A Countess of Convenience (21 page)

"Have you spoken to Mr. Snavely about this?” she asked.

Mr. Bodkin's expression became grimmer. “He says the earl will not authorize the expenditures. Since Snavely receives a percentage of the estate's profits, I don't altogether trust him to fairly present the problem to the earl. I was wondering if you might say something in one of your letters."

Prudence's face grew warm as she sought an answer. Mr. Bodkin's complaint seemed genuine and she had firsthand knowledge of Snavely's pinchpenny ways, but an appeal from her would do nothing for Mr. Bodkin's cause. “I—I never discuss business matters with the earl. He doesn't approve of women involving themselves in such."

Mrs. Bodkin poked her husband with her elbow. “You see. A countess can't be expected to concern herself with overgrown streambeds."

The man looked so disappointed that Prudence said, “Why don't you write to him yourself? I'll be happy to give you the address of his man of affairs in London. He'll pass a letter on to the earl."

A more hopeful light shone in Mr. Bodkin's eyes. “Thank you, your ladyship, if you don't think the earl will be annoyed."

"Of course not. He'll appreciate you calling the problem to his attention."

Going home in the dilapidated carriage, Neil chided her for giving Bodkin the address. “Malvern will be annoyed by his complaints and Bodkin's sure to say you advised him to write."

Prudence vented some of the anger she felt toward her husband. “Mr. Bodkin shouldn't have to suffer because the Earl of Malvern is too high and mighty to attend to the messy details of everyday life."

Neil looked somewhat taken aback. “Frankly, I don't care about Bodkin. I just don't want you to call more of Malvern's wrath down on us."

"Oh? Do you mean to tell me you're resigned to quietly spending the next five years at Aysbeck?"

"Certainly not. But until I have the funds to buy my way from under Malvern's bondage, I want to attract as little of his attention as possible."

She clutched one of his arms and looked him in the eye. “Please tell me you aren't thinking of marrying Effie Culpepper for her father's money."

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he said, “I have to marry someone for money, and Effie seems a sweet-natured girl."

"Effie is a vulnerable girl. You'll break her heart."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"Take an honest look at yourself. Have you ever truly cared about anyone except Neil Weathersby?"

He drew back as if she'd seriously offended him. “I secured your future, didn't I?"

"Oh, yes. Thanks to you I'm sitting in the lap of luxury.” She turned away and stared at the shadowy landscape they were passing.

Impatient to get all business details settled so he could start his trip, Malvern glanced through the stack of papers Walton had brought a few moments earlier. Most were routine bills that he quickly initialed. “Yes, these should all be paid. Is there anything else?"

Walton pulled another paper from the leather case resting on his knees. “Just this letter from the north, my lord."

He felt a curious little twinge in his chest. “The north? What is the countess asking for now? If it's anything to do with her brother the answer is absolutely no."

Opening the letter with a flip of his wrist, Walton looked over the spectacles perched halfway down his nose. “It's from your neighbor, a Mr. Lester Bodkin. He says the countess suggested he write about a streambed that needs attention."

Malvern grimaced with annoyance. “I'd think even the countess would know Snavely takes care of things like that."

"Perhaps this is her way of drawing your attention,” Walton said. Then he pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows as if he'd just made an important observation.

"Please, Walton, don't you start telling me how to manage my personal life. I'm getting quite enough of that type of advice from my mother."

The man shook his head vehemently. “Oh, no, my lord. I'd never do that. But you did ask my opinion on the matter."

Malvern waved aside Walton's alarm. “And your opinion has been duly noted. Is there anything else?"

"How shall I answer Mr. Bodkin?"

Leaning over his desk, Malvern rested his chin in his hand and considered the matter. Perhaps the letter was Pru's way of attracting his attention. He had let her stew for over a month without any word from him. She was probably growing frantic over his inattention and would beg his forgiveness if he gave her the chance. “No need to answer it, Walton. I'll go there straight away and look into the matter personally."

Walton looked surprised. “But what about grouse hunting in Scotland?"

"I can still make it, if I want to. After all, I hunt grouse every year."

Walton busied himself with his papers, trying to hide a sly smile.

Malvern didn't want anyone thinking him eager to see his wife. “I need to check on my brother-in-law. Frankly, I'm surprised Snavely hasn't complained about him by now."

After Walton left, Malvern watched the fog gathering against his library windows. He'd have a devil of a time getting to the railway station. Perhaps he should delay his departure. No, he was anxious to get out of London; the city was deadly dull this time of year, and it was time he resumed his quest for an heir. If Prudence didn't quicken during this visit to Yorkshire, it might be wise to bring her back to Malvern Hall.

If he found her contrite enough, he might even let her come to London for a while. No other woman had caught his interest lately. It was almost as though he had punished himself by sending her away. And did she really deserve to be punished? She was just a woman following the orders of her only immediate male relative. He supposed he should give her some credit for family loyalty. If he could persuade her to transfer that loyalty to him, she might make a commendable wife.

The new information he'd recently gotten about his parents’ marriage had been eating away at his old ideas. In fact, he felt a little foolish for believing all these years that he was driven by a lustful nature inherited from his father. Looking at the behavior of his friends and other members of the aristocracy, he saw that his actions in that area had been little different from other men.

Of course, he'd had mistresses. Many men did. But he'd been perfectly content with one woman at a time and often resented the demands those women made to be constantly entertained with rounds of parties. The thought of a wife with whom he could spend quiet evenings at home had a definite appeal.

The fog wasn't so thick. His driver could find the station, but they would need extra time. He rang for Lindley and ordered his carriage brought around at once.

The hired post-chaise slowed as it approached the manor house, and Malvern peered through the pouring rain for a better view. He hadn't been here in a couple of years, but didn't remember the place looking so shabby. Trimming the overgrown yews that circled the front of the house would make a considerable improvement. Snavely apparently hadn't thought to bother with them while the house stood empty, but he should have done something after Prudence arrived. Malvern would mention it to him.

He sat in the coach and waited impatiently as Victor knocked on the front door. After a ridiculously long time, Malvern climbed out and pounded on the door with the metal head of his walking stick. The new Countess of Malvern obviously had not trained her household servants properly.

Finally the door creaked open and a stout, red-faced woman peered out at him. “And who might ye be?"

"I am the Earl of Malvern. Kindly get out of my way and send servants to help with the luggage."

The woman leapt back, flinging the door widely open. “Oh, my lord! I ‘adn't ‘eard you were coming. I'm afraid there's no one here to ‘elp with t'luggage. I'd offer myself, but I'm t'cook and I've got food to tend in t'kitchen."

Stepping inside, he took off his hat and shook water from the brim. “What do you mean there's no one here? Where's the butler?"

The woman shook her head. “Don't know as there is one. I've only been ‘ere for a week myself. Everyone else ‘as gone to t'flood."

He looked at the woman incredulously. “What flood?"

"With all t'rain, t'stream is running over its banks. T'Baileys sent for their daughters, saying their cottage was in danger. Everyone went to help."

"Surely the countess didn't go."

"Aye, sir. She and her brother both went. They took a wagon in case t'cottage goods need savin'."

Malvern stared at the woman in disbelief. Prudence had no business going off in the pouring rain to fight a flood.

The cook shifted uncomfortably under his glare. “Can I go back to t'kitchen, my lord? There's bread baking, and they'll be wanting food when they get back."

He nodded absentmindedly, but when she turned away, he called after her, “Where is this flood?"

"To the south, my lord. Just follow the road."

Malvern turned to Victor. “You and the coachman get the luggage inside and then do what you can to set this madhouse aright. I'll see what this flood business is about before I get into dry clothing."

As he entered the stables, Malvern heard the unmistakable twang of Snavely's high-pitched voice. “...should have stopped them from taking the stock out on such a fool's errand."

Near the back stalls, he saw Snavely berating an old man who stood in front of him with his shoulders slumped and head bent. “I couldna’ say nay to ‘er ladyship,” the man mumbled.

"You should have sent her to me,” Snavely snapped as he shook his finger in the old man's face.

Malvern could understand Snavely's aggravation over the misuse of estate stock, but a stableman should never send a countess anywhere. He cleared his throat loudly.

Snavely turned around, his irritated frown quickly changed to a look of astonished alarm. “Lord Malvern! I didn't know you were expected. And to arrive like this, without a proper welcome. I'm so sorry."

Malvern shrugged. “That doesn't matter. But what's this I hear about a flood? I take it a tenant's cottage is in danger?"

Snavely shook his head. “The stream overflows its banks on occasion. Nothing serious. The tenants are always looking for excuses to complain. Unfortunately, the countess took ‘em seriously. She shouldn't be out in weather like this."

"I quite agree with you on that. You should be the one checking on conditions."

Clasping his hands over his chest in a prayer-like gesture, Snavely said, “Yes, sir. I intend to do that very thing; in fact, I was just asking for the gig to be harnessed."

"Never mind the gig, the wheels will mire in the mud like the coach I came in. Saddle a couple of horses. I'll go with you."

"No need for you to inconvenience yourself over a small matter like this, my lord."

Focusing all of his irritation on Snavely, Malvern haughtily said, “The countess's welfare is not a small matter."

Snavely whirled back to the stableman, spewing orders, and Malvern was shortly mounted on a sorry piece of horseflesh and sloshing through the rain in search of his wife.

The main road through the estate approached and then ran parallel to a stream now filled with angry water. Whenever the land dipped, water topped the banks and formed restless pools. The further south they went the more severe the problem became. Soon the horses’ hooves splashed in standing water on the roadway.

Coming around a curve, Malvern saw furious activity ahead. Water had filled a low-lying trough that led away from the streambed. Men with picks and shovels were frantically building an earthen dam at the upper end of the trough in an attempt to stop the water from reaching a cottage that lay further inland. But water already lapped at the cottage's foundations. People, mostly women and children, hastily loaded furniture and clothing into a wagon near the doorway.

He finally spotted Prudence, approaching the wagon with a loaded basket. The sopping shawl that covered her head and shoulders made it difficult to identify her from the other women.

Her steps faltered, as if the basket was too heavy for her, and he started forward to aid her. Then he noticed how the water sucked at her skirt and realized she was having trouble walking through the rapidly deepening flood.

A woman standing in the wagon bent and took the basket and Prudence visibly staggered as the swirling water threatened to topple her. With a cry of alarm, Malvern jabbed a spur into his horse and headed for her, unmindful of the people who had to scatter out of his way. Fearing his poorly trained mount might trample Prudence, he yanked on the reins and leapt from the horse. He felt the tug of the water as it covered his feet and rose halfway up his boots, but hurriedly waded to Prudence's side and threw his arms around her. “Are you mad, woman?"

She stared at him with a stunned expression. “Malvern?"

He thought of picking her up to get her out of harm's way, but feeling his own instability, decided against it. Steadying her with one arm, he started toward his horse that had, amazingly, remained just where Malvern had left it. Feeling resistance from her, he said, “Hang on to me. I'll get you out of this."

"But I have to help."

Reaching the horse, he lifted her up onto the saddle, and then placed himself behind it and wrapped his arms securely around her. “I think you've helped quite enough."

"But they could lose everything they have,” she said in a voice that sounded surprisingly angry.

He turned the horse and started out to the water. “Their pitiful possessions are not worth your injury. Remember who you are, Prudence."

She jerked her head around so she could look up at him. “Remember who you are. These people and their pitiful possessions are your responsibility."

"Don't be ridiculous,” he muttered. “They're just tenants."

They reached the men working on the leaky dike and Malvern saw one of them staring at him. Suddenly he recognized his brother-in-law with his golden curls plastered by the rain to his Grecian forehead and muck smeared up to his elbows. By God, what had happened to Prudence and Neil? She might be excused for forgetting her newly arrived at position in the world, but Weathersby had been born into the aristocracy. There was no excuse for him to be acting like some common laborer.