“Look, Will, what I'm trying to say is that your wife seems to have a very level head on her shoulders. You could do worse than seek her opinion on how to handle what has happened.”
“What you're saying,” Ledbetter informed him with asperity, “is that I'm a hot-head and likely to go off half cocked given the smallest chance.”
Sir Geoffrey grinned at him. “Something like that. No, no, there's no need to come to cuffs over it, dear fellow. I give you credit for marrying a woman who appeals to your better nature. Though my acquaintance with Lady Ledbetter is short, I have every confidence in her capability and her judgment. She married you, didn't she?”
“Trying to puff me off now, are you?” Ledbetter sighed. “She only married me because she has three more sisters to be brought out, and two of them were very impatient to be given their chance.”
Sir Geoffrey looked skeptical. “I doubt that was her reason any more than yours was her dowry, Will. But I'll say no more on that head. The two of you will have to sort that out for yourselves. Just promise me you won't do anything in a temper about the vicar and this Youngblood fellow.”
“And lose your profound respect for my judgment?” the baron grumbled. “Heaven forfend. This matter deserves some finesse, which, I may remind you, I am occasionally capable of.”
“You are,” Sir Geoffrey agreed, “when you let your head, and not your irritation, rule your actions.”
“I have every right to be irritated.”
“True, but much good it will do you to act on it. You know I'm right, Will.”
Ledbetter grimaced. “Everyone but me seems to be right these days. I liked it better when they weren't.”
“Maybe they always were,” Sir Geoffrey suggested, a twinkle in his eyes.
“If they were, then I liked it better when I didn't know that.”
Sir Geoffrey laughed and picked up his gloves from the table in the entry hall where they'd ended their walk. “I'm glad you're back, Will. Hope you'll stay around for a while this time.”
Ledbetter shrugged. “We'll see how things progress.”
* * * *
Heeding Geoffrey's advice, Ledbetter raised the issue of his mother's will when he and Prudence were alone at dinner. “It proved to be a great surprise to me,” he said.
“How so?”
Ledbetter made an all-encompassing gesture with his hand. “Salston is entailed, of course. When my father died and I came into the title, I inherited the whole of it. At least, that was what I believed.”
Frowning, he took a sip of his wine and sat rolling the glass between his hands. “My mother was a local girl. Her father had no sons, so she was dowered with a large piece of land that bordered on Salston. Over the years it has become a valuable part of the estate.”
“In what way?” his wife asked.
“Well, for one thing, my father had the dower house built there. Salston's original dower house had burned to the ground decades ago, and it seemed fitting to him to build the new one on my mother's land.”
“Obviously your mother never lived there. Has it been empty?”
“No, mostly it's rented out to some family or other, so that it brings in sufficient revenue for its upkeep. I'll show it to you one day soon.”
“I'd like that.”
Ledbetter nodded. “But I was explaining about my mother's will. The piece of property was actually hers to dispose of, because it wasn't part of the entailed estate. Her will had been made many years ago, when my father was living, and it left the piece of property to me.”
“Naturally.”
“So one would think,” he said, a plaintive note creeping into his voice. “I had no idea my mother had made a more recent will. She never spoke of it to me, though I was here the entire last month of her life.”
“Tell me, William, was she perfectly lucid all that time?”
Her question startled him. “Why do you ask?”
Prudence shrugged. “Sometimes when people do unexpected things, it is because they are not quite themselves.”
“I see. Well, for the most part she seemed perfectly fine, mentally. She was in a good deal of pain from her disease but the doctor did his best to alleviate that for her. And sometimes when she'd had a great deal of laudanum she would—have visions or something. She thought people were there who weren't, or she heard things that no one else could hear. That sort of thing.”
“And surely she didn't make her will during those times.”
“No, the will had been made several months before that.”
“Did she have a solicitor draw it up?”
“Yes, but not the solicitor the family customarily used.”
Prudence shook her head. “Of course not. Otherwise you would not have been surprised by its contents.”
“I suppose not.” Ledbetter regarded her curiously. “You seem to understand a great deal about such things.”
“I've had a certain amount to do with wills and settlements recently,” she reminded him.
“Yes.” He sat silent for a long moment, contemplating his wineglass. At length he took up his story again. “My mother's will made two provisions that were unexpected. One was the gift of the organ to the village church. The other was that she left the piece of land she'd brought to her marriage to Mr. Youngblood.”
Prudence's eyes widened. “The man who played the organ in church today?”
“I believe so, though I had never seen him before.”
“But why, William? How had she come to know him?”
He gave an irritable shrug of his shoulders. “Who knows? I was not even aware that there was a connection between the two provisions of her will until this morning. They seemed entirely different matters. And then this man Youngblood appears to perform on the very organ my mother donated to the church.”
“But he's not just any man, William. He bears a striking resemblance to you.”
“I realize that.” He shook his head with frustration. “The assumption is—and you will pardon my plain speaking, I trust—that Youngblood is my father's bastard child. Certainly the village folk are going to believe that. What's more, I think my mother must have believed it, Prudence.”
“Did her will say nothing about the man? Make no comment as to why she was making such a provision?”
Ledbetter frowned. “There was some explanatory sentence, but it made no sense. She said that her act was intended to right a wrong which had taken place. Nothing more. Now I can see that the wrong she was attempting to right must have been providing for my father's illegitimate child. But I find it difficult to believe my father capable of either consorting with a woman other than my mother, or of neglecting the child of such a union, had there been one.”
“And how did your mother come to know of his existence?” Prudence wondered. “Do you suppose that he approached her on his own? Possibly when she was sick and vulnerable? Or perhaps it was the vicar, who seems a deal too smug about this whole matter not to have been involved in some way.”
“The vicar,” Ledbetter growled, “has a great deal to answer for.”
“Hmmm. I think perhaps you should allow me to handle the vicar.”
Ledbetter regarded her with astonishment. “My dear girl, this is not your problem.”
“No? I am married to you, William. And what's more, I think perhaps my dowry went to pay your mother's 'debt' to Mr. Youngblood.”
The baron flushed. “I couldn't give him the land, Prudence. Besides, the dower house was on it now, making it a great deal more valuable than it had been when my mother brought it to her marriage. The courts agreed that I could provide Mr. Youngblood with an equivalent sum of money, that under the circumstances that particular piece of land should remain with the estate.”
“And you didn't meet Mr. Youngblood during all this time?”
“No. I had no wish to do so. Wrangling over the matter has taken the better part of a year. I could have mortgaged the estate to get the necessary blunt, but Salston has never been mortgaged, and I didn't wish to be the first Ledbetter to do that.”
“So you married me.”
“Prudence . . .”
“It's all right, William. I knew, of course, that you married me for my dowry.”
He reached across and took her hand. “It made a convenient excuse.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Hell, Prudence, I could have borrowed the money from Harriet's husband. He offered. Or taken the stupid mortgage. It wouldn't have been that difficult to pay it off in time. Salston is a thriving estate.”
“So I've noticed.”
He smiled at her. “Couldn't figure out what I needed the money for, could you?”
“No. Gambling debts seemed the only possibility.”
“I don't gamble. Well, no more than anyone would at a loo party. Seems a useless way to throw money down a drain.”
“Just what is it you're telling me, William?” she asked, her large eyes blinking uncertainly at him.
“That I came to Colwyck to ask you to marry me because I had been disappointed when you chose what's his name over me four years ago.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I didn't understand that, Prudence. He was a nice enough man, but—well—a little dull. At least it seemed so to me!”
A defensive frown stiffened her face. “He was not dull! He was very kind, very considerate of me. He was a gentle man, not in the least frightening.”
“Was I so frightening?” he asked, stunned.
Confused, she shook her head, then stopped and nodded. “Yes, you were a little frightening to me, William.”
“In what way? Surely my rank wouldn't have intimidated you. I cannot believe that I allowed my impatience any sway in your presence. How did I frighten you?”
Prudence made a dismissive gesture, but a slight flush had stolen into her face and she was unable to meet his eyes. “You just did,” she said.
Ledbetter cocked his head at her. “Did it have something to do with your fears about intimacy?”
Though she didn't answer, she attempted to withdraw her hand from his clasp. Instead of allowing it to go, he drew her fingers up to his lips and kissed them. “But anyone you married, even what's his name, would have expected you to share his bed.”
“I know.” Her voice was only just above a whisper. “But you . . . You seemed so . . . so ready to carry me off to your lair.”
“My lair!” Ledbetter couldn't help but laugh. “My poor sweet. You thought I would ravish you without a thought to your sensibilities, eh?”
“Something like that.” She shyly met his amused gaze. “It was no laughing matter for me, William. I was drawn to you, but alarmed, all at the same time. Allen seemed so much safer, so much softer. Your eyes used to blaze when you looked at me.”
“Don't they any more?”
She laughed. “Yes, but I . . . I rather like it now.”
“Do you?”
“Mmmm. When you came to Colwyck and seemed intent on marrying me for my dowry, I thought perhaps I had mistaken your . . . your passion. I thought it might be safe to marry you. Well, perhaps that's not quite true. I knew I had to marry, so that Elinor and Gladys could be brought out, and I already knew you—a little. You had courted me when I was in London; the fact that you approached me again seemed to speak for your real regard.”
“And not just for your dowry.” Ledbetter toyed with her fingers, stroking them with decided intent. “I have a very real regard for you, my dear. Never doubt that. But I must admit to still wishing to carry you off to my lair.”
Prudence smiled tremulously at him. “I don't find the thought of your lair so alarming anymore. I believe I had agreed to come there of my own volition tonight.”
“You had,” he said, rubbing her fingers against his cheek. “And I was especially pleased with your offer. Surely it must be time to retire by now.”
“Nonsense. You haven't even finished your meal. And then I should visit Catherine for a while, and then we could perhaps read a chapter or two of
Emma
, and then . . .”
“And then,” he said firmly, “my lair awaits.”
“As you say, my lord.”
Chapter Seventeen
Prudence could not help but feel a little nervous as she crossed the hall to Ledbetter's room. She knew that tonight there would be no more putting off the consummation of their marriage. Her husband had been extremely patient with her, and she would not care to ask for any further indulgence. A part of her was even impatient to have this particular burden behind her. After all, she could not conceive a child if she remained a virgin. And after seeing Catherine with the baby, she was most desirous of having a child of her own.
That was not, of course, the only facet of the matter that she considered as she knocked hesitantly on Ledbetter's door. Even as his voice called to her to come in, she felt a shiver of apprehension twist through her. One didn't, after all, lose all one's fears simply because there were reasons to set it aside. This particular fear had somehow become deeply embedded in her. Foolish, certainly, but none the less real.
Prudence had rather imagined that her husband would be waiting for her naked in his room, standing there in all his unclothed male glory. Perhaps even with the evidence of his desire all too obvious. But in the dim light from the candle by his bed she could see that he was sitting up against the headboard with a book in his hand.
As he laid the book aside, he smiled at her and said, “That was just in case it took you an especially long time to work up the courage to join me here, my dear.”
“I promised I would come.”
“I know you did, and I never doubted that you would. Come, Prudence. Try not to be alarmed. By now you should trust that I have no wish to frighten or harm you. Do you believe that?”
“Yes,” she said softly, stepping bravely toward his bed. “You've given me every proof of your kindly intentions.”
“Well, I have other intentions, too.” His eyes gleamed brightly in the candlelight, filled with desire. He drew her down to sit on the edge of the bed. His fingers traced the oval of her face and lingered on her lips. “You're so lovely, Prudence.”
“Thank you.” She reached a tentative hand to stroke his cheek and he turned his face to kiss her palm. She could feel the barely restrained urgency that flowed from him. Her palm tingled with the heat of his need. Her body tensed, and he shook his head.