An Unlikely Countess (42 page)

“Damn you,” she said cordially. “Very well, but if I drown, on your head be it.”

He took her to the boathouse and released some constraints on a flat-bottomed boat. Then he held out a hand.

“What if it tips?”

“I won’t let it.”

“I know, I know. ‘Trust me.’ I suppose I should be grateful to be in my plainest gown that won’t be entirely ruined by drenching. If I drown, however, it will be your fault.”

“If you drown, I’ll drown with you.”

She looked at him, startled, but he was adjusting some cushions in the back of the boat. He turned and held out his hand. She took it and stepped carefully down and sat on the seat, tucking her skirts in. He took off his jacket and tossed it to her, then picked up a pole and, stepping into the other end, used it to push the boat away from the shore. As soon as it wobbled a bit, she clutched the edges.

“Trust me,” he said, smiling.

“How much practice in this have you had?”

“Plenty—when I was a lad.”

“That’s what I feared.”

He grinned and sent the boat into the middle of the lake, but away from the laughing children. Prudence had never felt so cut off in her life. It wasn’t a very big lake, but all she had to support her was the boat. And Cate. Without the boat and Cate she’d be at the mercy of the water and would drown.

“Don’t die,” she said.

“Punting? Of course not.”

“Ever. I mean, not for a long time. You’re all I have in this world.”

He looked at her seriously as he smoothly drifted the boat across the water. “You’re not quite all I have, Prudence, but you’re a great part of it. Don’t die.”

“I’ll try not to. That’s all we can do, isn’t it? Try.”

“We’re very good at trying. Let’s try for a little privacy.”

There were small treed projections from the shore, so it was possible to find places where they seemed alone in the world, and Prudence began to find tranquillity. The sky was largely cloudy, with only patches of blue, but that made it pleasantly cool, and white fluffy clouds could be beautiful.

“I wonder what would happen if I could fly up and touch a cloud.”

“They’re only mist. I’ve been in them on mountains.”

“You’re spoiling the magic,” she complained.

“I’ll take you to some mountains so you can touch the clouds. Even a high hill would do in the right weather. Have you seen the sea?”

“No.”

“We can do that even more easily.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?”

“For having experienced so little.”

“It presents me with more opportunities to delight you. Take your glove off and trail your hand in the water.”

She did so. “Ah, the movement against my skin. Such a simple thing.”

“Many delights are. Like clouds and rainbows. And hugs.”

“You’re doing all the work here. I feel very lazy.”

“I’m enjoying it. The greatest trial to me is lack of activity. I normally ride in the mornings, but I’ve been trying to favor my wound. I’d ride to Darlington tomorrow if I didn’t have to arrive in state. Perhaps I should dig out an old suit of armor and ride in, banners unfurled.”

She chuckled, but sobered at a new thought. “Have you thought that people might see your vengeance as rooted in Draydale’s supposed violation of me? Supporting it as fact.”

“If I thought it a fact,” he said flatly, “I’d call him out and kill him.”

He still could surprise her with such statements, and the day seemed suddenly darker. “Don’t, please.”

He watched her. “Are you saying I might have cause?”

“No!”

“I believe you. You seemed to suggest otherwise.”

“I didn’t. . . . No. But I’m unused to violence. It disturbs me.”

“Would you prefer not to come tomorrow?”

“No, I want to be there.” She tried to shake her morbid feeling.

“Good. I don’t expect violence, anyway, only drama. We’ll prove the truth of our cause by our actions. A romance worthy of the troubadours, remember?”

She smiled. “That doesn’t seem so fanciful anymore.”

“Not fanciful at all.” His smile made her blush, and she turned to watch the passing trees near the rush-fringed bank.

She’d worked it out. Her courses should begin in a week, which meant that in two weeks they’d be over. Cate would have no lingering trace of doubt, but would it be too early to risk conceiving a child? Not every wife conceived immediately, but she might, and then it would still be possible, in the eyes of the suspicious, that the child was Draydale’s.

Perhaps it was the thought of waiting longer that made her feel as if the clouds had darkened, or perhaps it was other things. “It’s growing colder, I think. I hope it doesn’t rain.”

“Do you want to go back to shore?”

“No. Oh, there are Artemis’s girls on the far side, looking wistful. Do they not go out on the lake?”

He turned to look. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them do so. Shall I arrange it?”

“We could go over and ask them.”

He poled the boat out from their little bay, sending it shooting across the water at alarming speed. Prudence clutched the sides, praying, telling herself to have faith. Flavia and Julia watched, but then they picked their way closer to the edge, coming to meet them.

“Be careful!” Prudence called.

A nursemaid was with them, little Maria in her arms, but she didn’t seem to be controlling them. Thank heavens one of Cate’s men was nearby. He must have been cutting the bulrushes, but now he’d put down his tool and was hurrying to the girls.

But then the man snatched the toddler from the nursemaid and hurled the little girl into the lake.

“Cate!”
Prudence shrieked. The girls and the nursemaid screamed too, crying, “Help!” and “Maria!”

Cate dropped the pole, kicked off his shoes, and dove into the water, sending the boat swaying from side to side. Prudence clutched the sides, wanting to scream herself, but her eyes fixed on where he swam swiftly toward the struggling toddler. The little girl seemed to be buoyed up by her gown, but any moment . . .

Another scream whipped her head toward the shore. The man must have struck the nursemaid, who lay on the grass. He had one girl over his shoulder and was racing away, pursued by the other, who was yelling, “
Stop! Stop! Oh, help, please! Someone help!
”

The other boat, the one carrying Hetty and the children, was speeding their way. Men were running from all around. Cate had the thrashing Maria safe, but couldn’t race to the bank.

Prudence’s boat had continued on its way and now jolted into the reedy bank. She scrambled out without a thought—to sink thigh-deep in reeds and water. Desperately, she struggled forward, her skirts dragging, her feet slipping in mud, clutching anything that might help to impel her after the villain and the girls, who’d disappeared into some trees and shrubs.

Shouts told her that others were coming, but she was closest.

She scrambled onto firm ground and collapsed on her hands and knees for a moment, but then forced herself up and stumbled into a run, her skirts a deadweight. Gasping, she burst into the trees, following the path of broken branches, having to dodge higher ones. She could hear the girls ahead, still wailing for help.

But then a blow clipped her head. Perhaps she’d thought it a branch, for she’d ducked and missed most of it, but it made her stumble to the ground. She saw him then—a man aiming a thick broken stick at her again. She rolled away, scrabbling for her knife, but her pocket was lost beneath her tangled, sodden skirts.

The girls, the girls . . .

But he must have abandoned them and doubled back.

For her.

She grabbed the bodice dagger and yanked it out just as he came at her again. She stabbed at the man’s legs, then scrabbled away. His stockings bloomed red and he cursed her.

Somewhere, Cate yelled, “Prudence! Prudence!”

“Here! Here!”

The man raised the branch over her, with vicious intent this time.

A shot fired. His eyes went wide and he collapsed, blood pouring from his mouth.

Prudence rolled away from the terrible sight, sobbing with exhaustion, terror, and relief.

Then Cate had her in his arms. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

She looked up at him. “I think so. . . . All right . . . Did you shoot him?”

“No gun and soaking wet,” he said on a gasp. “One of the gamekeepers, I think. Whoever it is will get a rich reward. And Draydale’s signed his own warrant to hell.”

Despite her protests, he picked her up and carried her out of the woodland, where Artemis was running to be reunited with her children. A man gave her the screaming toddler, and the older girls ran toward her.

“You saved the little one,” Prudence said.

“Easy enough, but the child was only a distraction.”

“As was the older one. It was me he wanted. Me Draydale wanted. Cate, your wounds! Put me down.”

“My wounds are as good as healed,” he said, but he did lower her carefully to her feet. “‘One shoe off and one shoe on,’” he said, looking at her feet.

Leaning against him, she completed the nursery rhyme. “‘Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John.’ Put an end to this, Cate. I can’t bear to have such danger all around.”

“Have no fear, I will.”

Artemis was hurrying her children back into the safety of the house. Would she see this too as all Cate’s fault? By tortuous reasoning, she could. It was certainly all Prudence’s fault, rooted in her folly of accepting Henry Draydale.

As soon as they entered the house, Cate shouted for his bath to be filled. He took Prudence to her bedchamber and told her to come to his dressing room as soon as she’d rid herself of her sodden clothing.

“My poor blue dress,” she said. “I think this has tolled its final knell.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t talk of death. I died a thousand times racing after you. Now change and take the bath. I won’t lose you to pneumonia.”

“What about your valet?” she asked.

“He won’t intrude. You and Karen will have the room to yourselves.”

Prudence didn’t want to part from him, but she could hardly bathe with him around, and she was feeling deeply chilled. When she went nervously into his dressing room, naked beneath her robe, she found the big bath steaming, and on a table nearby a decanter of brandy, a glass, and a spray of pink roses.

Karen was gaping at the bath. “I’ve never seen the like, milady!”

“I doubt they’re common.” But when Prudence carefully stepped into it and sat down, able to stretch her legs and even lie back, she sighed happily. “This is wonderful. Pour some brandy into a glass and give it to me.”

“Yes, milady.” As Karen handed the glass to Prudence, she said, “I ’ave ’eard as brandy is medicinal, milady.”

“It is. Very. For soul, mind, and body.”

Now, suddenly, the thought of what might have happened hit her and she shuddered.

Henry Draydale must be crushed.

W
ith the best will in the world, the water couldn’t be kept warm, and Prudence had to climb out to be dried and wrapped again in her robe. She returned to her room to dress, this time in the plain crape dress.

She’d washed her hair, so that had to dry. She didn’t mind. She needed time to herself. How easily things could have been disastrous, but by prompt action and resolution, they’d all survived.

The Catesby Burgoyne way.

She’d brought the brandy and roses with her, and put the roses in her mother’s vase. She sipped the brandy and smiled at them, amazed to find that love could run even deeper in her heart.

Her reverie was cut short by a knock at the boudoir door. Karen returned to say that Artemis, Lady Malzard, wished to speak to her.

To voice her complaints, no doubt, though perhaps she’d have some grudging thanks as well. Prudence decided they’d be best away from the boudoir, and suggested a meeting in the yellow drawing room.

Prudence went there resolved to be tolerant, even of ungrateful abuse, but Artemis was already there, and said, “I will be leaving Keynings as soon as possible. Returning to my father’s house.”

Prudence was startled but grateful, though she couldn’t help looking for a trap. “I’m sure it will be hard to leave, but for the best in the end.”

“What’s done is done,” Artemis said bleakly. “It can’t be changed.”

“It takes time to accept that.”

Artemis looked at her. “You’ve known loss too.”

“My early home, followed by the death of my father. I remember my mother’s grief.”

“I doubt she persecuted her successor.”

“There was none. My father was employed there, as you know, so we had no claim on the place. Blytheby was sold to new owners who had no connection with the past. Mother had no choice but to quickly turn her mind to the future.”

Artemis’s eyes slid away. “I’ve never known grief until recently. My parents still live. My brothers and sisters are healthy. But the baby . . . That was hard. Very hard. And it angered me that my husband would rail about losing his son. He was my baby! The child I’d felt moving within me, whom I already knew, whom I’d expected to welcome and love, boy or girl.” She turned away, one hand to her mouth. “I don’t know when the pain will end. But all he was to Sebastian was his son, his heir, his way to keep Catesby from ruining Keynings.”

Prudence longed to take her sister-in-law into her arms, but didn’t dare. “I’m sure that’s not true. It’s so easy to misunderstand when we’re in distress. And to misspeak.”

Still looking away, Artemis said, “At times I hated him. Then when he died, it all fused together. I grieved for Sebastian, but a part of me was still bitter, and Catesby was at the heart of all of it. He caused Sebastian such anxiety, but never acknowledged his faults. Never seemed to care! When the baby died and he sent no word of sympathy . . .”