A Prudent Match Page 14

  “It's a girl,” she said in wonder, “and she's breathing just fine.”

  Catherine laughed in relief and happiness. “Julia, that's the name we decided for a girl. Oh, will you wrap her in the blanket and hand her to me? Just leave the cord attached for now.”

  Tessie handed Prudence the warm blanket and Prudence carefully wrapped the fragile little being in its voluminous folds. She reminded herself to have Mrs. Collins search out a proper baby blanket that didn't envelop the poor little thing so overwhelmingly.

  Prudence managed to tuck the large bundle at Catherine's side so the new mother could gaze into her child's face. “She's beautiful,” Prudence said, “just beautiful.”

  Catherine touched the little cheek with a gentle finger. “And look at all that hair! None of the children have had so much when they were born. Perhaps she'll have as glorious a mass as yours one day, Lady Ledbetter.”

  “Surely you must call me Prudence now,” her hostess insisted, blushing slightly at the compliment. “Shall I have Sir Geoffrey in now, or do you wish to await the midwife?”

  “Best wait. But do go and tell him the news. He'll be fretting.”

  Prudence nodded and moved toward the door just as the midwife was ushered into the room by Mrs. Collins. After a quick curtsy to Prudence, the midwife shook her head with frustration. “Not again, my lady! And the groom even sprung the horses! I'm surprised you would leave home so close to your time, but there . . . Forever leaving me with nothing to do.”

  “I've left the last bits for you, Mrs. Rogers,” Catherine assured her, grimacing. “In fact I think that's happening right now.”

  Delighted to be of some assistance after all, Mrs. Rogers moved briskly forward and Prudence escaped from the room. She could feel herself smiling right down to her toes, she was so delighted with the whole experience. A new life in the world! And she had delivered the babe—as much as anyone had. Mostly Catherine had done everything herself. What a remarkable afternoon!

  Two months ago Prudence could not have contemplated the possibility of having a child anytime in the near future. And now here she was, married, with every chance that she would become enceinte shortly—if she managed to overcome her ridiculous fears. Or if her husband lost patience with her.

  Prudence paused in the hallway to look out the window over the courtyard. She could envision children there playing with hoops and cricket bats, dogs barking excitedly, a nursemaid keeping a watchful eye. Ledbetter teaching his son the finer points of boxing, herself laughing when her daughter rolled down the sloping lawn in her good dress. They could be a close and loving family—if Ledbetter wouldn't leave her there alone, wouldn't abandon her while he continued his accustomed life in London.

  Nonsense, she scolded herself. This was no time to worry about her husband's intentions. That little slip of the tongue of his at Sir Geoffrey's shouldn't conjure up such lowering concerns. Besides, today was not the day to allow one's spirits to be dampened by her familiar but unworthy thoughts of abandonment. Baby Julia had arrived, safe and beautiful, Catherine was well, and Prudence would be the one to bring the happy news to Sir Geoffrey.

  Her smile returned. She withdrew her gaze from the courtyard and hastened down the stairs. Her husband and his friend were in the Gold Drawing Room, each with a glass in hand, both pacing about the room. They turned at her entrance and Sir Geoffrey started forward.

  “You have a daughter, Sir Geoffrey. And Lady Manning is well and in wonderful spirits.” Prudence felt the prick of tears in her eyes from an excess of emotion. “Oh, she's the most beautiful child. You may go up to them in just a very few minutes.”

  Ledbetter moved to shake Sir Geoffrey’s hand and thump him on the back. “Congratulations, my dear fellow! How very lucky you are to have such a fine family.” His gaze moved to Prudence. “And did the midwife arrive in time?”

  Prudence's eyes glowed. “No. It was just Tessie and me there with Lady Manning, and it was the most wonderful experience, William. But the midwife is here now, so Sir Geoffrey need not worry.”

  Ledbetter's brows had risen. “You delivered the baby, Prudence?”

  “I did, after a fashion. Lady Manning delivered her to me, really. She has a great deal of hair, and her name is to be Julia.”

  Ledbetter looked rueful. “Well done, my dear. Perhaps it won't be so very long before we have a baby of our own.”

  His wife met his gaze unflinchingly. “I trust that may be the case.”

  “Well, of course it will!” Sir Geoffrey exclaimed. “Nothing could be more likely. Do you think I could go up now?”

  With her gaze still on Ledbetter, Prudence said, “Of course, Sir Geoffrey. I'll go with you.”

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  A more hectic day Ledbetter could not remember experiencing. Not two hours after the baby was born, all the Mannings' children arrived to greet the new member of their tribe. They were extremely excited about this advent of an infant sister, and, though they tried to be on their best behavior, their high spirits couldn't quite be contained.

  On his wife's suggestion, Ledbetter took the boys out to the stables to release a little of their energy. He allowed each in turn up with him on his favorite stallion for a fast gallop across the unplanted fields. The experience made him long for sons of his own, much as attending the birth had obviously made Prudence long for a child.

  Ledbetter had not given much thought to producing an heir. It had not been his purpose in marrying Prudence. Though, of course, he had assumed that would be the natural outcome of their marriage. And he still assumed it, despite the detour that had occurred. In fact, he felt inclined to think that tonight might be just the right time to finally seduce her, when she was keen to conceive a child of her own.

  So the baron was in a rather expansive mood when he eventually escorted Geoffrey's boys back to the house. And it was the boys who discovered that their Aunt Martha had arrived at Salston as well. She was sitting with their sisters in the Gold Drawing Room, becoming acquainted with Prudence. It had been some time since Ledbetter had seen Martha for, though she lived in the neighborhood, he was a great deal less likely to visit her than her brother Geoffrey.

  Ledbetter was grateful for the boys' warning. Sometimes, when he encountered Martha by accident, he was forcefully reminded of his feelings for her as a very young man. His first love, as it were. And a woman whom he might very well have married had he not been so careless of her affections.

  The baron schooled his face to a pleasant, welcoming smile as he entered the drawing room. Martha's husband was standing just inside the door and greeted him a little formally. A bit high in the instep, Ledbetter had always thought, though with nothing cold about him. He shook hands with Dennison, saying what was proper, while Dennison excused their unannounced descent on Salston as being at his wife's insistence. “Couldn't keep her away when she heard the news,” he admitted.

  “No, indeed, I had to come, Will!” Martha exclaimed, jumping up from the chair on which she'd been perched. “Imagine Catherine giving birth here. And now you have the whole family.”

  She moved toward him gracefully, looking fragile and exquisite in a royal blue costume. Tendrils of blond hair framed her face, and her blue eyes danced with good humor. “And here you are married! We have just met your charming wife and wish to offer you our very best wishes.”

  “Thank you.” Ledbetter clasped the small hand she extended to him between both of his. “Have you seen your new niece?”

  “Not yet. Mother and child are sleeping.” Martha withdrew her hand and cocked her head mischievously. “Geoffrey assures me he did not do it on purpose, bring Catherine here when her time was imminent, but I told him it was a foolhardy thing to do, knowing his wife's quick deliveries.”

  “Yes, yes,” Sir Geoffrey muttered. “I'll know better next time.”

  Ledbetter noticed that Prudence's gaze had switched back and forth between him and Martha, a slight frown marring her brow. Now she sa
id kindly, “It has been a delightful experience, Mrs. Dennison. Do not scold Sir Geoffrey on my account, I beg.”

  “It never does the least good to scold Geoffrey, in any case,” Martha assured her. “If he thinks he's right, he pays no heed. And if he thinks he's wrong, he promises never to do it again, and promptly forgets.”

  Ledbetter was a little surprised by Martha's high spirits. Ordinarily a fairly retiring girl, she seemed to be intent on making an impression that afternoon. And the only one she could possibly wish to make an impression on was Prudence, since everyone else had long since formed their opinion of her.

  Having no real understanding of the subtleties of female behavior, this was a great puzzle to him. He would have supposed that in such a situation it would be Prudence who would attempt to shine, since she was the newcomer and the unknown quantity to their guests. But Prudence was not putting herself forward in any way. In fact, she seemed to have withdrawn a little in the face of Martha's sparkling gaiety.

  “And Will,” Martha continued, much to his discomfiture, “has never allowed a soul to correct him, has he, Geoffrey? From the time he was in short pants he would get that stubborn set to his face and say, 'It wasn't my fault!' Oh, you needn't shake your head, Will Ledbetter. You know very well that it's true.”

  “Well, you just informed everyone that I never admit to a fault, so I don't see how you should suppose I would do so now,” he pointed out mildly.

  “What imp has gotten hold of your tongue, Martha?” Geoffrey demanded. “Will is the finest friend a man ever had, and I'll thank you to remember it.”

  “Now, Geoffrey, Will knows I'm merely teasing him. The three of us have known each other forever. I'm sure he would never take offense at my little joke.”

  Ledbetter had not precisely taken offense. But he had disliked having Martha proclaim one of his failings to the room at large. No, that wasn't exactly true, either. He disliked having her view put forth in front of Prudence, who no doubt was already well aware of various of his deficiencies and certainly didn't need to be informed of a new one. The poor woman would begin to wonder what had possessed her to marry him.

  His wife interrupted a lull in the conversation, which threatened to become uncomfortable. “For my part, I've found Ledbetter to be surprisingly accommodating,” she said with a winsome smile in his direction. “Perhaps it is being newly married which has mellowed him.”

  “Just so,” Geoffrey agreed, nodding his head vigorously. “Noticed myself how fond he is of Lady Ledbetter. Makes a difference, you know.”

  The baron experienced something of a shock. He watched as his wife colored slightly, and Martha's brows rose. It took Ledbetter a moment to acknowledge the import of what he was feeling. He was indeed fond of Prudence, very fond of her. But this was an awkward moment to realize that his fondness had developed into something more. He stood staring at his wife, unable to think of a thing to say, when most fortunately a footman arrived at the door to announce, “Lady Manning is awake now and would welcome a visit from Mrs. Dennison.”

  “Oh, delightful,” Martha said, gathering up a package with what looked like a knit blanket. “Perhaps the baby will be awake as well.”

  With a hasty glance at Ledbetter, Prudence rose and said, “I'll show you the way, Mrs. Dennison. I do rather hope that's a wrap you've knit for the child, because we found ourselves without anything small enough. The poor thing is swallowed up by an adult blanket, I fear.”

  “Why, yes, it is. And I've used the softest, warmest wool the shop in Forstairs had.” Martha tugged out a corner for Prudence to finger, and the two women left the room in perfect charity.

  Ledbetter expelled a sigh of relief. “I think perhaps it's time for a glass of madeira,” he announced to his remaining guests. “And I'll have Jenkins bring along the London papers.”

  * * * *

  Prudence was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She could not count the number of times she had climbed the stairs with one of the Manning children, or one of the adults. There had been three trips to the attics as well, in a vain effort to find an old crib or a trunk full of tiny little garments. Apparently Ledbetter's mother had cleared the place out, or his sister had taken keepsakes with her for her own family. In any case there was not a useful item to be found.

  And then simply entertaining the children, and the grown-ups, had absorbed the remainder of her day. The house had not emptied out until after ten o'clock, an ungodly hour in the country. Only Catherine and the baby Julia remained, but they were only down the hall from her, and Prudence could hear the baby cry as she brushed her hair in preparation for bed.

  Someone would be there to help Catherine—one of the maids, no doubt. But Prudence felt the urgency of the baby's cry and almost groaned when Ledbetter's knock came at her door. “Come in.”

  He entered as usual in his dressing gown. By now Prudence knew that he wore nothing under it and she wondered at his audacity when Catherine and the baby were only a few doors down the corridor. She felt not the least inclination to disport herself on this of all nights. “I'm burnt to the socket, William,” she said.

  “Ah. I wondered what that frown was about. I'm not surprised that you're worn out.” He moved behind her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You were wonderful today, my dear. Truly extraordinary handling every crisis and difficulty. And you'll need a good night's sleep because tomorrow is the dedication of that ridiculous organ at the village church.”

  This time Prudence did groan. “Lord, I'd forgotten that. You couldn't go alone, I suppose?” she asked, only half teasing.

  He grimaced. “No, I could not. After today's performance I have every confidence that you'll manage to bring everything off splendidly for me at the service.”

  Prudence turned around to face him. “May I ask you something?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Were you and Martha Dennison engaged at some point?”

  Obviously this was not what Ledbetter had expected. He shrugged, a little uncomfortably, and said, “Not exactly. We were very young and had something of an understanding, but nothing came of it. She met Dennison and decided to marry him. What makes you ask?”

  “She has that proprietary air that women sometimes have with an old flame.” Prudence cleared her throat and asked, “Were you very much in love with her?”

  “I suppose I thought so at the time.” He lifted her chin with his hand, regarding her curiously. “It was a very long time ago and I must not have been desperately infatuated, for I left her in the country and damn near forgot her until Geoffrey wrote that she'd gotten engaged.”

  A shadow passed across her face and she shifted away from his touch. “If you wouldn't mind so very much, William, I'm urgently in need of my bed. And I've told Catherine that she is to send for me if anything untoward should arise during the night.”

  Her husband stiffened. “Are you telling me that you'd prefer me to spend the night in my own room, Prudence?”

  Unable to meet his gaze, she lowered her eyes. “If you wouldn't mind so very much. It's just . . .”

  “. . . that you're uncommonly tired. Yes, I see.”

  “And that someone might come to get me in the middle of the night. Really, it's that even more than my tiredness.”

  “So this exile is likely to last for the duration of Catherine's stay.”

  His voice sounded so cool that she shivered. “Yes, but that won't be so very long, William. Just a few days. I'm sure she'll want to be home with her family as soon as she's able to travel.”

  “No doubt.” He stood for a long moment regarding her, and then turned away. “Very well. We should leave for church by half past eight in the morning. I feel certain Catherine will be able to manage without your presence for a few hours.”

  “Ledbetter . . .” she said, holding a hand out toward him. But he was halfway to the door and didn't see it. Prudence allowed her hand to drop to her lap as she said quietly, �
��Good night, William.”

  “Good night, Prudence.”

  The door closed silently behind him. Prudence couldn't help but believe that she'd made a mistake. She should not have sent him away, no matter how tired she was. But even thinking about a maid coming to get her when she was locked in Ledbetter's embrace made flags of embarrassment blossom on her cheeks. She was too new at this stage of their intimacy to feel any differently. Couldn't he understand that?

  * * * *

  No, he could not. Ledbetter was still grievously put out when he awoke the next morning in his solitary, cold bed. It did not help that he had slept poorly, or that his valet seemed to derive unholy pleasure from his banishment. Ledbetter had a good mind to turn his valet off, but fortunately he was too distracted by his other concerns to manage that small matter.

  He allowed Balliot to adorn him properly for church, though he would far have preferred planning a long, hard ride on Thor to sitting patiently in the family pew for the ceremony to be over. This was the first occasion on which most of his neighbors would meet his wife, he realized, grimacing at himself in the mirror as Balliot worked with finicky fingers on the starched white cravat.

  Prudence would charm everyone; she always did. She was gracious, and pretty, and eager to please. What more could a man ask in his wife? Well, for one thing, that she'd become his wife in a more tangible way than the uttering of her marriage vows.

  Hadn't he been incredibly patient with her? He had. And it had not been easy for him. Well, to be perfectly truthful, which perhaps he should attempt to be with himself, it had been a great deal easier than he would have thought. Ledbetter had found it quite enchanting to begin introducing his wife to the pleasures of the flesh. And he damn well wanted to get on with more of those lessons—to see the wonder in her eyes, and her shy excitement make the color bloom in her cheeks.

  But perhaps he had misjudged her reactions. If she had been as enchanted as he, she would never have been willing to send him off to his own room last night, would she? And what would happen if her lack of interest persisted? Oh, Ledbetter knew enough of his bride to realize that she would “do her duty.” But he didn't want that. He wanted more, a great deal more.