“An excellent idea,” she murmured. “I find it difficult to picture Harriet wearing it.”
“Well, I may be wrong about how long it has been since she did so. You know how things seem to accumulate in mud rooms—old boots, and heavy stockings, and sweaters and caps. When I took the shawl down from the hook I found under it a cap of mine that I had thought long gone. Quite a favorite of mine, when I was a boy. I dare say you'll want to have some of that aging mess cleared out.”
“Probably. I'm a tidy soul at heart.”
He had given the horses the signal to start and they stepped out briskly. Prudence was a little surprised at how high she was from the ground. She wrapped one hand securely around the bar at her side. Ledbetter's attention was on his horses, but he asked, “Have you ridden in a high perch phaeton before?”
“No.”
“It takes some getting used to. You needn't be alarmed, though. I'm a fairly skilled driver, if I say so myself.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” she said as they bounced over a rut in the road. “One certainly does get a bird's eye view from this height.”
“Much more interesting than the view from a curricle,” Ledbetter assured her. “All you see are hedgerows from a curricle, miles and miles of greenery without any distant prospect. Geoffrey and I argue the merits of the high perch versus the curricle all the time.”
“So even with a large family Sir Geoffrey races about the countryside in a curricle, does he?”
Ledbetter cast her a brief glance. “Do I detect a note of disapproval, my dear? Perhaps you believe that a gentleman should become quite staid upon his marriage.”
“No, I believe that a gentleman should do his best not to break his neck when he has a family.”
“Ah, well, Geoffrey isn't going to break his neck in a curricle. I'm more likely to do that in the phaeton.”
“So I would imagine.” But she smiled a little shyly at him and said, “Actually I find it quite exhilarating.”
“Do you? Good girl. Shall I have them pick up the pace a bit?”
“No, thank you. This is exciting enough for me.”
Ledbetter laughed and kept a steady hand on the reins. Even when his horses were startled by a pair of pheasants erupting from the roadside bushes, he exerted a fine control over them. Prudence relaxed a little beside him, enjoying the view of her new county. Fields stretched off on either side of the lane, and the occasional cottage sprang up on the horizon. Birds wheeled overhead and there was birdsong from the bushes. Rolling hills bore patches of trees that would soon bud into spring greenery. And after a while a larger house came into view. Its gray stone walls sprawled over an immense courtyard.
“The Mannings’ place,” Ledbetter said. “Hawthorne Manor. I spent half my youth here.”
There was a wistfulness to his voice that surprised Prudence. Somehow one did not expect Lord Ledbetter to concern himself with his younger days, before he had grown to manhood. Still, it was easy enough for her to picture him here, darting about the courtyard with his friend, taking off to fish in the nearby stream, racing horses along the boundary walls.
As the phaeton drew closer to the buildings, Prudence allowed the shawl to slide down her back onto the seat of the carriage. Meeting Ledbetter’s oldest friends would be difficult enough without being seen to arrive in a shabby woolen shawl. This way the Mannings would only think her very strange for having driven so far in a flimsy redingote.
Chapter Eight
Ledbetter had spent some of the happiest hours of his youth at Hawthorne Manor. He had found in Geoffrey a kindred spirit, someone who was as intent on sowing his wild oats as Ledbetter himself. Sir John Manning and his wife had been the kind of parents any young man could have wished for, always loving and wise in their guidance of their children, and of Ledbetter, too.
And Martha Manning. Two years younger than Geoffrey and himself, a beautiful and spirited girl, she had been his first love. Ledbetter had assumed that he would marry her, as Geoffrey eventually married Catherine. But he had lost himself in London's many pleasures and, if not forgotten her, then lost the urgency he had felt about making a life with her. The appeal of domesticity had entirely deserted him when he discovered that being a single man in the metropolis offered so many temptations.
They hadn't had an understanding, he and Martha. Sir John had with his usual frankness insisted that they were both too young to make any commitment. And this had relieved Ledbetter when he indulged in the delights of gaming and boxing and attending masquerades and, eventually, taken a mistress. Quite a man of the world, he had not been prepared for the letter from Geoffrey announcing his sister's engagement.
At first Ledbetter had been stunned. He had always seen Martha as waiting for him in the background. Whenever he visited home, and Hawthorne Manor, there she was, as vivacious and pretty as he remembered. Each time he had considered offering for her, but had put off the actual deed for one reason or another. Still, he was always convinced that she loved him.
And so, when Geoffrey announced her engagement, Ledbetter felt sure that she had either done it to galvanize him, or out of a fear that he would never come up to scratch. In either case he knew that he needed to see her and assure her of his continued attachment. So, he had gone haring off to Hampshire, intent on setting matters right.
Fortunately, he happened to witness a revealing scene between Martha and her fiancé before he could make a complete fool of himself. It was quite obvious to Ledbetter when he watched them that they were in love, and he was surprised by the enormity of the loss he felt.
But that was a long time ago, Ledbetter thought as he handed Prudence down from the phaeton. Martha had been married for the better part of ten years, he supposed, and she was the mother of several children. Sir John had died and his wife had moved to live with her sister so that Geoffrey and Catherine and their children alone occupied Hawthorne Manor.
Ledbetter knew that his blunt announcement of his marriage would have surprised, and perhaps worried, Geoffrey and Catherine. He stole a glance at his wife as she allowed the butler to relieve her of her redingote. Though not perhaps in the first blush of youth, she was a fine looking woman. In fact, her countenance seemed more attractive to him now than it had when she'd had her London season four years ago. He repressed a smile as she gave up her bonnet with obvious reluctance.
He realized she had depended on the bonnet to press her hair into submission but that magnificent hair, no longer trapped under the confining confection, sprang to life. Ledbetter would have buried his fingers in it had they been alone. As the butler turned to announce them, Ledbetter possessed himself of Prudence's hands, which were making ineffectual attempts to tame her tresses.
“You look fine,” he assured her, tucking one hand through his arm. “Come and meet my friends.”
He paused for but a moment on the threshhold of the room, to take in the sight before him. Geoffrey and Catherine and two of their children were seated on the floor playing jackstraws. Catherine was again increasing, Ledbetter saw, with probably only a month to await the new arrival.
Geoffrey sprang to his feet at the butler's announcement of them and turned to assist his wife. The children darted across the room, calling, “Uncle Will, Uncle Will!” But they stopped short at the sight of an unfamiliar woman and studied Prudence with undisguised curiosity.
“This is my wife, Lady Ledbetter,” he told them. “Come and shake her hand, John, Clarissa, and tell her how old you are, because she will want to know and I'm sure I can never remember.”
John, a tall and spindly child, stepped forward and extended a hand to Prudence. “How do you do, Lady Ledbetter?” he said with exaggerated politeness. “I'm John, and I'm eight.”
“How do you do,” Prudence replied solemnly as she shook his hand. When his sister, shorter and rounder, with a bevy of curls around her face, approached Prudence, she extended her hand, saying, “And you are Clarissa. How do you do?”
“Very well, my lady.” The child blinked shyly. “I'll be six next week.”
“Next week? My congratulations.”
Sir Geoffrey made a shooing motion with his hands. “Off with you now, children. Your mama and I wish to make Lady Ledbetter's acquaintance with a measure of peace.”
The two giggled and raced each other from the room. Sir Geoffrey extended a hand to Prudence and welcomed her kindly. Then he turned a rueful grin on Ledbetter. “You've managed to surprise us, Will. We had no idea you were thinking of marriage.”
“No, indeed,” his wife agreed, coming forward to clasp Prudence's hand. “How delightful to meet you, Lady Ledbetter. Welcome to Hawthorne Manor.”
“Thank you.”
Prudence accepted the chair Sir Geoffrey indicated, but Ledbetter felt too restless to sit. He moved behind his wife's chair, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Prudence is a Stockworth, from Hampshire. We originally met four years ago when she made her come-out in London.”
“Four years ago?” Lady Manning exclaimed. “How extraordinary!”
Sir Geoffrey regarded his old friend with amusement. “And it took you all this time to win her hand? I'm surprised at you, Will.”
Ledbetter saw that in attempting to give himself some history with Prudence he'd merely fallen into a trap. “Alas, four years ago she paid not the least attention to me. We have only recently renewed our acquaintance.”
“It sounds very romantic,” Lady Manning assured her guest. “You'll take tea with us, won't you, Lady Ledbetter?”
“Thank you, yes. You have other children, I believe, for we saw some faces peering out the window above.”
“Our fifth is on the way. Two girls and two boys.”
As the women drifted into talk of the young ones, Ledbetter moved toward the windows, where Geoffrey joined him. “I felicitate you, Will,” his friend said, but he looked troubled. He was a sturdily built man with sandy hair and piercing blue eyes. “When I saw you a month ago, I don't believe you had any thoughts of marrying.”
“It was certainly not something I spoke of then.” Ledbetter glanced over to where the women were cheerfully talking. “Past time I was married. Harriet came for the nuptials, but had to go directly back to London.”
This piece of information seemed to mollify Geoffrey somewhat. “I trust Harriet is well.”
“Extremely. About to launch Markham's sister, though, and she seemed to think that preparing for the ball could be delayed long enough to venture only briefly to Colwyck.”
Geoffrey shook his head wonderingly. “I know she loves the social whirl of London as much as you do. Don't understand it myself.”
Ledbetter laughed. “I know you don't. But we aren't all meant to rusticate the way you do.” A grim thought thinned his lips. “I stopped at the church this morning.”
“That damned organ,” Geoffrey muttered. “Ludicrous, ain't it? Did you see Hidgely?”
“Yes, and spoke with him. He expects us at the dedication Sunday. I have a mind not to show up.”
His friend shook his head. “Wouldn't do that, Will. Almost a memorial to your mother. Folks would think you were spurning her memory.”
“The devil! If I thought it was possible to get to the bottom of this . . .” Ledbetter very nearly ground his teeth.
A footman arrived bearing the tea tray. As always it was loaded to overflowing with biscuits and cakes, bread and butter, everything to tempt indulgence. Geoffrey gave him a sympathetic look and urged him back toward the ladies. “No sense crying over spilled milk,” he growled.
Only when Prudence glanced up at him and looked worried did Ledbetter realize he was still scowling. He forced himself to smile at her and say, “It's a tradition here to stuff one's visitors so they won't need another meal for two days.”
Catherine laughed and shook her head. “I
think
the tradition developed when Will used to visit as a lad, Lady Ledbetter,” she confided. “My mama-in-law did not believe they fed him well enough at Salston, for he was forever eyeing the cakes as though he were desperately hungry.”
“Pure invention,” Ledbetter scoffed. “Geoffrey's mama liked nothing better than to hear about our adventures, and the only way she could entice us to sit still long enough to relate them was to feed us macaroons. Isn't that true, Geoffrey?”
“I remember her laughing until the tears came,” Geoffrey admitted as he helped himself to a biscuit. “Does it still when she visits and listens to John's tales.”
Ledbetter gave him a searching look. “Do you expect her at Hawthorne anytime soon?”
“She'll come when the new babe arrives,” Geoffrey said.
“Which could be any day from the looks of it,” Ledbetter retorted.
“Another two weeks, possibly.” Catherine held out a cup and saucer to Prudence. “They're almost always early.”
“I'd like to talk with her, if I'm still here when she comes,” Ledbetter said absently.
Three pairs of startled eyes turned toward him. “Why wouldn't you be here?” Geoffrey asked. “I thought you'd be situated at Salston for some time.”
Ledbetter was particularly struck by the look on Prudence's face. She looked almost as though he'd repudiated her there in front of his friends. “I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed, wanting to reach out to reassure her but feeling it would be inappropriate to do so. “Of course I shall be here when your mama is. I have a rather urgent business matter to take care of, but that should see me away from Salston for no more than a few days. Lady Manning will surely be here for several weeks.”
“Oh, yes,” Catherine said. “Probably for a month or better.”
“Well, then,” Ledbetter assured his companions, “there shall be not the least difficulty.”
The enjoyment of the visit which had previously been apparent in his bride had been extinguished, however. Though she continued to converse with her host and hostess, she had become distracted and Ledbetter could not doubt that he was entirely to blame. To make up for his careless error, he began to relate anecdotes from their younger years that he thought would interest his wife. Prudence smiled where appropriate but the haunted look did not disappear from her eyes.