by Sarah Winn
Walton looked surprised. “But what about grouse hunting in Scotland?”
“I can still make it, if I want to. After all, I hunt grouse every year.”
Walton busied himself with his papers, trying to hide a sly smile.
Malvern didn't want anyone thinking him eager to see his wife. “I need to check on my brother-in-law. Frankly, I'm surprised Snavely hasn't complained about him by now.”
After Walton left, Malvern watched the fog gathering against his library windows. He'd have a devil of a time getting to the railway station. Perhaps he should delay his departure. No, he was anxious to get out of London; the city was deadly dull this time of year, and it was time he resumed his quest for an heir. If Prudence didn't quicken during this visit to Yorkshire, it might be wise to bring her back to Malvern Hall.
If he found her contrite enough, he might even let her come to London for a while. No other woman had caught his interest lately. It was almost as though he had punished himself by sending her away. And did she really deserve to be punished? She was just a woman following the orders of her only immediate male relative. He supposed he should give her some credit for family loyalty. If he could persuade her to transfer that loyalty to him, she might make a commendable wife.
The new information he'd recently gotten about his parents’ marriage had been eating away at his old ideas. In fact, he felt a little foolish for believing all these years that he was driven by a lustful nature inherited from his father. Looking at the behavior of his friends and other members of the aristocracy, he saw that his actions in that area had been little different from other men.
Of course, he'd had mistresses. Many men did. But he'd been perfectly content with one woman at a time and often resented the demands those women made to be constantly entertained with rounds of parties. The thought of a wife with whom he could spend quiet evenings at home had a definite appeal.
The fog wasn't so thick. His driver could find the station, but they would need extra time. He rang for Lindley and ordered his carriage brought around at once.
The hired post-chaise slowed as it approached the manor house, and Malvern peered through the pouring rain for a better view. He hadn't been here in a couple of years, but didn't remember the place looking so shabby. Trimming the overgrown yews that circled the front of the house would make a considerable improvement. Snavely apparently hadn't thought to bother with them while the house stood empty, but he should have done something after Prudence arrived. Malvern would mention it to him.
He sat in the coach and waited impatiently as Victor knocked on the front door. After a ridiculously long time, Malvern climbed out and pounded on the door with the metal head of his walking stick. The new Countess of Malvern obviously had not trained her household servants properly.
Finally the door creaked open and a stout, red-faced woman peered out at him. “And who might ye be?”
“I am the Earl of Malvern. Kindly get out of my way and send servants to help with the luggage.”
The woman leapt back, flinging the door widely open. “Oh, my lord! I ‘adn't ‘eard you were coming. I'm afraid there's no one here to ‘elp with t'luggage. I'd offer myself, but I'm t'cook and I've got food to tend in t'kitchen.”
Stepping inside, he took off his hat and shook water from the brim. “What do you mean there's no one here? Where's the butler?”
The woman shook her head. “Don't know as there is one. I've only been ‘ere for a week myself. Everyone else ‘as gone to t'flood.”
He looked at the woman incredulously. “What flood?”
“With all t'rain, t'stream is running over its banks. T'Baileys sent for their daughters, saying their cottage was in danger. Everyone went to help.”
“Surely the countess didn't go.”
“Aye, sir. She and her brother both went. They took a wagon in case t'cottage goods need savin'.”
Malvern stared at the woman in disbelief. Prudence had no business going off in the pouring rain to fight a flood.
The cook shifted uncomfortably under his glare. “Can I go back to t'kitchen, my lord? There's bread baking, and they'll be wanting food when they get back.”
He nodded absentmindedly, but when she turned away, he called after her, “Where is this flood?”
“To the south, my lord. Just follow the road.”
Malvern turned to Victor. “You and the coachman get the luggage inside and then do what you can to set this madhouse aright. I'll see what this flood business is about before I get into dry clothing.”
As he entered the stables, Malvern heard the unmistakable twang of Snavely's high-pitched voice. “...should have stopped them from taking the stock out on such a fool's errand.”
Near the back stalls, he saw Snavely berating an old man who stood in front of him with his shoulders slumped and head bent. “I couldna’ say nay to ‘er ladyship,” the man mumbled.
“You should have sent her to me,” Snavely snapped as he shook his finger in the old man's face.
Malvern could understand Snavely's aggravation over the misuse of estate stock, but a stableman should never send a countess anywhere. He cleared his throat loudly.
Snavely turned around, his irritated frown quickly changed to a look of astonished alarm. “Lord Malvern! I didn't know you were expected. And to arrive like this, without a proper welcome. I'm so sorry.”
Malvern shrugged. “That doesn't matter. But what's this I hear about a flood? I take it a tenant's cottage is in danger?”
Snavely shook his head. “The stream overflows its banks on occasion. Nothing serious. The tenants are always looking for excuses to complain. Unfortunately, the countess took ‘em seriously. She shouldn't be out in weather like this.”
“I quite agree with you on that. You should be the one checking on conditions.”
Clasping his hands over his chest in a prayer-like gesture, Snavely said, “Yes, sir. I intend to do that very thing; in fact, I was just asking for the gig to be harnessed.”
“Never mind the gig, the wheels will mire in the mud like the coach I came in. Saddle a couple of horses. I'll go with you.”
“No need for you to inconvenience yourself over a small matter like this, my lord.”
Focusing all of his irritation on Snavely, Malvern haughtily said, “The countess's welfare is not a small matter.”
Snavely whirled back to the stableman, spewing orders, and Malvern was shortly mounted on a sorry piece of horseflesh and sloshing through the rain in search of his wife.
The main road through the estate approached and then ran parallel to a stream now filled with angry water. Whenever the land dipped, water topped the banks and formed restless pools. The further south they went the more severe the problem became. Soon the horses’ hooves splashed in standing water on the roadway.
Coming around a curve, Malvern saw furious activity ahead. Water had filled a low-lying trough that led away from the streambed. Men with picks and shovels were frantically building an earthen dam at the upper end of the trough in an attempt to stop the water from reaching a cottage that lay further inland. But water already lapped at the cottage's foundations. People, mostly women and children, hastily loaded furniture and clothing into a wagon near the doorway.
He finally spotted Prudence, approaching the wagon with a loaded basket. The sopping shawl that covered her head and shoulders made it difficult to identify her from the other women.
Her steps faltered, as if the basket was too heavy for her, and he started forward to aid her. Then he noticed how the water sucked at her skirt and realized she was having trouble walking through the rapidly deepening flood.
A woman standing in the wagon bent and took the basket and Prudence visibly staggered as the swirling water threatened to topple her. With a cry of alarm, Malvern jabbed a spur into his horse and headed for her, unmindful of the people who had to scatter out of his way. Fearing his poorly trained mount might trample Prudence, he yanked on the reins and leapt from the horse. He felt t
he tug of the water as it covered his feet and rose halfway up his boots, but hurriedly waded to Prudence's side and threw his arms around her. “Are you mad, woman?”
She stared at him with a stunned expression. “Malvern?”
He thought of picking her up to get her out of harm's way, but feeling his own instability, decided against it. Steadying her with one arm, he started toward his horse that had, amazingly, remained just where Malvern had left it. Feeling resistance from her, he said, “Hang on to me. I'll get you out of this.”
“But I have to help.”
Reaching the horse, he lifted her up onto the saddle, and then placed himself behind it and wrapped his arms securely around her. “I think you've helped quite enough.”
“But they could lose everything they have,” she said in a voice that sounded surprisingly angry.
He turned the horse and started out to the water. “Their pitiful possessions are not worth your injury. Remember who you are, Prudence.”
She jerked her head around so she could look up at him. “Remember who you are. These people and their pitiful possessions are your responsibility.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” he muttered. “They're just tenants.”
They reached the men working on the leaky dike and Malvern saw one of them staring at him. Suddenly he recognized his brother-in-law with his golden curls plastered by the rain to his Grecian forehead and muck smeared up to his elbows. By God, what had happened to Prudence and Neil? She might be excused for forgetting her newly arrived at position in the world, but Weathersby had been born into the aristocracy. There was no excuse for him to be acting like some common laborer.
He tightened his arms around Pru, forcing her drenched back against his chest. Tremors ran through her. Obviously she was chilled to the bone.
Prudence shook with rage. How dare he show up without any warning and treat her like some—some baggage. People were in danger—people whose family had worked his land for generations. They stood to lose everything they owned because of his careless stewardship, and all he cared about was maintaining his stupid family dignity.
She'd once heard her Uncle Oscar say that aristocrats were a blight on the backs of the common man. Because of her mother's background, Prudence had resented his saying such a thing, but now she wondered if he wasn't correct. And due to her marriage, she was one of them and expected to live by their selfish standards. The thought made her stomach churn.
Tightly held against Malvern's body, Prudence tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “Are you trying to punish me by squeezing me to death?”
The pressure of his arms slackened a bit. “I'm not punishing you, I'm rescuing you.”
“I was in no more danger than any of the others.”
“You aren't like the others. You are the Countess of Malvern.”
Forcing the words though lips tight with anger, she said, “I am and always will be Prudence Crump.”
His voice acquired the tones of a pontificating curate. “When you married me, you became a member of an illustrious family that has served this nation with honor for generations. You now have a duty to maintain the dignity of that family.”
“Is it dignified to see people suffering and not lift a hand to help?”
“There are acceptable ways to help the poor. You send others or even deliver sustenance yourself, but you do not wade through a flood in heavy skirts. My God, woman, you were nearly swept away.”
“The water came up so quickly...” What was the use of trying to explain anything to him? He was a cold-hearted man who cared for nothing but appearances. She let her back slump against his body as fatigue overcame her. The feel of her soppy woolen petticoats clinging heavily up to her knees told her just how high the water had come and how easily she could have fallen in it.
She tucked her head against his chest and closed her eyes against threatening tears. In truth, she had been frightened before he had suddenly appeared and shocked her into near insensibility. Now the strength and warmth coming from his body comforted her. But she mustn't lean too heavily on him. Like all men, he was unreliable. She had to depend on herself and could do that only if she maintained her own identity.
They rode the rest of the way to Aysbeck Hall in silence. He handed her down at the front door with orders to “get out of those wet clothes” and rode on to the stables.
Malvern hurried up the main staircase, eager to get into dry clothing. He met Victor at the doorway to his room. The valet carried a large copper can of steaming water.
“I'll have a hot bath ready for you in a few moments, my lord,” Victor said as though it were a great achievement. “The plumbing in this old house is abominable and servants are non-existent.”
In the room, Malvern began to peel off his wet clothes. “Evidently they've all gone to fight the flood.”
“According to the cook, two farm girls and an elderly caretaker are the only other servants.”
Malvern shook his head in amazement. What on earth had Prudence been doing here for over a month? Was refusing to have a proper staff some sort of rebellion against her exile? If so, she only hurt herself. “I suppose I'll have to attend to the matter myself. Remind me to speak to Snavely tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lord.” Victor took the wet cloak and arranged it over a chair near the fireplace where a fire blazed merrily.
Eying the brass tub in front of the fire with anticipation, Malvern stripped off his vest and cravat. “Surely the countess has a lady's maid?”
With an expression that clearly showed his disapproval, Victor said, “According to the cook, the two girls working here hardly qualify as scullery maids.”
Malvern remembered how cold and bedraggled Prudence had looked when he had last seen her. Knowing no one would fetch hot water for her, he decided she needed this bath more than he did. He stepped to the door that joined her room to his, and without a thought to her privacy, entered.
She knelt on a small rug in front of a sputtering fire, washing her bare body from a china basin on the floor beside her. The flickering firelight gave her skin a bronze cast, making her look like a voluptuous statue. He hadn't remembered her breasts being so full.
Seeing him, she gasped in alarm and hastily pulled a large linen square around her shoulders, hiding her body.
“It's only me,” he said.
She looked up at him with wide eyes that looked almost afraid. “What do you want?”
Her reaction took him by surprise. After the week they'd spent together at Wildwood Lodge, her show of maidenly modesty seemed odd. “Victor has heated water for a bath. I thought you might like to share it.”
She shook her head. “I'm almost done here, and I need to get downstairs.”
He noticed the set of her lips and realized she was more angry than frightened. What did she have to be angry about? He had come here prepared to forgive the wrongs she had done him, had rescued her from a flood, and now offered to delay his bath, and she still treated him churlishly. So be it. If she wanted to do without, he'd let her. Striding back into his room, he closed the door a bit too decisively.
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Chapter 14
Refreshed after a hot bath, Malvern started downstairs hoping the cook in this poorly run household could produce something decent to eat. A brace of candles lit the first floor hallway, but the rooms on either side were dark. He paused at the doorway of the tomb-like dining room and then noticed light and a considerable amount of noise coming from the back of the house. He thought about ringing the silver bell on the sideboard, but decided no one would hear it and he started down the hallway.
After pushing the kitchen door open, he stared in amazement at a scene that could have come straight from Bedlam. Prudence stood surrounded by the cook and a half dozen others, including four wet children, the smallest of whom bellowed loudly for want of his mother. Malvern raised his voice to a volume that would easily have reached all members of the Ho
use of Lords.
“What is going on here?”
Except for the child's whimpering, the room grew instantly silent and all eyes turned toward him. With a clearly irritated expression, Prudence replied, “The Bailey children have just arrived. When they're settled, you can have your dinner.”
The cook waved a wooden spoon in an exasperated manner. “How can I fix a meal with all this to-do in my kitchen?”
“Mrs. Jones.” Prudence's voice had a militant quality Malvern had never heard from her before. “These children are wet, hungry, and frightened. I think we can all bear a little inconvenience to help them.”
A snaggle-toothed boy with a mop of unruly brown hair indignantly puffed out his chest. “Ah ain't afeared o’ no flood.”
The young woman who held the whining child smacked his shoulder. “Don't be talking back to ‘er ladyship, bucko.”
“Now, Polly,” Prudence began.
“Look at all the water they've dripped on t'floor.” Mrs. Jones pointed with her spoon. “A body could fall and kill ‘erself.”
The baby revived and loudly cried, “Mam, mam.”
Malvern saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned to catch Victor carrying wet clothing and edging toward a doorway next to the kitchen. “Where are you going?”
Glancing warily at the noisy occupants of the kitchen, Victor pointed toward a closed door. “The laundry room. There are drying racks.”
Seeing a ray of light, Malvern told Victor to wait and then turned back to the bedlamites. He addressed the girl holding the baby. “Young woman, are you related to these children?”
She dipped him an awkward curtsy. “Aye, yer lordship. They be my brothers and sisters.”
“Fine. Follow Victor to the laundry room and get them out of their wet clothing.”
“They got nothing else to put on,” she replied in a distressed voice.
Just then Neil Weathersby, muddy and carrying a large basket, clomped in through the back door. “Their mother sent this clothing, but most of it is wet too.”