by Mary Balogh
“I want to do that,” she said, and Freyja spent the next ten minutes or so showing her how to select a suitable pebble and how to throw it sideways with just the right flick of the wrist. Prue never did get it right, but she derived a great deal of merriment from trying and collapsed down onto a large rock with uncontrollable mirth when Joshua could not do it either.
Freyja, with a sharp, narrow-eyed look at his abjectly meek face, was convinced that he could make his stones bounce ten times if he so chose.
She could not understand the almost painful love she felt for Prue. She was usually embarrassed by what she had always thought of as handicaps. If she had known about Prue in advance, she would have been horrified and would have shied away from her. Even so, she had kept her wary distance for a few days, content to let Eve and Joshua and Chastity converse with the girl.
But there was no guile in her and no stupidity or dullness or negativity. She was a sunny-natured child who simply did not possess whatever it was in most of the rest of mortality that enabled them to move away from the innocent exuberance and loving trust of childhood to a darker place they labeled maturity. Although Prue's sometimes ungainly movements and round, childish face were an outward sign that she was not as other young women were, she nevertheless was a rather pretty young lady.
She was the same age as Morgan.
Joshua looked down at her with a smile of warm affection until she had stopped rocking with laughter.
“Do you like going to the village, Prue?” he asked.
“Ye-es,” she said. “I love it.”
“What is your favorite part of it?” he asked her. “Your favorite place?”
Prue gazed with bright eyes across the river in the direction of Lydmere.
“The cottage,” she said.
“Mrs. Turner's?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you like it?” He went down on his haunches before her, selected a few pebbles, and rolled them in one hand.
“I can do things,” Prue said. “I can help. It is a dear place.”
“But small,” Joshua said. “You would not like to live there, would you?”
Prue thought with furrowed brow and then smiled again. “Yes, I would,” she said. “I know how to do things.”
“You love Mrs. Turner?” Joshua asked.
“Yes.” Her smile widened. “And Ben. I love Ben.”
“Do you?” He turned and flung one of the stones. He obviously forgot that bouncing them was a skill he could not master—it bounced five times. Prue laughed excitedly and pointed. “Why do you love him, Prue? Is he kind to you?”
“Ye-es,” Prue said. “He likes me making his tea, and he ate my cake, not Mrs. Turner's. Ben loves me.”
“I love you, Prue,” Joshua said. “Freyja loves you.”
“Yes.” She looked up at Freyja and beamed. “Josh made you better, Freyja. I saw you in the boat. You went to the island.”
Oh, dear. Freyja smiled back and avoided Joshua's eyes.
Prue looked back to Joshua. “Ben kissed me,” she said.
His face visibly blanched. “Kissed you?”
Prue laughed with delight. “On my birthday,” she said. “I was eighteen. Mrs. Turner gave me my apron and she kissed me. And Ben poured my tea—we all laughed—and he kissed me. Here,” she added, poking one forefinger at her cheek close to her mouth. “I said, ‘I love you, Ben,' and he said, ‘I love you, Prue.' ” She laughed with delight.
“Prue,” Freyja asked, taking the girl by the hand and drawing her to her feet so that they could stroll onward, “do you love Ben in a special way? As Eve loves Aidan?”
“As you love Josh?” Prue laughed. “Ye-es.”
Joshua fell into step beside them on Prue's other side.
“Ben has nice hands,” Prue said. “They are big. He works with them. He wouldn't hurt me with them, though.”
“Of course he would not,” Joshua said, drawing her arm through his and patting her hand. “No one will ever hurt you, Prue. Do you know what marriage is? Do you know what married people do together?”
“Ye-es,” Prue said. “They look after each other. And they kiss each other. And have babies.”
Joshua darted a startled look across her at Freyja.
“Miss Palmer told me,” Prue said, “and Chastity. Chastity took me to see Miss Jewell and she told me. Miss Jewell has David. I love David.”
“Her son?” Joshua said. “He is a handsome little boy.”
“Miss Jewell said there are bad kisses and I must not let anyone give them to me ever again,” Prue said. “Ben would not give me bad kisses. Ben loves me. I love Ben.”
The women in her life—all except her mother who was most qualified to do it—had been educating Prue in the dangers of her own sexuality, Freyja thought. They clearly had realized that in some ways at least the girl was no longer a child.
“If you lived at the cottage all the time,” Joshua said, “you would not have all of Penhallow for your home, Prue. You would sleep there and live there, and the work you do there now would have to be done every day. Lady Prudence Moore should live in a big house, should she not, with servants to look after her and grand clothes to wear all the time?”
“I would like to live in the cottage, Josh,” she said. “I would like to live with Mrs. Turner. I would like to live with Ben best of all. I love Ben. He kissed me and it was not a bad kiss. He would not give me bad kisses. He would not hurt me with his hands.”
He raised her hand to his lips and held it there for a few moments.
“No, he would not, my sweetest love,” he said. “I knew Ben when he was a lad. He would not hurt you or any other woman. And if he ever kisses you again, it will be with good kisses. If he touches you, it will be with gentle hands.”
Freyja was startled to notice that his eyes were bright with tears.
“Shall I talk with Ben and Mrs. Turner, then?” he asked Prue. “Would you really choose to live with them if you could?”
She stopped walking, snatched her arm away from Joshua, clasped her hands to her bosom, and regarded first him and then Freyja with wide, excited eyes.
“Miss Palmer said Mama would say no,” she said, “and you would say no. Mrs. Turner said Mama would say no and you would say no. I asked and she said that. Ben cried and went out.”
“But you are a woman, Prue,” Joshua said gently. “Sometimes when you are a woman you get to decide things for yourself. But Mrs. Turner and Ben have to decide too. I will talk to them.”
Prue smiled sunnily and then laughed and spun around in a circle before offering one of her hands to Joshua and the other to Freyja. They went walking off down the river path—actually it was more skip than walk—swinging their arms like three exuberant children.
Freyja felt raw with love for Joshua. If she had even suspected him capable of such gentleness and concern for one of life's lesser mortals—according to the general consensus—she would have fled Sydney Gardens that morning in Bath and left that serving girl to her fate. She would have ignored him in the Pump Room. She would—
No, she would not.
She would perhaps have set about wooing him with every ounce of skill and determination she could muster for the task. She would not have engaged in mere light flirtation with him instead and given him the eternal impression that she wanted no more from him. It was too late now. If she were to try to woo him now, he would feel trapped, obliged to offer for her, obliged to pretend to be happy with her.
And so she could do nothing but skip down the river path with him and Prue, aching with love for him.
CHAPTER XXI
The servants at Penhallow, both indoors and out, had worked extremely hard to prepare for the grand ball. They had grumbled—but only in Joshua's hearing so that he would grin at them and wheedle them and laugh when they occasionally addressed him as “lad.” Behind his back they did not waste their time on complaints but threw themselves with great enthusiasm into the preparations for such a novel
event.
The state apartments had not been used within the memory of even the oldest servant. They were there for show. The occasional traveler who was bold enough to knock on the door was taken there by the housekeeper and allowed to gaze upon all the treasures while she recited their history. Although they had always been kept clean, there had never seemed to be the necessity of banishing every last speck of dust and making every surface gleam.
It was a huge task to make all ready in time—and all for the likes of themselves, the cook remarked when she came to peep in on the ballroom when the great chandeliers were down and the hundreds of candles were being replaced. It seemed strangest of all to the servants that they were all invited, as well as all their family members and friends from the village and the surrounding farms. Even those who would need to be on duty in one capacity or another were not too long-faced. The butler, at Joshua's request, had organized the servants into shifts, so that those who worked the start of the evening would be able to feast and dance at the end, and vice versa for those who must work last.
The head gardener had scoured the park for late-blooming flowers and had agreed to sacrifice almost all the contents of his carefully nurtured hothouses for the occasion. The flower arrangements were undertaken by the ladies of the house. Chastity supervised, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with the pleasure of such a grand occasion. Prue was allowed to help. Constance and Eve were both competent, but Morgan was the one with the best eye for design. She made a number of suggestions to Chastity, all of which they discussed with much arm gesturing and great good nature. Freyja was content to watch, flower arranging never having been her forte. The marchioness was absent, having declared that flowers made her sneeze and gave her a headache.
The orchestra arrived late in the afternoon and were borne off to their rooms in the back wing of the house after setting up their instruments and tuning them.
Dinner was set for two hours earlier than usual since the guests would be arriving by seven and the ladies preferred to change into their evening finery after eating. This was no London ball, starting late and continuing until dawn. The majority of the guests were ordinary working folk, who would not have the luxury of being able to lie abed until the middle of the next afternoon. And many of them had some distance to travel, either by foot or by gig, though the head groom, at Joshua's direction, had made arrangements to send out every carriage and other vehicle to fetch the more elderly and the more distant folk.
There was to be a receiving line at the entrance of the ballroom, consisting of Joshua and Freyja, the marchioness, Constance, Chastity, and Prue.
Joshua, dressed in dark brown evening coat with dull gold knee breeches, gold-embroidered waistcoat, and white linen and stockings with lace at his neck and cuffs, looked about him with satisfaction from the doorway of the ballroom. He had always thought it a shame that the state rooms were never used. He breathed in the scent of the flowers, noticed how the newly polished floor gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, and looked up at them and beyond them to the ceiling with its richly painted scenes from mythology.
He felt a thrill of exhilaration. This was all his and tonight he would give pleasure to all his people and demonstrate to them that a new age had dawned in their relationship with Penhallow and the Marquess of Hallmere. No longer would there be an impenetrable distance between them and their wealthy, titled, privileged neighbor and overlord. Tonight would begin a new era for those who were dependent upon him, those over whom, like it or not, he had some power—power to give away.
Tonight he would begin his new life. It would have horrified him even just a week ago to imagine that he might be bound by Penhallow, which had been an unhappy prison house to him during his growing years, by his title, which he had never wanted, and by his responsibilities, which he had tried to fulfill through the appointment of a competent steward but which he had now discovered extended well beyond what any steward could do. But he was bound, and extraordinarily, it was the bonds of love more than duty that would keep him here at Penhallow.
But it was no happily-ever-after that he faced tonight. There was much to be settled before he could even begin to think in terms of happiness, much less happily-ever-after, which was a nonsensical idea anyway. Hugh Garnett had returned home, he had heard. There was no knowing for sure if he would come to the ball, but Joshua would wager on it. Then there was his aunt. And Freyja . . .
He heard sounds behind him and turned to see her approaching with Morgan and Eve—Aidan and Alleyne were coming along behind them, both in black-and-white evening clothes. Freyja was shimmering in a pale green gown embroidered all over with gold thread. It was a low-bosomed gown with loosely flowing skirt and scalloped hem and sleeves. Her hair, elaborately piled and coiled, was threaded with gold. Her long gloves and slippers were also gold-colored.
He caught his breath. When had he started to think of her as beautiful? She was not, was she? But to him she was lovelier than any woman he had ever set eyes upon. He smiled, took her gloved hand in his, bowed over it, and raised it to his lips.
“You look beautiful, my charmer,” he said.
Her dark eyebrows arched arrogantly upward.
“So do you, Josh,” she said.
He grinned at her and turned to greet the others. His aunt and cousins were approaching too with Calvin. His aunt, in black silk with nodding hair plumes, was smiling about her as if this had been all her idea. Indeed, she had been in a good mood all day even though she had avoided the ballroom while the flowers were being moved about and arranged. Constance, looking prettier than she had in Bath, wore pale blue and looked composed. Chastity, in pink, was sparkling with excitement. Prue, in pale yellow, was almost beside herself.
Almost immediately the guests began to arrive, and soon there was a veritable flood of them, a curious mix of elegantly dressed members of the upper classes and villagers and small farmers and laborers in their Sunday best, looking awkward and pleased with themselves and flustered as they made their bows and curtsies to the marchioness, who greeted them with stiff condescension, and more relaxed as they smiled at Joshua. He shook hands with everyone and had a word for all.
Anne Jewell came, he was pleased to see—Joshua had called upon her personally to urge her to accept her invitation. She entered the ballroom with Miss Palmer and fixed her eyes on the floor as she curtsied to the marchioness. Ben Turner came with his mother. The Allwrights came. Isaac Perrie came with his wife and two daughters. Jim Saunders came. So did Sir Rees Newton, the local magistrate, with Lady Newton and their son.
By the time the new arrivals had slowed to the merest trickle and Joshua announced his intention of getting the dancing started, there was no one he could think of who had not come—with the exception of Hugh Garnett. It would be sadly disappointing if he failed to put in any appearance at all. But in the meantime there was a ball to be enjoyed.
He led off the opening set with Freyja. It was a sprightly country dance, as were most of the dances planned for the evening. Everyone would know the steps and would feel no self-consciousness about performing them. There was self-consciousness at first, of course, and Joshua had to leave his place in the line, Freyja on his arm, to circle the edge of the dance floor and coax couples to join the revelries. He laughed and teased as he did so, and soon the line stretched the length of the room. Joshua, taking his place again and winking at Freyja, nodded to the leader of the orchestra, and the music began.
After that everyone seemed abandoned to merriment. If those of high rank felt any discomfort in rubbing shoulders with the lower classes, they showed no sign of it. Aidan, Joshua noticed, danced the second set with Anne Jewell, Alleyne with one of the Perrie girls, whose cheeks were such a rosy red that they looked as if they might burst into flame at any moment. Joshua danced with Constance, who had been led into the opening set by Calvin.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.
“Of course.” She smiled.
“I thought,�
� he said, “that Saunders would surely claim this set with you.” Jim Saunders had not danced at all.
“Mama would not like it,” she said.
“Would she not?” He had meant to have a good talk with Constance but had not found the time for it yet. “But would you like it?”
She stared mutely at him.
“And would Saunders like it?” he asked.
A frown creased her brow for a moment. “We cannot always do what we want,” she said.
“Why not?” He smiled at her.
“Oh, Joshua,” she said in a rush, “I wish I could be like you. I wish—”
But the music began and they were obliged to give their attention to the complicated figures of the dance.
It was at the end of the second set that Hugh Garnett strolled into the ballroom, five other men with him, none of whom now lived in the neighborhood. Joshua was talking with Mrs. Turner and Prue at the time and was detained by Prue's excited account of dancing with Ben. But his aunt stepped up to the door and received the new guests with gracious smiles and much nodding of her plumes. She slipped one arm through Garnett's and turned to look about the ballroom with a smile. She beckoned to someone across the room, and Joshua turned his head to see Chastity crossing the floor toward them, a smile still on her face but all the light gone out inside her. Garnett bowed and said something before extending his arm. Chastity set hers along it, and he led her onto the floor, where couples were already gathering for the next set.
The other five men dispersed about the ballroom and were soon lost among the crowds.
Ah, Joshua thought, this was better. He went to claim Morgan, his next partner.
Freyja danced the second set with Sir Rees Newton and the third with Isaac Perrie, the village innkeeper, of all people. She could hardly believe that he would ask and that she would say yes. Gracious heavens, Wulf, if he were here, would have frozen the man with one glance from his silver eyes for even daring to raise his eyes to Lady Freyja Bedwyn. But she discovered that she was enjoying herself enormously. This, she felt, was somehow right. This was how life ought to be. She felt a pang of regret for these people that soon Joshua would be gone—if he could ward off the threat that still loomed—and life would return to its dreary norm under the marchioness's rule. She felt a pang of regret for him. And for herself.