An Unlikely Countess (34 page)

Cate said, “There are apartments in the north end of the house used by some dependent relatives and retired senior servants. We won’t intrude there. Those residents largely keep to themselves, but you might meet them around. There’s an elderly gentleman who was librarian here when I was a boy, and two spinster cousins of my mother’s who like to prune the garden, much to the gardeners’ dismay.”

He led her into a long gallery, where a number of portraits hung. “We must have your portrait painted soon.”

“Heavens, no!” Prudence protested, but when he said, “It is necessary,” she sighed.

“Why that should seem more of a challenge than anything else, I don’t know.”

“Perhaps because a portrait shows us ourselves as others see us. Or how we want others to see us, which could be even more telling. I must face it too. At the moment, there’s only this one of Roe and me as boys.”

The resemblance was clear, but they were a mismatched pair. The thin boy of about twelve sat in a sober suit, reading a book, while a sturdy child still in a dress held a hoop as if impatiently waiting permission to run off and play.

“I think that artist was skilled,” Prudence said.

“Probably. He painted us separately. Roe sat patiently for hours because he was always happy to read, whereas he had to catch me in moments.”

“Will you be any better behaved now?” she teased.

“I’m thoroughly cowed by nobility. Perhaps we should have a wedding portrait. They’re becoming the style. Out in the grounds, surrounded by our grandeur.”

“In mourning?”

“A point. And an excuse to put off the day. Ah, this is my father in his middle years.”

Prudence considered the robust man with a firm jaw. “A stern gentleman.”

“That must have been how he wanted to be seen by posterity. He could be genial with some. And here’s my mother as a new countess.”

Prudence was very interested in this one, but she doubted that the dowager today resembled this slightly built young woman.

“She wanted to look like a countess,” she said. “Composed and dignified. But nervousness shows. I’m sure it will with me too.” She looked to the next one. “Your brother, grown up.”

“How did he want to be seen?” he asked.

Prudence didn’t want to say anything that would offend. “Composed and dignified, down to his soul. Very sure of himself. Was he?”

“Being born to inherit Keynings ensures that. How do you read Artemis?”

Prudence looked at Artemis Malzard, again surely as a bride, but in this case, not so many years ago. She could weep for that happy young woman. The portrait showed her seated, hands in lap, perhaps attempting to appear dignified, but a smile brightened her eyes.

She’d been happy.

“It’s so unfair,” she said.

“Life often is.”

A bell rang.

“Late for dinner again,” he said carelessly. “Come.”

He took her through a small door and along a narrow corridor that brought them out near the stairs down to the hall.

“Keynings seems to hold a lot of secrets,” Prudence said.

“Let’s hope so. It would be pleasant to keep some.”

“Who’ll be at dinner?” she asked quietly as they went down the main stairs.

“It’s established custom that any family at home dine together. A few employees may if they wish. Rathbone, the librarian, does if not lost in a book. Dramcot, the estate steward, rarely does. He prefers to dine with his family. He has a house on the estate. The north-wing residents suit themselves.”

There were two footmen in the hall, so Prudence didn’t ask any more questions, but was she about to meet the dowager?

“This is the family dining room,” Cate said as they went in. “There’s a state one for banquets.”

The table could comfortably hold ten, she thought, but only four people were present, and none was the dowager or Artemis. The four had all risen—two elderly ladies on the far side of the table, and two elderly gentlemen on the near side, turning in a slightly doddering way to bow.

“My countess,” Cate told them. “My dear, I present Miss Catesby and her sister, Miss Cecily Catesby, who are cousins of my mother’s.”

The slender, silver-haired ladies dipped curtsies. Prudence’s mother’s old instructions returned to guide her:
No one ever offends by an excess of courtesy
. She only hoped that applied in the highest circles, and returned the curtsies.

Cate went on, “Mr. Coates was our house steward here for thirty years, and Mr. Goode was our librarian for even longer.”

Employees—that presented a dilemma, but she curtsied to them too. She noted that both ladies were in black, and the gentlemen in sober clothing with black armbands. Her dark red dress must look garish.

Cate led her to the seat at one end of the table. Once she sat, the others did. He went to the seat at the far end, seeming miles away. A stillness settled. His lips twitched, but the smile reached his eyes like a reassuring kiss as he glanced at the golden bell by her place.

“Are we all here?” she asked brightly, and rang it.

Instantly servants entered to lay out dishes on the table. A great many dishes for six people, but Prudence hoped the etiquette was the same as in Aaron’s house.

She turned to the gentleman on her right. “May I help you to some of this fish, Mr. Goode? I believe it is carp.”

“It is indeed, Lady Malzard, from the estate’s own carp pond, so always very fresh. Thank you, thank you.”

As she’d hoped, that was the signal for everyone to serve themselves and others, and for dishes to pass along the table if requested. She put small amounts of various dishes on her own plate, but wasn’t sure whether she could swallow any of it.

This was the first occasion when she felt completely a countess, and hopelessly out of her milieu. And this was only an informal meal.

Only the butler had remained to pass around the table with the wine. She gladly drank some, then ate a little fish.

Cate was talking to the Catesby ladies, so she turned to the gentlemen. “I’ve not yet explored the library here, Mr. Goode. I’m sure it’s a wonderful collection.”

“A practical one, my lady,” he corrected. “Alas, neither the previous earl nor his father was interested in rarer editions.”

“More interested in rare trees,” said Mr. Coates in a quavery voice. “Half of which died. I’ll have some more of that fricassee, if you’d be so kind, Miss Catesby.”

Silence settled, but Miss Cecily Catesby said, “You come from Darlington, I believe, Lady Malzard?”

Prudence agreed, but tensely. Did the ladies know the town well, or, more to the point, know people there?

“We visited once,” Miss Cecily said, “when the clock was mounted on the spire. An excellent service to the town.”

Relieved, Prudence seized on a topic of conversation. “That would be St. Cuthbert’s. An interesting old church.”

Mr. Goode took that up. “Ah, yes, St. Cuthbert’s. The choir stalls there are very old, and . . .”

Prudence had no objection to his lecturing on the subject at length.

She stole a glance at Cate and found him smiling at her. Perhaps he too was remembering the church. There were dark memories centered there, but it had been where they’d said their vows.

Mr. Coates broke in to say that the local church, St. Wilfred’s, had an equal claim to age and dignity. “As you will see, my lady, on Sunday. There’s an ancient cross in the churchyard, and a suggestion of a church there dating back to the time of Saint Wilfred himself.”

Mr. Goode said, “I find the arguments put forward unconvincing, Coates.”

A debate threatened, but Miss Cecily said, “Sunday. An opportunity for the worthies of the area to meet you, dear Lady Malzard. We were saying yesterday—weren’t we, sister?—that the situation does present some difficulties. Normally, a new countess would mean a fete or a ball. . . .”

“But at the moment,” said her sister, “that would not do. However, Sunday will provide a very suitable occasion.” She looked at Prudence with an uncertain smile. “Forgive me for mentioning it, dear lady, but it would be better to appear in black.”

Cate responded to that. “I’m at fault there, cousin, for urging a hasty marriage. My wife had no time to prepare for a house of mourning, but she will have blacks by Sunday.”

The elderly ladies smiled at her and Miss Catesby said, “The urgency of young love.”

They seemed kind, but Prudence suspected that they were gossips who sought out every tidbit and wrote many letters. Today’s events at Keynings would be racing to all points by tomorrow. Well enough if they had a positive view, but when the truth began to trickle in here . . .

She rang the bell for the second course, wishing this meal over, but aware it was the first of hundreds. Thousands, even.

Once the new dishes had been attacked, Miss Catesby said, “We heard you suffered a carriage accident, dear Lady Malzard. What happened?”

Cate again stepped in to relate the incident. Of course, he didn’t mention the tampering with the wheel.

“How terrifying!” Miss Cecily said. “A miracle that you both survived.”

“I avoided hurt through Malzard’s gallantry,” Prudence said. “He protected me from shattered glass and woodwork at some cost to himself.”

“Shocking,” said Mr. Goode. “The state of the roads is shocking. Even the new toll roads. I always rode when I traveled. I may be Optimus by name, but I’m a pessimist when it comes to vehicles.”

Everyone smiled or laughed, but Prudence’s smile was strained. Optimus Goode! That wasn’t a name to be forgotten, especially by a girl of twelve. He’d visited Blytheby to see the famous collection. He’d hardly seen her then, and would never recognize her now, but he’d recognize the name Youlgrave.

She wished now she hadn’t let Cate assume she was the daughter of Blytheby Manor. She’d wanted to seem a more suitable match, but now her deception could be revealed at any moment.

She should tell Cate the truth as soon as possible.

Her throat was too tight for her to eat any more, so she only sipped wine as the meal dawdled to its end. Oh, lord, she’d be expected to invite the ladies to take tea. Where? She rose. Which would be the correct drawing room?

That was no problem, as the Catesby ladies hurried ahead of her to a pleasant, bright room she’d admired. She was braced for more questions, but the ladies were happy to do all the talking. They went over the recent tragedy, and Prudence learned more details. It did sound harrowing, with the earl in such pain until he died.

“Dear Flavia was so brave. Completely shattered, of course, but strong, as she always is.”

“Artemis collapsed and wasn’t seen for a whole day, but when she emerged she was the same. An admirable young woman.”

“But changed, sister.”

“Only to be expected, sister. And it is not so long since her poor baby was born dead.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear, that was a hard time.”

“October. All Souls’ Night. I remember that.”

Less than a year ago, Prudence thought. No wonder the wound was still so raw.

“Then her husband,” said Miss Catesby. “So unexpected, and no one quite sure where Catesby was.”

“Fortunate he was found so quickly.”

“And he
is
applying himself,” Miss Catesby said, the emphasis hinting at surprise.

“
Most
worrying when he disappeared,” her sister said.

“Not disappeared, dear. Off to Darlington.”

“But not back by nightfall.”

Miss Catesby tut-tutted. “Gentlemen have their ways, Cecily.”

“Oh.”

Had they both forgotten she was there? “He came to visit me,” Prudence said.

When they both looked at her, mouths in Os of surprise, she realized what they’d heard.

“To visit,” she said quickly. “By daylight.”

“Oh,” they said in unison. “Of course, we heard the story in brief yesterday from Mr. Perriam. So romantic. When did you first meet, my dear?”

Prudence had no idea what story had been told. “Some years ago, when he was on furlough.”

“So many years apart,” said Miss Catesby.

“But happily reunited.” Miss Cecily sighed. “In general I would have recommended that you wait, but it will be good for Malzard to have a helpmeet at such a difficult time.”

“He has Mr. Perriam,” said her sister. “Such a pity he’s left again. Such a breath of Town about him.”

“We used to visit Town,” said Miss Cecily, “when we lived in the south. We kept house for our father, and then for our brother, but when Jeremy died . . .”

More sighs, and of a different sort.

“We were so fortunate that Flavia offered us a home.”

“Oh, yes, so fortunate.”

Constance wondered, however, if they, like Perry, preferred Town to country.

More women left in hardship when their men died or neglected them. It wasn’t right, but she saw no way to change their unfair world. She had her own struggles in hand—those of being a new wife and a most unlikely countess.

W
hen Prudence returned to her rooms, she was asked to go for a fitting for her black gown.

On seeing it, she had to hide her disappointment. Black had never suited her—it made her look sallow—and the flat black of the crape was very black indeed. It made Prudence think of soot. The fit of the skirt and bodice was adequate, but there’d been no time for ornamentation. It was simply plain, black, and unbecoming.

“Do you perhaps have braid or beading for it?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not, milady. With the sudden need for mourning we used all we had, and we’ve not yet replaced it.”

So this was all she had to wear to church on Sunday, and she’d be judged by it. She gave thanks and praise, however, for clearly everyone had worked hard to make such progress in a short while.

Might the blue be better? But when she asked about it, Mistress Sawyer pulled a face. “I’m afraid it didn’t take the dye well, milady.”