A Countess of Convenience

by Sarah Winn

  No longer able to meet his gaze, she began to pull at the strings of her reticule.

  He leaned forward. “I'm sorry if someone broke your heart. But you do not have to fear the same from me. Only those you love can truly hurt you, and you care not a whit for me.”

  Why did he think someone had broken her heart? Perhaps he assumed something of that nature had kept her from marrying. However, what he said about love made sense. As long as she protected her heart from him, he couldn't truly hurt her. So all she had to worry about was dealing with his mother.

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  Chapter 4

  As the carriage came to a stop just across from Hyde Park, Prudence looked out at the three-story brick residence of the Countess of Malvern, the next older woman who would take control of Prudence's life.

  The earl ushered her through the front doorway and into a marble-floored entry hall. Several servants waited for them. Malvern gestured toward a tall, erect man and said, “Prudence, this is Mother's butler. Higgins, this is Miss Crump, my future bride.” His voice quavered on the last word.

  Higgins gave a dignified bow. “Welcome, miss. If there is anything I can do to make your visit more pleasant, do not hesitate to ask.” Then he gestured toward a comfortably plump woman dressed all in gray. “And this is our housekeeper, Mrs. Jones.”

  Mrs. Jones was more effusive in her greetings and she pointed to a young woman standing just behind her, wearing a black uniform and apron. “This is Janie; she'll serve as your personal maid while you're here.”

  During these introductions, Prudence nodded and smiled and murmured thank you. It had been years since she'd had a personal maid. She didn't know quite what she'd do with Janie.

  “Perhaps you'd like to see your room now, miss?” Mrs. Jones said.

  Mr. Higgins cleared his throat. “Her ladyship is waiting in her sitting room. Perhaps Miss Crump should meet her first?”

  “Oh, certainly,” Mrs. Jones hastily agreed. “I'll see your things are put away, Miss Crump.” She turned toward the slim collection of luggage the footmen had brought in, and her eyes widened. “Is this all?”

  “For now,” Lord Malvern said. He placed his hand under Prudence's elbow and directed her toward the grand staircase. She was so caught up in the warmth and strength of his hand that she hardly noticed the fast pace he set going up the stairs and along the hallway.

  After his sharp knock, they entered a sitting room more cozily furnished than the formal rooms Prudence had briefly glimpsed downstairs. It occurred to her that Aunt Agatha had a room like this. She never greeted visitors in it, but often called the servants there and delivered their instructions or set-downs. Prudence wondered which she was about to receive.

  The countess sat in front of a dainty writing desk, wearing a dressing gown with a high, regal-looking collar. She turned toward them, held a lorgnette up to her eyes, and pointedly examined Prudence.

  Lord Malvern's hand moved to the center of Prudence's back and pushed her forward. “Prudence, this is my mother, Lady Caroline, the Countess of Malvern.”

  Prudence didn't know if it was necessary to curtsey to a countess, but decided a little extra courtesy would not be amiss in this situation. She bowed her head and bent her knees. “Thank you for inviting me into your home, Lady Caroline.”

  The countess eyed her up and down for several seconds. If she did it as a deliberate ploy to make Prudence feel more insecure, she succeeded.

  Finally, the countess put aside her lorgnette. “Well, Anthony, I can see why you were tempted. Miss Crump even manages to look attractive wearing weeds. Come over here, young lady, and sit beside my desk. The first thing we need to do is compose an announcement for The Times. It should be delivered straight away.”

  Feeling about seven years old, Prudence sat in the indicated chair. The earl moved to the far side of the room and propped an elbow against the mantel, obviously intending to give her no assistance.

  “Now,” the countess continued, “where is your home?” She dipped a quill into the inkpot and poised it over a sheet of paper that already had a great deal of writing on it.

  Prudence forced herself to meet the woman's sharp gaze. “Actually, ma'am, I don't have one at the moment. I spent my early childhood in Manchester. After my father's death, we moved to the countryside near the village of Huffington. In the six months since my mother's passing, I stayed with an aunt in Litton until coming to my brother's here in London.”

  Lady Caroline's quill remained motionless. “I know your brother is a Weathersby. Any relation of Viscount Weathersby?”

  “His nephew.”

  “Who is your aunt?”

  “Lady Agatha Becton.”

  Lady Caroline's eyes widened. “The Lady Agatha Becton?”

  “Is there more than one?” Prudence asked in honest bewilderment.

  “I mean, Lady Agatha Becton who is the Duke of Litton's sister.”

  “She is the aunt of the current duke, ma'am.”

  Lady Caroline tapped the feather end of the quill against her cheek. “Wait, it's coming back to me. Viscount Weathersby's younger son died in a riding accident. His wife, the daughter of the Duke of Litton's younger brother, retired from society for her mourning and never returned.”

  “She married my father and went to live in Manchester,” Prudence explained.

  The sharpness came back into Lady Caroline's glance. “What trade was your father in?”

  “He and his brother owned and operated Crump Cotton Manufactories.”

  Lady Caroline's gaze swung up to her son so sharply that he straightened from his nonchalant slouch against the mantel. “I thought you said funds were lacking in Miss Crump's background?”

  He shrugged. “From the way Weathersby spoke, I assumed—”

  Prudence felt compelled to defend her father. “The Crump Manufactories are the largest in Manchester.”

  Lord Malvern frowned at her. “Why did your family move to the country after your father's death? According to your brother, your mother was quite unhappy there.”

  “My uncle decided that we should. Papa left him in charge of our care, and Uncle Oscar thought my mother too extravagant.”

  “And he made you live in poverty?” Lady Caroline asked in a shocked voice.

  “We had a comfortable cottage, but he made us live on a strict budget that was far less than my mother was accustomed to. As soon as she died, he said he intended to sell the cottage and I must come and live with him. But Aunt Agatha offered me a place, so I went there.”

  Lord Malvern planted his fists on his hips. “But your wardrobe—” He turned toward his mother. “She only has one trunk.”

  Lady Caroline gasped in dismay.

  “I only brought my mourning clothes to London. Aunt Agatha had them made for me, and she saw no reason to make a number of black dresses that I would only wear for one year.”

  “This changes everything, Anthony,” Lady Caroline said with great seriousness. “Miss Crump is the cousin of a duke. We can not hastily scramble together a wedding that does not include that side of the family.”

  Thoughts of “that side of the family” made Prudence forget her intentions to behave meekly in front of the countess. Her “No!” rang out so vehemently that both Lord Malvern and Lady Caroline stared at her with startled expressions.

  Prudence took several calming breaths before continuing. “My mother's family did not approve of her marriage to my father. Only my Aunt Agatha maintained contact with her afterward, and she did so grudgingly.”

  “But surely,” Lady Caroline said in a soothing voice, “while you were living with your aunt, you were introduced and accepted into the family.”

  Prudence took a deep breath before daring to trust her voice. “I was treated little better than a servant.” She fixed her eyes on a large red rose woven into the carpet. “You may send my aunt a notice of the wedding, but no one else.”

  Lady Caroline frown
ed at her. “I can understand your feelings, but when they learn you are to become a countess, that will change everything.”

  “Not to me,” Prudence said in a low but firm voice.

  Lord Malvern cleared his throat. “Mother, please remember that Miss Crump is still in mourning. It will be another six months before we can have a full-blown wedding. We can best put a stop to gossip by settling this matter quickly.”

  Lady Caroline sighed. “I suppose you're right. But I insist on introducing Prudence to a few of my friends before we withdraw to the country. She may not care about her Litton connection, but it will lift a bit of tarnish from this hasty union.”

  Lord Malvern glared at Prudence as if demanding her acquiescence.

  She nodded. Meeting a few older women was a small price to pay for escaping the kind of wedding the countess wanted. Prudence had thought her biggest problem would be marriage to a man she barely knew. Now she realized she not only faced a new marriage but an entirely new way of life. The only glimmer of light in her future was the hope that the earl would quickly pack her off to some distant estate.

  In the fitting room of one of the best-known dressmakers in London, Prudence kept her back straight as Madame La Valle wrapped the measuring tape around her chest. After the modiste called out a number to her assistant, Prudence dared to take a breath and glance at Lady Caroline. She sat nearby, studying the list of clothing she had compiled before they had come to the shop.

  A long list. The kind her mother might have compiled before she went shopping for clothing.

  To her surprise, Lady Caroline reminded Prudence of her own mother—as she had been before her husband died and her health failed. Lady Caroline was high in the instep and supremely confident of her own judgment, but now that she knew of Prudence's aristocratic connections and of her ability to use the right silverware at the dinner table, her treatment of her future daughter-in-law had become almost benign.

  She looked up from her list. “I think the gray satin made in this style,” she pointed to a sketch of a ball gown among several Madame La Valle had laid out for her, “will do nicely as the wedding gown.”

  Lady Caroline had decided that since the sixth month of mourning had passed, Prudence no longer needed to dress all in black. However, the gray satin she had selected was very light, almost silver. Prudence felt sure her Aunt Agatha would disapprove. Fortunately, Prudence no longer had to please that old lady.

  Pointing to the sketch of a bell-sleeved visiting dress, Lady Caroline said, “This would be lovely in the lavender moire. Can you finish these two dresses and deliver them to Malvern Manor within three weeks?”

  “When do you leave for the country?” Madame La Valle asked.

  “The end of this week.”

  Madame La Valle gasped. “There will be no time for final fittings. Small alterations are always needed for a dress to fit perfectly. I would offer to bring the dresses myself, but my shop is quite busy at this time.”

  The poor woman looked so distraught that Prudence wanted to ease her mind. “Don't worry, Madame. I can take care of any small alterations myself.”

  Madame Le Valle looked at her in surprise while Lady Caroline frowned, and Prudence knew she'd blundered again.

  “What Miss Crump means,” Lady Caroline said hurriedly, “is that we have a needlewoman at Malvern Manor who can make any alternations Miss Crump desires.”

  “Oh, but of course.” Madame Le Valle busied herself rewinding silver-gray satin onto its bolt.

  “Can I dress now?” Prudence asked in the hope of taking attention away from her latest faux pas.

  The countess waved her consent and again consulted her list. “We'll go to the milliner's next.”

  As Prudence moved toward her dress, the modiste's assistant leaped to help her. Prudence hid her smile until her head was under the skirt. Strangely, she had little trouble behaving properly with the countess and her friends. It was the servants she was most likely to offend by trying to do some simple task herself. She supposed the poor souls feared they would lose their positions if they did not make themselves indispensable, but Prudence was not accustomed to so much service.

  At Aunt Agatha's, the servants had known she was just a poor relation and treated her accordingly. Here she was a future countess and someone always hovered nearby waiting to serve her. She wondered if her mother's life had been like this before her father's death. If so, it was no wonder she had been unhappy after they moved to the country. It even helped explain the number of maids who had angrily quit before Prudence took over managing the household.

  Like her mother, Lady Caroline had exacting standards. Fortunately, she had many servants to do her bidding. Prudence couldn't help being a bit in awe of the countess who never had a stain, a wrinkle, or a messy hairdo. She seemed to control everything in her world, except her arrogant son, but even he rebelled politely.

  Lady Caroline had obviously decided to mold Prudence into an image of herself. Prudence seriously doubted she could reach the countess's exalted standards, nor did she particularly want to, but once Lord Malvern had secluded her in the country, it would no longer be of great importance. So, for now, she listened attentively, nodded and smiled if she thought it appropriate, and was glad the countess could be so easily managed.

  Malvern took his first sip of the burgundy the duke had ordered for their second course and nodded approvingly. Although he'd always thought the Duke of Litton a stiff-necked bore, he had to admit the man knew his wines. Surprisingly, Malvern hadn't found tonight's dinner as boring as he'd expected.

  The duke's dinners at the Carlton Club each Wednesday—the night the House traditionally dismissed for dinner—had come to be considered the place to spot rising stars in the Conservative political firmament. Malvern found a certain excitement in sitting at the duke's right hand even though he knew the announcement of his engagement to the duke's cousin was the only reason he was here.

  The possibility of gaining political influence from his attachment to Prudence Crump had not occurred to him until he had received the duke's invitation. He could sense the other diners not only at this table, but throughout the dining room, appraising him a little differently. His mother would be ecstatic.

  Litton cleared his throat. “So, how's that burgundy, Malvern?”

  “Excellent, your grace. A very good year.”

  A hint of a smile on the duke's usually stern face showed his pleasure. “I've several cases of this vintage in my own wine cellar.”

  Not knowing how else to reply to such a boastful statement, Malvern said, “I shouldn't wonder.”

  Lord Cosgrove, who sat across the table from him, spoke up. “So tell us, Malvern, how did you manage to become engaged to the duke's cousin, when none of us have even met her?”

  “Her brother, Neil Weathersby, and I are long-time acquaintances.” Malvern hated to even mention the cur's name, but had found his former relationship to Neil the quickest way to explain his sudden engagement.

  “Weathersby?” Cosgrove looked at the duke with a puzzled frown.

  “My late aunt's first husband was the brother of Viscount Weathersby. Actually, I've had little contact with either of her offspring, but Lady Agatha tells me the daughter is an admirable young woman.”

  “She must be.” Cosgrove chuckled. “I seem to recall Malvern saying he intended to wait until at least forty to marry. It would take a special lady to disrupt those well-laid plans.”

  Lord Peabody, on Malvern's right, managed to tear himself away from his lamb chop long enough to say, “Don't you know that the more a man claims to disbelieve in love the more likely he is to become its victim?”

  This inspired a series of wry comments and a good deal of laughter from around the table. Malvern couldn't believe how readily everyone jumped to the conclusion that he and Prudence were rushing to the altar due to love. But he supposed that was better than their knowing the truth, so he endured his companions’ jibes good-naturedly.

  T
he duke coughed into to his napkin, bringing the laughter to a halt. “My wife's already moved back to our country estate, but we'll certainly want to have you and—and—er—”

  “Prudence,” Malvern supplied. The ass didn't know his own cousin's name.

  “Yes, Prudence—for dinner soon. Need to get to know the both of you, now that you're settling down.”

  Lord Cosgrove nodded, causing his double chins to waddle. “Yes, indeed, glad to see you settling down, Malvern. The party needs you young-bloods to become more involved.”

  The duke fixed Malvern with a steely gaze and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Change is in the wind. This is a good time to align yourself with the more stable faction of our party.”

  Malvern knew the duke referred to the Tory faction of the Conservative party and wasn't sure he wanted to become one of these stogy gentlemen. Nevertheless, he tried to look thoughtful as he said, “I see what you mean.”

  Like it or not, he had to maintain cordial relations with the duke or the man might take it upon himself to become his cousin's advocate and interfere with Malvern's plans to leave Prudence in the country. He'd better put a bun in her basket post-haste to explain her absence from the London social scene. Doing so would be another benefit of his coming marriage, one he found himself looking forward to.

  Unsure of his reception, Neil stood a little back from the entryway and scanned the smoking room of the Carlton Club. As he'd expected, Malvern, Harry Cartland, and Foster Turnbull sat in a cluster of chairs in the middle of the room enjoying cigars and brandy. Malvern's easy friendship with Turnbull always irritated Neil. After all, Foster's grandfather had been nothing more than a cobbler. Times had certainly changed—for the worse.

  Neil took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on his mission. His relationship with Malvern had to be re-established. He had planned to wait until the earl's anger had been diluted by his growing passion for Prudence. After seeing the sparks that flew between them on the night they met, Neil had expected the earl to quickly mellow toward his future bride. But after speaking with her this morning, he knew that wasn't happening.