Chapter Four
Roland’s nauseating condolences, which did not ring true, especially when he and Prue’s father had never gotten on, plus his insistence that they marry, sent her running from the house, appalled and angry. But he soon caught up with her, his stallion quickly outpacing her mare.
The scowl on his face made him look almost demonic. It was as if he were driven and would do anything to get what he wanted. And he had always wanted this.
His eyes burned as he glared at her. “You are irresponsible and selfish. We shall discuss this further at the house.”
“I will never marry you,” she snapped. “You are wasting your time. I cannot imagine why you would wish to marry me when you know how much I despise you.”
“We’ll see about that. You can be tamed.”
Her heart skipped a beat. So, there it was. He was showing his true colors. Her stomach roiled and she feared she would vomit. “‘Tamed’?” she threw at him over her shoulder as she tried to edge her horse away. “I am not one of your unfortunate hounds. I shall never give in to you.”
“Such heated words. If you are nice to me, there’s no reason why you can’t have a very pleasant life.”
“I’d rather drown myself in the lake.”
Furious, Roland edged his horse close to hers.
Her mare whinnied in fright. Prue, afraid her horse would bolt, could do nothing but allow him to shepherd her back to the stables.
Did he mean it? Would he hurt her? She knew he was capable of it.
She’d always sensed this suppressed violence in him.
But she would never give in to him. She must bide her time, think of a way to outwit him.
Prue hurried back to the house from the stables, leaving Roland behind. Their butler opened the front doors and paused, no doubt concerned at the sight of her scowling and ruffled appearance. “Is there anything I can do to assist you, Lady Prudence?”
“Thank you, Nyland. Would you send Allie to my bedchamber?” It was impossible to tell him how Roland’s despicable demands had sent her running from the house, appalled and angry. How he had caught up with her, his stallion quickly outpacing her mare and forcing her back to the stables.
He entered the hall as she was about to mount the stairs. “That was childish of you.” He tossed his hat, gloves, and crop on the table.
She whirled around to face him. “You surely can’t believe I will ever change my mind and agree to marry you.
” With a shrug, he appeared to have managed to control his temper, which made him even more frightening to her.
He tidied his fair hair in the gilt-framed mirror with soft, pampered hands.
“I believe it behooves me to take care of you now that you are left alone in the world. You are entirely too impulsive and ill-mannered for your own good, Prue. Your father has allowed you to run wild here.” He pressed his thin lips and glared at her with folded his arms. “How ungrateful. You are to turn one-and-twenty at your next birthday, too old to attract a man looking for a young wife. As my wife, you will be a countess. You should be glad about my proposal. Especially when it enables you to remain here safely in your childhood home for the rest of your days.”
Couching his offer in such terms as becoming her protector didn’t wash with her.
It wasn’t love or even affection he felt for her.
It was a desire to control her. It would suit him for her to marry him and give him control of her inheritance, which he would use for his own ends.
She went cold at what else he might demand from her and shuddered to think of those hands on her.
“I would rather sell flowers in Covent Garden than remain here with you.”
“How unflattering, my dear.” He cocked his head.
His unusual, yellowish-brown eyes surveyed her.
“What makes you think I will live here? I shall only come when it suits me, as I prefer to reside in London. But I must fill the nursery with sons, must I not? So perhaps, if you become more welcoming, you might not be alone so often.”
She shook her head violently. “You will never get me to the altar!”
He shrugged. “While you are in mourning, you must remain here. You will require a chaperone. As there are no suitable family members and you are without a proper lady’s maid to chaperone you.”
“I am training Allie for the position,” she said defensively.
He waved her interruption away with his hand.
“I shall have to arrange for a widow or spinster to live here to ensure your conduct remains within the bounds of propriety. No tearing around the estate alone on horseback or walking to the village unaccompanied.” His eyes narrowed.
“You require a companion. You cannot be relied on to make wise decisions. I doubt I’ll find anyone able to control you.
Your father told me how you disgraced yourself in your first and only London Season two years ago.
You pushed a gentleman so hard, he almost fell. ”
She flushed with embarrassment recalling the man’s drunken suggestions, his hands groping her, and what had made it worse, the critical gaze of the ton, who’d seemed focused on her rather than him. “He was in his cups. When he passed me in the hall, he squeezed my bottom.”
Roland nodded sagely. “One of the reasons I feel it better for us to marry. You have the looks to stir a man.”
He made it sound as if her appearance were in some way her fault. At his rudely insulting stare, she dropped her gaze, fighting the urge to rub the gooseflesh on her arms. Did she stir him that way?
There was no sense in arguing with him. Without another word, Prue turned and ran upstairs to her bedchamber. She had missed breakfast but had no appetite and wouldn’t go down to luncheon.
Allie the housemaid, who was eager to become her lady’s maid, waited to help her change out of her riding habit into a suitable dress. As she had no black gowns, she chose a lavender-and-cream striped gown. “I’ll wear the cream-colored spencer, Allie.”
Spying Roland from her window returning to the stables to visit the home farm, she left the bedroom and hurried down to the library, where last evening she had flicked through the papers by candlelight before dawn broke.
But she’d found nothing of interest. The staff had been at sixes and sevens, with the young maids weeping and the rest anxious and in need of instruction, so she’d spared precious time consulting the distressed butler and the housekeeper.
Prue slipped inside and ran over to her father’s cedar desk.
The faint scent of cologne reminded her of him, making her chest tight.
She removed the pile of letters from the drawer and sat down to read them.
Conscious that Roland might change his mind and return at any moment to check on her, she stuffed the rest of the papers into the bodice of her gown and stood in thought.
Would Paul Stone, her father’s secretary, know anything?
It was doubtful. He only came once a week from London to deal with father’s correspondence, but he would be questioned by the magistrate.
Barns, the bailiff, lived in the village, but she didn’t think she’d learn anything useful from him, and if she asked them, Roland was sure to hear of it.
Turning away, Prue saw a pile of burned papers in the fireplace.
She bent to stir them with the poker. Blackened fragments of letters, but nothing decipherable.
Frustrated, she left the room, as the front door closed and Roland’s raised voice echoed along the passage, demanding something from Gerald, the head footman.
How she hated the sound of his voice. He was arrogant and officious toward the staff.
She wondered how many of them would stay.
Mrs. Collins, the cook, had been here forever, so she would.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Burrows, was relatively new, having replaced Mrs. Green, who had gone to live with her sickly sister.
Nyland would stay for his pension in a few years’ time; she was sure Roland would depend on him.
Little escaped the butler, or the housekeeper, for that matter.
Roland had spoken of taking ‘a new broom’ to the household, which meant many would be let go.
She felt sorry for those who would be forced out of their jobs, some of whom she’d known since she’d been a child and were more like friends.
She darted down the kitchen stairs to see Cook. The plump lady, usually a jolly soul, sniffed and wiped her eyes on her apron as she prepared a roast for their supper.
“Poor Father! It’s awful, isn’t it, Mrs. Collins? I can’t believe it.” Prue gasped as the tears welled up in her throat and threatened to choke her.
“My dear Lady Prudence.” Cook enveloped Prue in her plump arms and held her against her soft bosom. She smelled reassuringly of vanilla and sweet pastry. “Your father was a good man. He did not deserve such a dreadful end. We are all dreadfully upset.”
Hot tears ran down Prue’s cheeks. She’d thought she didn’t have another tear left to shed.
“Won’t you eat a bite, milady? I’ll have bread, ham, and a wedge of cheese sent up to your chamber. There’s some of the chicken and leak pie in the larder.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Collins. I have little appetite.”
“How about some of my ginger biscuits and a nice cup of tea?”
“Yes, I’d like that, thank you.”