Chapter Seven
Gramma’s gray eyebrows arched over her shrewd, blue eyes. “Well, my girl. You appear to have inherited my ability for enslaving handsome gentlemen. Hereford did not attempt to seduce you?”
“No, Gramma.”
“Don’t let that disillusion you. He’s certainly interested.”
“I don’t think of him that way, Gramma. I am merely grateful to him for bringing me here.
” She flushed, as annoyingly, thoughts of him intruded, especially when a smile lifted his lips and made her remember his kiss.
He’d initially been reluctant to help her and yet for some reason, she was sure he would.
“Of course you are. But we shall see,” Gramma said ambiguously.
Surely, she would see him again. Or would he just send her a letter?
“Now, tell me all you know about your father’s murder.” Gramma’s eyes grew cold, and her angry tone made Horace squawk another cuss word. “The scoundrel shall not go free.”
Prue sank back, feeling for the first time that she was alone.
Her great-grandmama would be her ally. But she didn’t trust Roland and until her father’s will was read she had no idea where she stood.
She was in a vulnerable position until she turned one-and-twenty next year.
Her hands trembling, she sipped the tea to ease her dry throat before explaining how a stranger had ridden onto the estate grounds and shot her father through the library window.
“I saw him only briefly before he rode away. Poor Papa didn’t have a chance. ”
“Where were the servants? The footmen? Why didn’t they stop the man?” Gramma asked crisply.
“It happened so fast. They were taken by surprise, as Papa no doubt was. Perhaps I would have learned more if I’d stayed to talk to the magistrate, but Roland was being so horrid, pressuring me to marry him.
I didn’t feel comfortable with him in the house, so I left during the night.
Where, as I told you, I met Lord Hereford on the road. ”
“A good thing you did.” Gramma sighed. “It was dangerous and foolish of you to wander around the countryside on your own, my girl. You had only to send me word, and I would have come and dealt with Roland.”
Prue doubted Roland would listen to her great-grandmother, especially if he felt he was in the right.
Had Papa left a document making her Roland’s ward?
Would it be revealed at the reading of the will?
Roland certainly had seemed confident he had that right.
She wondered where he now was. Would he still be searching for her?
How long before he came here, as he surely must do?
Her question as to Roland’s whereabouts was answered the following day, when from her bedchamber window, she saw the earl’s coach sweep up to the house.
Prue arrived downstairs as Roland shrugged off his greatcoat in the hall. He handed it to the butler. “Ah, you did come here. I am greatly relieved,” he said with his false smile. “No worse for the experience, one would hope.”
He followed her up to the drawing room. She hated the way his sly eyes flicked over her as they sat. “You had no need to come all this way, Roland. Papa urged me to visit Gramma.”
“I wasn’t sure what state I would find you in, or even if you were still alive. How did you get here?” He frowned. “You were not on the stage.”
“I met Viscount Hereford on the road when my horse went lame. He was traveling to London and kindly took me up in his curricle.”
Roland scowled. “That rake? Did he touch you inappropriately?”
She firmed her lips, shaking her head. She disliked hearing Lord Hereford spoken of in that way, especially as he’d been a perfect gentleman during the journey.
She’d expected him to be rakish as he had been when he’d kissed her, but he was a serious man.
In fact, at times, she sensed he carried an inner sadness.
She saw it in his eyes. It mystified her and drew her to him.
“No doubt you have left a trail of indiscretions in your wake, Prudence. I shall have to deal with the gossips.”
She was quite sure she’d met no one who knew her. “I haven’t, and I don’t need or desire your help.”
“You’ll be glad of it once you come to your senses.” He crossed his legs and tapped an impatient hand on the knee of his immaculate white pantaloons. “You are naturally badly shocked by your father’s death and are making poor decisions.”
“But they are my decisions, Roland. I’m perfectly able to decide what is best for me.”
“You left before your father is even in the ground,” he said accusingly. “That was hardly a sensible decision.”
“Women don’t usually attend funerals, as you well know. I shall be there for the memorial and the reading of the will. Gramma will accompany me.” She went to the bell pull and rang for the footman. “Would you care for coffee or wine, Roland?”
“A glass of Madeira,” Roland said, addressing the footman who’d stepped into the room.
“Does this mean the magistrate has completed his findings?” Prue asked. “And has found out who is responsible for Papa’s death?”
“Not to my knowledge. A possible unpaid bet to a bookmaker, perhaps.”
She gripped the arms of the chair. “Nonsense. Papa wasn’t a gambler.”
“Perhaps he kept that side of himself from you.”
“Even at card parties, he displayed little interest in gambling!”
“What would you know about his time spent in London?” He scoffed and shook his head. “Most women have little idea of the world.”
“If that is so, it’s because men treat us like ornaments to decorate their houses and keep important matters from us,” she snapped, aware of the futility of the argument.
“I hardly think living at Hollyvale House is such a dreadful fate. How many women would grasp at the opportunity to live as comfortably as you do at your station in life?”
Her shoulders tightened. He made her sound spoiled and ungrateful when all she wanted was to decide her future. “I have no intention of marrying you.” Prue crossed her arms. “I intend to live here with Gramma.”
“You are in mourning. It would not be fitting.”
“What wouldn’t?” Gramma entered the room and crossed the rug with a brisk step.
Irritation flashed in Roland’s eyes. He rose and went to kiss her hand. “Lady Aldridge, how well you look. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Gramma’s lips gave a wry twist. “Mr. Stanton. I’m surprised to see you here so soon after your uncle’s death.”
His face reddened, but he rapidly recovered, adopting a concerned look. “I feared for Lady Prudence’s safety. Lord Sedgwick’s death has caused her to act irrationally. I’m sure it was his wish that I am best suited to take care of her.”
“Oh. Why do you believe this?”
“Doubtless, Lord Sedgwick has stated it in his will. We have only to be patient until it is read.”
“In the meantime, I shall take care of my great-granddaughter.”
“How taxing that will be for one of your years, my lady. It would be best for me to step in and take the responsibility off your shoulders,” Roland said smoothly, returning to his seat.
“I might be in my dotage, but I don’t yet have a foot in my grave,” Gramma said, observing him. “I am more than capable of chaperoning Prudence when the time is right. And I quite fancy the idea of taking her about in London.”
He pushed back his hair with a hand, frustration writ large on his face. “Surely, you must feel as I do that should my cousin appear in London during her mourning period, it would be considered most improper.”
Prue bit down on a smile. It was heartwarming to see Roland outdone.
“Naturally, she will not attend public balls until the Season begins next April. A few select affairs will be acceptable. One has only one life to live, Mr. Stanton,” Gramma said smoothly.
“I have never sought to ruin it by concerning myself about what other people might think. You must stay for dinner before you return to Sedgwick Hall, where Prudence tells me you have established yourself, although the title and estate is not yet legally yours.”
Roland rose quickly to his feet. “I won’t break bread with you, thank you, my lady.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Prudence. “Will you return to your home with me now, Prudence?”
She bit her lip to hide her smile. “No, Roland. I wish you a pleasant journey.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Very well. Once your father’s will is read and his wishes are made known, I have every expectation that the decision about your future will fall to me.
I only hope you will not have made yourself the talk of the ton in the meantime.
” Roland bowed stiffly. “My lady. Lady Prudence.” He strode from the room.
With a soft moan, Prue stared at the closed door.
She was sure they had not seen the worst that Roland could do.
He wanted complete control of the estate, all monies and investments.
Yet he seemed uneasy. It was a fait accompli that he would inherit the title and estate.
But what about the rest of her father’s investments?
Did he fear what else might be in the will?
“Mr. Stanton will not bother us again, Prudence. At least, not for the foreseeable future.”
Prue nodded, relieved, although she wasn’t confident Roland would give up so easily. But does Gramma believe Roland is as serious a threat as I do?
*
While traveling along Birdcage Walk to Great George Street in Westminster to join the Home Secretary and others for a meeting, Jack struggled to turn his mind away from thoughts of Lady Prudence.
The glimpse through the trees of her creamy skin as she’d changed her clothes.
The flash of fire in her lovely eyes when warned not to involve herself in her father’s murder.
While she remained with her great-grandmother in Richmond, it would be difficult for her to undertake any search for her father’s killer. Yet Jack remained uneasy.
Tenderly raised young ladies did not embark on such a dangerous path for a very good reason.
There were men with no conscience who would take advantage of her.
And if by some chance she got too close to the killer, he shuddered to think what might happen.
Until he knew the motive behind the earl’s murder, he couldn’t be sure that Lady Prudence was safe.
But perhaps on reflection, she was better off in Richmond rather than at her home in Guildford.
At least until they had gained some knowledge of the man behind the murder.
A letter from the magistrate awaited Jack at his townhouse, advising him that the identity of the murderer remained unknown, although it was now believed he had not come from the Guilford area.
The net was now cast wide with little hope of finding the man or discovering the reason for what was clearly a well-planned assassination.
Was Sedgwick’s death meant as a warning?
It could not be discounted, but why would they choose the earl, when his role in the investigation had been a minor one?
But Sedgwick had been prepared to assist them in finding those who plotted sedition by assassinating the prime minister and overthrowing the government.
The informant had alerted Bow Street after overhearing them discuss such things, but he could not name them nor knew where this group planned to meet again.
Until then, it proved impossible to target anyone among the dissenters.
Since the French Revolution, liberal sentiments had spread throughout the country, the voices rising to demand parliamentary reform.
Fueled by discontent and economic hardship, illegal associations had formed with the aim of overthrowing the government.
There were riots, and the government’s planned repressive measures to restrict freedom of speech and the publication of pamphlets and the press were seen as panicked measures that had rebounded badly.
Was this group in deadly earnest? Or merely expressing a lot of hot air?
It was impossible to be sure, but they could not be taken lightly.
Jack and the others involved had put their ears to the ground to ferret anyone capable of contemplating such radical violence.
So far, they were unable to lay the blame on any particular person for the known activists who voiced their sentiments in the parks and on street corners, and who left emotive pamphlets pinned to posts, had been rounded up and languished in Newgate.
In his office, the Home Secretary, Lord Sidmouth, sat at his desk, the Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool, seated opposite, while the Foreign Minister, Lord Castlereagh, perched on the edge of the desk swinging one leg. They all turned to welcome Jack as he entered.
“What have you got for us, Hereford?” Sidmouth inquired.
“Nothing, I’m afraid,” Jack said dispiritedly. “It’s akin to finding a needle in a meadow. I prefer to focus my search on Lord Sedgwick’s shooting. We can’t afford to ignore it. It could have been meant as a warning and may be a way to discover who this group is.”
“It’s possible. We’ve men planted in the coffee shop in Pall Mall in case they meet there again,” said Sidmouth. “But if they don’t show up, our task becomes very difficult.”
Liverpool rose and strode to the door. “The government is counting on you, gentlemen. Good luck.”
“I knew Sedgwick well and liked him. Find his killer, Jack.” Castlereagh slid off the desk and reached for his hat. “Dangerous times, gentlemen. I leave you to the task of rounding up these men. I am eager to see them swing from the gallows.”
Jack wished he had as much confidence as Castlereagh appeared to have. First, they must round up all those known to the authorities to cause trouble who were keeping their heads down.
Night had fallen when he hailed a hackney and directed him to the club where Jack was to dine with a friend.
As he approached White’s famous bow window in St. James’s Street, he spied Lord Alvanley, who now sat in the seat of privilege, as Brummel had left England burdened with debts.
Jack greeted him as he entered, but it wasn’t his recent conference which lingered in his mind, it was a fiery redhead who seemed determined to find her father’s killer.
He knew she wouldn’t give up searching for the truth.
For her safety, it would be far better if he found the man first.