The Devil Earl (7 page)

“Pru! Just look at the size of this bank draft!” Ignoring the obvious—that her sister had opened her post—Prudence glanced down at the amount, and was stunned by what she saw. Apparently her last book had been more than well received, if her success could be measured by the amazing sum staring up at her.

They were flush! The knowledge was dizzying.

When Prudence had begun to write, they had not been starving. Indeed, they could always have lived, if meagerly, on the small stipend left from their grandmother, but they had been forever scrimping, and had had little left over for trifles. Then she had sold her first work,
The Mysterious Alphonse.
It had done far better than she expected, allowing them to fix up the cottage and still put something by.

They had settled in, quite comfortably, but now…Now they had more than enough to see to their needs. Prudence gaped, dumbfounded, at the figure, while Phoebe whirled round and round, finally coming to rest before her sister with glowing features.

“You are plump in the pocket, Prudence! What are you going to do with all of it?” Phoebe asked, waving the paper happily. Before Prudence could answer, her sister showed her white teeth and bit her lower lip. “Better yet, tell me, what is your heart’s desire, for you may now have anything?”

Smiling absently at her sister’s play, Prudence let her gaze drift from the handsome draft toward the window. Her fondest wish? In a sudden, weak moment, she envisioned herself not as the head of the family, but as the young, funloving girl Phoebe was—and she had never been.

In the distance, the black walls of Wolfinger rose out of the mist like a living thing, pulsing with its distinctive power, calling to her like some siren’s song, and Prudence felt herself drift into her own imagination. Abruptly she knew, without a doubt, what she most desired. “I wish to visit Wolfinger,” she said softly.

“Oh, pooh! That old place!” Phoebe said, obviously disappointed with both her choice and her serious tone. Phoebe did not like anything somber, least of all the abbey. She shivered and pouted prettily. “That is impossible, anyway. You must choose something that your newfound money can buy.”

“All right,” Prudence answered. Well used to giving in to her younger sibling, she turned her back on the ancient structure and faced Phoebe with a smile. “Then I would wish for a season in London for you!”

“Oh, Pru! Really? Do not tease me!” Phoebe begged.

“Really.”

“Oh, Pru!” Phoebe cried as she threw herself into Prudence’s arms. Engulfed in a cascade of pale blond curls and her sister’s sweet feminine scent, Prudence put her mind to the practical aspects of their trip. Spring was coming on quickly, and if they were to go to London this season, she had lots of preparations to make.

Once there, she would have to forget about her writing to concentrate on finding Phoebe a suitable husband. It was just what Mrs. Bates had suggested, and the perfect thing to drag her sister out of the doldrums. Indeed, Phoebe had been begging for a London trip for years.

Unfortunately, Prudence could find little to please herself in the prospective visit, but she pushed her spectacles back into place and smiled at her sister’s happiness, just as she had always done, knowing that when she returned, Wolfinger would be waiting.

M
rs. Bates clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Well, there is no mistaking me this time, Miss Prudence Lancaster. You simply
must
have a chaperone.”

Prudence sighed. “I am afraid you are right, Mrs. Bates,” she admitted. “I have written my cousin Hugh, and he is most adamant upon the subject.”

Mrs. Bates made one of her odd noises, which managed to sound critical even though she soon voiced her agreement. “I should hope so! It appears that there is at least one Lancaster with some sense.” With that, she settled herself more firmly in her seat, which meant, Prudence noted dismally, that she was preparing herself for a lengthy visit.

As if confirming Prudence’s worst fears, Mrs. Bates took a deep breath and gave her a superior look. “There are all manner of people who prey upon country visitors, and not all of them are easily discerned. If you truly hope to find a proper husband for Phoebe in London, then you simply must appear to be above reproach. Otherwise, you shall surely draw the wrong kind of fellow—shabby genteel, fast, or worse! And I am sure you cannot trust to the gel herself to judge,” she added with a snort.

Prudence opened her mouth to come to her sister’s defense, but then snapped it closed again, being well aware of Phoebe’s blessings—and her flaws. Phoebe had the lion’s
share of the family’s beauty, while Prudence possessed the majority of the intelligence. Luckily, their natures seemed well suited to the arrangement, and, having had many years in which to become accustomed to it, they were both contented.

However, Prudence knew well that because she was the oldest, the flightier Phoebe was her responsibility. She could not afford to make any mistakes, especially after her sister had behaved so unwisely with Mr. Penhurst. Despite her own contempt for convention, Prudence was not about to let Phoebe ruin herself by walking out unchaperoned—or worse—in town. And, as much as she loved her sister, Prudence suspected that Phoebe was capable of getting herself in much deeper trouble, if she was allowed free rein.

“Of course, I cannot say much for your judgment, either,” Mrs. Bates commented, scowling at Prudence. “Living alone, when I have warned you against it. And entertaining gentlemen! When I think of that poor Mr. Penhurst coming here, not to mention the Devil Earl himself!”

It was Prudence’s turn to frown. Although she had said nothing of Ravenscar’s visit to the cottage, she had not been able to prevent Mary and Cook and a distraught Phoebe from spreading the news, and Mrs. Bates had made much of it too many times for Prudence to listen again.

“He is
not
the Devil Earl,” she said simply. “The Devil Earl died nearly two hundred years ago.”

“Humph! Died? Murdered in that ghastly abbey by his very own wife, in payment for his sins!” Mrs. Bates retorted. She shot a disapproving glance out the window toward Wolfinger. Its dark stone gleamed malevolently, as if to spite her. “And now his descendant follows in his footsteps. Bad blood runs true, my girl, make no mistake!”

Prudence put down her cup and placed her hands in her lap, tamping down an unruly urge to toss the cantankerous matron from the cottage. “I hardly see the connection, Mrs. Bates,” she said firmly. “The Devil Earl locked his wife in
the tower room for years because she was mad, or so the story goes.”

“Humph! As if he did not drive her to it! Wickedness, excess and madness,” she proclaimed in a ringing voice. “That is the legacy of the Ravenscar earldom.”

“Nonsense,” Prudence replied calmly. “Mr. Penhurst has run off, as young boys do, and will show himself when he is over his sulks. Then everyone will regret maligning Lord Ravenscar.”

Mrs. Bates gasped, obviously outraged by her hostess’s dissent. “Prudence Lancaster! How can you say such a thing? Why, even your own sister knows the boy was murdered!”

“Phoebe’s judgment has been clouded,” Prudence said, without elaborating.

Mrs. Bates pursed her lips in annoyance. “And what of your Lord Ravenscar’s black past, Prudence? Surely, you cannot sit here and defend a man who gained his title under such circumstances? Or have you not heard that this murder was not the first he has committed?”

Since Mrs. Bates had breathlessly related this rumor during an earlier visit, Prudence did not deign to reply, but she did not need to do so. The matron had worked herself into a fine temper, and showed no signs of stopping long enough for Prudence to fit in a word of her own.

“The man killed his own uncle, ran him through to gain the earldom, and now he has done his brother in, too! Mark my words, Prudence, he is a wicked one who will come to a bad end, for all that he casts about London now, as if he has done nothing wrong. He will not be so high-and-mighty for long, with his nose in the air! I have heard that he is finally being shut out of his high circles, as well he should be, the devil.”

Mrs. Bates paused to catch her breath, but Prudence could not have uttered a sound, even if she had wanted to
speak. She had stopped breathing when the matron mentioned that Ravenscar was in London.

Her guest forgotten, Prudence gazed up at Wolfinger. Its windows were like sightless black eyes staring back at her silently. While she watched, the sun gleamed off a pane of old glass, and it seemed as if the building itself winked at her in imagined accord. The very air in the neat little cottage seemed to gather and swirl around her like the abbey’s perpetual fog, and she tingled with anticipation while she dared to let herself think the unthinkable—that she might possibly see
him
again.

Her spectacles slid down her nose, and Prudence moved them back into place with a trembling hand. Really, she was being too silly, she told herself firmly. As Mrs. Bates said, the earl undoubtedly moved in the uppermost social environs, where she would have no chance of meeting him.

“But, there now, I have upset you,” Mrs. Bates said in a mollified tone. “Let us forget that horrid man and be about your business. We must find you a chaperone, young lady!”

Prudence picked up her cup and took a sip of her tea in an effort to steady herself. London was a very big place, with so many people that one individual would be as difficult to find as a needle in a haystack! And yet, there were many public places where two persons might run into one another, she thought, a bit giddily. The gardens at Vauxhall, the various parks, Ackermann’s Repository…the names of famous sites she had only heard about leapt to Prudence’s mind swiftly. Surely, there was a possibility, albeit a small one.

“Of course, I could come with you myself.” Mrs. Bates’s casual comment made Prudence nearly choke, and she put a hand to her throat as she struggled to swallow. “But I have no liking for town—such a nasty, dirty place—nor do I for those who have a tendency to think too well of themselves by half! However, as I have said before, there are respectable ladies who can be employed for just such occasions.”

She smiled slyly, and Prudence forced away thoughts of Ravenscar to give all her attention to her guest. She had often suspected that Mrs. Bates’s sole ambition was to control everyone else, and when the woman looked contented, it surely boded ill for someone, on this occasion most probably herself and Phoebe.

“Once I was apprised of your plans, I took the liberty of writing a very dear friend of mine, who can be counted upon for the very best judgment. And she has sent me a prompt reply,” the matron said. Digging in her massive reticule, she soon brandished a piece of paper and handed it, triumphantly, to Prudence.

“Mrs. Broadgirdle, in Gardener Street,” she said, huffing proudly from her exertions. “There, now, Prudence, you have your chaperone, and a very fine one, I am assured. And just think, you will be doing the woman a service by hiring her!”

Although Prudence had misgivings about letting Mrs. Bates direct anything in her life, she nodded reluctantly. After all, the girls were in need of an older woman to stay with them, and their cousin Hugh, being an established bachelor, did not know anyone who could fill the position.

“Very well,” she said firmly. “Thank you, Mrs. Bates.” Rising from her seat at long last, the older woman fairly beamed with her success—or her mastery, Prudence mused. Ushering her to the door, Prudence assured her that they would, indeed, make arrangements with the chaperone at once.

When the door finally closed behind the meddlesome woman, Prudence pushed her spectacles back up upon her nose and glanced again at the direction in her hand. With the instincts of a pinch-penny, she wondered just how much the cost of Mrs. Broadgirdle would add to their expenses—and whether the lady would be worth the price.

Prudence eyed her new employee with decided misgivings. Had she not known otherwise, Prudence would have
suspected that Mrs. Bates had personally chosen their would-be chaperone with the sisters’ discomfiture in mind. In total defiance of her surname, Mrs. Broadgirdle was a tall, bony woman, thin as a rail, who looked upon them with a superior air that Prudence found most disconcerting in a paid companion.

Having traveled by public coach, the girls had been tired and rumpled by the time they arrived at the London inn where Mrs. Broadgirdle was to meet them. Though they longed for nothing more than to reach their cousin’s residence before nightfall, they were first forced to endure the woman’s critical scrutiny.

And, from the looks of her, they definitely came up wanting. Although Mrs. Broadgirdle’s gaunt face, with its sharp features, little resembled Mrs. Bates’s plump visage, Prudence nonetheless recognized that the two matrons were kindred spirits. Mrs. Broadgirdle would, no doubt, attempt to make their stay as miserable as possible.

Right now, she was emitting a strange hissing sound, presumably to convey her disapproval, as she eyed her new charges. “Your clothes, of course, proclaim your country origins,” she said bluntly. Prudence ignored the insult, having never evinced the slightest interest in matters of wardrobe, but she saw that the pointed words had their desired effect upon Phoebe, who looked down at her wrinkled muslin in dismay.

“New clothes must be the order of the day,” Mrs. Broadgirdle said. Then she sent a sharp glance toward Prudence. “Unless you cannot afford them.”

Prudence smiled. “We are not without funds, and if different gowns are called for, then we shall certainly have some made up for us.”

Although Mrs. Broadgirdle only nodded sullenly, Prudence could have sworn she heard Mrs. Bates’s “Humph” echoing in her tired brain. This would not do at all.

“Perhaps it would be best to make myself clear at the outset,” Prudence told the woman. “If your wish is to make us unhappy, then, by all means, you may try, but I should warn you that you may find yourself without employment.”

Mrs. Broadgirdle’s startled black eyes flew to hers, reassessing her boldly, and, finding that Prudence would not be intimidated, she frowned sulkily. Prudence hid her answering smile. Although she had often been taken to task for her plain speaking, she found it the easiest and speediest way to resolve such problems. And, as Grandmama had often told her, it was always better to begin as you meant to go on.