“On many things.”
Of course, he would never have bet that he would be standing on top of a cliff, arguing the merits of marrying for love with a woman who seemed determined to reject the possibility.
She stopped and faced him, hands on her hips.
“Reality dictates that I face the fact that my chances of marrying for love were never that great to begin with. What odds would you lay on my chances of a man falling in love with me, or me with him for that matter, within the next three months?”
“I admit those are not odds I’d take, but then neither would I bet against it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I prefer a sure thing, Miss Ashcroft.”
Chapter Eight
Prudence steadied herself against the ornamental table in the hallway outside her room.
Had she really just fled from Mr. Evan? No. Of course not. An Ashcroft would never flee. She simply bade him a good day before making her way back down the path. Alone. As close to a run as the loose soil would allow. She slumped against the table, one hip supporting her. She had fled.
But why?
There was nothing sinister about Mr. Evan. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had come to her rescue twice, yet hadn’t tried to use that fact to gain any sort of advantage. He seemed quite ready to accept an apology for her behavior, all the while proclaiming an apology unnecessary. While he wasn’t as deferential as the average Ashcroft employee, neither had he been rude.
A little familiar, perhaps. Her face warmed. But not rude.
So why had she panicked?
There had been something in his eyes. But what? Friendliness? Appreciation? Desire?
No, the latter just wasn’t possible.
Prudence studied herself in the ornate mirror above the table. The muted afternoon sunlight streaming in from the tall windows at the end of the long hall gave her flushed face a soft glow but did nothing to hide her disheveled state.
She tugged off her formerly white cap, and a layer of grit fell from the ruffled brim. Hair pins bounced and danced across the table. Her lopsided chignon melted away, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders in a tangle of auburn curls.
It could not have been desire she read in his eyes. He would have to be mad to desire a woman so lacking in refinement.
But there had been something there. She had seen it in his eyes. Sensed a connection unlike anything she had ever felt before, with anyone.
But then, she had never met anyone like Mr. Evan before. Talking with him was even easier than talking to Richard. So much so, that she let down her guard and almost told him the whole of her marriage plans. She certainly shared more than she would have with Richard.
Green eyes contemplated her from the mirror.
Perhaps that was why she fled. Perhaps she simply wanted to avoid giving away her plans. Not that Mr. Evan could hinder her in any way, but she didn’t care to have him privy to her innermost thoughts.
Her reflection arched an eyebrow.
No, it was more than that. She hadn’t fled from Mr. Evan so much as the seed of an idea that he had planted. She chewed her lower lip and gave her mirrored counterpart a pensive look.
Maybe…just possibly…there might be a chance… could she fulfill her grandmother’s wishes without ceding her rightful place at the head of Ashcroft?
“Would Mr. Evan do?” she asked her reflection.
Green eyes warmed.
He seemed curious, but not overly inquisitive. She had been tense and ready for a barrage of questions when he pointed out the patrol boat in the harbor. However, his interest had been more polite than concerned, as though they were discussing the latest gossip over a cup of tea.
She no longer considered him a simpleton. Not a man of business to be sure, but then a stable master required a certain kind of intelligence. If not with numbers, at least with animals. More to the point, he seemed kind and easy to be around. If nothing else, she could certainly be friends with him. Couldn’t she?
But would he agree?
Prudence frowned at her reflection. That might be a challenge.
But then again, he was a stable master. Surely the money would entice him, even if she could not.
I wouldn’t say scrawny.
The corner of his lips had turned up as he said those words. He might have been teasing her, but had she detected a certain…appreciation in his voice? More than once, she caught his gaze lingering on her bodice.
At the time, she thought him to be judging her poor taste in fashion. The gown she wore was at least ten years out of fashion, and as was her custom when she walked the path along the cliffs or rode Bolt through the meadow, she had worn jumps instead of stays.
Some considered the lack of formality a sign of a disreputable character, a looseness of morals. But thinking back, she couldn’t detect any sign of disapproval in his handsome face.
But what had she seen in his dark eyes?
Prudence ran a hand down the front of her bodice. While fashion dictated a conical shape, her shape would better be described as a tube. Although her waist was narrow, her chest was hardly much wider. Even when she wore a corset, tying it tight enough to press her breasts upward made her chest appear even smaller.
Prudence sighed and dropped her hand. Did she really want a man who would find her appealing anyway? One who might insist on his marital rights?
Her reflection arched the other eyebrow.
These fledgling feelings that so upset her stomach and disquieted her nerves would go away in time. She was sure of it. And it wasn’t as if Mr. Evan would suffer. With his newfound wealth, he could well afford to satisfy his needs elsewhere.
An unexpected tightness settled in her chest.
Should he happen to want her, then… She gave her unflattering reflection a dismissive glance.
No, her proposition would need to remain a business arrangement. No good could come of thinking about that which she would never have.
“Did you have a good walk, miss?”
Prudence started at the sound of Netty’s voice. She whirled to face her maid.
“Yes, Netty, thank you.”
How long had she been there? She studied Netty’s beautiful, impassive face. Had her maid been lurking in the corner, watching her?
“Can I get you some tea, Miss Ashcroft? You must be positively exhausted after your walk.”
Netty’s tone seemed vaguely disapproving, but not enough to warrant an admonishment. Besides, it could just be her imagination.
The knot in Prudence’s stomach unwound.
“Netty, I would like some refreshment, but not tea.” The path she was about to embark upon called for something stronger than tea. “Perhaps a glass of Madeira. Bring it to my room, please.”
Netty paused for a moment, almost as if unsure she had heard her mistress right. A flash of something unfathomable crossed her face, then disappeared.
“Yes, miss.” Netty gave a half-hearted curtsey and vanished down the back stairs.
Prudence and her green-eyed reflection eyed each other with approbation. She would need strength, but she also felt like celebrating. If all went well, her troubles would soon be behind her.
****
By the time Netty knocked on her bedroom door, serving tray in hand, Prudence had settled herself at the writing desk, blank parchment in front of her, quill poised above it.
Netty set the silver tray containing a bottle of Madeira and a crystal goblet on the desk beside her.
Prudence composed the beginning of her note in her head while she waited for her maid to leave. Netty didn’t move.
Prudence glanced over her shoulder. Had Netty’s gaze been on the parchment?
“Shall I pour for you, miss?” Netty’s smile looked like an afterthought.
“No, thank you. That will be all, Netty.”
Netty’s calico skirt and petticoats rustled when she shifted her weight, but she didn’t move toward the door. “Would you like some light in here,
Miss Ashcroft? Perhaps I can open the curtains for you?”
“No, thank you, Netty.”
“Something to eat?”
“Thank you, Netty, but no.” Prudence gave her maid a hard look. “Now, I really do have piles of correspondence to catch up on this afternoon. I’d appreciate it if you kept me from being disturbed.”
“Yes, of course, Miss Ashcroft.”
With a haughty air, but a definite reluctance in her step, Netty left Prudence to her task. Prudence watched her go, almost envying the regal way Netty carried herself. She considered, not for the first time, what sort of history her maid had left behind before coming to Ashcroft.
She had been in Boston when Netty arrived at Ashcroft, but if memory served, Grandma Rachel had purchased her indenture to ensure the beautiful girl had a position where she would be safe from disreputable male employers who preyed on the less fortunate.
As their length of servitude was temporary, at least theoretically, Rachel Ashcroft hadn’t insisted on the formal propriety of so many of the wealthy elite in the colonies. At Ashcroft, even maids like Netty wore calicoes and other fine fabrics with brightly printed designs. Though often cast-offs or fashions that had gone out of style, Grandma Rachel felt it gave them a sense of individuality that would serve them well once they earned their independence. She hadn’t condoned the practice of indentured servitude, but as long as she couldn’t do anything about it as a whole, she looked for ways to help individuals who had been caught in its web.
Still, not everyone appreciated the help. Was Netty like an apple freshly fallen from the tree? Even though they might look bright and shiny, in reality their core had already begun to rot.
Prudence shook off the vague sense of wariness she always had when her maid was around. She would deal with that later. For now, she had a letter to write.
How did one go about proposing marriage to a man? She paused for only a moment before the words flew from her quill as naturally as if she spoke them aloud.
Mr. Evan,
As you are aware, I must marry within the next three months. I have decided you are an appropriate choice and would ask that you agree to marry me as soon as can conveniently be arranged. I will have my man of business draw up the specifics and deliver them to you.
Miss Prudence Ashcroft
Prudence frowned as she reread her note. The coldness of the words didn’t seem appropriate for a man as warm as Mr. Evan.
She didn’t want to get too far into the specifics of the arrangement. That was best left for a face-to-face discussion. However, she must not lead him to believe she felt nothing for him. Their marriage might be a business arrangement, but that did not mean they could not be friends. After all, she had a business relationship with Richard, and they were still friends.
Prudence crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the smoldering embers in the hearth. It flared to life for a moment then crumbled to ash.
Satisfied no one could read her ill-crafted proposal should they find it when they came to sweep the hearth, she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began again.
My Dearest Mr. Evan,
Yes, that was how a woman should greet the man she planned to marry.
As you are aware, I must marry within the next three months.
Prudence considered crumpling the paper and starting again, but there could be no getting around the cold facts behind her proposal. Better to lay them out so Mr. Evan did not wonder about her purpose.
I have decided we would suit each other well, and I hope, after giving this careful consideration, you will come to the same conclusion.
Prudence tapped the quill against her chin. How old was Mr. Evan anyway? Twenty and four? Twenty and five? Maybe older, but certainly not yet thirty. Although a man of means might make an advantageous match in his early twenties, she had no idea at what age a man of Mr. Evan’s means settled down. He might not even be contemplating marriage yet.
Then again, given his comments of this afternoon, it was clear he still considered love fundamental to marriage. Was he holding out for love?
She knew of muddle-headed women who still believed in romantic notions of love, but she had never heard of a man doing so. No, men were more pragmatic. He would gauge the advantages in a more practical light.
She didn’t really need to spell it out in detail. The advantages of the union should be obvious, even to him. He would rise from the honorable but rather lowly position of stable master to head of an enormous empire. In title at least, he would also be head of Ashcroft & Sons. With that, came respect and wealth beyond anything he was ever likely to have imagined for himself.
Recalling the words he had spoken at the top of the cliff, Prudence set quill to paper.
While a marriage to me may not have been what you had in mind, think of my proposal as the sure thing you were looking for. A marriage into the Ashcroft family will see you well-compensated.
Yes, that would do. She didn’t want to imply too much. After all, Ashcroft would still be hers. While there was nothing she could do about the way society would view their union, when he came to discuss the particulars of their arrangement, she would make it clear the business was still hers, but that he would not go unrewarded.
Now to deliver it. Prudence reached for the bellpull, but her hand faltered. She could not simply call Netty back. The girl may not suspect anything, but she didn’t trust her. Surely she would read it, and the entire household would know their mistress had been desperate enough to propose to the stable master.
Of course, there was always the chance Mr. Evan would not agree to her proposal. While she had money, she didn’t have much else to offer, and he might have a more traditional marriage in mind. Her face heated as she imagined what that entailed. The embarrassment of having the household staff know she had proposed to the stable master—and been refused—would be more than she could bear.
Fanning herself with the letter, Prudence went in search of Mrs. Hatcher. She found her in the dining room polishing the furniture.
“Mrs. Hatcher, I wonder if you could do a favor for me?”
Mrs. Hatcher tucked the oily cloth into her pocket then wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes, of course, Miss Ashcroft. What can I do for you?”
“Will you send one of the lads to deliver this to Mr. Evan?”
Prudence held out the small yellow envelope that held the key to her future. Mrs. Hatcher had to give a small tug before she released it.
“Mr. Evan? I don’t believe I’m acquainted with anyone by that name.” She studied the unmarked envelope.
“Mr. Evan. The new stable master.”
Prudence fought the urge to snatch the letter back and tell her housekeeper to forget all about it.
Mrs. Hatcher’s brows furrowed even more than usual. “Now what would you be wantin’ with that man?”
“I just wanted to thank him for his assistance.”
From the fierce set of Mrs. Hatcher’s jaw, Prudence could tell her housekeeper didn’t need reminding of how she had been carried into the manor, dripping wet, in the arms of the stable master.
“He’s been thanked enough. After I saw to you, I sat him down in my kitchen and gave him a meat pie while he and Gil shared a pint of ale.” Mrs. Hatcher clutched the envelope in her bony fingers so hard it crumpled.
“He was here?” Prudence hadn’t known Mr. Evan had lingered at the manor after releasing her, somewhat reluctantly, into Mrs. Hatcher’s hands.
“He seemed worried about you.” Mrs. Hatcher’s eyes softened, but only for a moment. “Perhaps a little too worried. But don’t you fret. Gil explained the way of things.”
“What exactly did he explain?” Prudence was almost afraid to ask.
Mrs. Hatcher stuffed Prudence’s note in one pocket then snatched the rag from the other. She began polishing the top of the table with renewed vigor.
“That you are a well-born young lady of high social standing. That despite being a girl, you attended on
e of the finest schools to prepare you to take your rightful place at the head of Ashcroft & Sons.” Her voice rose and fell in an almost musical pattern as she made circles across the mirror-like surface. “That you have an impeccable reputation, and we intend to keep it that way.”
“You said what?” Prudence clutched the back of one of the walnut chairs.
Prudence melted into the chair. On any other day, she would have been warmed by Mrs. Hatcher’s confidence in her abilities, but the woman’s newfound conviction had been ill timed.
“We, or rather Gil”—she glanced away—“simply explained that you are not for him.”
“I really don’t think that was necessary, Mrs. Hatcher. I’m sure Mr. Evan has no designs on me.”
Not yet, but would he still be open to the idea after being warned off by her servants?
“Oh, posh!” Mrs. Hatcher placed a bony fist on one hip while she waved her rag around with the other. “You could see what he was thinking in those dark eyes of his. He’s just like any other man that sees something he wants. He don’t stop for a moment to think that maybe he can’t have it.”
She went back to polishing the table. “But Gil told him not to go sniffin’ around your skirts.”
“He told him what?” Prudence had never heard the phrase before, but the images it brought to mind were of the most vulgar sort.
“I’m sorry, dearie. I didn’t mean to use such language with you. I was just rememberin’ what Gil said.”
Gil had actually used those words with Mr. Evan? Prudence had a momentary urge to crawl under the table.
Should she wait to deliver her proposal? Maybe he would think she had put those ideas into Gil’s head. Perhaps he would think she was sniffing around his…whatever. Prudence shook the even more disturbing images from her mind.
No, she didn’t have time to wait. She had three months to convince some suitable man to marry her, and so far, Mr. Evan was the only one she could think of.
“Mrs. Hatcher, I would appreciate it if you would have one of the lads deliver my note to Mr. Evan.”
Mrs. Hatcher gave her the same wizened look she wore when Prudence had gotten into mischief as a child. “Miss Ashcroft, I know you’re the lady of the house now, and I work for you. Still, I made a promise to your grandmother that I would keep an eye out for you. I served her for a long time, and a little thing like death doesn’t wipe away my obligations to her. If you’re cooking something up in that head of yours, perhaps you should run it by me before you run it by the stable master.”
Willing Love Page 8