Chapter 1 #3
The maid passed her a look but then decided to keep her judgement to herself. “As you please.”
“Hold still,” the maid urged.
“I am trying,” Prudence said. The nerves were finally beginning to set in, and perhaps she was beginning realize that she was to marry in a few short hours.
To a man that I have never even met.
“There is no need to be nervous, Miss,” the maid tried to soothe. “I assure you, all young girls feel like this on the day of their wedding. It is rather normal to feel so. The nerves will shed themselves in time.”
Prudence opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the door opening. It was her father.
“Is she ready yet?” He peered into the room, impatient as ever.
Prudence could not even fake a smile in his presence. “I am in the process,” she replied, curtly.
“You ought to hurry. We need to leave for the ceremony soon,” he admonished. He was dressed already in a polished suit that was no doubt one of his best ones. She knew that he would want to impress the Duke.
“No need to worry, My Lord,” the maid said hastily. “I shall have her ready in no time.”
The Baron shot his daughter a peculiar look, as though he was trying to imagine her as a bride but failing at the endeavor. “See to it that you do quickly.”
Another one of the staff barged in, looking rather rattled.
“Lord Bastable,” she said, forgetting that Prudence was present, “you are wanted at once. There is a message from Danvers House.”
“What now?” he demanded. “We will be there in time. What do they have to say that is so urgent?”
The lady who delivered the message swallowed. It was then that Prudence took in the sight of her properly. She looked pale, as though all of the color had been drained out of her face. Seeing her in such a state, Prudence sat up straight in her chair.
“They say the Duke….” She glanced at Prudence for the first time but made no other effort to conceal her alarm. “They say the Duke is… He has died, Sir. In the night.”
Died?
Prudence nearly shot up out of her chair, but her maid pushed her back down gently. Her father, on the other hand, looked as though he was going to faint.
“What nonsense is this? He was to be here at noon,” he mumbled.
“There is a man downstairs from Danvers House. He brings the particulars,” the woman said. “I am only conveying what has been told to me.”
The woman looked so guilty that it was almost as though she had killed the Duke. But another emotion was taking root inside of Prudence altogether. She looked at the maid then her hands and then her father.
“Father…” She realized then that the emotion that she was feeling was relief. “… I believe that this is a sign. God has intervened. We need not go through with it; there is nothing to go through. We can let it be done.”
“Do not,” her father snapped, “mistake a misfortune for a miracle. We will wait. There is no certainty in the word of a servant, and I do not believe that he is dead.”
That would be wishful thinking on your part, she found herself thinking. Or perhaps mine to think that he is truly gone.
“But we have no other evidence that points to the contrary,” Prudence replied.
“That is why I am telling you to wait.” Her father’s shock had given way to anger now. He was positively fuming and turning red. “In the meanwhile, you are to continue exactly as you are now. Do not dare to make a show of this and cry.”
I couldn’t even if I tried, she thought but did not say it out loud. “And where are you going to go?”
“I am going to get to the bottom of this,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Stay here.”
He slammed the door on the way out, leaving with the other maid. Now left alone with the maid who was dressing her, an awkward silence occupied the room.
“Well, then,” the maid said. “I…”
“Forget this.” Prudence got up. “There is a strange sense of cruelty in dressing for a dead man. I refuse to do so.”
“But Miss…”
“There are no buts.” Prudence put her foot down. “We are to wait for my father until he returns with more news. Till then, it is no use to use to ruminate or get ready.”
“Right. As you wish.”
The minutes passed on. Prudence was left waiting by the window, waiting for any news to arrive. Her mind was a whirlwind. Relief was one feeling, but then dread lurked as well.
What was to become of her now that her husband to be was no longer living?
Prudence exited her chambers and headed downstairs. A man arrived at that moment. She saw him walk in, and her father stand in the foyer to receive him.
He was not a duke; that was clear at a glance. He was dressed as a gentleman but not an ornamented one.
“Miss Bastable,” he said, noticing her. “Lord Bastable.”
“Who are you?” her father asked without delay and then second guessed himself. “Are you the duke?”
“Oh, no. I am only the valet,” he replied with a serious expression.
“Valet.” The word fell from her father’s mouth like a spoiled fruit. “They send me a valet.”
The man ignored the insulting edge in the baron’s voice and continued on, “The steward will call later about estate matters, but this is not a matter for ledgers. His Grace is dead. He will not be coming.”