Well, nor did Prudence yet, but she could learn. She’d learn everything necessary to make a comfortable home so he would come to love her. Her, not another woman.
If Lady Malzard was married, however, and Cate’s beautiful, elegant, sweet mistress, Prudence had no weapons at all.
She closed the lid, turned the key, and announced, “Now I’m ready.”
She set off back to the farm, hearing the angry thump as Cate closed the boot. A fine way to begin making the marriage work, radiating ill usage, but how did a person extinguish such a fire of anger and pain?
What stupid dreams she’d built, only because he was kind and sometimes lustful. Men didn’t need to feel anything for a woman to lust after her, but men like Cate didn’t fall in love with women like her.
She was more like her sister-in-law than she thought.
She continued toward the farm without waiting for the men, fighting for calm, trying not to care, hurt and anger building with every step.
If he loved another, he shouldn’t have married her, no matter what straits he found her in.
He should have left her to her fate.
At least Draydale would never have broken her heart.
Chapter 18
C
ate turned to see Prudence marching back down to the farm, her posture declaring that she was still in a tiff over something. He left Perry and the groom to bring down the horses and set off after her.
“Let me carry all that.”
“I’m no delicate lady. Spare your leg.”
“A few bits of clothing won’t strain me.”
She glared, but then dumped it all in his arms and marched on.
“Prudence, Perry won’t make anything of your appearance.”
She turned on him. “My appearance! My appearance! I apologize for embarrassing you, husband.”
“I’m not embarrassed by you.” It came out between his teeth. Both his wounds were pestering him and he had no patience for megrims at the moment.
“No? Then you’ll have told him all about White Rose Yard, I assume, and my penniless state.”
“There’s no need for anyone to know about White Rose Yard.”
She smiled in a very humorless way. “Quite.
I
won’t tell anyone,” she said, continuing on her way. “After all, I promised to obey you, and
I
will keep my vows.”
What the devil was that supposed to mean?
He tried again. “What’s amiss?”
She turned an artificially wide-eyed look on him. “What could possibly be amiss, such a placid time I’ve had of it?”
“Don’t blame your recent adventures on me, ma’ am!”
He saw the flash of hurt before she turned forward and walked faster.
“Prudence!”
But then he realized this must be one of those times when a wise husband held his tongue. Perhaps she was even starting her courses. That was said to turn reasonable women into termagants, and would certainly add to the distress of the day for her. It would improve his, though. No risk of a Draydale cuckoo in the nest. No need to put off consummation once her bleeding was over.
He followed her in silence, rather inclined to whistle.
The mire had subsided to mud, but as soon as he entered the kitchen, she snapped, “Take off your boots. You won’t want to tramp mud on Peg’s floor.”
She’d discarded her ruined shoes and stood in her dirty stockings, her hair straggling again, with muddy streaks on her face. Was she going to be so ill-humored every month? To add to his problems, with his wound he couldn’t get his boots off unaided.
“Go and change. You’ll feel more the thing.” It came out more curtly than he intended.
She grabbed her clothes and stalked away.
He slumped against the doorjamb, watching his wife give her gifts to Mistress Stonehouse. The farmer’s wife was in heaven over the shift and pot of soap. She insisted on instantly washing her hands with it, and then her child’s hands.
“There, Jackity, don’t that smell pretty? All flowery it is.”
Prudence was watching and even smiling. But then she looked at him and annoyance lowered her brows before she turned and went into the other room.
Devil take the woman.
The others were arriving at the door. Perry, for some reason, was carrying a stick of some sort.
“Take your boots off,” Cate growled at Perry; then he turned to Mistress Stonehouse. “As you see, ma’am, a friend has arrived, and a groom. May they come in?”
She was still fondling the shift. “Of course, sir.”
Cate told the groom to settle the horses so they could graze. “Don’t unsaddle them. We’ll probably be setting off again soon. Boots, Perry.”
Perry’s brows were high at his tone. “You’ll have to assist me. Glove-tight, as boots should be.”
“You’ll have to wait for the groom. What would you do if stranded without help?”
“It doesn’t bear thinking of. Allow me to remove yours. I’m sure I may step just inside the door.”
Cate’s boots slid off easily. Perry shook his head. “I’ll take you to my boot maker as soon as we return to London.”
“I prefer to be able to get into and out of my boots alone, thank you.”
“Barbarian.”
“I’m astonished you made the sacrifice of riding through Yorkshire in the rain, though the sweet, fresh air will have done you good. In London, that’s rarer than diamonds.”
“Whereas here, anything other than sheep is more precious than rubies.”
“Sheep are damned valuable,” Cate countered. “England’s wealth is built on the woolpack.”
“You’re becoming distressingly provincial. Ah, the trusty groom.”
It took the man some minutes to ease off the boots, and Perry’s expensive clocked stockings had probably never touched such a lowly floor before, but he was all amiability about it. He went to thank his hostess as if she were a duchess, executing a bow that made her jaw drop.
In a moment, he was flirting, just as he might with a young duchess at court. She turned pink, and once she slapped his arm in mild reproof, giggling. Pray heaven her husband didn’t come in, billhook in hand.
Had Perry flirted with Prudence? Was that the problem? Had she been offended? Or had she liked it too much, and now found Cate coarse by comparison?
The groom had shed his own boots and was accepting ale from Mistress Stonehouse. Perry accepted his ale as if it were nectar.
Farmer Stonehouse did come in then, but was pleased to hear his wife’s ale praised. Her excited pleasure over her gifts mellowed him even more.
“This is right good of you, sir.”
Cate smiled. “It’s my wife’s generosity, but the thanks are from us both.” He took out the purse Perry had brought and found some shillings among the guineas. If people like the Stonehouses suddenly had a golden guinea it would cause talk, especially now, with gold coins in short supply.
“I’d offer this too, sir, if you will, for your kindness and trouble.”
The young man took the silver. “That’s right kind of you, sir. Wasn’t nothing but simple Christian charity.”
“Which sometimes is rare.”
Stonehouse clearly thought that odd, the blessed man, but he went back to his work. The groom and Mistress Stonehouse were chatting. Prudence hadn’t emerged.
Cate realized that Perry could reveal at any moment that he was Lord Malzard. He had to be the one to tell her, but should he invade the other room and risk catching her in her undergarments? She was in a dashed odd mood.
Perry came over, ale in hand. “What are you tangled up in now?”
“Nothing unusual. Wheel came off.”
“Why?”
“Because the roads are atrocious.”
Perry glanced toward the other two and said quietly, “Ill luck or foul play? That wheel had been tampered with.” He went to get the piece of wood that he’d leaned near the door and gave it to Cate. It was one of the spokes.
“Sawed through in places,” Perry said, “then the cuts hidden with packed sawdust.”
Cate looked at the spoke. There was no denying it. “Draydale.”
“Is that a novel curse?”
“It’s a foul demon. A Mr. Draydale of Darlington has reason to dislike Prudence and me. I’ve expected something in due course, but this . . . this seems petty.”
“Petty? I’ve known people killed or maimed in accidents like that.”
“Devil take it.” He fingered the wood. “That’s cooked his goose.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Do please remember that angels are efficacious against demons.”
Cate smiled at him. “Would I deprive you of the pleasure?”
“And what of your wife?”
“Be careful, Perry. Yes, she’s an unlikely countess, but she’s better suited than she appears.”
“I’m not criticizing her. I mean—”
Prudence came out of the other room, in truth looking more her part. The outfit was smart and new, with a military touch to it in the braid and frogging down the front of the bodice. Her hair, however, was still a mess, and she knew it.
“I forgot to get my comb,” she said, not looking at anyone. “I’ve pinned up my hair as best I could.”
There probably was no mirror here.
“You can use mine,” Cate said, taking his comb out of a pocket.
Her lips pursed as if she’d object, reminding him that she had some grievance. If she was in a pet over some little thing, how would she react to his great deception? He should try to get that knife off her before confessing.
She took out all the pins, putting them on the table, and ran her fingers through her hair. It was longer than he’d thought, and . . . How had he described it? Sunlight on pale honey? Then she began to work his comb through it, her back to him. Deliberately? All the same, it seemed so intimate a matter that he wanted to order Perry and the groom out of the room, especially as the gown fit so neatly to her curves.
She turned to look outside, her head tilted as she combed in one direction. He enjoyed the clean line of her neck, and the beginning of the dip of her spine above the narrow band of white shift that showed above her gown. He let his imagination follow the line of her spine to the curving buttocks concealed beneath skirt and petticoat. She was a fine, proud, passionate woman, and he appreciated even her anger.
His heart began to thump, and he wanted to lead her into that other room and strip off every stitch until she lay naked on the sheets. He wanted to kiss her and pleasure her, and experience to the full the lusty enthusiasm he’d already tasted.
But would she even let him touch her when she knew? She might demand a divorce, which would be a fine scandal to smear on his family. Or an annulment. Would anyone believe him impotent? In France they had a court for that, with matrons appointed to prove or disprove a man’s virility.
’Struth!
In any case, he didn’t want to end this marriage. She’d be hurt, she’d be angry, but he’d find a way to heal her wounds and make her his countess in all meanings of the word.
He was suddenly aware of Perry watching him and looked away, but it would be too late.
Well, there was no sin in a man admiring his wife.
Prudence coiled her hair and pinned it up again. Time had allowed her to regroup. Petty anger would only make matters worse.
She turned to Cate with a smile. “Is that tidy?”
“Almost,” he said, and came over to take the comb. He took out a pin, combed, and reset it. “There.”
The touch of his fingers in her hair sent shivers through her and brought heat to her cheeks. She hated to be so revealing, but surely what she revealed should please him?
“We need to get to Keynings,” he said, “but no coach has arrived, so we’re going to have to ride a little.”
Oh, lord.
Lady Malzard probably rode with skill and elegance, but there was no point in hiding the truth. “I’ve never ridden. In any case, there are only two horses.”
“You’ll ride pillion. We’ll take it slowly; don’t worry.”
“Do we have to go to Keynings today?” she asked. “Why can’t we go to your home?”
He looked away, tight-lipped. “Yes, we must.”
How had she offended him now?
Mr. Perriam said, “You and your wife take the horses, Cate. The groom and I will shift for ourselves.”
“I can’t abandon you here.”
“You abandoned me at Keynings.”
“My apologies. I never meant to be gone so long.”
“So I should hope. You created a stew of anxiety and speculation. I took the first opportunity to run for my life.”
Cate laughed. “I truly do apologize.”
“Your return will hardly calm the waters,” Perriam said with particular meaning.
He was referring to her. To Cate’s returning with his inadequate wife.
Returning?
She hadn’t put it together before. He’d been visiting Keynings with his friend and his mother. He’d ridden off to Northallerton, but not returned. Hence the anxiety and speculation. And now he was going to return newly wed, with no prior announcement, bringing a wife with nothing to recommend her. Hardly surprising if Cate seemed at a loss.
“We must be on our way,” he said, and gave the groom some money. “You’ll have to walk a way, but if you retrace the route to Darlington you might come up with the coachman. If not, take a coach from the first place you come to. Give my apologies to Mr. Tallbridge and tell him I’ll send a full account of matters as soon as possible.”
“As you will, sir.”
When the man had left, Cate turned to the farmer’s wife. “You have our profound gratitude, Mistress Stonehouse.”
“I’m sorry for your troubles, sir, but it’s been a treat for me to have visitors, and these lovely things your lady’s given me. I’ll always remember this as a bright day.”
He smiled, and Prudence saw true sweetness in it. “I hope you’re right, ma’am, and it’s a bright day for us all.”
Prudence took her own farewell of the woman, feeling almost teary at having to leave. She felt safe here. Once away, she suspected many troubles lurked.