a gown black?”

“She can command the laundry to, and we can have mourning made for you speedily.”

She put hands to her face. “We arrive with so much to offend, and now this.”

“They’ll understand. It is also your wedding day. Ah,” he said, “Gibbet Cross. The turning into the park is just ahead.”

She heard the joy in it, and perhaps familiarity made the gruesome marker commonplace. But Prudence grimaced at the iron cage in which an executed criminal could be hung as a warning to others.

The cage hung empty at the moment, thank heavens, but it seemed a very ill omen.

T
he coach turned slowly between pillars and Prudence looked ahead, fearing to see the house directly in front of her. All she saw, however, was a smoothly graveled road that wound between countryside too beautiful to be natural. She was inside a nobleman’s carefully tended park, and for some reason, the reality fully hit her then.

Cate was a nobleman.

He owned all this perfection.

And he’d married her.

“You won’t see Keynings for a little while. This drive is carefully designed to present beauties in good order. My father’s work, mainly, though my brother was very fond of imported trees.”

Prudence could hardly hear him over the panicked beating of her heart.

“What are they going to think, Cate? What are they going to say?”

After a moment Cate let down his window and attracted his friend’s attention. “Are you willing to go ahead and pave the way? Announce the safe return of the prodigal son?”

“With wife?” Perry asked, riding alongside.

“With wife.”

“On your head be it,” Perry said with a laugh, and rode off.

“Why did he laugh?” Prudence asked.

“Because the bearers of bad news often get shot.”

“Bad news . . .”

He turned. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Don’t set to soothing me. I
am
bad news!”

“Only a surprise.”

“You said you didn’t think warning wise.”

“A day’s warning, or hours. A few minutes should be safe, and moderate the shock.”

No time to load weapons, but perhaps time to get the first angry reactions over so they could all attempt to be polite. If that worked, she’d be thankful.

He looked out again. “Ah, your first glimpse.”

She looked, but as one might look toward a prison. The center part of a stone house was elegantly framed by trees. As he’d said, the vista had been carefully planned. It was a very regular, classical three-story house, but clearly extended beyond her view on either side. A pale sculpture of some sort sat in front of the center. As they progressed, the trees seemed to move back like a curtain, showing more and more of the house.

Her first thought was that it was plain.

When the whole was revealed, she knew it was perfect.

So very unlike herself.

“Have you read Milton’s
Paradise Lost
?” he asked.

She turned to him, wondering if she’d missed something else he’d said. “Yes.”

“Do you remember Pandemonium?”

“It’s the principal city. The domain of Lucifer. Cate—”

“Precisely,” he interrupted. “The city of demons. A trifle extreme as a description of Keynings, but pandemonium has the other meaning now—disorder and a wild uproar. That’s what we face, but we have angels on our side.”

Remembering his wounds, she touched his head.

“Stop doing that.” He pulled her hand down and kissed it. “Perry has claimed Raphael, the messenger. I will be Michael, conqueror of all demons. You can be Good Queen Bess and urge us on to victory.”

“I grant you Draydale as a demon, but not your mother and sister-in-law.”

“True enough. But expectations, Prudence. They can be the very devil. Here we are.”

Despite his warnings, there was fondness in his voice. He loved his home. He wanted it to be a home. It was for her to make it so.

The chaise followed a curving drive and came to a halt at the base of steps leading up to grand doors that still bore black-draped hatchments.

If only she could magically transform her gown to black.

Four liveried footmen with powdered hair already stood ready. The livery was a dark green with gold braid, and they all wore black stockings, gloves, and stocks, and black bands around one arm. They were better equipped for mourning than she or Cate.

A very dignified man in a suit of black cloth awaited in the open doorway. Guardian of the portal. Could he deny her admittance?

“Who’s that?” she whispered as the footmen came forward to attend to them.

“Flamborough, the house steward. I told you about him.”

He had, but her brain had sprung leaks. She couldn’t remember anything.

One footman opened the door.

Another let down the steps.

Cate climbed out and turned to assist her, but Prudence’s heart was racing so fast, she wondered if she’d manage the exit with dignity, and if she did, if she would walk into the house in a straight line. She very much doubted that she could speak coherently. She’d felt the same way when arriving at the church to marry Draydale.
You
have
to
, she told herself, and inhaled a deep breath.
This is Cate’s beloved home. For his sake, you have to manage this perfectly.