Chapter Three #2
Prue sat at the table with little appetite for the food.
After picking at the meal of fricassee of chicken, peas and carrots, and a flummery, she retreated to the chintz-covered upholstered chair near the fire to wait the long hours until everyone had retired.
Exhausted, after the worst day of her life, her eyelids grew heavy, and she longed to curl up and sleep.
To try to forget everything for a while.
But her busy mind kept her alert and wide awake.
When the clock struck two, she put on her pelisse and bonnet.
A good deal of activity had taken place in the corridor outside her room throughout the night, with chuckles, squeals, and giggles, and doors slamming.
It had grown quiet, and she cautiously opened the door and stepped into the shadowy corridor.
Prue tried to ignore the low groans and giggles emanating from behind the closed doors, which made her blush, as she hurried to the staircase.
The dim glow from candles guttering in the sconces threw shadows into corners.
It unnerved her but helped guide her way to the staircase.
She descended slowly, testing each step on the stairs for a loose board, and finally reached the great hall without anyone appearing to stop her.
If there was a footman on duty beside the front door in the entry, what would she say to him?
Afraid some inebriated man might lunge at her from the shadows, she shivered and pulled her pelisse close.
But she reached the front door without mishap and found the footman sprawled in his chair, snoring.
Sweat dampened the curls on her forehead.
Would her panicked breathing wake him? What reason could she give to explain leaving the house in the middle of the night?
It seemed an abnormally long time to cross the tiled floor while holding her breath.
But he didn’t stir as she crept past him to where the big key hung beside the entry doors.
A loud clunk rang out when she inserted the key and turned it in the lock. The door creaked as she opened it. An anguished glance reassured her that the young footman still hadn’t woken.
She expected half the house to come to investigate. But nothing stirred, except for the skittering mice behind the walls.
Prue stepped out into the cold night air and rubbed her arms. The fitful moonlight bathed the gardens in silver and indigo.
She quietly closed the door behind her. Grateful for her sturdy half-boots she had donned this morning (had it only been this morning?
It seemed a lifetime ago!), she stepped down from the porch and broke into a run along the drive, the gravel crunching under her feet.
Breathless, she entered the stable-yard.
All seemed quiet and dark, except for a lamp burning in the coachman’s rooms above the stables.
Would a young stablehand be on duty, watching over the horses?
With no time to consider it, she slipped into the musty stables, lit by a small lamp.
Breathing in the familiar and calming smells of hay, horses, saddle oil, and leather, she ventured farther.
A horse whickered. The rest paid no attention; their heads drooped, snuffling in their sleep.
Prue roamed the stalls to select a suitable mare.
A roan with a white blaze watched her with big, velvety-brown eyes.
“My, you are pretty. I shall send you back tomorrow, I promise.” She stroked the animal’s nose.
The mare nudged her hand, evidently hoping for a treat.
“I have nothing to give you, but I promise I will when we reach home,” she whispered.
Home. She no longer had a sense of safety and comfort—that had been part of her until now, at the core of who she was.
Her chest heaved. What or who might await her there?
After raiding the tack room, she slipped a harness over the mare’s nose and led her from the stables by the bridle. No saddle. It would take too long, and she’d been riding bareback since she’d been ten without her father’s knowledge, the groom loyally keeping her secret.
Prue led the horse to the mounting block and sat astride, gathering the reins in her hand.
Her heart was in her mouth as she trotted the horse across the stable-yard, the hooves making a clatter on the cobbles.
Nothing stirred. Once at a distance from the house, she spurred the mare into a canter along the dim drive.
A sultry moon drifted among a smattering of clouds.
The horse responded with a smooth gait, and Prue settled down for the long ride home.
Even here in the quiet countryside, riding unescorted at night was dangerous, but it was a risk she had to take.
What would await her when she got home? Chaos, she supposed.
Mrs. Burrows, the housekeeper, would have begun preparations for Roland’s visit.
He would expect to find Prue still at Lord Bain’s.
She wished she knew what was in the sealed letter of her father’s, but before Roland arrived, she intended to search the library for any clues.
*
Now, why did he know she would flee? Jack walked away from the bedchamber window, pulling his cravat undone.
Lady Prudence. An earl’s daughter, Bain had told him.
She had done exactly as he’d suspected she would.
He’d watched her run like a fawn past the house to the stables, and sometime later, she appeared again, this time riding a mare along the drive in the direction of the front gates.
Bareback, no less! Her dress rode up over her slim, pale thighs.
He admired her spirit and hoped she would reach home safely.
For a brief moment, he’d toyed with the notion of riding after her to make sure she was safe but resisted the impulse, knowing it would be foolhardy.
And he couldn’t afford to waste time, when it had grown short with each passing hour.
Jack had managed to have a quick word with Lord Bain at dinner.
His experience of the party was as unsuccessful as Jack’s had been.
The chance of finding the culprits they sought seemed doomed to failure.
If any of these men were involved in a dangerous conspiracy, they remained tight-lipped about it.
Bain had shrugged. “I am in a quandary as to what to do with Lady Prudence. She should not be here.”
“Had Lord Sedgwick known his life was in danger?”
“Yes. After he spoke of the unrest in the House, he received a letter warning him not to meddle, although it wasn’t signed and gave no details.
There were two subsequent attempts on his life.
A shot that shattered his coach window and just missed him while his carriage drove through woodland.
At first, he put it down to a hunter’s stray ball.
But the following week, the bolts holding a wheel on his coach had been loosened.
The wheel fell off and cast the vehicle into a ditch.
Fortunately, he and his driver weren’t hurt.
While the earl wasn’t convinced it had something to do with this investigation, he considered it necessary to put me on my guard, to keep his daughter safe if need be, until help came.
A natural assumption, I suppose, although… ”
He sighed. “Lady Prudence arriving in the middle of this dashed affair left me in a difficult position. The poor girl is naturally distraught. But while we try to unearth the conspirators among the guests, it causes a devil of a problem. A dangerous environment for a gently reared young lady to be in. I informed her that the heir presumptive, Mr. Roland Stanton, had been advised of her father’s death, although that didn’t seem to ease her concerns.
Stanton will arrive soon to take care of her and manage the earl’s affairs. ”
Jack wasn’t convinced, either, that Sedgwick’s death was attributable to the conspiracy brewing in London, and although the earl had spoken up about the unrest gripping England, he had played very little part in their investigation.
But Jack knew no more than Bain. He had been uneasy about Lady Prudence while she’d remained under Bain’s roof.
And thought she’d made the right decision.
She would be safer at home. He stripped off his stockings and the rest of his clothes.
Naked, and ruing the absence of a bath, he stood at the washstand and went about his ablutions, then brushed his teeth.
As he dried himself with a towel, he wished he could stop worrying about a young woman to whom he’d only spoken twice, and who, should he have met her in a ballroom, wouldn’t have captured his attention beyond an admiring glance at her lovely face and figure.
He never indulged in flirtations with well-bred young ladies in or about to enter the marriage mart.
Messing with an earl’s daughter was as good as snapping the parson’s mousetrap shut on a fellow.