An Unlikely Countess (33 page)

The seamstress measured her and assured her she would have everything by the next day. If the blue took the dye, she’d have two black gowns, at least.

Prudence went on her way, dutifully inspecting a range of storage areas, noting that those containing the most expensive items were kept locked. Mistress Ingleton had keys for everything among the big bunch dangling from her belt.

“How many sets of keys are there, Mistress Ingleton?”

“I have a set, milady, and Mr. Flamborough, though he’s rarely called upon to use them. I believe a set is held by his lordship, but I’ve never known that set used. Of course, some people have some keys, such as the butler having keys to the wine cellars. . . .”

“Does either of the other Lady Malzards have a set?” Prudence asked.

“Oh, yes, of course, milady! That’s only right.” But then she turned slightly glassy-eyed at the implications.

Prudence supposed that in a more normal situation Artemis’s keys would have been passed on to her, though notably the dowager hadn’t handed over her keys when Artemis came here.

“I assume a set is being prepared for me?” she said.

“Right speedily, milady. The locksmith will get to it immediately.”

Of course, Keynings would have its own locksmith. And clock winder, she realized, as clocks struck eleven.

“I would like tea,” she said, feeling desperate for it, and the break it would require.

“Would you honor me by taking tea in my parlor, milady? It would give an opportunity for you to look through the account books.”

Prudence longed for escape, but how could she decline?

It was another hour before she collapsed in the sanctuary of her own rooms, her head aching with all she’d been told, and with the pressure of everything now resting on her shoulders. Cate bore the weight of the earldom, but the house—the houses—were hers.

She could entrust Keynings to Mistress Ingleton, but though she seemed an excellent housekeeper that would be to shirk her duties. She could probably leave it in the hands of Artemis and the dowager, but she’d eat glass first. She’d not realized she had such a fierce need to prove herself their equal in all this. She could only hope she wasn’t driven into disaster again by imprudent courage.

“Oh, there you are, milady. Do you need anything?”

Karen had come out of the dressing room. Prudence realized she’d forgotten about the girl. When she said, “No,” she saw disappointment.

“Have you simply been waiting all this time with nothing to do?”

“It’s my place to wait, milady,” Karen said with dignity. “I’m like a lady-in-waiting, Mistress Ingleton said. And I have a basket of plain mending to do.”

Prudence wondered if the girl would like to spend some time in the more familiar servants’ hall below, or if she valued her place up in the heights. Heaven and hell, she thought wryly, but the servants’ hall had looked very comfortable.

“Where are you sleeping, Karen?”

“Right below you, milady! I’ve a room all to my own.” That was clearly heaven. “You can knock on your floor in the night and I’ll hear you, but there’s also a bell. Here.”

She went to the head of the bed and showed Prudence a cord that disappeared through the floor. The maid gave it a tug, and Prudence heard a little tinkle below.

“That’s very clever.”

“It is, isn’t it? I never knew about such things.”

“Can you read, Karen?”

The maid suddenly looked miserable. “Very little, milady. I’m sorry. . . .”

“It’s not your fault. What education do the children on the estate get?”

“Old Miss Wright has the little ’uns read a bit from the Bible on a Sunday, milady. She were Lady Arabella’s governess, I hear, and, being old, stayed on when Lady Arabella left to marry.”

“Lady Arabella?” Prudence asked, not sure if her head had space for another fact.

“His lordship’s sister, milady. Five children she has now, and right terrors when they came to visit last year, especially the boys. Oh, sorry, milady. I’m chattering again.”

“I’ll tell you if your chatter bothers me. How many boys?”

“Three, milady, and nothing but trouble.”

Prudence imagined the pain those boys had inflicted on Artemis and her husband, who’d not only lost a precious baby, but the son they needed for the succession.

She pulled her mind back to education. That was a proper matter for a lady to be interested in, and she was. Though she had no calling to it herself, she’d seen the benefits to Hetty’s children.

Hetty’s children. They’d been without a teacher since she left, which saddened her. Perhaps she could send some simple lessons.

She needed to start writing things down.

“Karen, do you know where to find writing paper, pens, and such?”

“No, milady.” The girl was looking anxious again.

“I’m sure it’s not part of your duties. Please go and ask Mistress Ingleton, and if possible bring such things to my boudoir.”

The maid left and Prudence went to the window to look out at the estate. Was it possible danger lurked out there? She could, alas, imagine Henry Draydale sending one of his unpleasant employees here to attempt something. She’d tried not to pay attention to such matters, but she knew he employed a number of ruthless men to collect debts, evict tenants who couldn’t pay their rent, and doubtless do other things to make sure his will was obeyed. She’d seen him speak coldly to his servants and children and had begun to suspect that his poor second wife had been driven to a mental decline. What an escape she’d had—for Prudence strongly suspected she’d have been driven to kill the man. Not herself. Him.

She felt for the knife in her pocket. She’d keep it with her always, just in case.

At the moment, the gardens and park looked the epitome of tranquillity. The only movement was the slow, precise walk of some deer cropping grass, and ripples at the edges of the lake.

“It’s there, milady!” Karen declared, bursting in.

“The paper. In yer desk. But yer trunk’s come! I’ll go and arrange for it to be brought up to the dressing room immediately.”

She was off and Prudence went to the dressing room to wait. At last. She’d soon have her dyed gown, but more important, she’d have the few precious items that would make this place seem a little bit like a home.

She owned four books. One was Malory’s
Morte d’Arthur
, given to her by her father, which she’d never been able to bring herself to sell. The other books were favorites that she’d replaced in Darlington. She also had her mother’s favorite vase and the two glasses—the ones she and Cate had used that first night.

Karen opened the hidden door, and a footman backed through holding one handle. Soon another appeared in charge of the other. They put the trunk down, bowed, and left. Prudence had her key ready, and knelt to open it.

“There,” she said, and threw back the lid.

“Oooh, milady, that’s a pretty nightdress!”

Yesterday, when she’d dug through the trunk to find suitable clothing, she’d disordered the contents, and her finest nightgown was now rumpled on top. It was the one Susan had given her as a wedding present, made of fine lawn, pin-tucked and inset, and trimmed with soft, ruffled lace.

She took it out and passed it to the maid. “I’ll wear that tonight.”

For her true wedding night.

She passed over shifts, stockings, fichus, and handkerchiefs, but then came to the few items she’d prepared herself. A bride should make linens for her future home. Draydale had told her not to bother, that his house had all the sheets and towels it needed, but she’d done it anyway. Her first, weak rebellion, but what use were they here, especially monogrammed with “P.D.”? Prudence Draydale. The thought of it was enough to make her sick. She gave the towels and pillowcases to Karen. “Dispose of these.”

The girl looked dubious, but she said, “Very well, milady,” and put them aside.

When the trunk was empty Prudence picked up the blue gown—the only piece of clothing left from her days of poverty. Weakness tempted her to preserve it, but for what purpose?

“Take this to the laundry to be dyed black, Karen.”

She left the rest of the clothing for the maid to deal with and took her homely items through to the boudoir. She put the books on one bookshelf, the vase and glasses on another. The desk did now contain expensive writing paper, pens, and all else necessary, but she put her few sheets of simpler stationery in there too. Her wooden jewelry box contained little of value, but she added the pretty pieces Cate had given her and locked it in the central door.

All her possessions made hardly a mark here.

She realized that this announced to all how little she brought to this marriage. Everything in this house now belonged to her, but that wasn’t the point.

After a knock, Cate came in from the corridor.

Prudence knew she blushed as she smiled. It had been so long. “My trunk arrived,” she told him.

“Then all is well. Ah, do I recognize those glasses?” He picked one up, shooting her a wicked glance.

She blushed even more. “I’ll never use them, but . . .”

“On the contrary, we’ll sip brandy from them by night, and share our problems.”

“I hope to keep all problems at bay.”

“Optimist.”

“Why not,” she said, “for my situation is much improved.”

He touched her mother’s rose-painted vase. “Remember that a bed of roses must by nature have thorns.”

Cate immediately regretted his words. Time in the earldom’s offices always made him jaundiced, even with Perry’s wit to keep the blue devils at bay.

“I do worry about my lack of possessions,” Prudence said, seeming anxious. “It looks odd.”

“What do you want? More books, glasses, figurines, fans, feathers . . .?”

She laughed, but said, “Just more. I mean, I
should
have more, if I’d come from a suitable situation. I had little when I moved to Darlington, and I bought only what I needed, because I knew it was all being paid for with Tallbridge money. I didn’t want to be in their debt.”

“I’ve endowed you with all my worldly goods,” he pointed out.

“I’m not making myself clear. I wish I had more possessions arriving here from my past.”

Now he did understand. “I arrived here as earl with little, but no one expected otherwise. You’re correct that your possessions are part of your first impression. But it’s easily solved. We need Perry. Where’s that wench of yours.
Karen!
” he called.

The girl rushed in, eyes wide, looking scared to death.

“I need you to find Mr. Perriam and ask him to join Lady Malzard and myself here.”

The girl almost sagged with relief, which unsettled the curtsy she dipped at the same time. She then staggered off.

“She is rather endearing,” he said. “Like a puppy.”

“I know. Why Perry?”

“I’m hoping he’ll undertake a mission.”

“Another one? You abuse him terribly.”

He smiled. “You have a kind heart, but don’t waste it on him. He’ll refuse if he wants to. Truly, he loves to ride. That makes London living a challenge, but he rides out on a shocking number of occasions.”

“Where do you want to send him?”

“To York, for possessions.”

Perry came in then, smiling as he bowed and declared, “Lady Malzard!
Enchanté!
How may I serve you? Do you have a demon for me to slay?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” said Cate. “You may, however, ride full-tilt to York and ravage some shops.” Cate explained what he meant.

“The possessions of a respectable lady of the middling sort,” Perry said. “An interesting challenge. Including clothes?” he asked Prudence.

“If there’s mourning to be had.”

“Another challenge. Is Othello up for cross-country work, Cate?”

“I’d hope so, or he’s not worth his oats.”

“Then I fly like an angel on horseback.”

Prudence smothered a laugh with a hand, but Cate let his out. “Angels on horseback” was a dish of oysters wrapped in bacon.

Perry laughed with them. “Delicious, but hardly heroic. I simply fly like Raphael on my mission. My dear lady, may I request a gown?”

“You mean to travel in a
gown
?” Prudence asked.

“A thought! Angels are usually represented wearing gowns. . . .”

“Saint Michael is usually in armor,” Cate said.

“But not Raphael.”

“And never, to my knowledge, on horseback,” Prudence pointed out, looking as if she feared Perry might truly make the ride in a gown.

Perry smiled at her. “Your gown will give your size. If you permit, I could leave it with a mantua maker in York so that others could be made from the pattern.”

“Oh, how clever you are,” she said, beaming, and went herself to get it.

“I would dislike to fall out with you,” Cate said.

“Jealous? That’s promising.”

“She is my wife.”

“Not all men are jealous of their wives’ attentions. In fact, some are glad to see them happily distracted. . . .”

But Prudence returned then with a yellow dress.

Cate said, “I’m sorry you’re not able to wear something so pretty.”

“It doesn’t matter, truly.” She gave it to Perry. “Thank you for doing this.”

“I am your angel to command.” He bowed again and left.

Cate ground his teeth at his wife’s fond smile, wanting to warn her against Perry’s charm, but that would be ridiculous. He had enough complications in his marriage without adding that.

He held out a hand. “Let me show you around part of the house as we make our way down to dinner.”

P
rudence was astonished by the number of formal and informal rooms, all elegant and awaiting activity. Perhaps Keynings had been livelier before the death, but there were still a great many rooms.