The dowager simply gaped.
Cate said, “Artemis,” in a warning manner, but Prudence was elated that Artemis had finally shown her teeth.
“My first groom was most definitely an error of judgment,” she said.
“An
error . . .
!” spluttered the dowager.
“Enough of this,” Cate said. “Prudence thought me dead. I arrived in Darlington to find her about to marry another. Once she knew I was alive, there was no question of the wedding going forward. Someone even remarked that it was a romance worthy of the troubadours.”
Optimus Goode raised his head as if he might quibble about medieval romances, but addressed himself again to his plate.
Artemis fired another shot. “Did it really come to blows? At the very altar.”
“I do not wish to discuss this further here.”
The dowager ignored Cate’s edict. “Was your marriage
legal
, Malzard?”
“Yes,” he said shortly.
Miss Cecily tried to deflect. “Were you born and raised in Darlington, Lady Malzard?”
Prudence was grateful, but didn’t want to delve into her history. “No, I moved there recently to live with my brother. He’s a solicitor there.”
“A Mr. Youlgrave,” Artemis said. “Very recently qualified, I understand, and impecunious, but also fortunate in marriage. His bride is the heiress of a city merchant, I understand.”
“True,” Prudence said, “and yes, I have married above my station. Is that a crime?”
Artemis glared at her, the dowager was looking peevish, and Cate was dangerously still and silent. Could she declare this meal at an end by rising and taking the women away? It would cage her with them, but relieve the pressure here.
She was about to do just that when Optimus Goode spoke.
“Youlgrave? Youlgrave! Aaron and Prudence, Aaron Youlgrave’s children.” He smiled at her. “You were a very clever girl, my dear. Always asking questions.” He turned his smile on the table, but Prudence’s heart fell.
“Visited Sir Joshua Jenkins’s collection,” he explained. “Twelve years or more ago now. Wonderful medieval weaponry and manuscripts. Of course, Sir Joshua was a philistine—came into a lot of money in the East in some fashion—but he’d hired the right man to take care of it all. Aaron Youlgrave was an expert in such things. Shame Jenkins lost everything at the tables and killed himself. Collection broken up, but I acquired a few things for your father, my lord.”
Cate was looking at her, blankly unreadable. She hadn’t exactly lied, but she’d misled.
“What became of your father, Lady Malzard?” Goode asked her.
“He died not long after Sir Joshua.”
“Ah, sad, sad. Can’t have been that old. And your mother? Charming lady.”
“She died quite recently.”
“Pity, pity. But they’d have been happy to see you so well set up in the world.”
“Astonished, I should think,” said the dowager. “A
librarian
?”
“A scholar, ma’am,” said Goode, rather frostily, “like myself.”
Prudence rose. “Tea, ladies?”
The ladies all rose, but Artemis said, “You will excuse me, sister.” To the dowager, she said, “You will enjoy the letter,” and passed over the folded sheet of paper before leaving.
The Catesby cousins looked around uncertainly and Miss Catesby said, “Perhaps we’ll take tea in our rooms today, dear Lady Malzard.”
Prudence hoped the dowager would return to her hole, even if it was to read the letter, but she said, “Tea, indeed,” and headed for the door.
Prudence hesitated, wondering if she dared speak to Cate here and now. No, for a great many reasons, no.
She went upstairs behind the Dowager Lady Malzard, who had a way of standing taller than she was. She’d finally achieved a meeting with her mother-in-law. Would she escape alive?
Chapter 30
I
n the drawing room, there was no doubt as to who ruled. The dowager commanded the tea and sat first. Prudence almost remained standing like a child summoned for a scolding, but she sat, striving for composure. She completely lacked the courage to compete for supremacy, however.
“I was shocked by Catesby’s wedding,” the dowager said, “but I thought it mere romantic folly.”
“A romance worthy of the troubadours,” Prudence said wryly.
“Whatever that means. I will read this letter.”
Prudence watched, as she might watch a thrush beat a snail against a stone until the shell cracked and the creature could be consumed—feeling like the snail.
The dowager’s eyes widened. Her head moved faster from side to side. She looked up at Prudence just as the tea arrived. Suddenly Prudence had to fight laughter. It was all so peculiar. She took charge of the preparation of the tea, listening to the footman retreat and the door close, then looked up to find the dowager studying her.
“Are you carrying another man’s child?”
Ah, she’d forgotten that detail would be in the letter.
“No, ma’am. Do you take milk in your tea?”
“Yes. Are you truthful?”
“That’s an old dilemma, ma’am. I am in this. In fact, I’m still a virgin.”
The dowager stared at her. “Can that boy do
nothing
right?”
“You’re referring to Cate?” It was no effort to show shock.
“He’s made a mess of everything he’s done, and this marriage is the culmination.”
Prudence thought a moment, but only a moment. “You’re wrong, ma’am, and I think it a great shame for any mother to speak so of a son or daughter.”
“Ha! Wait until you have some. Unlikely as that seems, according to you. Pour me some tea.”
That made Prudence laugh, but her hand shook as she poured.
“You’re having your courses?” the dowager asked. “You didn’t time your wedding very well, did you?”
Was there no matter to be left to discretion?
“No, ma’am, I am not having my courses.” She needed to defend Cate, and came up with an explanation. “Because of Henry Draydale’s accusation, which will soon be known by all, Cate and I have decided not to consummate the marriage yet. That way, any child will be born more than nine months after the wedding, and no shadow will hang over him or her.”
“Humph. That shows more sense than I give him credit for.”
“But then, ma’am, you don’t seem to know him very well.”
The dowager’s eyes narrowed. “You’re an impudent upstart.”
“I’m the Countess of Malzard and your daughter-in-law. We can deal well or badly, ma’am, but we’re stuck together for a very long time.”
The dowager looked away. “I don’t know why fate is so cruel.”
Prudence was about to say something sharp, but then she saw that the older lady’s lips were unsteady and remembered that she’d so recently lost a son.
“My dear ma’am, I feel for you—truly, I do. It’s a terrible sadness to have a child die, even when they’re adult. I have no wish to hurt you more, and neither has Cate. Let him be a good son to you.”
The dowager still looked away. “Everything was so perfect. We were the happiest of households.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“Sebastian was the best of sons, and a worthy earl.”
“Cate said as much once.”
The dowager turned to her. “He did?”
“Yes. He respected his brother very much. I think he described him as a tender son, a devoted husband, and a loving but firm father.”
The dowager pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I always thought he resented him. My husband thought so. That’s why he insisted Catesby join the army. He thought he wanted Keynings too much. The first plan was the East India Company, but Catesby created a ridiculous uproar about the treatment of Hindus, and that put an end to that. He promptly tumbled into debts and debauchery, and so it was the army. With a war going on we could rely on his being sent abroad.”
Prudence reminded herself that nothing could be gained by berating the woman. She did, however, say, “He was a good officer.”
“If foolhardy exploits count as good. We heard all the stories. The army spit him out in the end, and he was fortunate it wasn’t worse. So then he was back here, making trouble again.”
“Perhaps he simply returned to visit his family.”
“Why, when he cared nothing for any of us? When the baby boy was born dead, we heard no word from him. Not the most cursory message of condolence.”
“I’m sure he can’t have received the letter.”
“A convenient excuse. At best he cared nothing. At worst, he celebrated.”
“Ma’am, I know that’s not true.” Prudence leaned forward. “Artemis seems to believe the worst of that. Can you not convince her of the truth?”
“I don’t
know
the truth.”
“Yes, you do! You have to know your own son better than that. You have to.”
The dowager leaned back. “Don’t speak to me in such a manner!”
“I will always defend Cate.”
“Foolishly. Do you know that he was wooing another woman in London very recently?”
Prudence stared, afraid to speak.
“I see not. The daughter of a rich oil merchant. I didn’t interfere. He needed some means of support. I suppose I should be grateful not to have Georgiana Rumford foisted upon me, and merely a librarian’s daughter.”
Afraid to speak her mind, Prudence rose and curtsied. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
She swept out of the room and stalked back to her rooms in a rage—rage at the heartless mother, and raging hurt at news that there had been another after all. Not an exquisite society lady, but an heiress of no lower birth than herself, who would have brought a fortune to Keynings instead of trouble.
Karen came out of the dressing room. “Is something the matter, milady?”
“No.”
“The black dress is finished, milady.”
Prudence looked at its grim sootiness spread on the bed and wanted to growl.
Everything was going wrong.
Cate had some idealized vision of Keynings, but all she saw was a house haunted by his dead brother and with malice and discontent seething from every wall. Artemis swam beneath, oozing more poison, with the dowager at her side.
That ridiculous image became vivid in her mind, and she laughed. There was no humor in it, however. Everything was definitely awry, and she had no idea how to put it right.
There was a knock at the boudoir door.
Karen hurried to answer it, and returned to say, “Your other trunks have arrived, milady!”
Other trunks?
But then she remembered Perry. “Oh, yes. Have them brought up.”
Bits and pieces of possessions didn’t seem important anymore, but she welcomed anything that might ease the situaton.
There really were two trunks, and at the sight of them a little excitement brightened her mood. What would be in them? She opened the first and took out a green gown. It looked exactly like a lady’s favorite from a few years past, kept because it was comfortable. There were other similar garments, but none suitable for mourning. Karen put them away in the clothespress, showing how satisfied she was to have the piece of furniture beginning to fill.
Prudence wondered if they’d all fit her, but she suspected that with Peregrine Perriam involved, they would. There were stockings of various sorts, including a silk pair almost as pretty as the ones she’d ruined, and two darned pairs to show her frugality. Shifts, hoops, caps, hats. She ended up chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all, but then Karen wanted to know why.
“It’s just lovely to be reunited with my bits and pieces.”
At the bottom were books and some carefully wrapped pieces of china and glass. Prudence unwrapped one long shape and found a classical statue of a man.
“Lawks!” Karen exclaimed, but then added, “It’s like those shocking ones in the entrance hall.”
“Yes, but this one is . . .”
“Oh, milord!”
Prudence looked up quickly. It was Cate.
“Your possessions,” he said. “I heard they’d come.”
Prudence studied him. He didn’t seem angry.
“As you see,” she said. “Karen, you may go for a while.”
As soon as the maid had left, she rose and said, “Cate, I’m sorry for misleading you about Blytheby.”
“I wish you’d been honest, but only because it would smooth your path.”
“Whereas now it gets rockier by the moment. Artemis’s letter related Draydale’s accusation.”
“The devil.”
“Cate . . . I . . . I had to say something to ease your mother’s anxiety. I . . . I said we’d decided to delay consummation.”
“What was her response to that?”
She wasn’t about to tell him. “I had an explanation. So that our first child wouldn’t be suspect in the eyes of the world. And now I think that’s right. That we should. Or should not. I’m sorry. . . .”
He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t be. That’s an excellent reason. Far better than mine.”
“Yours?”
“A confession. You made it clear Draydale lied, but I couldn’t entirely believe you.”
She pushed back. “Cate!”
“Not in that way. But a woman forced might not want to admit it, and I could imagine him forcing his bride-to-be.”
“He did try to go too far.”
“I’m sure he did. When it comes down to it, my thinking was much like yours. I never wanted to have a moment of doubt. I didn’t want that possibility hanging over our first child. That’s the only thing that kept me from your bed last night.”
“Oh. I thought you didn’t want me.”
He laughed softly and touched his head to hers. “I want you, my wife. But it seems we must practice restraint.”
There was a sweetness to the moment and she didn’t want to disturb it with mention of his London lady. What did it matter? He’d married her.
He said, “You’re the most comfortable woman I’ve ever known.”
Comfortable wasn’t love. That sounded more like a soft chair.