“Ah, just like the ones Cook used to make,” she said with a sigh. “I wonder if your cook will have as fine a repertoire as ours has.”
Ledbetter felt his back stiffen. “I'm sure my chef is a very talented fellow. Makes every English dish that you care to mention, as well as a splendid assortment of French and Spanish dishes. I'm sure you will find his work more than satisfactory.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Prudence reached toward the plate again, but did not pick up the sprinkled confection. This time she lifted a yellow square that looked very much like it might be lemon flavored. “We called these buttercups,” she said, before conveying it to her mouth for a bite. “Mmm. Very tasty. I wonder if Mrs. Granger makes them herself. I understand the landlady often does at an inn such as this.”
He was sure she was poking fun at him, but he could not for the life of him decide just how. Besides, he had developed a real hunger for the most recent cake, which he felt quite certain no one had ever called a buttercup. He and everyone else in the civilized world called them lemon squares. And was she going to take a bite out of each cake, without bothering to finish it?
Apparently she was. She replaced the lemon square on the plate and her hand hovered above yet another cake—this one with a crinkled surface. Ledbetter was certain it contained treacle, and was one of his very favorite pastries.
“Now these,” she said, after sinking her teeth into the cake, “have been made with just the right strength of treacle. There are those,” she said darkly, “who refuse to use the strongest treacle, and their biscuits and cakes are, in my humble opinion, a failure for that very reason.”
“I can see that you will be very exacting about our menus,” Ledbetter offered, wishing very much that he had agreed to helping himself to one of the cakes. It was too late now, as she'd managed to nibble on three of the four, and was apparently about to sample the last as well.
“Now you are not to worry about that. I shan't interfere in any substantial way with your kitchens. I may just have a word with your housekeeper about how matters are conducted at Salston, so that I will know how to go on there. Your sister gave me to understand that the housekeeper — a Mrs. Collins, I believe — is quite a straightforward woman, and one who is easy to deal with. Since your sister's marriage, I daresay you have had more contact with Mrs. Collins.”
Ledbetter, who had pretty much allowed Mrs. Collins to do as she pleased on those occasions when he was at Salston, murmured his concurrence. It seemed to him that on his rare visits there, Mrs. Collins had merely brought menus for his approval, and perhaps queried him as to whether he had any special requests. The housekeeper had been at Salston since he was young, and she knew his preferences as well as his sister did.
“Mrs. Collins is very accommodating,” he assured her. “I'm sure she will welcome someone to give her direction and manage the household. I confess that I am not myself much interested in linens and silver.”
“No, of course not,” his bride agreed. She paused to taste the fourth cake, cocked her head, and frowned just slightly. “Now I wonder what gives it that slightly bitter taste? Not that it is unpleasant, mind you, but there is just a bit of an edge to it. Perhaps one of the stronger nuts, or a liqueur. Hmm. Well, I shall ask Mrs. Granger later. It could well be some Indian spice—cardamom or the like. Though I have been sent a number to experiment with, I fear I did not know precisely how to use them, and they have mostly languished on the shelf.”
Just in case he had forgotten her India-dwelling former fiancé, Ledbetter thought, she had managed to remind him. Really, if she wasn't putting him on, she had suddenly taken to quite inconsequential chatter in a manner which was most unlike her. Or at least what little he knew of her. Hell, if their meal didn't come soon, he might be forced to descend to that level as well.
There was a scraping at the door of the private parlor, and the landlord entered with a tray of covered dishes. A minion followed behind him, who hastened to spread a cloth on the dining table at the far end of the room near the fireplace. Places were laid for the two of them, and the covers removed so that tempting smells drifted over to entice Ledbetter to his dinner. When the landlord had begged them to inform him of anything they lacked, Ledbetter led his bride to the table and pulled out her chair with great ceremony. “My lady,” he murmured.
“My lord,” she replied, but with that faint twist to her lips that seemed to indicate she found the title just slightly ridiculous.
Disgruntled, Ledbetter took his seat and raised his glass of ale. “To a long and prosperous life together.”
Her smile became genuine and she raised her glass as well. “Yes, indeed. To a long and prosperous life . . . together.”
Chapter Four
Prudence had made every effort to entertain her bridegroom during their meal. She had, in fact, abandoned the whimsy that had overcome her when she was left stranded in the private parlor, to converse sensibly and intelligently with Ledbetter. This had, in turn, obviously pleased and reassured him. So much so that when an old case clock in the inn entry struck the hour of ten, Ledbetter shook his head with surprise.
“I had no idea it was so late, my dear. But there is no need for us to make an early start in the morning. We'll make Stalton by late afternoon if we leave here before eleven.”
His expression, one of pointed anticipation, made the hairs at Prudence's nape stand on end. Her wedding night. A very different one than she had thought to have for the last many years. Ledbetter was not Allen, whom she could have trusted to show her every consideration.
Her sisters were forever hinting at the pleasures of the flesh, at the benefits of having a man like a stallion who would enter a woman with that serviceable implement of his and . . . and what? Impregnate her, surely, as the stallions on the estate did with the mares. But humans were scarcely built on the same model, with all that nerve-shattering drumming of hooves and equine screaming.
Aware that Ledbetter was regarding her curiously, Prudence hastily rose. “I'll go up and prepare for the night, if you will excuse me.”
He rose and bowed slightly to her. Then he surprised her by lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her nerveless fingers. “I'll be along shortly,” he promised.
Her smile flickered briefly and disappeared. As she made her way abovestairs, Prudence kept repeating to herself, “This, too, shall pass,” as though she were about to have a tooth drawn. But she felt a tightness in the pit of her stomach which would not leave her.
Mrs. Granger had spread her nightgown on the bed and Prudence thought it looked like a shroud. The abigail who had waited on Prudence and her sisters would have liked to come with Lady Ledbetter to her new home, but Prudence had objected to having the giddy young thing as her dresser.
“I will choose someone from the neighborhood,” she had insisted. But right now she would have welcomed even Sissy there with her to calm her nerves and assist her out of the thousand buttons of her traveling costume. Her own fingers trembled slightly as she worked her way down the front of the gown, and it was not from any chill, as there was a good fire burning in the grate.
Prudence stepped out of her gown and hung it in the armoire, allowing her hand to linger on the lovely fabric. She could have any gown she chose, now. They could all be ordered with no thought to somberness, as her self-imposed period of mourning for Allen was over. And they could be rich, flattering colors instead of the pastels which dulled her looks to obscurity, too.
Prudence turned to the dressing table across from the bed and peered at herself in the mirror. The high color that had carried her through the better part of the day had faded now. Her face looked pale and tight. She dropped onto the bench in front of the glass and began to release her auburn hair from the pins that held it in place. The thick tresses spilled down beyond her shoulders. She picked up the hairbrush Mrs. Granger had laid out and began to pull it through her hair with long, calming strokes.
This, too, shall pass.
Then she heard movement in the room next door and her reflection in the mirror aped her dismay. He was there already, probably stripping off his neckcloth at this very moment. Prudence swallowed hard and rose, allowing the hairbrush to drop to the floor without noticing. In a panic to be clothed in her nightgown before he came to her, she tugged off her shift and underclothing, catching a glimpse of herself naked in the glass. With a low moan, she grabbed the nightgown and pulled it on, allowing the filmy material to flow easily down over her vulnerable body.
Torn as to whether or not to leave the candle burning, she bit her lip and glanced toward the connecting door. He would bring his own candle, wouldn't he? But if there was no light in her room, she would seem unwelcoming, wouldn't she? Well, she didn't welcome him, her baser self insisted. Still, she had married him. He had every right to expect her to be ready for him to . . . do whatever it was he wished to do to her.
This, too, shall pass.
Prudence climbed into bed after moving the candle as far away as possible, so that its faint gleam scarcely reached her. Probably he would snuff it in any case, as well as his own, to leave them in the dark. Oh, God. She couldn't do this. Not now, not tonight. It had been a long and difficult day. But if not tonight, she would just be prolonging the alarming moment. She pulled the covers up to her chin, holding them there with whitened knuckles.
* * * *
Ledbetter tied the sash of his dressing gown around his waist. Then he ran his fingers through his coal black hair and frowned at his reflection in the mirror. She would be expecting him to look elegant, but how could one in a dressing gown, for God's sake? Especially one of
his
dressing gowns, chosen exclusively for their warmth in the drafty rooms at Salston. Frankly, Ledbetter was not certain any man could look elegant and sophisticated unless he was wearing a neckcloth, and you surely could not wear one with a dressing gown.
And would she be expecting him to be wearing something
under
his dressing gown? His cotton drawers, perhaps. Ledbetter was not accustomed to wearing anything at all to bed. He preferred it that way, even when the sheets were cold. Which surely would not be the case tonight, since his bride would have had the sense to use the warming pan on both her side of the bed and his. Wouldn't she?
But then, what if she had done that some time ago, and the bed was cold again?
Ledbetter made a snort of disgust. Oh, the hell with all that. He picked up his candle and walked purposefully toward the door which led into the second room of the suite. But there he hesitated, wondering if he should knock. What if she was a very slow undresser and she was still dithering about in the middle of the room, half clothed?
Well, too bad, he decided, though he did just give a tap to the door before he opened it and walked through. There was a candle burning on the chest of drawers, but scarcely enough light to reach the four poster bed. He couldn't see her at all in the shadows, though he felt certain she must be in the bed. He snuffed her candle, kept his in hand and advanced toward the bed.
Her face looked even paler against the white linens than it had looked before she came abovestairs. The sprinkling of freckles seemed to stand out on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were closed, but Ledbetter felt sure she wasn't asleep.
“Prudence?”
Her eyes fluttered open and she regarded him silently.
“Do you mind if I join you in bed?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, though there was a total lack of expression on her face.
“You do mind if I join you?” he asked, surprised.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, before she managed to say, “I'm afraid I . . . don't feel very well.”
“Ah,” he said. Now what? Ledbetter supposed he must graciously leave her if she didn't feel well. “Poor dear. It's been a trying day for you. Can I send for anything? Mrs. Granger probably has a soothing draft if you would like it. Is it your stomach?”
“No. Yes. Everything.”
Hmm. “I see.” Though of course he didn't. “Well, my dear, if there's nothing I can get for you, I will say goodnight.”
“No, no, nothing. I feel certain I'll be perfectly all right in the morning.”
“Yes, of course. A good night's sleep will set you up just right, I daresay.” Ledbetter could not be positive, but in the wavering light of the candle his bride already looked better. A little color had seeped back into her cheeks even as they spoke. Very odd. “I shan't keep you, then. Sleep well.”
“Thank you, Ledbetter. I do hope I shall.”
He had already turned away when he felt a strong compulsion to kiss her. She was, after all, his bride. This was, for better or worse, his wedding day. He turned back and was considerably startled to see a single tear sliding down her cheek. “My dear, you are in some pain,” he protested, crouching down beside the bed. “Please tell me what I can do.”
“No, no, it is just the upset,” she whispered, not meeting his gaze. “Really, it is nothing, Ledbetter. You needn't concern yourself.”
“My dear girl, who should be more concerned than your husband? If there is nothing I can get for you, perhaps I should stay until you sleep.”
“Please don't,” she pleaded. “Truly, I will be perfectly fine if only I am left alone to recover myself.”
Slightly offended, Ledbetter rose once more to his feet. “As you wish, of course. But please don't hesitate to call me should you need me during the night. I will leave the connecting door open so that I may hear you.”
Her sigh looked almost like a shudder, but she nodded and thanked him. Ledbetter decided he would not, after all, kiss her. What was the point? Better not to tease those expectant loins of his any further than they had already been tempted by the knowledge of this being his wedding night. Tomorrow was soon enough to satisfy the craving that roiled in him. If he were a patient man, it would hardly have bothered him at all.