A Prudent Match Read online

  “I do trust you,” she said fiercely. “It’s myself I don’t seem to trust, Will. Believe me.”

  He withdrew his fingers from inside her and she caught his hand. “Please, it felt so good a moment ago. Would you do that again?”

  “With pleasure,” he said, kissing her forehead and beginning to stroke again at that point between her legs that made her feel giddy.

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “I can hardly bear how exciting that is, Will. It makes me feel like . . . Oh.” She moaned, her body writhing beneath his touch. “Oh, God. I think I’m going to burst. Oh, Will.”

  She clasped him to her as her body convulsed with the most astonishing rhythmic pleasure, releasing all that amazing pent up tension. She cried out and felt tears stream down her cheeks. “Please, please, make me yours, Will,” she whispered against his throat.

  He shifted her beneath him and plunged his manhood into her so swiftly that she hardly realized what was happening. There was a moment of sharp pain, followed by a lesser discomfort as he thrust into her again and again until he cried out in release.

  They were joined in a way that mesmerized Prudence. She'd had no concept of how it would feel to have an empty part of herself filled by a part of her husband. As Ledbetter lay on top of her, he shifted his weight slightly to one side, leaning on his elbow and looking down at her. With his other hand he rubbed away the moisture on her cheeks.

  “Are you all right, Prudence?” he asked, his brow drawn down with concern. “Should I remove myself?”

  “Oh, no. Please don't.” Prudence hugged her arms tightly around his back. “Stay with me.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Not as bad as you'd feared, eh?”

  She shook her head. “I've been such a fool. Can you forgive me?”

  “There's no need. I daresay I'm as relieved as you are to have this first time behind us. It won't hurt from now on. And there's so much to explore. You have the most delicious body.”

  He kissed the swell of her breast, his tongue circling her nipple, his lips tugging gently at it. “Your body can offer you extraordinary pleasure—as it does me.”

  A soft moan escaped her. “Can we do it again?” she asked.

  Ledbetter laughed and kissed her softly on the lips. “Not right away, my sweet. And I’m afraid you’ll be sore for a while, perhaps a day or two. Best to let that heal, given your fears about pain.”

  “But I won’t worry about that—now. Don’t you think we’ll want to . . . to try it again tomorrow night?”

  “Well, we probably would,” he admitted, grinning at her, “but I’m going to be off in the morning, so that will serve as a useful separation until you heal.”

  Prudence’s heart sank and her voice had a slight edge to it when she asked, “But where are you going, William? You hadn’t said anything about leaving.”

  Her husband shrugged as he withdrew from her and rolled over to the side of the bed. “I have some matters to clear up, concerning Mr. Youngblood, mainly. I won’t be away long, Prudence. After all, we’re giving a dinner for the neighbors in a few days.”

  She was silent, trying to reason with herself about this revelation. It was not, she assured herself, that he had only stayed around long enough to make her his wife in more than name. There was indeed something havey-cavey about the business with Mr. Youngblood, and of course Ledbetter would be anxious to set matters right. “But you've already used my dowry to settle your debt with Mr. Youngblood, haven't you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Ledbetter admitted. “I doubt there's any way I can retrieve that, and in time the estate will absorb the cost. But I have to know the answers to a number of questions, Prudence. There is a suspicion in the air about my father which I should try to clear.”

  Prudence pulled the coverlet up to her chin and regarded him with a frown. “And what if you were to find that the suspicion was correct? What would you do then?”

  “I don't know,” Ledbetter said irritably. “There won't be much I can do, I'm afraid. Don't worry that any of it will reflect on you.”

  “That is not my fear,” Prudence said, an indignant catch in her voice. “If, after all, your father wronged Mr. Youngblood, then your mother has certainly done her utmost to right the wrong. If, on the other hand, Mr. Youngblood has not been wronged, but has played upon your mother's sympathies, then perhaps you will be able to find some remedy in the law. In either case, my dear Ledbetter, I don't understand how rushing off is going to provide the answers to your very natural questions. You would probably do as well to begin your search here, where your father lived all his life.”

  Ledbetter expelled a snort of frustration. “I've already done what I could in this neighborhood, Prudence. No one is going to admit to me that my father sowed his wild oats right here in the county. You'd think for all I've been able to discover that he was a paragon of virtue—which I can tell you he was not! No, I'm going to dig around where Youngblood currently lives, see what I can find there. Can't you see that it's my responsibility to discover the truth?”

  Prudence sighed, and forced herself to speak without a trace of the disappointment she felt. “Certainly I can, William. You owe it to both your parents, and to yourself, of course. If you have exhausted the possibilities around Salston, naturally you must travel farther afield. I shall miss you, of course, but I will have Catherine's company for the next few days.”

  “Very true,” he said heartily. “You and Catherine seem to go on well together. Perhaps she can stay until I return.”

  “I don't think she will wish to stay at Salston any longer than is absolutely necessary. She will want to be back in the bosom of her family.”

  “I know Geoffrey wants her home. Well, you'll be busy after she leaves, getting ready for our guests. That always seems to take a great deal of planning and consulting with Cook, and with Mrs. Collins. I daresay you'll scarcely notice I'm gone.”

  “Oh, I'll notice,” she said, her voice soft and a little whimsical. “But I'm used to being left behind.”

  If Ledbetter wondered what she meant by that, he had the good sense not to question her. Instead he leaned across and kissed her. “Good night, Prudence. When I return,” he promised, “we'll take up where we left off tonight.”

  “I do hope so.”

  * * * *

  Catherine pronounced herself well enough to endure the carriage ride to Hawthorne Manor a day and a half after Ledbetter's departure. Prudence knew she would miss having mother and child with her, but she was well aware that Catherine could scarcely contain her desire to be in her own home with her husband and children around her. So she waved merrily as Sir Geoffrey handed his wife into the old-fashioned barouche, and she was a little surprised when Sir Geoffrey returned to speak with her.

  “Can't thank you enough for the care you've taken of Catherine and the babe, Lady Ledbetter. Frightfully sorry to have made it necessary.”

  “Nonsense! I can hardly think of a more wonderful experience, Sir Geoffrey. And I appreciated the opportunity to get to know your wife better. I hope she'll be up to coming to our dinner on Saturday, but we will certainly understand if that's not possible.”

  “She'd like nothing better. Never one to be slowed down by a lying-in! And my mother will be here to help by then.”

  “Will she? Oh, please include her in our invitation. Ledbetter has the greatest fondness for your mama.”

  “Know he has.” Sir Geoffrey shook his head. “Can't imagine why he thought he had to go haring off that way. Damnedest fellow for acting on the spur of the moment—begging your pardon. Well, he'll be back for the dinner, so he can't be gone long.”

  “Yes, and I've a great deal to accomplish before he returns,” Prudence assured him. “You mustn't linger, Sir Geoffrey. It's starting to look like rain and I would wish Catherine home before we have a cloudburst.”

  Prudence was touched when Sir Geoffrey clasped her hand with firm pressure, then lifted it to his lips to kiss. “Contrary fellow,” he mu
ttered, “to leave such a lovely bride behind when you've been married so short a time.”

  “He felt it his responsibility to act,” Prudence said gently. “I quite understand that.”

  Sir Geoffrey looked rueful. “Then you understand a great deal more than I do. Never mind. I'd best get my wife and child home. Good day to you, Lady Ledbetter, and our thanks again.”

  Prudence retreated into the house when the carriage had rolled off down the drive. Because she was a very organized woman, she had the arrangements for the dinner party very much in hand. But she had put off writing to her family since she had left on her wedding day, and she felt it was more than time to make up for that omission. Her sister Lizzie would be especially anxious to hear how she went on. While Prudence was scratching away with the quill on a fresh sheet of paper, she heard the rain begin and turned to watch it fall outside the withdrawing room window.

  Somewhere out there Ledbetter was playing his version of Bow Street Runner, trying to track down clues about Mr. Youngblood's parentage. Prudence had been too distracted by her house guests and her preparations for the dinner to consider whether she might herself do any searching out of information. But as she watched the miserable rain drench the landscape, and the ink dried on her quill, an idea came to her. She rang for Tessie.

  When the girl arrived and curtsied, Prudence beckoned her close. “Tessie, were you at church on Sunday?”

  “Yes, my lady. With the servants, in the back. That's a very fine organ his lordship's mother gave the church.”

  “Yes, isn't it?” Prudence's eyes sparkled. “It would have done very well for a cathedral as well. But that's not what I'm concerned about just now. You heard Mr. Youngblood play?”

  “I did. My, I've never heard music like that before, ma'am. He could play for the Prince Regent, everyone said.”

  “A remarkably fine performance,” Prudence agreed. “But what I wish to ask you about, Tessie, is his resemblance to Lord Ledbetter, and the reaction of the servants to it.”

  “Oh, they were that astonished!” Tessie admitted, a gleam in her eye. “Had a great deal to say about it on our walk back to Salston.”

  “You walked?”

  “Oh, yes, ma'am. It's a tradition, Mrs. Collins said.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps we should update that tradition a little. But, Tessie, what I'd like, if you are able, is for you to tell me what they said. Not like telling tales, you understand. You needn't tell me who said what. But I would be very grateful to know what their impressions were about that likeness between the two men.”

  “Yes, I see.” Tessie looked thoughtful. “Well, there was those as felt he, Mr. Youngblood, was a . . . a natural child of the old Lord Ledbetter, this one's papa, you know. Said you couldn't find someone so alike without there being a connection. But there was others as scoffed at that, saying the old lord weren't that kind of fellow. Got into a bit of a huff, some of them. One, he said that weren't the way of it at all.”

  Prudence's interest sharpened. “And what did he think was the way of it?”

  “He didn't rightly say, my lady. Just that there was no call to be thinking the old lord done anything he shouldn't have.”

  “Tessie, would it be asking too much of you to tell me who said that?”

  The girl shook her head. “Don't see any harm in it, ma'am. 'Twas the head gardener.”

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  There was little more that the girl was able to tell Prudence. Tessie was inclined not to place too much dependence on the gardener's statements, as she explained, “His hearing is none too good, my lady.”

  Still, Mr. Newhall seemed a possible source of information. Prudence had heard Mrs. Collins say that the gardener had grown up on the estate, that no one had worked there longer. And it seemed very likely to Prudence that if Ledbetter had spoken with him, Ledbetter would already have known about the gardener's deafness.

  So Prudence made a special trip to the succession houses in hopes of finding the gardener at work. The rain was coming down in earnest now, and she felt more than a little damp when she stomped into the glass-sided building, but the riot of colors immediately put any thought of discomfort from her mind.

  “Oh, how beautiful,” she breathed, taking in the rows of spring blooms. She could see that Mr. Newhall was going to turn her dining room into a spectacular garden for the Salston guests. The daffodils and tulips were especially promising, their blossoms so newly unfurled that they seemed to quiver with promise. A rainbow of color waved across the room, drawing Prudence down one aisle after another.

  “They please, do they, my lady?” a voice asked from across the room.

  Prudence glanced up to see Mr. Newhall entering from the potting room. “I've never seen anything so magnificent,” she said, being careful to speak slowly and clearly. “I can scarcely wait to see them in the dining room.”

  “It will be a treat, it will,” he agreed, grinning widely. “Haven't told his lordship, have you?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I want to surprise him.”

  “Aye. He'll be surprised.”

  “Have you all the help you'll need?”

  “More than enough, thanks to your ladyship. I'll hardly have to lift a finger.”

  “Good.” Prudence crossed the room toward him, her fingers straying to touch a blossom here and a leaf there. “Mr. Newhall, may I ask you a question?”

  “As it pleases you,” he said, though he looked wary.

  “You were at church yesterday.”

  “Aye.”

  “And you saw the young organist, Mr. Youngblood.”

  He nodded, his brows lowering in a frown. “No missing him. Couldn't hear the music much, but I could feel it, don't you know.”

  Prudence thought he must mean that he could feel the vibrations of the mighty organ through his feet. “Mr. Youngblood looks a great deal like my husband.”

  “Aye, but you're not to be thinking the old lord sired him, ma'am, for it ain't true.”

  “Do you know that for a fact?”

  “Near as can be,” he said, his voice rough. “Knew the old lord as well as anyone, I daresay. He weren't in the petticoat line. Had a temper, and got foxed on occasion, but I'd bet my grandfather's watch that he never sired that organ-playing fellow.”

  Prudence sighed inwardly. It was not enough that the gardener's loyalty prevented him from envisioning Ledbetter's father as a philanderer. Newhall might very well be right, but he could hardly provide proof positive. She was about to turn away when she thought to ask, “Do you have any idea who Mr. Youngblood might be, then?”

  “Aye.”

  Prudence stared at him. “You do?”

  “Can't be certain, of course, but my guess would be that he's Francis's son.”

  She searched her memory for any mention of the name but could think of none. “Francis?”

  “Aye. Francis Ledbetter, the old lord's younger brother. Uncle of the present baron.”

  “But Ledbetter doesn't have any uncles.”

  “May not now,” Newhall ruminated. “Could be he's long dead. But he most certainly existed, Francis. Charles, the old lord, and Francis and I all played together as boys.”

  Though his hearing might be impaired, there was nothing wrong with the old man's memory, so far as Prudence could tell, but his revelation astonished her. “And what became of him?”

  Newhall shrugged. “Don't rightly know. The family disowned him when he ran off with one of the maids. Always was a bit of a scapegrace. Don't think he married her. This might be her son, or a son by some other woman. Francis, now he was in the petticoat line,” the gardener said with a trace of envy. “And they adored him. He could sweet talk them right out of . . . Well, excuse me, my lady. He was a handsome devil, that Francis. But he had no sense of what was owing the family name. Acted more like a stable lad than brother of a baron.”

  “Perhaps he resented being a younger son.”

  “As to that, I couldn't say. Fra
ncis came into an inheritance from his own uncle when he was twenty, and there was no stopping him after that. Charles, now, he had the position and the estate, but he also had the responsibility. Did a fine job of improving the land and the buildings. Great pity he had such a temper. Drove the young lord away.”

  Prudence asked hesitantly, “Did they argue, Ledbetter and his father?”

  The old man shook his head with rueful reminiscence. “Like cats and dogs. William, that's to say the present baron, took mighty exception to the old lord's way of shouting at anyone who got in his way or slowed him down. And most everyone did. Never knew a fellow with such a drive in him, like he couldn't sit still for two minutes together.”

  “Where did Ledbetter go when he left?”

  “To London, usually. When he was younger, to Sir Geoffrey's.”

  “I see. How long ago did Ledbetter's father die?”

  “Three—four years, maybe.” Newhall scratched his chin. “Went just like everyone said he would—in a rage. Apoplexy, the doctor said. I miss him. He used to come down to the succession houses of a summer evening and we'd smoke a pipe and talk about the old days. He talked about Francis some with me, never with anyone else, don't you see? His parents were so disgusted with the boy that they struck his name from the family Bible and no one ever spoke of him.”

  Newhall sighed and shrugged his bony shoulders. “But we'd been lads together, like I said, and when the old lord needed to remember the old times, he'd come to me. He never knew what became of Francis. No one ever heard a word from the boy after he left here.”

  “But Ledbetter must surely know of his existence!”

  “Maybe so, maybe not. It was all water under the bridge by the time William Ledbetter came along. And another thirty years since then, close enough.” The old man shook his head. “Like as not, though, the organ-playing fellow descends from Francis, not from Charles. Francis had that kind of curly hair.”

  “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Newhall.” As she turned to leave, Prudence remembered her disagreement with her husband, and paused. She smiled earnestly at the gardener and said, “I hope you know how much we appreciate your skills and hard work, sir. But Ledbetter reminds me that you've worked here all you life and may wish to sit back and relax now. It's your decision, whether you'd prefer to stay on as head gardener, or retire from your duties and have a well-deserved rest. There's no urgency for an answer.”