by Sarah Winn
She stepped to the doorway. The chair behind the desk was empty. A flash of white caught her eye and she turned to see Neil sprawled in an armchair near the fireplace, an empty brandy sniffer in his hand.
“Isn't a bit early for you to be drinking?” She took a few more steps into the room.
“What did she say?”
“What?”
He sat his glass on a nearby table. “Effie. After you told her what a worthless scoundrel I am.”
“I didn't tell her. I imagine you'll let her know soon enough.”
He stood in a fluid motion. “Oh, Pru, thank you, thank you.”
She removed her bonnet and dropped her gloves inside it. “I didn't do it for you. I just couldn't bear to ruin her happiness.”
He walked over and gave her a hug with both arms. She couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. “Why ever you did it, I thank you, and I promise to do everything in my power to make Effie happy.”
As he stepped back from her, she looked into his face, trying to judge his sincerity. Was it possible that he had more than a financial interest in Effie? Only time would tell.
“Where's Malvern?” she asked.
“I don't know. He left without saying where he was going.”
“Perhaps he's at the stable checking on his new horses.”
“When I say left, I mean he left Aysbeck, taking luggage and his valet with him.”
The room began to spin. Prudence staggered and Neil reached out and steadied her.
“You're as white as a sheet, sister. What's the matter? Did you and Malvern have another argument this morning? Is that why he left?” With his arm around her shoulder, he helped her to a chair.
Was Neil right? Had Malvern become fed up with her belligerent attitude? “Di—didn't he say anything?”
“Oh, he said he'd left a letter for you in your sitting room.”
A man wouldn't leave a letter for his wife, unless he had something important to say. Perhaps he'd told her he was tired of her always arguing with him and never doing what she was told. Tears began to run down her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands.
Neil must have pulled mightily on the bell cord, for Hazel ran into the room with Mrs. Fossey a few steps behind her, and both of them crowded around Prudence's chair, demanding to know what was wrong and what they could do to help.
“I don't know what's wrong,” Neil said in a higher-pitched voice than usual. “She just fell to pieces.”
“Hazel, fetch my smelling-salts, it's in the—”
Prudence interrupted Mrs. Fossey. “No, no, I'm not going to faint.” She took a handkerchief someone thrust into her hand and wiped at her tears.
“My mam gets all emotional when she's carrying,” Hazel said.
“Carrying what?” Neil asked.
Prudence looked up at her maid, whose cheeks had turned a bright pink. A baby! Was that possible? Dear God, did I chase my husband away just when I need him the most? A new flood of tears came.
Prudence got to her feet and staggered blindly toward the doorway. “I have to go upstairs.” She had to see the letter.
Hazel and Mrs. Fossey grabbed her arms and led her toward the stairs.
Somehow, she made it up to her sitting room and wiped her tears away so that she could see the piece of folded paper, sitting like a white tent on the table where she and Malvern had dined the previous evening when everything between them had seemed so good.
Picking it up, she ran over to the window where the light was a little brighter.
Prudence,
I have business matters to attend to. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, but I promise to be back before the Christmas party.
Malvern
That didn't tell her much, except that he would be back. But was he only coming back because of the Christmas party that was his idea in the first place?
She grabbed a handful of the drapery and held on while pressing the letter to her breasts, which, now that she thought about it, had been feeling a little tender the last week or so.
Fat raindrops splattered against her window. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Oh, Anthony, please come back to me.
Mrs. Fossey asked if she wouldn't like to lie down for a bit, and Hazel offered to get a hot brick to warm her feet, and Prudence collapsed into their care, needing their warmth, their concern.
Malvern stared out the window of his cab as it moved toward the industrialized part of town. Tenements were tightly packed near the factories where men, women, and children earned their daily bread. He'd never been to Manchester before. While he'd known it was the center for cotton manufactories in England, he'd had no idea so many people lived here in such squalid conditions.
The cab moved through an opening in a wooden fence and approached a stark brick building with tall, thin, soot-covered windows. A sign overhead read “Crump Cotton Manufactory.” The cab stopped in front of doors labeled “Offices” and Malvern stepped out, paid the driver, and then stood for a moment, listening to the pounding of steam engines and the clackety-clack of looms.
He went inside the building and after closing the door, the noise lessened, but he could feel the wooden floors under his feet vibrate from the force of nearby machines.
He gave his name to the clerk seated at a reception desk.
The man stood and hurried around the desk. “Yes, Lord Malvern, Mr. Crump is expecting you. This way, please.”
Malvern had sent a note to Crump's home the previous night, stating his intentions to call today, but he had wondered what sort of welcome he'd receive.
At the end of a hall, the clerk knocked on a polished mahogany door, and then ushered Malvern inside. The clerk announced the visitor and quickly left.
A heavy-set, balding man, sitting behind a large desk piled with papers, looked over the reading glasses resting halfway down his nose. He gestured toward a chair in front of the desk. “What can I do for you, Lord Malvern?” The way he stressed the name clearly showed disdain for it.
Malvern sat, determined to be polite to the man because he was Prudence's relative. “I don't know if you're aware of it, but I recently married your niece, Prudence.”
Crump removed his eyeglasses with a jerk. “Fortunately, I read the London newspapers, or I would not have known, since no one had the courtesy to notify me.”
Was the man feeling slighted because he had not been invited to the wedding? “We had a small ceremony at my country seat since Prudence was still in mourning.”
“But why the rush?” Crump said and twisted his mouth into a definite sneer.
Malvern began to understand why Prudence had such negative feelings toward her uncle. The man was disagreeable. “I've come here to notify you of the wedding and to get information about Prudence.”
“Information? Is that what the nobility calls money these days?” The man was downright insulting.
“I'm not here to play games with you, Crump. I know there's no dowry, but I want to know why. Prudence was terribly hurt by her father's failure to provide for her. I cannot believe a man who supposedly loved his daughter would have done such a thing without a good reason.”
Crump's fist crashed down on his desk, scattering papers. “My brother adored that girl and his uppity wife too. He provided well for them.”
“Then why was the family sent to rusticate in the country after the father's death?”
Crump took several breaths as though trying to calm himself. “It was necessary because of the mother's health. The doctors told my brother that her lungs were bad, that she wouldn't last long unless she lived away from dirty city air. Before Horace could make arrangements to move her, he had his first heart attack. He begged me to take care of his family, but made me promise not to tell Lydia about her health problems.
“He always tried to protect that woman, thought she was so special because she was related to a duke, but he left me in a pretty pickle, I can tell you that.”
“What do you mean?”
&n
bsp; “Lydia was not an easy woman to get along with. Even as she got sicker, she kept demanding I move them to London. The only way I could keep her in the country was to keep a tight rein on the purse strings. I gave her an adequate allowance, but it was never enough because she sent every spare penny to that son of hers.”
His face grew redder as he spoke. “She may have loved Prudence, but she adored Neil. Wanted him to live like a ‘gentleman.’ Crump money paid for his education, but when I offered to teach him the cotton business, he turned his nose up at that. Preferred to sponge off his mother than to do an honest day's work. So I cut him loose and kept his mother on a short leash.”
Malvern could understand Crump's resentment toward Neil, but not his callousness toward his niece. “And what of Prudence? Did she have to lose her birthright so you could teach her brother a lesson?”
Crump grimaced and shook his head. “She's lost nothing. I've managed her inheritance carefully. If she'd come to me as I asked her to, I would have seen to making a proper marriage for her.”
Malvern's hold on his temper snapped. “She's married to an earl, by God, what's improper about that?”
The belligerent bastard did not back down. “Considering how rushed the ceremony was, I hate to think, but I'm betting her brother had something to do with it.”
Malvern hated the man for being right.
“But now that you are married,” Crump continued, “I suppose I have no choice but to turn her money over to you.”
He acted as though he were relinquishing the crown jewels. “How much money are you talking about?” Malvern asked.
“I've put her earnings from the company into government funds. There's about twenty thousand pounds, and more being added every year.”
My God, Prudence is an heiress.
“If you leave the funds intact, the five percent earnings will easily pay for all Prudence's expenses and the principal can go to her children.”
Malvern roused himself from his numbness. He didn't like the idea of Oscar Crump telling him what to do, even if it were a good suggestion. “It's a little late for you to start thinking about protecting Prudence. She's married to me now, and under the law a wife's wealth belongs to her husband.”
“Now see here, Malvern.”
“It's Lord Malvern to you. Only my friends call me Malvern.” He stood, plopped his top hat on his head, and feeling sure Crump would not give Prudence a dime unless it were called for in her father's will, Malvern said, “My solicitors will contact you.” Then he stomped out of the office.
He had come to Manchester hoping to discover something that would convince Prudence her father had indeed loved her, and he had succeeded. But if she'd known she had such a fortune, she would not have needed to marry him. When he told her what he had discovered, would she forever regret their marriage?
Prudence had plenty to do while Anthony was away, but no matter how busy she kept herself, she still worried about why he had left and when he would return. There were times when she grew teary-eyed and could find no cure except a little nap.
Hazel was now quite sure that Prudence was “carrying,” and Mrs. Fossey had started agreeing with her, and Prudence had to admit they were probably right, but she had mixed emotions about it. On the one hand she was happy at the thought of having a child of her own, on the other she worried what Anthony would do if she presented him with his heir.
Would he lose all interest in her and stop coming to her bed? Such thoughts tended to inspire another spell of weeping and thereby prove she'd been absolutely right to try to avoid becoming attached to her husband. Why hadn't she followed her own advice and kept her heart locked away from him?
But perhaps this panic she felt at the very thought of her husband putting her out of his life was just another symptom of being with child. Surely, she hadn't really fallen in love with her arrogant earl.
On the fifth day of his absence in the late afternoon, she awoke from another little nap. Were those footsteps in the hallway? Male footsteps? Was the door to his bedroom opening and closing? Her first instinct was to leap from the bed and fly to investigate, but she talked herself out of making such a childish display. Besides, it would be unwise to show Malvern how dependant she had become on him.
Instead she got up, washed the sleep from her eyes and combed and pinned up her hair. The muffled sound of men's voices coming from Anthony's bedroom assured her that he was indeed home. She remembered that Neil would be dining at Pepper Hill tonight and decided to have their dinner served in the sitting room as they had the last night he'd been home—the last night she'd been truly happy.
She hurried downstairs to tell cook of this change in plans.
Anthony didn't appear until Polly and Alfie were unloading dishes onto the table in the sitting room. He was freshly shaven and wore his coat and cravat just as he would have if they were to eat in the formal dining room. Was that a sign of something to come?
She tried to keep her voice casual as she said, “Welcome home.”
He smiled briefly. “It's good to be home. I was traveling almost the entire time I was away.”
“Surely you haven't been to London and back in five days.”
“No, I didn't go to London.” He held her chair, waiting for her to sit.
Would he tell her where he had been after the servants left or did he have no intention of telling her? She remembered him saying, before they married, “I shall come and go as I please.”
A lump began to build in her throat. She hurriedly sat, shook out her napkin, and took a sip of water. Once the soup had been served, Anthony dismissed the servants.
When they were alone, he said, “Where's Neil tonight?”
“He's having dinner at Pepper Hill.”
“So the lovebirds are still cooing?”
“I didn't say anything to Effie about Neil.”
“Why not?”
Could she tell him, because you told me not to? Knowing he probably wouldn't believe she'd suddenly become so obedient, she said, “I didn't want to spoil her happiness.”
He nodded. “I rather thought you'd feel that way.”
“Then why did you try to—to persuade me not to go?”
He paused with his spoon in midair. “I just wanted you to calm down before you went. You're a kind person, Pru. You never deliberately hurt people.”
He resumed eating his soup, and she wondered if he had meant his last remark. Did he admire kindness? He seemed different tonight, subdued, almost sad. Perhaps he was just tired from his travels—his mysterious travels.
After they finished the soup and set the bowls aside, Anthony removed the silver cover from the platter that held roast beef and boiled potatoes. As they ate that course, he asked casual questions about what had happened while he was away, how plans for the Christmas party were coming, whether Neil had been training the new hunters.
She tried to answer him with good cheer, but a cold knot of dread grew in her chest, making it impossible for her to swallow more food. She felt as if a sword, suspended by a fine cord, hovered above her head.
Finally he laid aside his knife and fork. “There's something important we need to talk about.”
Her pulse quickened. “Yes?”
“I went to Manchester to see you uncle.”
“Why?” she asked in honest astonishment.
“I couldn't imagine a father not loving a daughter like you, so I demanded an explanation for the way you've been treated.”
Prudence stared at him wide-eyed. She had told him about her father during their last argument, when she'd refused to obey him. Why had he gone to so much trouble after she had behaved so badly? “Was Uncle Oscar rude to you? Mama always said he hated aristocrats.”
“He wasn't particularly gracious, but he lost his temper when I suggested your father had not loved you. He said your father spent his last days making arrangements for you and your mother.”
Prudence huffed indignantly. “Why would father have arranged
for us live in the country? He knew mother wouldn't like that.”
“Just before your father became ill himself, the doctors told him your mother's health was poor and that she needed country air. He didn't want to frighten her so he made his brother promise to make her in live in the country without telling her why.”
Prudence had believed her mother's health failed because of her heartbreak over her husband's betrayal, but looking back she remembered the coughing spells her mother had had even before her father had died. “So she had to live in the country?”
“Yes.”
She found it hard to believe anything her uncle said. “But why was there so little money? We had to scrimp to pay the bills. Every time Uncle Oscar came to visit he and mother would argue about money. He finally stopped coming and just sent our allowance to the local bank.”
“Crump found out your mother was supporting Neil's exorbitant life style in London and sought to prevent that.”
“But my father was an equal partner in the company. Mother thought she should have gotten half of everything.”
“I suppose your father didn't trust her to manage that much money, so he made his brother the trustee of the estate, even though he left it to you and your mother.”
Prudence continued to stare at Anthony, but she really wasn't seeing him. Instead, she saw her father jokingly chastising her mother for not being able to say no to her son, and her mother smiling at him and saying he was just as bad with their daughter. “He did love me, didn't he?”
“Yes, I'm sure he did.”
“He should have told Mother why she had to live in the country.”
“Perhaps, but he wanted to protect the woman he loved.”
She used her napkin to dab at tears in the corners of her eyes. “I was wrong about their love, wasn't I?”
“There's something else you must understand.”
He looked down at his plate and began to scratch a pattern in the greasy beef gravy with his fork. “You have inherited a large amount of money. Your uncle has been investing it in government funds. I think it best to leave the funds intact, but there will be a yearly income of at least a thousand pounds.”
That was twice as much as she and her mother had lived on in Huffington. Anthony kept scratching at his plate. Why wouldn't he look at her?