Chapter Thirteen
Hecate Ridlington sat in her small parlour and gazed from the window out onto the snow, giving silent blessings to the half-dozen mostly silent servants who had saved her skin on this occasion.
She’d known that the two young women would return to see where they had been, and it had taken a bit of doing and a lot of rushing around, but they had been able to make it look as though the house had been empty for quite some time.
She was as tired now as she had been after she’d sent the sleeping girls off to the village. It had taken more than a little work to turn this cottage into the kind of home where they would feel comfortable.
But it had been worth it.
“What do you think, Bub?” She looked down into a pair of fathomless green eyes. “Did we do the right thing?”
“Meowww.”
“I needed to see if I still had the will to accomplish something like that.” She rose and limped to the fireplace, bending to add a log to the blaze. “And it would seem I do.” She smiled at the flames. “It felt good, you know.”
“Mrrrooow.”
“Yes, it is cold. But it’s winter in the country.
And we’re not living at Ridlington anymore.
” She resumed her seat and pulled a thick blanket onto her knees.
The cat accepted the invitation and within moments was kneading himself a perfect spot in which to circle twice, knead a little more, and then curl up contentedly.
Which was Hecate’s signal to rub his head and his ears.
“Spoiled boy, Beelzebub.”
The answering purr agreed.
Her gaze turned once more to the snow covered landscape.
She had felt powerful again, after letting her will lie dormant for so long.
She hadn’t cared much for anything since the accident, afraid that the shock and pain might have stripped her of her savage determination, as her father had so desperately wished.
He never realised that it was part of who she was. That it was a gift bequeathed to her from her mother.
But then again, he never saw her mother as anything other than his third wife and potential brood mare.
Brushing off the darker thoughts, she turned to a consideration of Prudence Eldridge.
When a friend in London had entertained her with gossip, at a time when Hecate was out of the social scene and healing as best she could, the topic of Lady Eldridge had arisen and Hecate remembered her vaguely from some evening event they’d both attended.
She was young, beautiful, and wed to a man who was clearly not in love with her at all.
He treated her much as he would a maidservant, even on the rare occasions they were seen in public.
But she never protested or complained. Her fortitude was admired by some, but condemned by many more, who voiced the opinion that she should take a few lovers just to ease the agony of living with such a grouch.
The story had stayed with Hecate after her friend had left. And a few months later she’d glimpsed the now-widowed Lady Eldridge at a lending library. Tall, still lovely and very pale, something about her made her memorable.
And for one of the few times in her life, Hecate went home and pulled out her mother’s scrying bowl.
She peeked into the life of Lady Eldridge and saw – secrets. Hidden, some dark, others sad, these matters were best left where they were.
But then there was a quick flash of a man with Lady Prudence, a lover, and it was in the winter. The entire vision changed to one of light and laughter and abundant joy.
Hecate knew now that she’d seen Reid Chillendale.
She’d recognised him as she watched the foursome staring at the cottage and remembered that strong connection she’d felt when his aura had flashed into her mind in connection with Prudence.
At that time, he had no name, but that sensation was strong enough for Hecate to focus on Prudence, letting her know she should go for a walk in the snow. A man would be needing her help…
So Prudence had found her mate. She hoped so. Then she remembered the last part of her vision in the scrying bowl. The one that showed secrets revealed and a wedding, lit with sunlight and colours reflecting from icy crystals.
Which begged the question of whether one particular secret was now publicly known, or still lurking in the past, concealed at first by design and then the passage of time.
“Hmm.” She absently pulled at Beelzebub’s ears. His purring paused for a moment, and he lifted his head to look at her.
“Yes, I agree. I think in this particular case, we may be forgiven for making sure that the future proceeds as it was foretold.”
“Mrrrooow.”
“Then let us give Fate a hand, shall we?” Hecate smiled. She reached out and rang the small bell on the side table. “I think I need to write some notes, and Dal shall take them to Chillendale for me. After that? Who knows. Time to pack up our belongings and move on, I think.”
Prudence had done her best to throw herself into the country holiday events. She’d had brunch with the Reverend and his wife, a young couple who were devoted to each other and their flock. And had presented an excellent fruit cake to their guests.
She’d accompanied Brent and Emmeline, which was helpful to the two of them, since she could serve as a de facto chaperone.
The three of them also visited an afternoon tea at the Wallingfords, an older couple who had started a new school several years before.
They were also charming, and Prudence was especially struck by their forward-thinking views.
They had no problem in including girls in some of their classes.
“The mind of a girl should be no different to the mind of a boy,” said Mr. Wallingford in response to Pru’s question. “My wife and I find it quite absurd to exclude them from the process of learning.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Prudence took a bite of fresh gingerbread.
“Young ladies are poorly educated at best, Lady Eldridge. It is sad that these will be the mothers of the next generation, and so few of them are proficient at reading or simple mathematical calculations.”
“I confess to a deficiency in the area of mathematics myself, but I compensated for it by devouring whatever books I could get my hands on.”
Wallingford grinned. “So just think how much you could have learned if you had had the chance to attend a real school.”
“Indeed. It boggles the mind.”
This visit was followed by an impromptu skating party – Pru held Emmeline’s boots and warmed her hands by the small bonfire next to the pond while the newly-engaged pair took to the ice.
She didn’t fancy taking a risk and skidding over the cold stuff, only to land in an ungainly heap of skirts, cloak and possibly very cold water.
After that, there was a winter hayride provided by several local farmers, and so the three of them bundled themselves into extra woolen scarves, taking a seat on the hay bales and joining in the loud – and mostly off-key – rendition of some favorite Christmas songs.
She ate too much, did things she’d vaguely heard about but never experienced, like tasting wassail, which was hot and fragrant with spices, and managed to immerse herself in the Christmas season, as celebrated by a small village.
And all the time, regardless of where she was or what she was doing, a part of her thoughts remained with Reid.
It was agony to think of leaving him. Of never knowing the kind of life she was glimpsing…one where people became not just neighbors but family, and developed a history that was passed from one generation to the next.
But even worse agony was the thought that because of her, these people might suffer.
If the Chillendale ale business was damaged by rumors and innuendos.
So many villagers she met were either brewery workers or farmers who grew the barley that went into the ale.
It was a delicate web of interdependency that she would not willingly damage in any way.
It seemed that every direction her thoughts turned led to unhappiness for her. And that was nothing if not depressing.
The nights were the worst. During the day, Brent and Emmeline distracted her enough to ease the worries. But alone, tucked into her bed at the Inn, those worries grew and grew until they threatened to suffocate her.
She slept poorly, ate little and castigated herself for acting like a moonstruck young girl. But still the nights crawled by, riddled with snatched moments of sleep and dreams that were no better than her waking thoughts.
It was a period of unpleasant introspection the likes of which Prudence could not recall. Never had she loved someone the way she loved Reid. And it was the power of that love that made her choices so frustratingly difficult.
Either way would tear them both apart. Either now, if she left, or later should the world prove unforgiving.
She felt damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. And it was utterly horrid being unable to arrive at any kind of compromise.
On the day before the ball, Brent took her by the arm after breakfast. “Let’s talk, my dear. Emmeline will be arriving in an hour or so. But I need words with you.” His face and his tone were both somber.
She sighed. “Very well.” How much worse could it be?
They found the snug empty and made themselves comfortable. “Now,” said Brent. “Supposing you tell me what is the matter with you?”
She looked at him. “Brent, I love you dearly. But this is personal.”
“Nonsense. We’ve known each other since childhood. There isn’t anything we cannot share, Pru. And you are looking like…well death warmed over isn’t an exaggeration. So tell me what’s the matter?”
She paused for a moment, then decided she had nothing to lose. “Reid and I…well, it is there, Brent. I cannot deny my feelings for him, nor he for me.”
“That’s wonderful.” He beamed at her. “I’m so happy. I’d hoped for something like this because I always felt you two would suit so well.”
“Wait.” She held up her hand. “There is a major problem, though.”
“Uh oh.”
So Prudence told him of her circumstances surrounding her birth. “Did you not know?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Never had any idea at all. M’mother never mentioned a word, so she might not have known.
And as for my father…well, you know how ill he was for so long.
If I recall correctly, his memory began to fade after his accident.
And that was…oh…the year after we met? Something like that. ”
Pru nodded, knowing that the previous Viscount Rowdean had suffered a serious head injury while out riding and had never fully recovered. Brent had assumed the reins of the Rowdean estate at a young age.
“Well, be that as it may, I am – for all intents and purposes – illegitimate, Brent. And that is a big stumbling block when it comes to marrying a Chillendale.”
Brent’s chest rose and fell on a sigh. He needed no explanation – he understood. “Bollocks.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”