Authors: Jo Beverley

An Unlikely Countess (39 page)

BOOK: An Unlikely Countess

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“I wasn’t comfortable when I was ungrateful in Northallerton,” she pointed out. “Or when I was snarling over pretty, fashionable, elegant Lady Malzard.”

He laughed. “No, you weren’t, but I don’t like feather beds. You speak your mind; you can take care of yourself when necessary. You even have a knife. Have you unpacked all that Perry’s sent?”

“What? No . . .”

“Then you must.” He took her hand and towed her into her dressing room. He peered into the bottom of the open trunk, then said, “Open the other one.”

It seemed like a game, which delighted her. She raised the trunk lid. On top was another gown, swathed in white cloth. She took it out and pulled off the muslin. “Oh. How clever he is!”

“I’ll call the villain out. But no, as he’s acting as my secretary, I shall take the credit. That’s a splendid piece of mourning finery.”

“I shall thank him in particular,” she retorted, holding the black gown against herself. “It’s long enough, I think.”

“Have no doubt of it. Perry never mistakes matters of fashion.” He picked up another swathed bundle and revealed more black. “Petticoat, I assume. And here’s the stomacher. All costly, but so very, very sober.”

Prudence hurried to spread it all together on her bed. “It’s lovely.”

The material was crape, trimmed with black lace and embroidery, still without a touch of gloss. The only shine was in panels of black damask let into the bodice, and in the stomacher of the same fabric. The ruffles were attached to the long sleeves, and were merely a frill of black.

She’d still look sallow, but like a sallow countess.

“My Storborough hat will go perfectly with this. I won’t embarrass you at church tomorrow.”

“Come and explore further.”

Clearly he wanted her to find something, which made her feel like a child at Christmas. She took out some other garments, only glancing at them. Cate’s surprise wouldn’t be one of those.

She found a sewing box, prettily covered in embroidered panels. No, that wasn’t his gift.

A tea caddy, already stocked with tea, but like everything else, not suspiciously new. “I’m so glad to have this,” she said, but it wasn’t the special something.

Three large bundles revealed a china water bowl and jug, decorated with spring flowers. And even a matching chamber pot.

Prudence bit her lip. “Just the sort of thing a lady would cherish.”

“More than likely,” he agreed. “Perry must have enjoyed this enormously.”

A box contained fans of various sorts, and a tube shape was a parasol.

Then she picked up a flat leather-covered box not much longer than her hand. A piece of jewelry? She was a little disappointed that Cate had left such a purchase to his friend.

When she opened it, however, she found a knife. No, not a knife—this must be the Italian dagger Cate had spoken of. The sheath was plain and narrow, but the hilt was only a knob of fine silver set with pearls. The dagger seemed too ornamental to be practical.

“Ah, he found one. I forgive him the excellence of the rest.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, it’s lovely. But I hope not to have need of it.”

“I hope that too, but you never know.”

“The hilt seems insubstantial.”

“It’s a bodice dagger.”

“A bodice dagger?”

He hooked a finger in the front of her bodice and pulled her closer.

“Cate?”

His finger wiggled, causing some alarming sensations. Especially when she’d told the dowager they wouldn’t . . .

“You have a busk,” he said, looking. “The dagger fits down there and only the top shows.” He took the sheathed knife from the box and, with her unsteady and dazed, slid it down the pocket in the center of her stays.

Then he took her to her mirror. “See.”

Only the pretty top showed, looking like a brooch.

“Take it out,” he said. “Just a little carefully. The sheath’s roughly textured, so it should stay behind.”

She grasped the top and pulled, watching the action in the mirror, aware of him behind her. “It’s not comfortable to hold.”

“It’s not meant for regular use. It’ll serve to skewer a demon if necessary.”

She turned to him. “I truly hope that’s never necessary. How goes your demon slaughter?”

“In only a couple of days I know most of Draydale’s open business and where he’s vulnerable there. I have people uncovering the rest. I’m sure there is a rest.”

“Tallbridge probably knows a great deal.”

“I won’t use him unless I must.”

Prudence put down the knife and poked into her busk for the sheath.

“Allow me.”

She did, liking it altogether too much.

He pulled out the sheath, which did indeed catch on the lining of her busk pocket, and then stroked it up her neck and around to her lips. “I believe we’re allowed to kiss,” he said.

They did so, slowly and deeply, stirring all those hungers she wouldn’t be able to feed for a while.

“When?” she asked.

“A few weeks, at least.”

She sighed. “At least now you see that Artemis isn’t perfection.”

“You had warning of her spite? You should have told me.”

“It would have been hard to believe. She’s mad with grief, I think. Not just over her husband, but over her stillborn child. She blames you for one and thinks you heartless over the other.”

He shook his head. “I never heard anything about the baby. Letters get lost in wartime. As for the other, how would that work? Roe died weeks after I left here.”

“Perhaps his headaches started then.”

“He wasn’t mad with rage. I was more openly angry than he was. I’d never known how little he thought of me. I’d never realized how little I thought of him. Oh, he did his duties well, but there wasn’t a scrap of innovation or adventure in his soul.”

She took his hands. “Don’t relive it. You’ll regret it. So, probably, did he, if only the opening of Pandora’s box. His seizure, his death, were coincidence.”

She kissed him, offering comfort, and he turned it into a hug, which was what both of them needed more than anything else.

“You hugged me in Northallerton. I never forgot that.”

“Hugs are as free as the air,” he said. “Are we not rich? Let’s take that drive.”

Chapter 31

P
rudence felt less unhappy in her lonely bed that night now that there was a purpose, but she lay awake wishing they could at least share a bed. She longed for that closeness, and she’d feel less worried about tomorrow and church.

Thanks to Perry she’d have the lovely gown to wear, but it would be her first encounter with the neighbors. Perhaps the families of Bland, Bumble, and Fizz would be there, resenting her.

There could be other confrontations too. Artemis seemed to live in seclusion, but she wrote letters and could have dripped poison into a few ears. No, that wasn’t right. That killed people, like Hamlet’s father.

She hadn’t arranged for softer pillows, and the mattress really was too hard. Cate’s bed was perfectly to her taste. In all ways. She tossed restlessly, wild thoughts churning until she fell asleep.

Karen nervously woke her. “Begging your pardon, milady, but if you want to go to church, you’d best rise.”

Oversleeping might have been pleasant, but duty called.

The news that the earl wished to breakfast with her made the day brighter, and she dressed only as far as her stays and petticoat and put her robe over before joining him. His smile matched hers, but she made him tell her about the local worthies as they ate. The would-be countesses and their families didn’t live close enough to attend St. Wilfred’s, so she’d be saved that trial.

After breakfast, they separated to complete their dressing. When he returned in a soberly fine suit of somber black she was especially grateful for her elegant mourning wear. He produced another piece of jewelry. “I think this could be worn with mourning.” It was a chain of silver set with black beads.

“Thank you,” she said, putting it on. “But I’m greedy enough to want to see the whole collection.”

“A lust for life. I like that about you. Are your shoes comfortable? In good weather the healthy members of the family walk to church. Don’t ask me why, for most ride back in carriages. But it’s tradition.”

“I don’t mind. As long as the path is smooth.”

“In reality or metaphorically?” he asked dryly, and she remembered the challenges ahead.

Two of the challenges were waiting in the hall—Artemis and the dowager. Artemis’s face pinched at the sight of Prudence. Had she hoped to see her in her shabby dyed blue? Now that Artemis’s malice was in the open, Prudence no longer feared her sister-in-law. She only wished she knew a way to help her.

Mr. Flamborough, the house steward, offered Artemis his arm, which doubtless reminded her of when her husband had that duty. Now she must walk behind, when so recently she’d led the little procession.

The dowager walked on Cate’s other side, round face dissatisfied. Behind Artemis came her two older daughters in the care of a maid, and behind them the servants who were free at this time, presumably in order of rank. And there was little Karen, looking terrified to be partnered with the valet, Ransom.

Prudence remembered she had to find a solution to that problem.

It was a silent walk.

They entered the village, and the church came into view. Many people were walking that way, along with a few riders and carriages. Everyone made way for the party from Keynings, bobbing and bowing. Prudence felt pinned by a hundred pairs of eyes. Had Artemis spread the Darlington story here?

When they entered the church and went to the front box pew belonging to the Burgoyne family, Prudence reminded herself that she had only to make the right impression to weather this. She knew what to do and what not to do. All would go well.

Whatever stories circulated, after the service all the local gentry proved eager to pay their respects. Or to have a closer look at the surprising countess.

Prudence smiled and nodded, saying all the right things while assessing who was friend and who was foe. The dowager and Artemis stood slightly apart, with their own circle. Were there truly two camps, or was that an incidental impression?

As people began to disperse to carriages, or to walk home, Prudence felt it had gone as well as she could have hoped. One young wife, a Mistress Wrotham, might even become a friend. She’d hoped Prudence might be interested in assisting local orphans, and Prudence had said she would. The vicar’s wife had also tried to interest her in charitable works, but with less warmth.

“Do you want to ride back or walk?” Cate asked.

“Walk,” Prudence said, hoping no one would want to walk with them. She saw Karen leaving with a cheerful group. She’d given the girl permission to spend the day with her family.

As Karen and her family left the churchyard, they encountered a bedraggled little group of beggars. Karen turned back to indicate the rector, Mr. Loveday, Prudence observed. This could provide an opportunity to see whether the rector and his wife were true Christians.

But as the vagrants came closer, they looked not to the rector but to her, their faces full of anxiety and hope. Their lame dog barked and rushed to Prudence, tongue wagging.

For a horrible moment, Prudence wanted to deny that she knew Hetty and her children. She couldn’t do it, but she dearly wished they’d not arrived now, with the local people still around. Heart sinking at how this would appear, she bent down to greet Toby and then walked over to her friend. “Hetty, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“Oh, Pru! They’ve evicted us and taken Will to jail! I couldn’t think who else might be able to save him!”

Prudence put her arm around her, and around the children too. “Of course I’ll do what I can.” Aware of the interested crowd, and especially the stares from the Keynings carriages, she said, “Come into the church and tell me all about it.”

“Who are these people?” the dowager called in a clear, sharp voice.

Not even looking at Cate, Prudence faced her. “Mistress Larn is a friend who helped me when I needed it. I will help her in turn.”

“Dinner will be served when we return from church.”

“I may be late, ma’am. Please don’t wait for me.”

“
We
may be late,” Cate said, coming to Prudence’s side. “Mistress Larn did me a service too.” He looked down at the two teary children, who were now leaning against their mother. “You must be very tired. Shall I carry you?”

They both nodded, and he scooped them up, dust and all, and carried them into the church. Prudence followed, her arm around Hetty, loving Cate even more. Let the world think them a shame to their rank. Christ, she hoped, would see love and charity.

They sat in a pew at the back of the church. “Now,” Prudence said, “tell me all.”

Hetty clutched a well-used handkerchief. “I shouldn’t have come, should I, especially here, with you so fine and with your fine friends. Shown you up in front of his family, haven’t I?”

“Nonsense. Tell me what’s happened to Will. Why has he been arrested?”

“It were like this. Will went off to work as normal, and then ’ours later, there came a hammering on the doors, and bailiffs said we had t’ leave ’cause Will ’ad been taken up for thievery and the landlord would ’ave no thieves in his ’ouses.” She turned to Cate. “It weren’t fair, sir. It weren’t. Will’s no thief!”

“Of course he’s not,” Prudence said.

“What work does your husband do?” Cate asked.

“He’s an ostler at the Crown, sir, and ’onest as the day is long.”

“What’s he supposed to have stolen?”

“Some money a man left in a bag on his ’orse. Stealing’s a hanging offense, sir. They can’t ’ang my Will!”

Tears created new tracks in the dust on the children’s faces. Prudence wiped them away with her own handkerchief. “We won’t let it come to that.”

BOOK: An Unlikely Countess

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