by Sahara Kelly
Lady Jocelyn put her cup and saucer down on the tray, and brushed her hands over her gown. “Well, now that you’ve brought it up…”
“I do beg your pardon, my Lady. The Southwick carriage is ready.” Bunbury stood in the doorway, unflappable, every inch the perfect butler. “I understand the coachman is concerned about more snow and would like to return the ladies home before full darkness falls.”
“Of course. How thoughtless of us to keep you here, dear Mary.” Lady Jocelyn rose. “Not for the world would I risk your person, nor that of dear Emmeline, by sending you out if travel were unsafe.”
Left without a word to say, Lady Southwick rose. She had no other choice. Emmeline stood as well.
“Ladies, it’s been delightful. I thank you for a most pleasant afternoon.” Reid realized he could lie almost as well as his mother. Heavens. What were the Chillendales coming to?
Maids hurried in with cloaks, wraps and muffs, and within ten minutes the two women were tucked into the Southwick coach and sent on their way with many well wishes and insincere sentiments.
“Dreadful woman,” Lady Jocelyn muttered, sotto voce.
“I heard that.”
“And you, my son, devil that you are, where the hell were you?” She spun around as soon as they returned to the drawing room. “You let me deal with those two addle-pated nincompoops for nearly an hour. Alone. When Mary wasn’t looking down her nose at me and mentally pricing my silverware, young Emmeline was telling me about her dawling puppy. Aaargh.”
“Sherry, mother? Or brandy?”
Lady Jocelyn narrowed her eyes and glared at her child. “Damn. Give me a little of your father’s Scotch. And don’t mention it to him.”
Reid grinned and obeyed, pouring two helpings of the amber liquor. “And you expect me to wed that chit?” He passed her the glass. “Really, Mama? You want her as your daughter-in-law for the rest of your life? And are you even thinking of mine? I’ll spend the rest of my life being “dear Weed”. How do you think that makes me feel?”
He tossed back the Scotch, relishing the warm burn on his throat, then observed his mother doing exactly the same.
Their gazes met. They paused—and then both burst out laughing.
Lady Jocelyn caught her breath. “Well, love. I’m thinking that this is all making you feel weely wotten.”
Five minutes later, when mother and son had gotten their breath back and could look at each other without bursting into guffaws again, Reid shook his head. “I cannot marry that girl, Mama. Let’s admit it. I wasn’t sure in the first place, but now? After this afternoon? I’m sure. She’s not the one for me.”
Lady Jocelyn’s sharp eyes remained on her son’s face, but she nodded. “I think you’re right. ‘T’is a pity though. She’s the only eligible girl hereabouts. I’m not sure what we can do about the Mistletoe Ball without a woman at your side.”
“There’s nobody at all?”
“Reid, there are lots of lovely girls in the village. But you can’t, in all fairness to the Chillendale line, wed a milkmaid.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why not, when the dinner bell rang. Which probably saved him from a scolding.
Much later that evening, he thought to ask his parents a question which had popped into his mind as he stared into the fire in the family parlor. “Father, have you or Mama ever heard the name Eldridge?”
*~~*~~*
Prudence pulled another candle from her small store and lit it from the embers in the fire. The light was welcome, but she was warm enough and had no complaints about her humble accommodations.
It was indeed a clever little hideaway, using the rock face as an impenetrable wall and the overhang as the basis for the rest of the enclosure. The boys had woven reeds and green things through the slats they’d nailed together, and over time—at least fifteen years or so, she guessed—nature itself had provided the mortar to seal the joints. It was thus snug, if cool, and almost invisible.
But tonight, with the one candle flickering around and revealing her personal belongings, it felt like an empty home.
It was the first time Prudence could remember feeling quite so alone. She’d always been gregarious, even as a child. Aunt Dorothea had recognized that and encouraged her to mingle with all levels of society, carelessly disregarding murmurs of disapproval from her peers.
As she matured, her natural pleasure in the company of others became tempered by caution and discretion. After learning the circumstances surrounding her birth, she understood they were to be hidden, and she obeyed. They meant little to her, but if they upset others, then she would conceal them. Perhaps even forget them.
Which she had done most successfully until her aunt informed her that it was time for her to marry—and Lord Eldridge of Bickford Mere had requested her hand. He was over sixty, possessed of a sizeable estate, and needed an heir.
Upon hearing that, all her girlish dreams evaporated in that one instant. Her hopes of being allowed to learn about the things that fascinated her, or to read every book she desired…all vanished with that announcement.
She had no choice at all in the matter. In fairness, she knew her aunt was ailing, and with the optimism of youth did her best to keep hoping that matters would improve. Sadly, they had not.
Her aunt had lived to accomplish the task of settling her niece with a husband, and seeing her walk down the aisle to become Lady Prudence Eldridge. Prudence returned from her somewhat dismal honeymoon, on the Yorkshire moors, to the sad news that her aunt had passed away.
From that point on, she was on her own. And she accepted that, determined to make a life for herself that would render her content.
Lord Eldridge, however, had other ideas.
For the next few years, Prudence worked harder than she had ever worked before. It seemed that Eldridge was under the assumption that a wife would do everything the servants would do. Therefore, he did not need more than a few to take care of the rest.
He sacked most of the Bickford Mere staff, and his wife found herself doing more cooking and less reading, more cleaning and less learning. She fell into bed at night, exhausted, only to have her nightrobe tossed over her head while her husband took his pleasure of her in increasingly futile attempts to father an heir.
It was, without roundaboutation, a living hell. She endured it for six long years, during which she developed a backbone of steel and an ability to wipe all her emotions from her face when necessary.
As her husband began to weaken, mostly due to his affinity for imbibing to excess over his meals and an utter lack of interest in any exercise, Prudence gently assumed a little control over the household. By the time he was confined to his bed, she ran the place, and upon his demise, Bickford Mere was a thriving concern once again, with a full staff, spotless rooms and a good income from the estate.
Content to be a widow, she looked forward to many years at the home she’d built without help from anyone.
But, thanks to the law and human greed, it was not to be.
A hitherto unknown male Eldridge relation presented himself as the rightful heir. The title was a lifetime honor, and not in perpetuity, so he would not have the right to call himself Lord Eldridge. But after several months, the lawyers confirmed that he was indeed the heir to her husband’s estate.
Prudence was offered the opportunity to remain and help the new owner, his wife, and their six children adapt to life at Bickford Mere.
She politely refused, and was gone with little more than a dress or two, before they took up residence.
She blessed the foresight that had urged her to make some arrangements that were purely personal. Thanks to that instinct, she now had a modest income which could, if managed conservatively, provide her with a small house should she wish to relocate.
She did, heading south toward her early home. And finally she settled into a lovely old cottage, taking the reins of management herself, and enjoying the chance to entertain her cousin and the few close friends s
he’d kept over the years.
Thanks to cousin Brent, she was now here, in Little Chillendale, curled up in her cloak and smiling at the memory of an afternoon that had exploded into something completely unexpected.
She stiffened, suddenly hearing a sound outside. It might be a fox, or another creature hunting for food.
But then there was a definite footfall, and a crunch of snow. Followed by a muttered oath.
Prudence smiled, leaped from the bed and hurried to open the door.
“Well dammit. I had forgotten what a slog it was to get her.”
Brent shouldered his way through the door and then turned to look at her. “Pru, you look lovelier every time I see you. Even here in this squalor. I doubt Reid will be able to resist you, no matter who he’s got lined up for his Mistletoe mate.”
He hugged her, bringing the scent of snow and pine in with him.
“It’s good to see you, my dear cousin. I’m perfectly happy here. It’s just as you told me. As a matter of fact, it’s even better. So you may stop trying your hand at matchmaking.” She grinned and hugged him back.
“Let me get rid of this cloak and then you can tell me how you’ve fared over the last couple of days. Now that I’m here we can move to rooms at the Little Chillendale Inn, but for tonight, let’s pretend we’re twelve and hiding from the grown-ups, while preparing for a great adventure.”
Prudence chuckled. “Oh I can manage that without a problem, I assure you.” She turned to put another log on the fire to hide her grin.
I’ve had the most amazing adventure already.
Chapter Five
“Eldridge, Lord Eldridge…” murmured Sir Rodney from the depths of his overstuffed chair. “Seems to ring a bell somewhere.”
“Yes, I recall hearing that name.” Lady Jocelyn frowned. “Quite a while ago, though. And only in passing. Damned if I can even recall the conversation.”
“Wait,” Reid’s father held up one finger. “If my memory serves me, I believe he was with the foreign office after that nastiness in Paris. Served under Grenville, I think. He must be quite ancient by now.”
“Not local, then?” inquired Reid.
“Not that I know of.” His mother shook her head. “And I’ve lived here for many years, as has your father. I don’t believe there was ever an Eldridge connection in this area. Certainly not a Lord Eldridge. Mary Southwick would be constantly mentioning him if there were.” She gave him a wicked grin.
“Where’d you hear the name, son?”
“A passing conversation this afternoon, Father. Someone who used to live near here mentioned his name.”
“Oh?” His mother looked curious. “Who was that, then? Perhaps I’d know them and be able to make the connection.”
Reid shook his head, keeping his expression as bland as he could. “Just a chance encounter. Not a lot of people riding in this weather, so stopping for a brief chat with anyone out and about is to be expected.”
There, that should do it.
But in case it didn’t… ”Now what are we to do about the Mistletoe Ball? We’re all in agreement that marriage to that pea-brained…er…Emmeline Southwick is out of the question?”
His mother sighed as his father shrugged. “Never did think much of that match, to be honest. But you were dead set on it, Jocelyn.”
For once, his mother didn’t take offense at the accusation. “I know, dear. I think I was deliberately overlooking her faults in favor of her attributes. But today I realized there were too many of the former and too few of the latter. And I love my son too much to condemn him to a life with either of ‘em.”
Puzzling his way through his wife’s thought processes was tiring, so Sir Rodney just nodded. “Indeed.”
“Will there be a fuss if I don’t announce a Marchioness?”
Lady Jocelyn gave him one of her best sarcastic glares. “Was the Battle of Hastings a fuss?”
He sighed. “Point taken.”
“So what are our options, then, Joss?” Sir Rodney crossed his legs, resting one ankle on the other knee. “Maybe we could use Whiskey as a proxy until Reid finds the real thing.”
His wife was not amused.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Reid spoke the truth. “I understand that the Mistletoe Ball is a tradition that stretches back over two centuries, and God knows I don’t want to be the one to break it. But I cannot marry Emmeline to preserve that tradition. I cannot and will not make that sacrifice.”
“I know dear.” She leaned over and patted his hand. “Let me think about it. We still have a fortnight, which gives me chance to consider alternatives. I’ll talk to the ladies in the village and see if they have any bright ideas.”
“No village girls, mind.” Reid gazed soberly at his mother. “You’re the one who told me I couldn’t wed a milkmaid.”
“Good God, did you want to?” Sir Rodney blinked at him.
“No, sir.”
“Good thing too.” His father huffed. “Don’t mind new blood, but we do have the ale to think about.”
Since that was a non-sequitur that made no sense to either Reid or his mother, they let the comment pass unanswered.
Silence fell and after a little while, Reid stood. “Well, I’m going up. If either of you have an idea, I’d be willing to hear it. And I’ll do my best to think of a solution as well.”
“Thank you dear. That would be wonderful.” His mother gave him a wistful smile. “Perhaps the morning will bring some fresh suggestions.”
“I do hope so.”
And wasn’t that the truth.
*~~*~~*
The next morning, Reid was up and around earlier than his usual time, surprising Bunbury by arriving in the morning room along with the toast and scones.
“I do apologize, sir. The eggs will be in shortly.”
“Not to worry, Bunbury. Tea and toast will be fine. I’ve a busy day so I’ll be lunching in the brewery with m’father, I expect.”
“Very good, sir.”
Left to his own devices, Reid devoured the toast, hurried through his tea and was on his way out when he nearly ran over his mother.
“Ooops, sorry Mama.”
“You’re in a rush this morning?” She straightened her skirts.
“Sun’s shining. I thought I might get in a ride before going to work on the ales.”
“What a lovely idea.” She smiled at him, giving him a calculating look that chilled his marrow. “And where were you thinking of riding?”
“Oh, you know. Here and there.”
“I see.” She smiled sweetly. “Well, you’re a grown man. Enjoy your ride. And do be careful of falling branches, won’t you?” She strolled away into the morning room.
Reid swallowed, wondering what all that had been about. His mother had always seemed a little omniscient about things and that still bothered him now and again. Scrumping pears was one thing. But as she’d mentioned, he was now a grown man. He needed his privacy.
“Oh, don’t forget…” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “The Little Chillendale children’s Christmas Fête is this evening. Dinner will be early.”
“Oh lord.”
“Reid.” His mother stalked back to stand in front of him. “You will be there.” A finger poked his chest. Hard. “No excuses, my lad. This is important to all the children in the village. They worship you and if it wasn’t for them we probably wouldn’t be here. Showing up on time, with the requisite amount of enthusiasm…utterly crucial. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes Mama.” Reid nodded. “I will be there. I promise.”
And he meant it. He knew of old how much the children enjoyed their dressing up and how hard they worked to learn their lines for the traditional nativity play. There would be games, a tasty simple meal and plenty of sweetmeats, cakes, scones and pies—enough to satisfy everyone’s sweet tooth.
But there were things he wanted to do beforehand, and seeing Prudence was one of them. Which explained the fresh scones he’d tucked into a na
pkin on his way out of the morning room.
The repast was doomed to remain undelivered, though, crumbling in Reid’s pocket as he tapped on the door of the hideaway and called her name.
“Prudence, it’s Reid. Are you there? Are you all right?” He slipped the lock and peered inside. It was much as he’d left it, although he noticed the fire was out. Also the large bag she’d had tucked to one side had gone. The fur was still there, though, along with the tankards and teapot. Also a pile of neatly folded blankets to one side of a large stack of wood.
Hard to tell if she’d left or was just out somewhere.
He went back outside and listened. There was nothing, just the silence of the winter morning broken by distant birdsong.
He frowned and looked around, noticing footprints in the snow, and backtracking to see hoof prints as well. They came from a different direction, which was why he’d not seen them upon his arrival. Although he’d been so excited about the prospect of meeting Prudence again, he’d scarce been paying much attention to the tracks in the snow.
Frustrated, and more than a little concerned, Reid tried to work out what to do. Following the horse tracks seemed to be the most logical action, since there were no footprints leading away from the rock. So he did just that, but found himself swearing silently as they led to a lane where others had obviously traveled recently.
The tracks were lost in the muddy mess of many others, including what could easily have been a herd of cattle.
He sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to see Prudence this morning. But perhaps he could ride over this way after the evening’s Fête, which usually concluded at a reasonably early hour, given the age of the special guests.
Worried, but helpless, Reid returned to the brewery where he attempted to work, but eventually gave up in disgust with himself. His notes were illegible, his conclusions vague. It was, he admitted, a total waste of a morning.
And he’d missed lunch, since his father had chosen this of all mornings to pay a few local calls, spreading the seasonal cheer amongst others in the county.