Chapter Six #2
“Hard to say.” He pushed his plate away. “Leave the matter in Sir John Kent’s hands.” He threw down his napkin. “Sir John is the local magistrate in charge of the investigation. I know him. A good man.”
“I’ve never met him, but if you say he is, then I must put my trust in him.” She paused. “There’s something else.” She reached into the coat pocket and took out the note. Leaning over the table, she handed it to him.
He read it in silence. His expression grave, he handed it back to her. “I can see why your father wished you to go to Bain, but this doesn’t tell us much.”
“Except that it’s penned on quality Bond, in a fine cursive. An educated gentleman must have written it.”
He raised his eyes to hers. “Possible.”
Dissatisfied with his response, she frowned at him. “Surely, you must agree?”
“I would need to know more. Have you any idea what the words refer to?”
“No.”
“Write to the magistrate about the note,” he repeated, frustrating her. He pushed back his chair. “If you’ve finished, we should continue on our journey. Unless you’ve changed your mind and wish to return home? I’ll arrange for a post-chaise to take you.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said firmly as he escorted her from the parlor.
Seated again in the curricle, Lord Hereford placed his greatcoat over her knees.
“Thank you.” It smelled appealingly of him.
She resisted lifting it to her nose, shocked at wanting to.
They were soon on the road again as the midday sun climbed higher in the sky.
After another hour’s travel, dark, thunderous clouds gathered on the horizon, and a cool autumn breeze swirled around them.
Keenly aware of the man beside her, Prudence wished he’d put his delightfully warm and muscular arm around her again, despite her annoyance that he hadn’t agreed with her theory about the note.
Or offered to help her. “Is Lord Bain a decent man?”
He glanced at her. “He is. Don’t be swayed by appearances.”
She glared at him, tired of his dissembling.
“With a bit of luck, the rain should hold off,” he said, his gaze returning to the road.
She shivered, clutching the greatcoat snuggly around herself. “How much longer?”
“Another two hours or so, if the rain clouds blow away and roads remain dry.” He glanced at her.
“What will your great-grandmother make of your mode of dress? Surely, she will be angry when she learns you’ve traveled all this way unchaperoned with a man to whom you have not been formally introduced. ”
“Gramma won’t mind.” She hesitated. “But I would like to change,” she admitted.
Perhaps because he would carry a more flattering image of her in his mind when they parted.
She pointed to a copse of trees a little way ahead, with nothing but fields behind it.
“If you’d kindly stop over there. It won’t take me a moment to change into my gown. ”
Without comment, Lord Hereford stopped the horses, tied off the reins, and left the curricle.
“Please, may I have my portmanteau?” she asked.
He assisted her onto the grass verge, then removed the strap securing her portmanteau to the rear of the curricle.
She took it from him and, darting among the trees, selected a secluded spot behind a huge, spreading chestnut tree.
Her wool gown was a favorite, primrose-colored, trimmed with three flounces of lace around the hem.
The long sleeves had pearl buttons on the cuffs and on the bodice.
She had tucked stays that tied up in front, a petticoat, and a pair of yellow shoes into her bag.
Shivering in her shift as she stepped into the petticoat, she noticed a gap between the leafy branches, and for a brief moment, met Lord Hereford’s gaze before he politely turned away.
“Oh, bother,” she murmured, shrugging, and hurriedly dressed.
Would he notice she’d forgotten her stockings?
It made her feel a little scandalous as she donned her pelisse.
With relief, she pulled off her uncomfortable boots and slipped on the shoes.
The gloves were tan kid, the bonnet spring green velvet, which she deposited on her head, the ribbons dangling, before running back to the curricle with her father’s clothing tucked into the valise.
“A remarkable improvement.” He took her hand and assisted her up.
“The clothes are crushed, but I’m warmer.” She felt much better in her own clothes as she smoothed the pelisse and fiddled with the bonnet.
“Allow me.” He leaned over and settled her hat on her head, then he brushed the stray curls from her cheek in a manner that revealed his experience with women’s apparel.
Her heart beating faster at his light touch, Prue couldn’t resist studying him.
It was the first time she’d been this close to a gentleman, apart from her father.
He had a patrician nose. How long and lush were his black eyelashes.
She took a deep breath of his now-familiar woody soap.
He looked up at her. Did he find her amusing? It was hard to read the expression in his eyes, which seemed shadowed when in repose. It had made her wonder if he carried some hurt or a sad memory, and she couldn’t help but be intrigued.
“Gramma is the Dowager Baroness Aldridge. She’s not how you might expect of an elderly lady,” she said to recover her poise, as he moved back and took up the reins. “She has lived an unconventional life.”
“How so?”
Prue giggled. “Gramma married twice. She loved her first husband, my great-grandfather, Joseph, deeply, but said her second husband obliged her by dying.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s honest.”
“Yes. I never met him. Mama is her granddaughter. I overheard Gramma speaking to her about it, and a lover Gramma had had when she’d first been widowed.
She’d refused to marry him. His name was Mr. Peters.
I met him once working in the garden, which was a hobby of his.
He died several years ago. Gramma says she is now content to live alone with her pets. ”
“Cats?”
“No. An otter and a cockatoo.”
His eyebrows shot up. “‘An otter’?”
“Gramma rescued Fergus some years ago. He was hurt, and she nursed him back to health,” she explained, as if this were a reasonable thing to do. “Once he was well, he refused to return to the wild.”
“And the cockatoo?”
“Gramma says Hodge used to belong to a sailor. His language is quite shocking.”
“I can imagine,” Lord Hereford said dryly. “I look forward to meeting her.”
“She can be a little blunt,” Prue said uneasily.
“Indeed.” He sounded amused.
Glad to see him unbend a little, she smiled at him. “Did you inherit the viscountcy when after your father passed away? Or is he still with us?”
That shadow darkened his eyes again. “No, I’ve lost them both.”
“I am sorry. Was it long ago?” She wasn’t sure why she wanted to know more about him. Perhaps it would explain the sadness she had glimpsed in his eyes.
“My father passed a few years ago and my mother when I was a baby.”
He had been denied a mother’s love. Sympathy for him tugged at her heart. “Oh, how dreadful? I am sorry. Did your father remarry?”
“No.” He looked away. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”
His tone warned her not to pursue it. Prue fell silent.
After another hour had passed, they entered Richmond’s leafy streets. The dank air heralded their approach to the River Thames, which flowed along beside Gramma’s property. Negotiating a few turns on the road, the curricle proceeded beside a high stone wall.
“We’re here. This is Waterford Manor.” Prue was eager to see Gramma and the quirky old house she’d loved to visit as a child. Perhaps here, with her loving great-grandmother, her despair would ease a little.
Lord Hereford guided the horses through the ornate iron gates beneath glaring stone gargoyles sitting atop each pillar. The drive led through an avenue of ancient elm trees bordered by dense gardens, which was more a tangle of shrubbery and vines.
“Gramma doesn’t care for orderly gardens.” Prue settled her hat firmly on head and smoothed her gloves, eager to dismount. Despite arriving in this fashion, she was sure Gramma would welcome her.
Lord Hereford cast her a wry glance. “Perhaps she sees a little of herself in you.”
Prue couldn’t help but grin. “My father accused me of it on occasion.”
Her smile ebbed away at the stark reminder that he was gone from her life.
Weak autumn sunlight burst out of the clouds and filtered down through the branches to light their way along the dim avenue.
With a quick glance at Prue, he drove on toward the old mansion.
*
Jack disliked seeing pain in Lady Prudence’s eyes robbing her of any enjoyment of life, which he was sure she would embrace eagerly if fortune had smiled upon her.
There was little doubt she had inherited Lady Aldridge’s disregard for convention.
Jack was intrigued, despite himself. He’d never met a young woman quite like her.
Not only was she spirited and good company, but she was a diamond—and apparently unaware of the fact.
A man could drown in those sea-green eyes, and the desire to run his fingers through her abundant, silky locks made his fingers itch.
A glimpse of her slender body through the trees and the upward curve of her full bosom revealed what he already suspected: Lady Prudence was perfection from head to toe.
He had attempted to ignore the attraction from their first meeting, determined to stay free of any commitments that might interfere with his work and his need to remain without ties.
But the longer he stayed in her company, the harder that might become.
Especially as an intriguing mystery surrounded her.
“I’ll come inside for a minute and introduce myself to your great-grandmother. You might have need of me.”
“I shouldn’t think so. But please do come and meet Gramma.”