Chapter Six #3
A last turn in the drive and more of the garden revealed itself.
Statues peeped from grass in sore need of a scythe, the trees sporting a vivid display of autumn browns, golds, and reds.
Jack had to admit it had its own abandoned appeal.
A forgotten garden. Bees hovered and butterflies flitted about in the sunlight.
Birds chirped from the boughs of a tall oak.
Ahead was a remarkable, slate-roofed Gothic mansion, built of gray stone, darkened with age, with mullion windows.
More of the gargoyles peeped from the eaves.
Jack checked the horses before the steps leading to a pair of oak doors.
He turned to the slender figure untangling herself from his greatcoat. “I gather you are not expected?”
“Not for another week,” Lady Prudence said. “But that was before…” She swallowed. “I must tell her about my father’s death. The news is unlikely to have reached her.”
He felt an unwelcome twist near his heart while gazing at her woebegone face. “A difficult task for you.”
Her eyes darkened. “Yes.”
As Jack helped her down, an elderly groom limped from the direction of the stables, a younger groom in his wake.
“Good to see you, Frosby.” Lady Prudence nodded. “Would you see Lord Hereford’s horses are taken care of?”
“Certainly, Lady Prudence.” Frosby didn’t falter as he beheld Lady Prudence’s unannounced and unchaperoned arrival. He removed his hat to expose a shiny pate and bowed. “A pleasure, my lord.”
Jack nodded to him. “Just water them, Frosby. I shall continue my journey shortly.”
Frosby snapped his fingers at the undergroom who’d accompanied him, and the lad took hold of the reins.
The butler who opened the door was also close to retirement age. Lady Prudence introduced him as Barnes while the footman took their coats and hats.
They entered a soaring two-story great hall, the walls darkly wainscoted, as a spritely figure with a fringed shawl looping over her elbows regally descended the carved oak staircase.
“Gramma!” Prudence rushed over and hugged her.
Lady Aldridge patted her cheek, gazing at her fondly. “Prudence, my dear, you are early! What a pleasant surprise. You’ve done something different with your hair. Is it a new fashion? I don’t believe it will take on.” She turned to address Jack. “And who is this?”
“Gramma, I’d like you to meet Viscount Hereford. He kindly brought me here in his curricle. Lord Hereford, my great-grandmama, Dowager Baroness Aldridge,” Prudence said.
“How do you do, Lady Aldridge?” Jack bowed over the thin, pale hand, and smiled into bright eyes the blue of a dunnock egg.
They climbed the ornately carved wooden staircase and entered a warm drawing room, where a welcome coal fire burned.
A beady-eyed parrot squawked and leaped about on his perch.
Jack flinched, hoping he’d misheard the foul comment the bird had made.
A sleek-bodied otter noisily chewed something in its basket.
Apparently unaffected by the parrot’s foul cursing, the two ladies sat close together on the sofa. Lady Prudence held her great-grandmother’s hand in between both of hers. “Gramma, I bring grim news,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I expect Roland will write to you.” She stumbled over her words.
Lady Aldridge stared at her for a moment, then turned to the footman hovering at the door. “Bring the tea tray, Robert. And the brandy. Would you care for tea or a libation, my lord?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
She gently shook Lady Prudence’s hand holding hers. “Well, don’t sit there like a gosling on a nest. Tell me what has happened, Prudence.”
Jack sat back, as in a trembling voice, Lady Prudence explained. The stark news of the cruel death of her father, unfolded.
“I can only be glad the countess isn’t alive to witness such a tragedy,” Gramma murmured.
“A sterling man, your father. I was immensely fond of him.” The elderly lady clutched the jet beads at her throat.
But she proved to be a stalwart soul, he soon saw, when she questioned her great-granddaughter.
Lady Prudence, wiping tears from her cheeks, related the details of her father’s tragic passing.
The old lady turned her sharp gaze on Jack.
“How do you come to be involved, my lord?”
“Please allow me to convey my condolences to you both on your loss. As I was driving to London, I offered to bring Lady Prudence to you. I’ll leave her to explain further.” Jack rose. “You must excuse me. I have an appointment in London I must keep.”
The old lady nodded. “It seems I am indebted to you for taking care of my great-granddaughter, my lord.” Lady Aldridge spoke quietly, her eyes glittering either with rage or tears. He wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. She turned and addressed the footman. “Robert, his lordship’s coat and hat.”
“I am very grateful, Lord Hereford.” Lady Prudence rose and came to offer her hand.
He held her slim hand in his, gazing at her lovely face and sorrowful eyes, and again experienced that odd pull somewhere in the region of his heart. I am becoming too soft-hearted. He held her hand for a moment, then released it and bowed. “I’m pleased to have been of some help.”
“Might I ask yet another favor, Lord Hereford?” Lady Prudence took a letter from the pocket of her pelisse and held it out to him. “If you could find out who this B. Everton is, and what his connection to my father might be, I would be very grateful.”
He glanced at it. “You haven’t met this man?”
“No. Papa never mentioned him. He never came to the house.”
He tucked the letter into his pocket. “Doesn’t tell us much, does it? But I’ll look into it and let you know what I find.”
Her lips trembled; her eyelashes were wet with unshed tears. “Thank you.”
As Jack quit the room, Lady Prudence’s voice carried in attempts to soothe her great-grandmother. “I promise to find out who killed Papa,” she said in a fierce tone.
Jack clamped his jaw as he followed the footman down the stairs. So, that was Lady Prudence’s plan? Yet there was little she could do, he decided, with some relief. He would take it upon himself to discover the murderer’s identity and what had lain behind this cold-blooded murder.
He leaped into the curricle. “Let ’em go!
” Jack called to the groom, and with a nod, he moved the horses on.
They needed to rest, but it was not a great distance to London.
This afternoon, he would set the wheels in motion at the Home Office, by declaring his interest in pursuing Lord Sedgwick’s assassination.
It was vital to look into it because it might be linked to the conspiracy they were investigating.
But more than that, he wanted to do what he could to help Lady Prudence, despite her so easily penetrating the wall he’d carefully constructed around himself.
Her pluck, her compassion, and her unassailable beauty proved a danger to his willpower.
Why hadn’t she married in her first Season?
That was where he had first seen her, he now recalled; across the ballroom floor, surrounded by young blades, older hopefuls, and the usual fortune hunters.
And he’d given her, as he did all the debutantes, a wide berth.
He should continue doing so, but Lord help him, he didn’t want to.