“Prudence, this is going to be
difficult
. I want you to understand that.”
“More difficult than marriage to Draydale?”
“No, but—”
“More difficult than ruin and shame?”
“No, but—”
“More difficult than White Rose Yard?”
“No.”
“Tell me this. Am I ever going to have to fear poverty or homelessness?”
“No.”
“Am I going to have to fear Draydale’s next attempt at revenge? Lud! No wonder you seemed so careless of his wealth and power.”
He grasped her shoulders. “Prudence, listen. It’s not going to be an easy road.”
“Cate, Cate, when a person has lost a comfortable home and sunk lower and lower until ending in the depths of White Rose Yard; when they’ve huddled in winter in all the clothes they possess, never able to feel warm, and eaten potatoes and cabbage for weeks, because it’s all they could afford; when the cost of repairing shoes is terrifying—when someone has been through all that, ‘an easy road’ takes on a different meaning.”
He was staring at her.
“What?” she demanded. “Are you offended that I’m not falling into a fit of the vapors, as a fine lady should?”
He took her hands into his own. “Don’t start ripping up at me again. It’s only that you surprise me. Again.” Smiling, he drew her closer. “You’re magnificent, my Lady Malzard, and I want no other, but don’t discount the difficulties ahead. Everyone expected me to marry a highborn lady, and there were already contenders in the neighborhood. They could be spiteful in their disappointment. Tales of events in Darlington will reach Keynings, and despite our romantic gloss, my marriage within weeks of my brother’s death will be seen as shameful.”
Prudence hadn’t thought of that. “My fault again, and people will be watching my waistline, won’t they? When I have a child, they’ll be counting the months.”
“That and many other problems. I’m struggling in deep waters, and now I’ve dragged you into them.”
“You snatched me from the jaws of a demon.”
He smiled. “Like Saint George, or the archangel Michael? But believe this,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I’m not at all displeased with my wife.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
He drew her closer for a kiss, and relief stirred something wild. She grabbed his head to hold him closer and lost herself in passion with her mouth, with her body pressed to his. It was as if they tried to fuse, and she wanted that. Never to part, even an inch.
Never, ever to be alone again.
A knock on the door. By the time they’d sprung apart a flustered maid was already in the room, tea tray in hands.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, ma’am. Shall I come back?”
Prudence whirled away, hands to flaming cheeks.
“No,” Cate said. “Lay out the tea. Thank you.”
After a moment, the door closed, and he said, “Tea, my lady?”
She turned, and then she broke into laughter. “What must she
think
?”
“That we are loving and desirous, but as we’re married, it’s no shame.”
Loving and desirous. Prudence shivered with pleasure at those words, but he was holding a chair for her. She sat at the small table, trying to calm herself back into sanity.
It was hard when it was all sinking in. No mistress, only herself.
Unbelievable—the Countess of Malzard.
With a shocked and disapproving world to face.
But Cate was hers. And he claimed not to mind. She checked the tea in the pot and gave it a stir, but then she said, “No wonder Mr. Perriam was in a fluster when he called me Lady Malzard!”
“He did? When?”
“At first meeting. I corrected him and told him I was Mistress Burgoyne, and he embroidered the air with convoluted sentences.”
He chuckled. “He would. You didn’t guess?”
“Guess that Lady Malzard was me? How could I?” She poured tea into his cup, then glanced at him. “I thought you had a mistress. A very elegant, highborn lady who’d never get into the sort of disasters I contrive.”
“Ah, now I understand the tiff.” He put a large number of sugar lumps in his cup. “I have no mistress, I promise.”
“Good, but I see sugar will be a major expense in our household.”
“I enjoy sweet things.”
He somehow made that sound scandalous, but Prudence was blushing for other reasons too. How shabby to mention household expenses when he was a rich man who lived in a mansion.
He sipped his tea. “How pleasant this is. No secrets between us.”
“Man and wife and a pot of tea.”
It sobered him. “Prudence, Keynings isn’t like this.”
“I don’t suppose it is, but will we not be able to take tea together in some modest room now and then?”
It brought back his smile. “Yes, we will. You’ll have a boudoir. That will serve as our tea parlor.”
“There, see. All can be arranged. Do you have other homes?”
“
We
have a house in Town. There are other estates, but all let to tenants.”
“How many?”
“Eight, I think.”
Eight!
She clung to her light manner
.
“We could throw the tenants out and live in a constant progress, as your medieval ancestors did.”
“Beds, furniture, and windows trundling after us in carts? Your imagination delights me, but only think of the roads. It would be torture.”
She wanted to cling to rainbow silliness, but “torture” triggered thoughts of challenges ahead. “Cate, don’t you think we should delay our arrival just a bit? If I’m to turn up as your countess, I want my luggage. I don’t have even a change of shift or stockings. Or my hairbrush. Or a nightgown. If we delay for a few days, you could warn your family.”
“You tempt me mightily, but I have duties, and Draydale still worries me. I want you at Keynings, where I can command all the authority of the earldom. We won’t hide the carriage accident, and that explains any shortcomings.”
“True. Perhaps someone will have run away with all my possessions, and that could be for the best. I’m sure none of them are up to countess standards. Draydale worries me too, but what can you do about him? You’ll never prove he ordered the damage to the wheel.”
“I’d like to thrash him more thoroughly, but I’ll have to use more subtle means. Wouldn’t you think that his business dealings are crooked?”
“Yes,” she said, alert now. “In fact, I heard Tallbridge imply as much.”
“Indeed? I’m surprised Tallbridge associates with him.”
“All’s fair in business?” she suggested. “There was much about that world I didn’t like.”
“I doubt you’ll find court and politics any cleaner.”
Court and politics?
“More tea?” Prudence asked, and refilled their cups.
“I’m sure Draydale has his fingers in irregular or even illegal activities,” he said, again dropping many lumps of sugar in his cup. “I seem to employ a great many people ideally suited to ferreting out such things.” He sipped his sweet tea. “I intend to ruin him.”
Prudence stared, and then she smiled. “That will be the best punishment, won’t it? To render him poor and powerless.”
He toasted her with tea. “I see we’re in accord, as always.”
“As always?”
“More accord than discord. We still have much to learn about each other, which I find delightful, especially as some of the learning will take place in bed.” He picked a jam tart from the plate and offered it to her. “Very efficacious against shock, I understand.”
“I’m not shocked,” she said, taking it. “I am, I think, desirous.”
She took a bite, then hastily swept pastry crumbs off her lips with her tongue.
His smile deepened. He captured the tart and took a bite from the same place. “Lick your lips again.”
“No, you.”
He flicked a crumb of pastry away. Slowly.
Prudence suddenly felt very hot. “I think I’m shocked.”
“Or desirous.”
There was a bedchamber next door, and they were a married couple. . . .
He put the remaining bit of tart in his mouth and rose. “Come. We should find you a better ring.”
“What . . .?”
“Wedding ring.” He pulled her to her feet. “We must return to Keynings, my dear, and our accident doesn’t explain a shoddy wedding ring.”
“But what of Mr. Perriam?” she asked as he led her to the door.
“He’s the soul of tact and amiability.”
“Danger?” she reminded him.
“I have a sword, and know how to use it.”
She laughed at the memory as he swept her down and out into the street.
Chapter 20
P
rudence felt giddy with delight, and the bustle of the market only made her more lighthearted. Everything pleased her—the stallholders’ cries, the ballad singers hawking their music, the piles of greens, and the punnets of early strawberries, perfuming the air.
He bought some of the small sweet fruit and popped one into her mouth.
She did the same for him.
They paused, smiling into each other’s eyes.
“Ring,” he said. “No time for dalliance, wench.”
She pouted, feeling like a girl again. Like the girl she’d never been.
He inquired about a goldsmith, and they left the stalls for the regular shops.
The shop was mostly a clockmaker’s, but it did have a small selection of rings. Only one wedding ring fit, but it was of bright gold. Cate slid it onto her finger as he had at the wedding, and Prudence felt as if this were their true bonding, in joy and honesty and hope for the future rather than amid tension and doubt.
He turned to look at the other jewelry on display.
“Your colors, I think,” he said, picking up a ring with a pale yellow stone surrounded by pearls. “And this brooch. With a dagger through it.”
“Stop! That’s enough.”
“I’ve hardly begun. I finally see a use for my wealth.” But he only added a silver cross on a chain before paying an alarming number of guineas.
He pinned the dagger brooch in the center of her bodice—“You should be armed”—and put the cross and chain around her neck, telling her it would be “useful for warding off demons.”
“Where’s your cross, then?” she asked as they left the shop.
“The hilt of my sword.”
Prudence looked around. “I wish I could buy you a gift.”
He promptly took out his purse and poured some coins into her hand.
“That’s too much,” she protested.
“Nonsense. As soon as we’re home I’ll arrange pin money, settlements, and all that.”
Pin money and settlements should thrill her, but it was the word “home” that she dwelled on. Keynings wasn’t her home, but it was his, so she’d make it theirs. For all its challenges and problems, she’d make it their true home.
For now, she must find him a gift, but she was distracted.
“Hats!” she said, spying a shop with ladies’ hats in the window and dragging him over.
“I like that one with feathers,” he said.
“For travel? And with this gown?”
“Spoilsport. Very well, have something dull if you insist.”
They went into the small shop and a woman hurried forward to serve them. Cate explained about the carriage accident and the loss of his wife’s hat.
“A straw, madam? I can trim it with ribbon to match your gown.”
Prudence wrinkled her brow. “Straw doesn’t go well with a military style.”
“I wore a straw hat at one point,” Cate said. “Portugal could get hot as hell. What about this one?” He picked up a flat brown disk with silk frills along the edge.
“I see you’re not a good adviser on fashion,” Prudence said.
“No, you need Perry for that.”
“Perhaps this, ma’am?” The milliner held out a hat with a slight crown, all covered with black silk, and with knots of black ribbon. “It matches the black braid on your bodice, madam, and I could add some ribbon to match your gown.”
As the woman hurried away Prudence said, “I’m sure that’s the most expensive one she has.”
“Do you think so? I doubt I look like a wealthy customer.”
“You have that lordly air about you.”
The woman returned with three rust-colored ribbons and found the one that matched. With clever fingers she added some to the hat.
“There, madam, but you’ll need a hatpin.” She chose a plain one, but Cate picked another, gold-headed one.
How long had it been since anyone had lavished gifts upon her with a generous heart? Perhaps never, for even in the best times, her parents had not believed in extravagance.
When the hat was fixed in place, she agreed it was exactly right, and tried not to think of the cost. Cate was a wealthy earl—she believed that. She simply couldn’t get over years of scrimping. To pay a lot of money for jewelry was one thing, because jewelry had value. To pay an extortionate amount for some silk fashioned into a hat seemed wicked.
“Back to the inn,” he said as they left the shop and wove back into the market crowd.
Prudence halted by a linen stall. “I’ll need a nightgown, in case my trunk doesn’t reach Keynings today.”
There were simpler ones laid out in front of her, but four finer nightgowns hung at the back of the stall, away from dirty fingers and thieves. They weren’t as fine as the ones in her trunk, but Prudence thought she might value more the one she chose with Cate. As the woman wrapped it, she thought of the night ahead and bit her lip on wicked thoughts.
She remembered she wanted to buy a gift for him and saw some neckcloths. None of the lace was fine, but she chose the best and paid for it with one of the coins he’d given her.
“I knew you were ashamed of my appearance,” he said.
She reached up to drape it around his neck and then cross it and bring it back to the front, where she tied a loose knot. Then she produced the silver tiepin from her pocket and fixed it in place.