A Prudent Match

by Laura Matthews

  “Yes, of course, . . . William. I . . . I'm grateful for your patience.”

  “Just remember that I don't possess an inexhaustible supply.”

  “I will.”

  * * * *

  Prudence awoke in the morning to the sound of the draperies being pushed aside on their rod. Sunlight poured into the room, engulfing her even on the far side of the large bed. For a moment she thought is must be Ledbetter who had tossed them open, but a girl's voice spoke from behind the bed.

  “His lordship asked me to bring your tea, Lady Ledbetter. Shall I put it on the dressing table?”

  “Yes, thank you. Can you tell me what time it is?”

  “Gone nine, milady. Shall I bring you some hot water?”

  “Nine!” Prudence tossed back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. She could see the girl now, a young fresh-faced child who was regarding her with awe. “Yes, I would appreciate some hot water. I'm afraid I've forgotten you name.”

  “Betsy, ma'am.” The child dropped a curtsy. “Mrs. Collins said I was to help you until your own maid came.”

  My own maid, Prudence thought. Ledbetter had no doubt already explained her impulsive act to the housekeeper. Well, what was done was done. And she didn't regret her action, just wondered whether it would have been wiser to wait until she'd gotten to Salston to choose someone. Ah, well.

  By the time Betsy returned with the pitcher of hot water, Prudence was standing at the dressing table sipping at the hot tea. And wondering what the routine at Salston was. Now there was something she could have discussed with Ledbetter, a subject of some import, but she very much doubted Ledbetter's patience ran to describing household matters. She would spend a few hours with Mrs. Collins instead, which would no doubt serve all of them a great deal better.

  Prudence was accustomed to having an abigail assist in her dressing, but only with the occasional external touches. Four sisters sharing an abigail had not led her to depend on someone to help her in and out of her nightdress and her undergarments. And indeed her shyness extended to anyone seeing her unclothed, not just her new husband. So she asked Betsy to come back in quarter of an hour, when she would be ready for assistance with the impossible row of buttons on the back of the dress she planned to wear that day.

  Before the quarter hour had expired, there was a tap on the door accompanied by Ledbetter's voice asking if it would be convenient for her to see him. Prudence's first impulse was to say “No,” but as she had already stepped into her round gown, she offered a reluctant, “If you will wait but a moment.”

  Quickly shrugging her arms through the sleeves, she adjusted the gown so that it covered her sufficiently before allowing her husband into the room.

  “I trust you didn't mind my having tea sent up,” he said as he strolled into the room. He was dressed in country garb, buckskin breeches and top boots, with a handsome brown riding jacket. “I did want to speak with you before I rode out.”

  “Of course. I had no intention of sleeping so late. At home I'm up much earlier.”

  “Yes, so you've said.” His gaze drifted from her face to the mirror behind her, and he smiled. “Turn around. I'll do you up.”

  “That's not at all necessary,” she protested, flushing. “Betsy will be back in just a few minutes.”

  “Turn around.”

  Prudence did as she was bid.

  His hands came to rest on her shoulders, where they remained as he regarded the two of them in the mirror. “I hadn't realized how tall you were, Prudence,” he remarked. “And in your stocking feet, too.”

  Prudence looked with chagrin at the stockings she had already pulled on. They were not new ones by any means. In fact she could see that the right one had been mended. There had seemed so many more important things to be taken care of in the short time she'd had before her wedding, that she'd ended up having to bring all the stockings she had owned for the last few years. Trust Ledbetter to notice.

  For he had noticed. She could see that little quiver at the corner of his mouth, and the way his eyes almost teased her. Well, she would buy new stockings the first time they visited the village shops and in the meantime she would give any mended stockings to Betsy for a charity drive.

  “If you would just do up my gown,” she suggested with some asperity.

  “Certainly, my dear.” His fingers on the buttons were nimble and he was almost finished when Betsy arrived to assist his wife. The little maid looked surprised to see him there. She curtsied and offered to come back later but Prudence firmly stated that she was ready for Betsy's help with her hair.

  Ledbetter reached up to place a hand on either side of Prudence's head, his fingers weaving into her thick auburn tresses. “You know, I'm of a mind to ask you to leave your hair down, Prudence. It's very becoming when it's loose, don't you think, Betsy?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord. Lady Ledbetter looked ever so much like my school mistress yesterday with it all pulled back and pinned so tight.”

  “There,” he said, smiling at her in the glass. “You don't wish to look like a school mistress, do you, Prudence?”

  “Perhaps I would prefer that to looking like a green girl with my hair springing about with a mind of its own. Pinning it is the only way to gain some control over it.”

  “I like it loose.” Ledbetter ran his fingers through her heavy mane of hair, making her almost shiver. “Controlling it seems such a shame. Would you, just for today, indulge me in this?”

  Prudence sighed. “It is very odd of you. I shall present quite a slovenly appearance to your staff, sir.” When he continued to regard her with raised brows, she said, “Oh, very well, if it is what you wish.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” To her astonishment, and Betsy's delight, he placed a kiss on her nape. “I'm afraid I must be off now. Look for me in the early afternoon and we will make a visit to Sir Geoffrey Manning and his good lady to apprise them of my marriage. They are our closest neighbors and he is a lifelong friend of mine.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” she said, though nothing could have been further from the truth. She did not feel ready to make the acquaintance of so old a friend of his, let alone appear before Lady Manning with her wild hair undone. She would wear a hat, she decided, which would sufficiently curb its excesses. Ledbetter could not complain of that. And, honestly, if he intended to dictate to her on matters of appearance, he would do well to think again.

  When the baron had closed the door behind himself, Prudence seated herself at the dressing table and allowed Betsy to brush the tangles from her hair. With each stroke her hair seemed to stand out more from her head until it formed an amber nimbus. “You see,” she complained. “It is absolutely unmanageable this way.”

  “But, my lady,” Betsy protested, “it's the most beautiful hair I've ever seen!”

  Startled, Prudence regarded herself dispassionately in the mirror. All her life she'd been used to thinking her hair a trial. From the age of twelve she had rigorously tortured it into obedience in a series of braids or twists which she pinned securely to her head. What she saw now was that her hair was very much like her sister Lizzie's, which she had always admired, in a girl that age. But to allow her own hair this wild freedom and she a woman of two and twenty! Surely that must be unacceptable.

  “Well, for today,” she agreed, a frown settling on her brow. “But not to the Mannings. I will not have Sir Geoffrey and Lady Manning thinking me a heathen!”

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  Ledbetter firmly put his wife from his mind after he left her room. He had a great deal to take care of on his first day back at Salston. Already his estate manager had sent a list of items which he felt must be personally addressed by the baron. Then there were the two very specific matters that Ledbetter alone knew of. Now that he had sufficient funds, the sooner he put those demands behind him, the better.

  His horse was already saddled when he arrived at the stables. They knew his ways there, and understood that every day
after he breakfasted, he would appear for a gallop on Thor, unless some emergency held him back. Apparently the stable lads did not consider his marriage anything out of the ordinary, as Thor stomped impatiently when Ledbetter came into the stable yard.

  The horse was magnificent. He had cost Ledbetter a great deal more than he should have paid, but once having set eyes on the black stallion, Ledbetter would not be satisfied until he owned him. It was his one regret when he was in London, that the stallion remained at Salston.

  But Thor was a high-strung beast and the one time Ledbetter had brought him to the metropolis, Thor had proved impossibly skittish in the hustle and bustle of the city. He had taken objection to every loud noise, had attempted to challenge half a dozen other stallions, and had proved nigh impossible to control in the park.

  Thor was built to run and holding him in seemed almost a cruelty. As Ledbetter mounted now, he could feel the muscles tense in the powerful beast. With only a modest urging, Thor surged forward, his stride lengthening with almost impossible speed. Ledbetter gloried in the unfettered freedom of that gallop—across fields, over fences, around the lake. After two days in a carriage, and a night spent cursing himself for a fool, the baron fully appreciated the release of galloping madly across half of his estate before at length guiding Thor toward the village.

  The stone church lay at the end of the main street of the village of Forstairs. There were only four streets, and three of them were better described as paths. But the main street was cobbled and well maintained, with shops lining both sides. From boy to man, Ledbetter had come to Forstairs with a certain anticipation, for despite its country aspect, there was one shop which invariably claimed his attention.

  The bakery stood next door to the modest inn, and supplied the inn with all manner of baked goods. But the Rules family who had owned the bakery for generations were a truly remarkable group. Not even in London had Ledbetter found their match for scones and pastries and whimsical delicacies. He remembered being allowed as a boy to choose something from the wooden shelves, and how it had been almost an agony to have to pick one from the many wonderful treats.

  As he passed on Thor, he waved to Mrs. Rule, who was standing in the doorway having a chat with the dry goods clerk from down the way. She looked surprised at his passing by, but Ledbetter was determined to attend to business first. And business, in this instance, was the village church.

  He dismounted close to the wooden doors with their heavy iron handles. The vicar might be in the building, or he might be in the vicarage, but Ledbetter preferred to investigate the church first. For one thing, he wished to see if his mother's instructions had been properly carried out.

  Though the day was reasonably bright outdoors, Ledbetter found the interior of the church as gloomy as it had always been. There were too few windows, and those there were contained murky glass which served only to smudge out any light attempting to reach the interior.

  Still, there was sufficient light to see the organ. Ledbetter shook his head at the folly of it. It was a magnificent organ, with series upon series of pipes, a gleaming keyboard, an upholstered stool for the organist. But its size was totally disproportionate to the small church. No finer instrument could have been found in the entire county, despite the fact that there were churches ten times the size of that in Forstairs. Lord, Ledbetter thought, the sound must batter the eardrums of every congregant, to say nothing of the rest of the village.

  And to what purpose? In a cathedral the organ might have given pleasure to its listeners. The hymns played on it might have uplifted the hearts and souls of worshippers. But here? In Forstairs? What could his mother have been thinking of?

  “So, what do you think of our organ, Lord Ledbetter?” a voice behind him asked with a rather heavy Yorkshire accent.

  Ledbetter composed his features before turning to face the vicar. “I think it is entirely too large for the church, Mr. Hidgely.”

  The vicar regarded him with surprise. “But it is what your dear mama wished, sir. She was quite explicit in her will.”

  “Yes, she was,” the baron agreed after a thoughtful pause. “Surprisingly explicit, I have always thought.”

  “Dear Lady Ledbetter was a very active member of the church, but the rest of her family has not always followed her lead. For many years she had wished to see the old organ replaced. She made quite a study of organs during her last year.”

  All very true, unfortunately. Ledbetter had found information about organs in half the drawers in his mother's desk. She had, it appeared, become quite obsessed with them during her last months. There were replies from manufacturers and London organists answering questions she had obviously posed to them. And he knew for a fact that she enjoyed organ music. But this—this huge organ was a travesty. Surely she had known that the small village church needed a much smaller instrument.

  “A great pity that her study had such an unfortunate result.” Ledbetter reached into the inside pocket of his coat and extracted an envelope. “You will find the balance of the funds covered by this draft, Mr. Hidgely. Though I don't myself believe it was necessary to interpret my mother's legacy as encompassing the rebuilding of that portion of your church which had formerly housed the old organ, I won't quibble with your having done so.”

  “We could not very well have got such a large instrument inside without rebuilding, my lord,” the vicar protested. He surreptitiously inspected the figure on the draft and smiled. “We have done precisely what your sainted mother wished, and accomplished it in the year since her death, as she requested. I trust you will be attending the dedication on Sunday.”

  Ledbetter was tempted to offer an excuse, but knew better than to do so. “Yes, I'll be here—with my wife.”

  Mr. Hidgely frowned. “Your wife? I had no idea you had married. My felicitations, of course.”

  “Thank you.” Ledbetter took one last look at the organ before turning to leave. “Sunday, then, Hidgely. I trust you have found someone to play it.”

  “Indeed, my lord. A most exceptional young man. We are truly lucky to have found someone so talented.”

  “Excellent.”

  Ledbetter nodded to the vicar and made his way from the gloomy church into the light of day. Thor waited impatiently where the baron had left him, but instead of springing onto his mount, Ledbetter took hold of his reins and led him up the street. “I need to get some pleasure from this visit,” he muttered, tying his horse in front of the Rules’ bakery.

  * * * *

  Ledbetter's second errand had proved no more satisfactory than his first, and by the time he arrived back at Salston he was in an irritable frame of mind. His marriage was so new to him, and so preoccupied was he with the frustrations of the morning, that he was literally startled to discover Prudence arranging flowers in a vase in the Great Hall.

  He had come through a side door where he had left his muddy boots, and proceeded in stocking feet through the small parlor and into the hall. Because he made no sound whatsoever, his wife didn't hear him enter, and he was able to observe her unaware for several minutes.

  As promised, she had left her hair unbound and it made a glorious cloud around her head. The dress he had buttoned that morning fit her figure well, and not for the first time he remarked on what a fine figure it was. She hummed to herself, her deft fingers working the blossoms into a clever arrangement. She looked for all the world as though she'd been at Salston for years, and was quite happy to be there.

  “My dear,” he said softly, so as not to startle her, “Mrs. Collins has already put you to work, has she?”

  “Hardly. If I had nothing to do, I should be bored to death. Have you lost your boots, Led . . . William?”

  “Just obeying an old rule of my mother's never to track mud into the house. I suppose, being master of the place, I could track mud where I like, but old habits die hard.”

  “Thank heaven. If you've been in the stable yard, it's not just mud your boots would be tracking in.”

&
nbsp; He moved close to her, and captured one of her hands, which he lifted to his mouth to kiss. “You look the picture of domesticity, Prudence. Have you spent the morning familiarizing yourself with Salston?”

  She watched a little nervously as he raised the other hand to his lips. “Yes. Mrs. Collins gave me a thorough tour this morning. There are a number of matters I wish to discuss with you, but there is no urgency about any of them. Did you have a good ride?”

  “The ride was fine.” He pulled her toward himself and would have kissed her, but a footman appeared in the doorway to announce that the light collation my lady had ordered was available in the breakfast parlor. Prudence took the opportunity to loosen her hands from his grip as she turned to the footman. “Thank you, Gibbons. I'll be along in a moment.”

  When she turned back to him, she looked a little hesitant. “Will you wish to change before you eat, William?”

  “I had something in Market Stotton. You go ahead. I'll change into something to wear to the Mannings’.”

  “You've been to Market Stotton? But that's a good fifteen miles away, is it not?”

  “Twelve. I had business there.” And being reminded of it served to rouse his temper again. He turned away from her. “I'll be ready to leave by two.”

  “Very well.”

  * * * *

  Prudence chose her emerald velvet bonnet, because it served to tame her hair as well as matching the trim of her gown. She was ready and waiting in the front parlor when Ledbetter appeared at precisely two o'clock. When he saw her, he smiled appreciatively.

  “Fetching, my dear. Green suits you very well.”

  Prudence dropped a shy curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He tucked her arm inside his and led her toward the hall. “The Mannings live about half a mile away, so I thought we'd take the phaeton. I was tempted to surprise them with my news, but thought better of it.”

  “You sent a message ahead, then?”

  “Yes, informing them that I would be bringing my bride to visit.”