Willing Love

by Mary Jean Adams

  An ache settled in her heart, and she grieved for the first time in her life for the loss of family she had never known.

  The rain turned from drizzle to shower, and the curls around Prudence’s face plastered to her forehead and cheeks. Her cap had long since ceased to provide any protection against the elements, and it lay against her hair like a deflated mushroom. She pulled it from her head, stuffed it in her pocket, and picked her way through the mud to the fresh mound of dirt over her grandmother’s grave.

  The stonemason had yet to deliver the headstone. Only a small, wooden cross marked Rachel Ashcroft’s grave.

  Prudence sucked in a painful breath and stared at the marker that didn’t even bear her grandmother’s name. It all seemed like such unfinished business, as if the delivery and placement of the headstone would signal the true end of her grandmother’s life and the beginning of her own lonely existence as the head of a family of one.

  Prudence sank to her knees in grass still muddy from yesterday’s burial and the trampling of dozens of pairs of feet. If only the placement of the headstone could end her pain. She would have to live the rest of her life without her grandmother and as the last living Ashcroft in the family line. Her shoulders slumped under the burden that had become hers and hers alone.

  The skies opened up just as the emotions Prudence had been holding back for so long did the same. Rain melded with tears to run down her cheeks in rivulets and drip from the end of her chin. Only the thunder rolling overhead muffled the sobs that racked her body.

  Prudence would have fallen face first into the muddy mound had not a pair of strong arms encircled her shoulders. She turned into them, not caring for the moment whose arms they were, but knowing her pain was more than she could bear alone.

  “It’s all right, let it out,” a resonant, male voice said.

  A hand stroked her back.

  That was all the encouragement she needed. She curled her fingers around handfuls of soft but sodden linen and poured out her misery into a limp neck cloth.

  Her sobs subsided into hiccups, and a pair of strong arms tucked beneath her knees. The stranger cradled her against his chest and stood.

  “Put your arms around me, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear.

  Prudence didn’t have the strength to protest had she wanted to, so she did as he asked and snuggled into his warm embrace.

  He smelled good. Fresh. Like the rain mixed with pine and the spicy scent of the man beneath.

  She buried her face in his shirt.

  So familiar.

  Prudence mustered the strength to open her eyes just enough to study his profile through the shadow of her lashes.

  Once again, she found herself in the arms of the stable master. Once again, he had come to her rescue. Once again, he carried her back to the house, but this time she didn’t care. This time, she would give herself over to the moment. Let the staff gossip.

  Chapter Six

  Prudence took a deep breath and grasped the cold brass knob. Beyond lay the Ashcroft library. The few guests that had arrived in the past half hour to hear the reading of her grandmother’s will were inside. Gil had informed her not five minutes ago that they only awaited her presence in order to begin.

  Grandma Rachel’s headstone had been delivered. This last act marked the end of her grandmother’s life. Once the reading was over, the estate and the business would be hers. Rachel Ashcroft would be truly gone from this world.

  Squaring her shoulders, Prudence turned the knob.

  “There you are.” Richard came to her side and offered his arm. “I was beginning to think you had found something better to do.”

  “You know me.” Prudence donned the brightest smile she could muster. “I love to look my best when there is an audience.”

  Richard scoffed. “Not that you don’t look absolutely delightful, but I don’t doubt for a moment that it was all your maid’s idea. More than likely you only gave into her ministrations because you were delaying the inevitable.”

  “Hmmm, it seems that everyone is here,” Prudence said, ignoring Richard’s insightful and all-too-accurate observation.

  Mr. Whitley stood behind a desk angled in front of the hearth that dominated one wall of the room. A portrait of her grandmother hung above the mantel. She looked down on the proceedings with a decidedly satisfied air, as though she were pleased her life’s work allowed her to leave enough possessions to make such a gathering possible.

  “I hope that I am as fortunate,” Prudence whispered to the portrait.

  “I’m sorry, what was that, Pru?” Richard asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just observing how fortunate we are the rain has stopped.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Richard cast a cursory glance at the sun streaming in through two arched windows on either side of the hearth.

  Prudence gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Richard spent most of his time behind a desk. In all likelihood, he hadn’t noticed it had rained almost non-stop for two weeks.

  “I see Miss Ashcroft has arrived, so if you would all please take your seats, we can begin,” Mr. Whitley announced in the booming voice he always used when he had an audience.

  Richard led her to a chair in the front row and waited until she settled herself before taking his seat next to her.

  Prudence glanced around at the rest of the assembly. The seats closest to her were filled with Rachel Ashcroft’s business associates. Some she recognized. Some she didn’t.

  She nodded to Parson Simmons. He gave her a sympathetic smile and took a seat next to Mrs. Hatcher. A few others, mostly local farmers, household staff, and those who had been in her grandmother’s employ for decades, took their seats toward the rear, giving Prudence a clear view of the back wall.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Mr. Evan stood, cocked hat in hand, just inside the French doors.

  What was he doing here? Had he been summoned to stand by in case someone had need of a horse? No, that was absurd.

  Besides, he wasn’t dressed for the stable. Over a ruffled shirt and a neck cloth tied in a bow, he wore a green woolen waistcoat and cutaway coat. His taupe pants didn’t look to be of the finest material, but they were well tailored to his tall frame. He wore the same knee-high boots he had worn two nights ago when he plucked her from the cemetery, but not a speck of mud remained.

  Prudence narrowed her eyes at him. She supposed he had as much right to be at the reading as any other member of the staff, but while Rachel Ashcroft had been renowned for her generosity, Mr. Evan hadn’t been in her employ for more than a week. Surely, he hadn’t come looking for a handout. He didn’t seem the type to beg or rely on the charity of others. She hadn’t misjudged him, had she?

  Mr. Evan nodded a greeting, and Prudence nodded back before turning away, her cheeks heating. How long had he been watching her watching him? For heaven’s sake, she had been practically ogling the man.

  There could only be one logical reason for his presence. He had come looking for her. While he might not be admitted if he called at the house, he could easily slip in amongst the other Ashcroft employees to attend the reading of the will. There would be no doubt that he would find her here as well.

  Prudence fought the urge to fidget while Mr. Whitley waited for everyone to settle. Was it just her imagination, or could she still feel Mr. Evan’s gaze heating the back of her shoulders?

  Surely he wasn’t concerned for his position at Ashcroft. She might have been rude to him on their first meeting, but did he think her so heartless that she would dismiss him after last night? She would have lain on her grandmother’s grave and sobbed until the skies and her tears ran dry had he not found her there. Without him, she might have caught pneumonia and earned her own place in the family cemetery.

  She hadn’t even had the opportunity to thank him.

  Instead of dropping her off a few hundred yards from the house, he carried her right up to the front door. She would never forget the
look on Gil’s face when Mr. Evan refused to relinquish her and demanded he be shown the way to her bedroom.

  Only Mrs. Hatcher’s sternest demeanor, saved for such occasions, convinced Mr. Evan that Prudence would be well cared for if only he would release her.

  Prudence hid a smile behind her lace handkerchief.

  Whatever his reason for wanting to speak with her, Mr. Evan would be waiting once the proceedings were concluded. At least she would have the opportunity to thank him for rescuing her a second time.

  The solicitor cleared his throat, and a hush fell on the room.

  The reading of her grandmother’s will started with a few minor bequests. Some of the tenant farmers that had shown extraordinary potential over the years were given titles to the land they worked. Others on the estate staff were given sums of money to help them move forward in life. They were minor gifts compared to the Ashcroft fortune, but for the recipients, these arrangements could mean a new life, one lived on their own terms.

  Pride swelled Prudence’s heart. Leave it to her grandmother to continue to help people even after her death.

  Mrs. Hatcher was to be given an annual income after her retirement so she could live out the remainder of her days without fear of want.

  The solicitor read the will in his loud, clear voice. “She has been a friend to me as well as a godsend. She was with me when my daughter was born and when she was taken from me, as well as when my own dear husband followed my daughter to the grave. Agatha Hatcher helped me through those difficult times, and I can’t imagine anyone better to have at my side as I make my own passing into the next life.”

  Next, Mr. Whitley read a name Prudence didn’t recognize.

  “Captain Foster is to be given full discretion as to the construction of the Cythraul and full command of her when she is finished. The ship is to be his to run as he sees fit, and upon a year of successful service to Ashcroft & Sons, the title is to be signed over to him.”

  The audience let out a collective gasp at the generosity of this bequest.

  Prudence scanned the room, looking for the lucky captain. Neighbor whispered to neighbor, shrugged their shoulders, and craned their necks with her.

  Who was Captain Foster? She had met most of the sea captains in her grandmother’s employ. Those she hadn’t met, she had heard about. To have been granted such a generous and unusual gift, he must have won her grandmother’s admiration.

  Prudence froze in her seat.

  Had he been more than that? More than a simple captain in her grandmother’s employ?

  Prudence scanned the gathering again, her eyes flitting from face to face.

  She had been away at school for the majority of the past several years. Did her grandmother have a life she kept from her granddaughter? Had she taken a lover?

  Prudence nearly scoffed aloud and swung back around.

  She would ask Richard about it later and discover the truth behind Captain Foster. Her grandmother’s paramour or not, Richard would know if the mysterious captain could be trusted.

  Prudence’s attention refocused on Mr. Whitley when he read her name.

  “My granddaughter, Prudence Ashcroft, who is the light of my life and my one pride, shall inherit the bulk of my estate and sole ownership of Ashcroft & Sons,” he paused and cleared his throat, “on the condition that she marry.”

  Gasps filled the library. One of them belonged to Prudence.

  She would only receive the estate and the family business on the condition that she marry? Prudence snapped her lips shut when she realized her jaw had dropped to her chest.

  Mr. Whitley waited for the buzzing to die down. When he had the majority of the room’s attention once more, he cleared his throat again and continued.

  “If she does not marry, she will be given the estate and lands plus a yearly allowance to be deposited into an account to which she has sole and full discretionary access. This amount will be enough to cover household expenses, personal necessities, and luxuries such as can be afforded by the estate and the annual income of the business. As business manager, Richard Bainbridge will be responsible for representing Ashcroft & Sons to my solicitors at Whitley and Jamison. They will determine the amounts to be deposited.”

  Prudence’s lips tingled as the blood drained from them. Her grandmother had actually been serious about this marriage business. So serious she had outlined the provisions in her will.

  The solicitor leveled a gaze at Richard from beneath the gray shrubbery that passed for his eyebrows.

  “Richard, I need you to be strong.” It was Mr. Whitley’s voice, but Prudence could hear her grandmother’s female tones superimposed over the solicitor’s deep baritone. “I am quite serious about this, and I will come back to haunt you if my instructions are not carried out.”

  There was the muffled sound of polite tittering from behind gloved hands.

  That was Grandma Rachel’s sense of humor, all right. This hardly seemed like the time for it.

  Prudence shot a quick glance at Richard and caught his smile before he could suppress it. She scowled, and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say he had nothing to do with it.

  “Most of all,” Mr. Whitley continued, “do not let Prudence talk you into a marriage of convenience. You will both be miserable, and you will lose the most valuable possession either of you has—your friendship.”

  Mr. Whitley leveled his gray eyes at Prudence next, and she fought the urge to squirm. Good heavens, what more could there be?

  “Prudence, I give you a grace period of three months from my death to select a man of your own choosing. After that time, Richard will need to approve of your choice, and I give him leave to choose for you.”

  Prudence thought she heard Richard groan, but she couldn’t be sure over the growing voices of those around her.

  “Richard, remember, I need you to be strong,” Mr. Whitley read from the page, raising his voice above the din of speculation.

  This time, a snort mixed with the polite chuckles.

  “Prudence, if you refuse to marry, you shall be granted the allowance as I described. However, the running of Ashcroft & Sons will be left to Richard. Upon his death, the business shall be bequeathed to his heirs, as you will have none. While you remain unmarried, your part in the business shall be strictly limited to those tasks Richard deems suitable to your experience and temperament. In short, you will work for him instead of the other way around.”

  Prudence cast a sidelong look at Richard. He had managed to suppress his smile even though his eyes crinkled at the corners. Did he enjoy this humiliation?

  “Richard, remember, you must be strong,” Mr. Whitley said again, his voice squeaking on the final word against the strain of repressed laughter.

  Around her, the audience no longer tried to hide their amusement. Even Richard couldn’t stop from chuckling. Prudence gave him a nudge with a sharp elbow and glared at him. Turning to her, he bit his lip, but she could see the laughter in his hazel eyes.

  He would find humor in this situation. After all, if she didn’t choose a husband, he would have to choose one for her. Either that, or she would forfeit her part in running the business, and it would fall to him and his heirs. He had much to gain from this little arrangement.

  Grandma Rachel had evidently considered that possibility as well.

  “Richard, I trust you with my granddaughter and my empire. However, lest you be tempted to dispose of any man of Prudence’s choosing, might I remind you that if she remains unmarried, she will be working for you, and you will be in the unenviable position of having to tell her what to do.” Even the dour Mr. Whitley could no longer keep from laughing as he finished the sentence.

  He pulled a lace handkerchief from his sleeve to dab at his eyes, then composed himself enough to continue. “Finally, Prudence, I know it is fashionable to wear mourning attire for at least a year, but I don’t want you to. Black crape will swallow you up and make you even more ghostly looking than me. And besides, wearing
pastels and other more cheerful shades will make it easier for you to attract a husband. Like a flower to the bee, as I always say.”

  Laughter bounced off the walls as Mr. Whitley snapped the book shut. “That’s it, ladies and gentlemen. I wish to thank you all for coming today.”

  Prudence remained seated, while chairs squeaked against the parquet floor as those around her rose to their feet. She should do her part as hostess, thank them for coming and see them off, but she really did not wish to face anyone at this moment.

  With a cautious glance at her, Richard did his best to usher those that lingered from the room.

  Mr. Whitley eyed Prudence. Unfortunately, she could not avoid him just now. She met his steady gaze with one of her own.

  “You may inform me when you’ve made your choice.” His smile dissolved, but his eyes were warmer than she had ever seen them. “Otherwise, three months hence, I shall work out arrangements with Mr. Bainbridge for your allowance to be deposited into an account to which you shall have sole discretion and full access according to Mrs. Ashcroft’s wishes.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Whitley.” She thrust her hand at him. “You shall be hearing from me shortly.”

  What he would be hearing, she had no idea.

  Mr. Whitley hesitated a moment before taking her hand, but once he did, he seemed reluctant to let go.

  “Prudence, I am sorry for your loss. Rachel Ashcroft was a remarkable woman, and she loved you more than life itself. She wanted only your happiness and security,” he paused, “but, perhaps, not necessarily in that order.”

  Prudence nodded but said nothing. As soon as Mr. Whitley released her hand, she turned and fled through the study door.

  A few people lingered in the foyer, waiting to offer their condolences or perhaps for an opportunity to speak with her about some business or estate matter. She was, for the next three months anyway, the head of the business and the household.

  Mr. Evan waited among them, his hat still in his hands. Prudence rushed past him, without a second glance.