A Prudent Match Page 15

  “Does my lord wish to wear his signet ring this morning?” Balliot asked hopefully.

  “No, he does not,” Ledbetter growled. “And he is not going to stand here one more minute while you smooth out imaginary wrinkles and whisk off nonexistent bits of fluff. Run along, man.”

  Offended, as only Balliot could be offended, the valet fled. Ledbetter shrugged his shoulders to ease the fit of the jacket which clung masterfully to his form, and sighed. It was going to be a long day.

  * * * *

  At the breakfast table Prudence picked at her food.

  “Are you unwell?” he asked, in a not-very-sympathetic voice.

  “I'm perfectly fine, thank you.”

  “I trust you slept well.”

  “Then your trust is misplaced.”

  Surprised, he set down his cup. “Were you disturbed in the night? Was something amiss with Catherine?”

  “No one came for me at all.” She lifted troubled eyes to his and said softly, “I missed having you there with me. I'm sorry I sent you away.”

  “Well.” Suddenly the day looked a great deal brighter to Ledbetter. “Well,” he said again, uncertain how to respond. “I missed being with you.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, her voice halting, “I could come . . . to you tonight?”

  Ledbetter's breath caught in his chest. What a remarkable woman she was! “Yes,” he said, “that would be an excellent solution.”

  “Then I shall,” she said with determination.

  He would have liked to shower her with kisses, but the butler arrived to announce that the carriage had been brought around to take them to church. Ledbetter frowned in exasperation, but Prudence jumped up exclaiming, “I must get my bonnet. I won't be a minute.”

  So he thanked the butler, finished his coffee, and rose to face the next ordeal.

  * * * *

  Prudence felt a great deal better after she had mended her fences with Ledbetter. She had indeed spent a wretched night, all to no purpose at all. Catherine and the baby Julia had done just fine; there had been not the least need to go to them. And tired as she had been, sleep had eluded her through most of the night. Several times she had considered gathering up her courage and walking across the hall to her husband's room. But, unsure of her welcome there, she had awaited the morning to put matters right.

  Ledbetter entertained her with stories of the neighborhood as their carriage bumped along the road into the village. Now even more than a few days previously the trees were beginning to show buds. But the sky was overcast, with a definite hint of rain in the air. Prudence hoped they would make it back from church before a spring rain managed to drench the area.

  As he assisted her to alight from the carriage, Ledbetter said, “You haven't forgotten about the size of the organ, I'm sure, Prudence. I will have nothing further to say on that subject this morning. What is done is done. My mother meant well in donating the instrument, and I shall attempt to focus on that generosity in my remarks.”

  “I shall do my best to overlook anything outlandish,” Prudence promised with a rueful smile.

  Ledbetter produced a grin in reply, tucked her arm through his, and guided her into the old stone church.

  Though they were in good time for the church service, the building was already filled to overflowing with people. Apparently the dedication of the organ had caused something of a stir in the village and the neighboring communities. Prudence could tell which was the Ledbetter family pew, as it remained empty until they seated themselves there. Even Sir Geoffrey Manning was already at church, surrounded by two of his older children and their nursemaid.

  Prudence had managed to keep her gaze away from the organ until after she was seated beside her husband. She had assumed that he had exaggerated the size of the instrument, owing to his embarrassment about his mother's involvement in the fiasco. Now, when she turned her gaze upon it, she immediately caught her lip between her teeth to stifle an almost irresistible urge to giggle.

  What could they have been thinking? she wondered as she surveyed the enormous instrument. Glistening pipes streamed up to the (far too low) ceiling. The keyboards gleamed white and black against the lush mahogany of the wooden panels. Since no one was seated at the organ, it appeared all the more imposing, as if no one was quite brave enough to challenge its immensity.

  A ripple of interest whispered through the church and Prudence turned to watch the vicar climb to his pulpit. He immediately called down a blessing on the assembled parishioners, and moved straight into the dedication of the new organ. Prudence thought him oblivious to the disproportionate size of the instrument, for he confessed to his own longing for such a splendid item, and his gratification that Lady Ledbetter, the present baron's late mother, had seen fit to provide it.

  When he asked the baron to say a few words on his mother's behalf, Ledbetter rose with his accustomed ease and turned to address the congregation. “My mother developed a fascination with organ music in her later years,” he said. “Even when she was not well enough to attend church, she would page through her hymnal and hum melodies she remembered hearing in church, this church, throughout her lifetime. She made a study of organs and corresponded with several of the finest manufacturers of them.”

  Ledbetter dropped his gaze for a moment to his wife, and Prudence smiled reassuringly at him.

  “My mother hoped to share her love of music with the people of this parish. By donating this handsome organ she trusted that her family, friends, and neighbors would enjoy a special musical heritage for many years to come.”

  Prudence became aware that people were staring beyond Ledbetter, toward the front of the church. This would not have been unusual, since that is where the organ resided, except that there was a certain amount of elbow nudging and finger pointing. To say nothing of the curious looks and urgent whispers.

  When she turned to see what it was that had captured the attention of the congregation, she found that the organist was preparing to take his seat at the enormous instrument. The excitement that vibrated through the church was not caused by the possibility that music would soon be forthcoming, however. Prudence heard Ledbetter, who had turned to witness the organist's advent, mutter something beneath his breath which sounded very much like, “The devil you say!”

  Prudence herself was dumbfounded. The man who seated himself on the organist's bench was not just any other stranger, although he appeared quite unconscious of the stir he was creating. He offered Ledbetter an inquiring look, as though to ask whether he was finished speaking and ready for the organist to begin the musical portion of this event.

  Ledbetter's narrowed eyes moved from the man seated at the organ to the vicar smiling benevolently from his pulpit. Prudence knew that her husband wanted more than anything to demand, “Just what is the meaning of this?” She would certainly have appreciated knowing herself. But Ledbetter, with truly remarkable self-control, said, “I shall say no more, but will allow this accomplished organist to demonstrate the instrument's unique qualities without further delay.”

  On saying which, he seated himself, muttering “God help us” with a fatalistic shake of his head. He reached for Prudence's hand and held it firmly on his thigh for the next half hour, while the “accomplished organist” displayed his talents.

  And they were many, Prudence had to admit. She had never heard anyone play so well, even during her Season in London. The young man, who could have been Ledbetter's twin, was no novice on the instrument. In fact, he was so good that he was able to tame the huge instrument into not overwhelming the little church with its glorious sound.

  Prudence couldn't help but steal glances between her husband's face and that of the young man. The eyes, the cheekbones, the chin, the mouth, everything so very similar. The stranger had hair of a darker shade, and it curled engagingly all over his head, while Ledbetter's was much straighter. The two men were of a height, and even of an age, Prudence would have guessed. Surely not more than a year could have separa
ted them. How could that be? Could two unrelated men look so much alike? And if they were related—how?

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  When the church service proceeded with its usual complement of hymns, the young man, whom the vicar proudly referred to as Mr. Youngblood, played with an energy that had the villagers raising their voices quite melodiously in song. Prudence found herself singing with the others, and, after an initial hesitation, Ledbetter joined in.

  But Prudence was envisioning the gatherings after the service, that time when neighbor spoke to neighbor, when the news and gossip spread from family to family. Ledbetter was not going to appreciate being the object of everyone's astonishment at the similarity of countenance he shared with Mr. Youngblood. It was bad enough that the organ's size made it a subject of some amusement; that the organist was a dead ringer for Lady Ledbetter's son was way beyond coincidence.

  There was fire in Ledbetter's eyes. Prudence had no doubt he was spoiling for a fight. And she did not blame him for the way he glared at the vicar. Mr. Hidgely was certainly responsible for inviting the organist to play at the dedication service. Prudence could only assume he had chosen to do so from some deep-seated antipathy toward Ledbetter. What other explanation could there be?

  But she was new to the parish and unfamiliar with the history between the vicar and Salston. Would it be taken for granted by the villagers that Mr. Youngblood was some by-blow of the late baron's? How very unfortunate. And Ledbetter would only add fuel to the fire by engaging the man of God in an angry exchange after the service.

  Prudence beckoned urgently to Sir Geoffrey as the congregation rose to leave the church. Ledbetter's friend was instantly at her side, sharing a worried look with her before clapping a hand on the baron's shoulder and saying, “Hope Catherine and the child were no bother last night.”

  Forced to bring himself back from wherever his angry thoughts had taken him, Ledbetter said, “Of course they weren't. Damn it, Geoffrey, what's the meaning of this?”

  His friend shook his head. “Couldn't say for certain. We'll get it straightened out, Will, but not now.”

  “Why not now?” Ledbetter asked angrily.

  “Because,” Prudence said calmly, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, “you have your new bride to introduce to your neighbors, Ledbetter. That is your first obligation, now that the organ has been dedicated. I trust you won't embarrass me by relegating me to a lower priority than that of an upstart organist.”

  His eyes still blazed and she could see him struggle to gain control over his very natural desire to call the vicar to account for this outrageous display. But Prudence held Ledbetter's gaze with her own for the long seconds it took him to thrust his choler into the background—hardly forgotten, but tamed for the nonce.

  He drew a deep breath and almost managed a smile. “You're quite right, as usual, my dear. Come. Let me make you known to your new neighbors.”

  And so he did, with an admirable conscientiousness that included every man, woman, and child who remained within the vicinity of the church. If a neighbor showed some tendency to divert conversation from the baron's recent marriage to the strange events of the morning, Sir Geoffrey would invariably interrupt to ask, “And have you heard my news? Catherine presented me with a baby girl yesterday—at Salston.”

  Only the very brave indeed were willing to attempt bringing the subject back to Ledbetter's look-alike a second time, and Prudence would merely smile and say, “We're so pleased that you enjoyed the music. Such a magnificent organ!”

  Before Ledbetter had a chance to consider whether he could now in good conscience attack his second order of business, Prudence edged him toward the carriage, Sir Geoffrey insisted that he not keep the horses standing, and he found himself seated beside his bride on their way back to Salston. “I haven't finished with this matter,” he grumbled.

  “I know you haven't.”

  “But you were right to get me away from there now,” he admitted, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her against him. “Perhaps we should retire to my room when we reach Salston.”

  Prudence blushed, but shook her head. “I'm sorry, William, but you must realize that Sir Geoffrey and his brood are likely to descend upon us at any moment.”

  “God help us,” he muttered, for the second time that morning.

  * * * *

  Ledbetter took Sir Geoffrey aside during the afternoon to discuss the strange occurrences of the morning, but his friend was unable to shed much light on the situation. “There have been rumors,” Sir Geoffrey said, “of a man bearing a marked resemblance to you. I hadn't seen him before, and frankly, I'd discredited them.”

  “To me, he looks more like my father, but I suppose that is merely my own reluctance to admit my countenance is not as unique as I'd always assumed. It's odd knowing some other soul walks around with a face so like mine.”

  “Not much doubt he's related to you. Hate to think of it, though. Your father—may he rest in peace—always seemed so devoted to your mother.”

  “He was,” Ledbetter said with conviction. “But his explosions frightened her, too, and he was impatient with her cowering. He couldn't understand how she could think he would harm her.”

  Sir Geoffrey grimaced. “Hell, when he went into one of his rants, it was hard to imagine he wouldn't hurt someone. You don't need to tell me that he never did, Will. I know that well enough. But his temper!”

  “Terrifying.” It was easy enough for Ledbetter to remember his father's explosive temper. The shouting and fist-banging had created a lasting impression on him as a child. No matter how impatient he himself became, he had promised himself never to behave in such a fashion. But the scene in church that morning had provided him with a real challenge to his worthy intentions. He could still feel the anger gnawing at him.

  “But why would the vicar involve himself in such an egregiously stupid ploy as bringing in my father's bastard child to play the organ? Hell, Geoffrey, the living is in my gift. I have a good mind to kick him out.”

  “Of course you do, but it wouldn't look good, Will. Besides, there's obviously more to this than meets the eye. May I make a suggestion?”

  Ledbetter snorted. “When have you ever hesitated, my friend? Go ahead. Tell me some appalling truth that I'll have to live with.”

  Sir Geoffrey hesitated. “It's not as simple as that. It concerns your wife.”

  The baron stiffened. “Careful, then. I would not welcome any disagreeable comments about my wife.”

  “You misunderstand me, Will. What I am suggesting is that if you have not been completely frank with Lady Ledbetter, perhaps now is the time to rectify that.”

  “Frank about what?”

  “About your mother's will.”

  “It could be a delicate matter to raise, with my bride.”

  “And yet, if she doesn't understand the situation, how are you going to approach her for advice?”

  Ledbetter's brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Look, Will, what I'm trying to say is that your wife seems to have a very level head on her shoulders. You could do worse than seek her opinion on how to handle what has happened.”

  “What you're saying,” Ledbetter informed him with asperity, “is that I'm a hot-head and likely to go off half cocked given the smallest chance.”

  Sir Geoffrey grinned at him. “Something like that. No, no, there's no need to come to cuffs over it, dear fellow. I give you credit for marrying a woman who appeals to your better nature. Though my acquaintance with Lady Ledbetter is short, I have every confidence in her capability and her judgment. She married you, didn't she?”

  “Trying to puff me off now, are you?” Ledbetter sighed. “She only married me because she has three more sisters to be brought out, and two of them were very impatient to be given their chance.”

  Sir Geoffrey looked skeptical. “I doubt that was her reason any more than yours was her dowry, Will. But I'll say no more on that head. Th
e two of you will have to sort that out for yourselves. Just promise me you won't do anything in a temper about the vicar and this Youngblood fellow.”

  “And lose your profound respect for my judgment?” the baron grumbled. “Heaven forfend. This matter deserves some finesse, which, I may remind you, I am occasionally capable of.”

  “You are,” Sir Geoffrey agreed, “when you let your head, and not your irritation, rule your actions.”

  “I have every right to be irritated.”

  “True, but much good it will do you to act on it. You know I'm right, Will.”

  Ledbetter grimaced. “Everyone but me seems to be right these days. I liked it better when they weren't.”

  “Maybe they always were,” Sir Geoffrey suggested, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “If they were, then I liked it better when I didn't know that.”

  Sir Geoffrey laughed and picked up his gloves from the table in the entry hall where they'd ended their walk. “I'm glad you're back, Will. Hope you'll stay around for a while this time.”

  Ledbetter shrugged. “We'll see how things progress.”

  * * * *

  Heeding Geoffrey's advice, Ledbetter raised the issue of his mother's will when he and Prudence were alone at dinner. “It proved to be a great surprise to me,” he said.

  “How so?”

  Ledbetter made an all-encompassing gesture with his hand. “Salston is entailed, of course. When my father died and I came into the title, I inherited the whole of it. At least, that was what I believed.”

  Frowning, he took a sip of his wine and sat rolling the glass between his hands. “My mother was a local girl. Her father had no sons, so she was dowered with a large piece of land that bordered on Salston. Over the years it has become a valuable part of the estate.”