Chapter Four
The ride home was accomplished in record time, given the late afternoon waning light and the snow on the ground.
But Reid admitted to himself as he dismounted, he hadn’t remembered very much of it.
His mind was still full of the woman who had been so terribly mis-named.
There was nothing prudent about Prudence, he mused with a private grin.
The groom took Whiskey toward the stables, and Reid noticed the carriage signifying the arrival of the Southwicks drawn up alongside. To his dismay, the horses were being brushed and tended. That meant Lady Southwick and Emmeline were already there.
He hurried inside, hoping to be able to tidy himself and stroll in for tea without comment. But luck was not on his side.
“There you are, Reid. We were wondering where you’d got to.”
It was Lady Mary Southwick, looking down her nose at him. The woman was always reminding the Chillendales that she was related to a Duke, which thus made them her inferiors.
“I was delayed, Ma’am. My apologies.”
She sniffed. “It can’t be helped, I suppose. But I’m sure your mother will be happy to delay tea while you change.”
“I…er…” He had intended to refresh himself and perhaps put on another jacket. Apparently, that would not do.
“Now I know you Chillendales like informality, but do remember you have guests, young man. And Emmeline is here with me. I’m sure you will want to appear to your best in front of her, now, won’t you?” She smiled archly.
“Lady Southwick, I…”
“Oh run along. You’ll have to keep us for dinner if you wait much longer.”
Terror at that thought spurred Reid into action. “Of course. Your pardon, Ma’am.” He bowed and fled.
He rushed through his rooms, stripping as he went, blessing his man Chilton for the warm water in the ewer and the clean clothes laying on the bed.
As he soaped a cloth, he felt he was washing away the traces of her. Of the inappropriately named Prudence. He was removing her scent, and the fragrance of spring. He was cleansing himself of the pleasure he’d experienced, and returning to the bland and ordinary place that was his world.
He realised he was in a mold, not unlike the comments she’d made to him earlier.
He was one of the “establishment”, and his life was predictable.
Not to mention quite dull. Yes, he loved Chillendale ales, and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else or doing anything else.
But this afternoon had shown him that there was another side to life.
A side where conversations were important and challenging, not routine. And where passion roared to life.
He couldn’t, for the life of him, imagine taking Emmeline to bed and finding that fire within her. He’d shock her to her slippers if he touched her breasts. She’d faint if he did anything more.
He dashed down the stairs to the small drawing room and paused at the door, hearing that girlish giggle Emmeline was so proud of. What sound would she make when he stripped her and claimed his husbandly rights?
She’d scream and then faint. Again. He just knew it. She was that kind of young woman.
“Dear Reid, finally.” His mother caught sight of him. “Come in, there’s still some tea left. I let Bunbury bring it in, since Mary graciously informed me that you were in the house at last.”
He gathered his composure as best he could and managed to not refer to their guest as a bacon-brained old fogey. “I was delayed, Mama. My sincerest apologies, to you and to Lady Southwick and Miss Emmeline.”
His polite bow was greeted with a nod from the older woman and a blushing giggle from the younger one.
“Were you widing, Mr. Weid?”
He blinked. “Er, yes. Yes, I was.” He recalled how much he loathed that little affectation that made girls mispronounce words in order to appear adorable. It didn’t work with most of ‘em, and failed dismally with Emmeline.
“So bwave of you. The snow can be quite wisky under a horse’s hooves.” She simpered.
“I had a sturdy mount, Miss Emmeline. There was no danger. I’m sure you must agree that a little ride now and again, even in winter, is a pleasant experience. It’s a very lovely time of year.”
She shivered. “Oh no. I don’t like to wide at all when it’s cold. Besides, my nose turns quite wed.”
“Ah.”
Having reached the end of that topic of conversation with little difficulty, Reid moved to the tea tray and accepted a cup from his mother. Who managed to give him a fierce glare along with a plate of lemon tartlets.
He correctly interpreted this as to mean he was to sit and participate, without saying any of the things she knew he was thinking.
He sighed and sat.
“Now that we’re all here,” began Lady Southwick, “perhaps this is as good a time as any to begin some discussion of the events to come.”
Lady Jocelyn delicately sipped her tea. “I believe we have matters in hand here at Chillendale, dear Mary. The arrangements for the Mistletoe ball are underway. I think we’ll be using more holly – I’m told the berries are plentiful and red this year.”
“Yes, but…” Lady Southwick began.
“I’m guessing our girl hollies have picked up a bit then, have they?” Reid inquired of his mother.
“Girl hollies?”
He suppressed a grin. He knew Emmeline would catch that comment. And for the moment he had redirected the conversation away from the quicksand of the whole Mistletoe Marquess business.
For the next fifteen minutes, he and his mother entertained Emmeline with a discussion of the difference between male and female holly bushes, and enchanting her with the notion that only the female bushes bore berries.
She found it “dewightful” and smiled eagerly at the prospect of being able to tell her friends who all thought she was nothing but an empty-headed ninnyhammer.
Since Reid tended to agree with that assessment, he put the last lemon tart into his mouth, thus eliminating the need for a response.
“That’s all very nice, but not what I thought we would be discussing today.” Lady Southwick’s voice had a distinct edge to it.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. What were you wishing to talk about, dear Mary?” Lady Jocelyn was sweet as sugar.
Reid reminded himself to hug his mother more. She was such a trouper and dealt so well with situations like this.
“I would have thought it was quite obvious.” A pair of carefully coloured eyebrows rose into tall arches. “The announcement of dear Emmeline’s elevation to the position of Mistletoe Marchioness.”
Lady Jocelyn put her cup and saucer down on the tray, and brushed her hands over her gown. “Well, now that you’ve brought it up…”
“I do beg your pardon, my Lady. The Southwick carriage is ready.” Bunbury stood in the doorway, unflappable, every inch the perfect butler. “I understand the coachman is concerned about more snow and would like to return the ladies home before full darkness falls.”
“Of course. How thoughtless of us to keep you here, dear Mary.” Lady Jocelyn rose. “Not for the world would I risk your person, nor that of dear Emmeline, by sending you out if travel were unsafe.”
Left without a word to say, Lady Southwick rose. She had no other choice. Emmeline stood as well.
“Ladies, it’s been delightful. I thank you for a most pleasant afternoon.” Reid realised he could lie almost as well as his mother. Heavens. What were the Chillendales coming to?
Maids hurried in with cloaks, wraps and muffs, and within ten minutes the two women were tucked into the Southwick coach and sent on their way with many well wishes and insincere sentiments.
“Dreadful woman,” Lady Jocelyn muttered, sotto voce.
“I heard that.”
“And you, my son, devil that you are, where the hell were you?” She spun around as soon as they returned to the drawing room.
“You let me deal with those two addle-pated nincompoops for nearly an hour. Alone. When Mary wasn’t looking down her nose at me and mentally pricing my silverware, young Emmeline was telling me about her dawling puppy. Aaargh.”
“Sherry, mother? Or brandy?”
Lady Jocelyn narrowed her eyes and glared at her child. “Damn. Give me a little of your father’s Scotch. And don’t mention it to him.”
Reid grinned and obeyed, pouring two helpings of the amber liquor.
“And you expect me to wed that chit?” He passed her the glass.
“Really, Mama? You want her as your daughter-in-law for the rest of your life? And are you even thinking of mine? I’ll spend the rest of my life being “dear Weed”. How do you think that makes me feel?”
He tossed back the Scotch, relishing the warm burn on his throat, then observed his mother doing exactly the same.
Their gazes met. They paused – and then both burst out laughing.
Lady Jocelyn caught her breath. “Well, love. I’m thinking that this is all making you feel weely wotten.”
Five minutes later, when mother and son had gotten their breath back and could look at each other without bursting into guffaws again, Reid shook his head.
“I cannot marry that girl, Mama. Let’s admit it.
I wasn’t sure in the first place, but now?
After this afternoon? I’m sure. She’s not the one for me. ”
Lady Jocelyn’s sharp eyes remained on her son’s face, but she nodded. “I think you’re right. ‘Tis a pity though. She’s the only eligible girl hereabouts. I’m not sure what we can do about the Mistletoe Ball without a woman at your side.”
“There’s nobody at all?”
“Reid, there are lots of lovely girls in the village. But you can’t, in all fairness to the Chillendale line, wed a milkmaid.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why not, when the dinner bell rang. Which probably saved him from a scolding.
Much later that evening, he thought to ask his parents a question which had popped into his mind as he stared into the fire in the family parlour. “Father, have you or Mama ever heard the name Eldridge?”
Prudence pulled another candle from her small store and lit it from the embers in the fire. The light was welcome, but she was warm enough and had no complaints about her humble accommodations.