A Prudent Match Page 18

  “Don't know what I'd do with myself if I didn't manage the gardens and the succession houses,” he grumbled.

  “Just think about it.”

  “Yes, ma'am. I'll do that.”

  * * * *

  The first thing Prudence did when she returned to the house was to have Mrs. Collins find the family Bible for her. And there it was in black and white, so to speak. Francis Ledbetter had been born two years after Charles Ledbetter, and his name entered on the date of his baptism. But at some point later in his life, someone had taken a pen and drawn a thick black line through his name.

  Ledbetter did not seem to Prudence to be someone who would spend much time perusing the family bible, and therefore would not likely have learned of his uncle's existence in that way. But surely his father, or his mother, or someone else had told the boy or the man of Francis's place in the family history. Such secrets always managed to find their way into the light of day eventually. Of course, it was always possible that Mr. Youngblood was the means by which this particular secret was coming to light.

  Prudence set aside the bible and looked thoughtfully out the window, where she could see that the rain was still falling in earnest. In all likelihood, this solved the problem of who Mr. Youngblood truly was. On the other hand, it did not solve the mystery of why the vicar had involved himself in the whole matter.

  Ledbetter might demand that information from the man of God, but Prudence thought her husband’s patience would be sorely tested by such an endeavor. Therefore, she decided to undertake the business herself, knowing that Ledbetter would not necessarily approve of or appreciate her efforts, that he might even be seriously annoyed with her.

  But then, Prudence was seriously annoyed with him for deserting her there at Salston while he wandered about the countryside. It was, after all, scarcely a week since they had wed. So she could not be too distressed about Ledbetter's finer sensibilities. If he had any.

  Prudence slid another sheet of parchment from the pile on her escritoire, dipped her quill in the standish, and wrote: “Dear Mr. Hidgely, I would be most grateful if you would call on me at Salston when the weather improves, as I desire a private consultation with you. Thanking you in advance, Prudence Ledbetter.” She folded the sheet over, scratched his name on the outside, sealed the missive with the previous Lady Ledbetter's sealing wax, and rang for a footman.

  Mr. Hidgely presented himself at Salston the next morning rather early, though the day looked almost as dreary as its predecessor. Prudence had him brought to her in her private parlor and greeted him with a slight degree of formality, because she thought he would expect it of her. She was, after all, Lady Ledbetter, the baron's new wife, and therefore about to become something of a figure in local society.

  Though she suspected Mr. Hidgely accounted himself quite impervious to the privileges of rank, she suspected he was no less a social creature than any other man in the parish. His particular regard for Ledbetter's mother, enhanced by that good lady's gift of the impressive organ to his church, suggested that he was not unmoved at least by wealth and power.

  After she had begged him to seat himself, and sent for tea, Prudence got down to the business of quizzing the vicar. “Have you been vicar here long?” she asked.

  “A dozen years or more, my lady, brought here at the request of his lordship's father.” The vicar sat relaxed in his chair. He was a man of medium height, with a rather long face and scant eyebrows.

  “And did you know the family at Salston before you came here?”

  He shrugged one hand which rested on the arm of his chair. “Not to say knew them, Lady Ledbetter. I was a very distant relation of the former Lady Ledbetter's, though we had never met. I'm sure she interceded on my behalf when the parish was in need of a new man.”

  “That was kind of her. I understand she was a devout and generous patron of the church. The organ she bequeathed is quite remarkable.”

  Mr. Hidgely's rather dour countenance brightened with a proud smile. “Indeed, there's not another parish church in the county which has so fine an instrument.”

  “Do you know how it came about that Ledbetter's mother chose to donate precisely that instrument?”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “I don't take your meaning, my lady.”

  “She was so specific in her will,” Prudence explained. “If I were planning to donate an organ to the church, I wouldn't have the first idea which one to suggest, but would simply specify that a certain amount of money be spent on an organ. But my husband's mother seems to have investigated the subject with particular vigor and chosen a specific instrument. I wondered if that had anything to do with you, or perhaps with Mr. Youngblood.”

  “Lady Ledbetter did not take me into her confidence on the matter,” he said stiffly. “I'm sure she prayed for guidance and was answered by a higher authority.”

  “Or by a rather human one,” Prudence said dryly. “Mrs. Collins tells me that Mr. Youngblood came on several occasions to visit my husband's mother. As he is an organist of considerable skill, I don't doubt that he had a certain amount of influence on the dowager.”

  “That I could not answer for, my lady. The baroness was inordinately fond of music, as anyone will tell you. She knew that the organ at our small church had been disintegrating for the last half dozen years of her life and hearing the dismal music it produced undoubtedly determined her to do something about the problem. Her choice of an instrument was not made lightly, I feel sure.”

  “Perhaps you met Mr. Youngblood here at Salston,” Prudence suggested.

  “I am certain I did not.”

  “But you met Mr. Youngblood before Lady Ledbetter made that provision in her will, did you not?”

  “My lady, I have no idea when Lady Ledbetter made the provision of which you speak. She was not well for many months before her death and seldom left the estate.”

  “Then it would seem that the solicitor must have come to her. I believe you know that gentleman—a Mr. Meakin of Market Stotton.”

  The vicar took advantage of the interruption caused by the footman bringing in the tea tray not to respond to her question. He murmured an appreciation of the variety of items being offered, and chose several of them to arrange carefully on his plate. He hesitated before taking the cream cake, but at length determined to add it to the ginger bar, the cucumber sandwich, and the cheddar tart. He asked for three lumps of sugar and accepted his cup from her without rattling it in its saucer.

  Prudence allowed him to sit back comfortably and sip his tea, a blend the previous Lady Ledbetter had probably served him many times herself, as it was a specialty at Salston. He attempted to shift the conversation by discussing the many projects Lady Ledbetter had involved herself with at the parish church, but Prudence was not to be distracted.

  “Is Mr. Meakin your own solicitor?” she asked, completely ignoring his conversational sally.

  “I have no need of a solicitor, Lady Ledbetter. I'm a very simple man.”

  “I doubt that,” she said, but pleasantly, helping herself to a ginger bar. “I understand that the living for the parish church is in Ledbetter's gift. So I must admit that I find your actions unaccountable. You must certainly be aware that Ledbetter does not suffer fools or mockers lightly. Weren't you afraid that he would dispossess you of your position?”

  She regarded him with a bright curiosity that gave no hint of the appalling frankness of her question. Mr. Hidgely shifted uncomfortably in his seat but blustered his way around the flat-out inquiry.

  “Lady Ledbetter, the dowager, that is, assured me that I would have my position for as long as I wished it. I have a letter to that effect. I don't think the baron would wish to go against his mama's wishes.”

  “Don't you? Then I fear you are mistaken, Mr. Hidgely. Ledbetter is unlikely to be moved to obey the wishes of a parent who was being put upon in a most unconscionable manner.”

  “I'm sure I have no idea what you speak of,” the vicar insisted.

 
“Do you not? Then I shall explain. It seems to me that you took advantage of the dowager's illness and vulnerability to promote a little plan of revenge for yourself. Though I have no idea precisely what it is you wished to be revenged of, my guess would be that it had to do with some mistreatment of yourself by my husband.”

  The man of God stared at her, his face becoming red with heightened emotion. “You have no idea what you're saying, Lady Ledbetter! How you, who have only just arrived in this community, could accuse me of such improper conduct, I cannot imagine. Perhaps your husband has tainted your opinion of me. Certainly he has no great fondness for me or my position here.”

  “Can you blame him?” Prudence asked gently. “When his mother was ill and dying you introduced into her sphere a man who looked so like her son that she must certainly have thought the two men had the same father. In fact, you allowed her to believe that they did, though I suspect you know the truth of the matter, that they are likely cousins.”

  “This is wild speculation, my lady.” The vicar rose from his chair, leaving his cup of tea half finished. “I will not listen to another word.”

  His hostess put up a hand to catch his attention. “Believe me, you will do better to listen to some hard truths from me rather than from my husband, Mr. Hidgely. I have a far more equable temper than Ledbetter has.”

  “Like father, like son,” the vicar snapped. “Neither has any restraint on his tongue. The old lord once called me a jackanapes! Me, an emissary of the Church of England. And I suppose I should humble myself to him because of his title, or because he holds my living in his colicky hands! It's more than a man should be required to bear.”

  “Yes, it is,” Prudence agreed, “but my understanding is that Ledbetter's father was even-handed in his rages. They did not fall solely on men of God, but on his wife, and his son, his staff, and anyone else who happened to be around when he was overcome with spleen. Why you should have taken his attacks so personally, or punished his wife for them, I cannot fathom.”

  “I did not punish his wife.”

  “What do you call letting her believe that her husband had sired a son out of wedlock?”

  “I am not responsible for what Lady Ledbetter believed,” he said self-righteously.

  “I disagree. In your attempt to avenge yourself for the bad temper of a dead man, you introduced his widow to Mr. Youngblood. Or perhaps you reconciled yourself to what you were doing by convincing yourself that Ledbetter was just as bad as his father, and he was the one who would have to see to the carefully planned disposal of a large and prosperous portion of his estate. He was the one who would have to purchase that ridiculously large organ and hear it played in the church in front of his family and friends by a man who looked his very twin.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Mr. Hidgely, do you deny that you introduced Mr. Youngblood to Lady Ledbetter?”

  The vicar pursed his lips, his eyes hard. “She had a right to know of his existence.”

  “Why? Did you really believe him the old lord's child?”

  “What else was I to think?” he demanded, defensive. “He looks the image of his father.”

  “But did he present himself to you as old Lord Ledbetter's natural child?”

  The vicar hesitated, obviously torn about how to respond. “I believe I've answered a sufficient number of your questions, my lady. If you will excuse me . . .”

  “But I won't.” Prudence kept her voice firm but neutral. “Let me remind you that between us we may come to some benign resolution of these matters, Mr. Hidgely. If you are forced to deal with Ledbetter, I think I can promise you that your chances of remaining vicar at Forstairs are relatively small. On the other hand, I have every wish to smooth over this most unpleasant episode. Please sit down.”

  Grudgingly, Mr. Hidgely returned to his chair, but he ignored his cooling cup of tea and retained a look of mulish obstinacy. Prudence repeated her question.

  “Mr. Youngblood came to me with a desire to be made known to the family at Salston. He believed himself related to the Ledbetters, though his tale of a disinherited younger son seemed pure fabrication to me.”

  “Ah, then he does know he is Francis's son, and not the old lord's.”

  “I had never heard of Francis. Not one word since I came to this parish as vicar.”

  “You could quite easily have looked it up in the parish church records. And I imagine that you did.”

  He rubbed his forehead as though it had begun to ache. “Indeed I did. The fact that Francis had existed did not necessarily make Mr. Youngblood his son.”

  “It must certainly have seemed probable, since he claimed that he was.”

  “Yes, yes, of course it did. But I had already introduced him to Lady Ledbetter by that time, and she was quite taken with his plight. She was also fascinated by his claim to be a musician. Apparently she held talent of that sort in very high regard, having been quite hopeless herself in playing even the pianoforte.”

  The vicar spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I could not very well disillusion her once she had taken to him that way. And, besides, who was to say that his tale was the truth? He might very well have been old Lord Ledbetter's natural son, and merely been raised with the belief he was son to the disinherited brother. In either case he was illegitimate, and obviously of Ledbetter blood. Didn't it make sense that the Ledbetter family should take care of him?”

  “I imagine my husband would have been perfectly willing to make an allowance to Mr. Youngblood if he had been approached with the young man's claim to a family connection. What you did, Mr. Hidgely, was an act of petty revenge against the short-tempered Ledbetters because they had managed to offend you. Only if you are willing to accept responsibility for your actions is Ledbetter likely to consider forgiving you. You undoubtedly gave his mother a great deal of unnecessary distress, something you could have easily rectified when you discovered the truth.”

  “But I did not . . .” Mr. Hidgely closed his mouth with a snap of his teeth and stared down at his hands for some moments. Eventually he sighed and lifted his gaze to Prudence's patient observation. “You are quite right, of course. I could have relieved her mind. I should have relieved her mind. But by the time I felt absolutely certain of the truth of the matter, Lord Ledbetter had returned to Salston and I hadn't the courage to present myself here.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “I told myself that her ladyship was too ill to be bothered with the entire matter again. I was aware that she had sent for the solicitor to change her will. I could have intervened, and I didn't, largely because the old lord's words still rankled with me.”

  “Do you think you could explain that to Ledbetter—and apologize to him?”

  “I shall have to, shan't I? It was a very unChristian thing to do.”

  Prudence smiled a little sadly. “We all make mistakes, Mr. Hidgely. I believe you will find that Ledbetter is of a forgiving nature, despite his impatience. I will speak to him on your behalf when he returns, and hope that we can clear up this matter before any more damage is done.”

  “His lordship is away from home?” Mr. Hidgely asked, surprised.

  “Yes, but I expect him back Saturday. Sunday morning, before services, I will have him speak with you, if that is acceptable.”

  “Quite acceptable, Lady Ledbetter.” Mr. Hidgely rose when his hostess did. “Thank you. I'm sure I don't deserve your intervention, but I'm grateful for it.”

  “I think we will all be better for resolving this untenable situation,” she replied. “Ledbetter is not his father, Mr. Hidgely. If you will come to understand that, I think the two of you will manage to rub along reasonably well together.”

  “I shall do my best, my lady.”

  Now if Ledbetter will do the same, Prudence thought, perhaps we can get on with our lives.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  Ledbetter felt a little guilty at not arriving back at Salston until Saturday afternoon. True, he had made it
back in time for their dinner for the neighbors, but he really had intended to return on Friday to give his wife moral support, if nothing else, for her first attempt at entertaining in his ancestral home.

  And he had looked forward to spending an enjoyable night in bed with her, too. The entire time he'd been away, her voice had whispered in his mind, “Can we do it again?” Her question both charmed and aroused him each time. If his mission had not been so important, he would have preferred to remain with Prudence and shared with her the joys of the marriage bed.

  But there was plenty of time for that, he had promised himself. They had a lifetime to spend together. Ledbetter was especially pleased with the thought, and with his perspicacity in choosing Prudence as his bride. He was so eager to see her on his return that he took the stairs two at a time, and burst into her sitting room with scarcely a knock on the door.

  Tessie, who was attending to her mistress's hair, nearly dropped the hairbrush in her surprise at his precipitate entrance. Prudence merely stared at him. “William!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I would have to entertain our guests by myself.”

  “I promised to be here in time for the dinner,” he said, a little defensively. “I meant to be back sooner, but I was delayed.”

  “And was your trip successful?”

  Ledbetter looked meaningfully at Tessie and said, “To some degree. I wonder if I might speak with you alone.”

  Tessie curtsied and slipped off, closing the door behind her. Ledbetter approached his wife almost hesitantly. “I would have been here yesterday, but there was someone I couldn't speak to until last night. And then this morning one of the traces had to be repaired before I could be on my way.” He reached for her hands and lifted them to his lips. “Forgive me?”