A Countess of Convenience (22 page)

He tightened his arms around Pru, forcing her drenched back against his chest. Tremors ran through her. Obviously she was chilled to the bone.

Prudence shook with rage. How dare he show up without any warning and treat her like some—some baggage. People were in danger—people whose family had worked his land for generations. They stood to lose everything they owned because of his careless stewardship, and all he cared about was maintaining his stupid family dignity.

She'd once heard her Uncle Oscar say that aristocrats were a blight on the backs of the common man. Because of her mother's background, Prudence had resented his saying such a thing, but now she wondered if he wasn't correct. And due to her marriage, she was one of them and expected to live by their selfish standards. The thought made her stomach churn.

Tightly held against Malvern's body, Prudence tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “Are you trying to punish me by squeezing me to death?"

The pressure of his arms slackened a bit. “I'm not punishing you, I'm rescuing you."

"I was in no more danger than any of the others."

"You aren't like the others. You are the Countess of Malvern."

Forcing the words though lips tight with anger, she said, “I am and always will be Prudence Crump."

His voice acquired the tones of a pontificating curate. “When you married me, you became a member of an illustrious family that has served this nation with honor for generations. You now have a duty to maintain the dignity of that family."

"Is it dignified to see people suffering and not lift a hand to help?"

"There are acceptable ways to help the poor. You send others or even deliver sustenance yourself, but you do not wade through a flood in heavy skirts. My God, woman, you were nearly swept away."

"The water came up so quickly...” What was the use of trying to explain anything to him? He was a cold-hearted man who cared for nothing but appearances. She let her back slump against his body as fatigue overcame her. The feel of her soppy woolen petticoats clinging heavily up to her knees told her just how high the water had come and how easily she could have fallen in it.

She tucked her head against his chest and closed her eyes against threatening tears. In truth, she had been frightened before he had suddenly appeared and shocked her into near insensibility. Now the strength and warmth coming from his body comforted her. But she mustn't lean too heavily on him. Like all men, he was unreliable. She had to depend on herself and could do that only if she maintained her own identity.

They rode the rest of the way to Aysbeck Hall in silence. He handed her down at the front door with orders to “get out of those wet clothes” and rode on to the stables.

Malvern hurried up the main staircase, eager to get into dry clothing. He met Victor at the doorway to his room. The valet carried a large copper can of steaming water.

"I'll have a hot bath ready for you in a few moments, my lord,” Victor said as though it were a great achievement. “The plumbing in this old house is abominable and servants are non-existent."

In the room, Malvern began to peel off his wet clothes. “Evidently they've all gone to fight the flood."

"According to the cook, two farm girls and an elderly caretaker are the only other servants."

Malvern shook his head in amazement. What on earth had Prudence been doing here for over a month? Was refusing to have a proper staff some sort of rebellion against her exile? If so, she only hurt herself. “I suppose I'll have to attend to the matter myself. Remind me to speak to Snavely tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord.” Victor took the wet cloak and arranged it over a chair near the fireplace where a fire blazed merrily.

Eying the brass tub in front of the fire with anticipation, Malvern stripped off his vest and cravat. “Surely the countess has a lady's maid?"

With an expression that clearly showed his disapproval, Victor said, “According to the cook, the two girls working here hardly qualify as scullery maids."

Malvern remembered how cold and bedraggled Prudence had looked when he had last seen her. Knowing no one would fetch hot water for her, he decided she needed this bath more than he did. He stepped to the door that joined her room to his, and without a thought to her privacy, entered.

She knelt on a small rug in front of a sputtering fire, washing her bare body from a china basin on the floor beside her. The flickering firelight gave her skin a bronze cast, making her look like a voluptuous statue. He hadn't remembered her breasts being so full.

Seeing him, she gasped in alarm and hastily pulled a large linen square around her shoulders, hiding her body.

"It's only me,” he said.

She looked up at him with wide eyes that looked almost afraid. “What do you want?"

Her reaction took him by surprise. After the week they'd spent together at Wildwood Lodge, her show of maidenly modesty seemed odd. “Victor has heated water for a bath. I thought you might like to share it."

She shook her head. “I'm almost done here, and I need to get downstairs."

He noticed the set of her lips and realized she was more angry than frightened. What did she have to be angry about? He had come here prepared to forgive the wrongs she had done him, had rescued her from a flood, and now offered to delay his bath, and she still treated him churlishly. So be it. If she wanted to do without, he'd let her. Striding back into his room, he closed the door a bit too decisively.

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Refreshed after a hot bath, Malvern started downstairs hoping the cook in this poorly run household could produce something decent to eat. A brace of candles lit the first floor hallway, but the rooms on either side were dark. He paused at the doorway of the tomb-like dining room and then noticed light and a considerable amount of noise coming from the back of the house. He thought about ringing the silver bell on the sideboard, but decided no one would hear it and he started down the hallway.

After pushing the kitchen door open, he stared in amazement at a scene that could have come straight from Bedlam. Prudence stood surrounded by the cook and a half dozen others, including four wet children, the smallest of whom bellowed loudly for want of his mother. Malvern raised his voice to a volume that would easily have reached all members of the House of Lords.

"What is going on here?"

Except for the child's whimpering, the room grew instantly silent and all eyes turned toward him. With a clearly irritated expression, Prudence replied, “The Bailey children have just arrived. When they're settled, you can have your dinner."

The cook waved a wooden spoon in an exasperated manner. “How can I fix a meal with all this to-do in my kitchen?"

"Mrs. Jones.” Prudence's voice had a militant quality Malvern had never heard from her before. “These children are wet, hungry, and frightened. I think we can all bear a little inconvenience to help them."

A snaggle-toothed boy with a mop of unruly brown hair indignantly puffed out his chest. “Ah ain't afeared o’ no flood."

The young woman who held the whining child smacked his shoulder. “Don't be talking back to ‘er ladyship, bucko."

"Now, Polly,” Prudence began.

"Look at all the water they've dripped on t'floor.” Mrs. Jones pointed with her spoon. “A body could fall and kill ‘erself."

The baby revived and loudly cried, “Mam, mam."

Malvern saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned to catch Victor carrying wet clothing and edging toward a doorway next to the kitchen. “Where are you going?"

Glancing warily at the noisy occupants of the kitchen, Victor pointed toward a closed door. “The laundry room. There are drying racks."

Seeing a ray of light, Malvern told Victor to wait and then turned back to the bedlamites. He addressed the girl holding the baby. “Young woman, are you related to these children?"

She dipped him an awkward curtsy. “Aye, yer lordship. They be my brothers and sisters."

"Fine. Follow Victor to the laundry room and get them out of their wet clothing."

"They got nothing else to put on,” she replied in a distressed voice.

Just then Neil Weathersby, muddy and carrying a large basket, clomped in through the back door. “Their mother sent this clothing, but most of it is wet too."

"Victor,” Malvern continued, “after you hang those things up, come back and get this basket. See what you can salvage from it. Otherwise, wrap the children in towels and sheets until their own clothing dries."

The snaggle-toothed boy stuck his chin out pugnaciously. “Ah ain't wearing no she—"

Malvern easily squelched his rebellion by pointing a finger and sternly saying, “Do as you are told."

Polly led the children toward Victor, who continued on to the laundry room. Neil edged around Malvern, acting almost as cowed as the children. “I'll carry these things down. Maybe I can help Polly."

While Malvern stared after his brother-in-law in amazement, Prudence questioned Mrs. Jones about feeding the children once they were dry.

After they had settled that hot soup and bread and butter would do nicely, he said, “Prudence, may I speak with you—privately?"

She nodded curtly and followed the sweep of his hand toward the dining room. After lighting a candle he saw on a shelf near the kitchen doorway, he went to the dining room and began to light candles in a wall sconce. “This place is as dark as a cave."

"I see no point in lighting rooms that aren't being used,” she said in a prim voice.

"Hopefully, I'll soon be using this room to eat my dinner. Now kindly explain why those children are here."

Her neck stiffened. “Because their home has been flooded and there's no place else for them to stay."

"Where will they stay here? Surely you don't intend to bring them into our part of the house."

Her nostrils flared. “There's plenty of space in the servants’ quarters."

"Why aren't servants residing in those quarters? Victor tells me this house is woefully understaffed."

She placed her fists on her hips. “I cannot pay salaries and feed a houseful of servants on two hundred pounds a quarter."

He stared at her in confusion. “That money is your personal allowance—not for household expenses."

"Oh, and how are household expenses to be taken care of?"

This was embarrassing. He'd never meant to deny her the basic comforts of life. “Well, Snavely should have..."

"Did anyone explain that to Mr. Snavely?"

"I assumed Walton had taken care of such details."

She tossed her head like a filly fighting a bit. “Perhaps if you took care of a few details yourself, you'd know more about what goes on in your own world."

"Prudence, I'm sorry if you've been discomforted. I admit I've been remiss in this matter, but I'll make arrangements for the household expenses first thing tomorrow."

Seeming not the least bit appeased by his humble apology, she pulled herself to her full height and demanded, “And what about the other problems on this estate? Will you attend to those as well?"

"What prob—” No. He wouldn't allow himself to be drawn into a conversation about things that were none of her affair. “You concern yourself with the house and servants. Mr. Snavely is in charge of the rest."

She sighed. “Doesn't it bother you to see people who have lived and worked on your land all of their lives driven from the security of their own home?"

"A flood is an act of God, Prudence. You can't blame me for that."

"Mr. Bailey told me that three generations of his family have lived in that cottage and this is the first time water reached the house. Didn't you receive a letter about the streambed from Mr. Bodkin?"

"Yes, and I intend to look into the matter during this visit. If it needs attention, I'll make Snavely aware of it. He's the best bailiff this estate has ever had, but anyone can make an occasional mistake."

She frowned at him for moment. “What makes him the best bailiff?"

Even though it was none of her business, he decided to be patient and explain. “He earns greater profits than anyone ever has before."

"And how do you think he does that?” she asked in an edgy voice.

"With more efficient management practices, of course."

"Is that what you call raising rents and ignoring needed repairs?"

He should have known a woman wouldn't understand business. “You've obviously allowed yourself to believe complaints from lazy tenants."

She glared up at him, not in the least intimidated by his flawless logic. “And when was the last time you listened to any of your tenants?"

The woman was hopeless. With a jerky wave of his hand, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Please go see to those children, or I'll never get my meal."

She walked away, shaking her head as if he were the one too thickheaded to understand simple facts. The woman really was exasperating. He supposed her common lineage prevented her from understanding a true gentlewoman's place in the world. One would think her mother, a duke's daughter, would have taught Prudence—but the mother had run off with a commoner, so she obviously hadn't cared about propriety.

Of course, he had to accept a bit of blame for not arranging matters properly when he had sent Prudence here. That was undoubtedly the real reason for her pique. He'd have to eat a bit of crow and convince her that any mistreatment had been entirely due to oversight. With a little patience and his usual charm with women, she'd come around.

It did seem a bit much to have to charm one's own wife. Then he recalled the vision of Prudence's glowing body kneeling in the dim firelight and remembered the warm intimacy they had shared at Wildwood Lodge and knew it would be worth the effort.

After hearing raised voices in the dining room, Neil had waited in a dark corner of the hallway until Prudence flounced out of the room and headed toward him. When she was close, he softly asked, “Why is Malvern angry?” Having the earl see him looking like a common laborer had completely demoralized Neil.

Prudence shrugged. “He's just being his usual arrogant self."