After supper and a quick stop off in her room to snatch her nightdress from the wardrobe, Prudence followed Evan to his room and prepared for bed alongside her husband.
He had worn a dark and brooding look, as though he were considering matters of grave importance. Not wanting to intrude on his inner thoughts and not knowing how to get him to share them with her, she had said nothing.
She glanced at him before donning her nightdress to see if he might show the slightest interest, but he continued to stare into the fire as though it held the answers to some enigmatic mystery. At least he didn’t send her back to her own room. Then again, she hadn’t been certain he was aware of her presence.
Evan stared at the flames while Prudence studied his backside and pretended to be asleep. After twenty minutes or so, he finally shed his breeches, turned back the covers, and crawled into bed beside her. His half-hearted peck on her cheek and his muttered “g’night” left her bemused, frustrated, and more than a little agitated.
But now it was morning. Well, almost morning, since only the barest sliver of silvery gray could be seen through the lace curtains. Still, now that she was no longer preoccupied with his lack of interest in her, she found it a little easier to press him to share his thoughts.
“What is it?” She rose onto her elbows.
“I have to leave again.” This time, he didn’t give her a kiss on the forehead to ease the concern she was certain wrinkled her brow.
“You aren’t just running another load of goods up to Boston, are you?” She repeated the lie he had told her the last time he left her alone in their bed.
Did she want him to lie to her? No, of course not.
“No, I’m not.” He studied her face as though trying to decide how much to tell her. “Richard has a lead on a load of rum in Martinique that can be had for a good price.”
Prudence narrowed her eyes at the bedroom door. Had she slept through the delivery of a note from Richard? It didn’t seem possible given the tossing and turning they had both done throughout the night. More likely, Evan still did not trust her with the truth. The thought stung almost as much as his leaving.
“Ashcroft has plenty of captains here and in Martinique. Was there no one else available?”
Evan’s willingness to leave at one suggestion from Richard, really at the mere hint of a suggestion since he sounded by no means certain the rum existed, spoke volumes about her husband’s regard for her.
“It may take some negotiating with the owner. It seems he doesn’t quite understand how difficult it is to bring rum into the Colonies now that the revenue men are getting bolder.”
“Simon,” Prudence said with some vehemence, the mere mention of the revenue collectors turning her thoughts to the man who seemed determine to make an enemy of them both.
“Precisely. Although, I believe Simon has more than the king’s service in mind when he pursues his task with such diligence.” The concern in Evan’s eyes deepened.
“What do you mean?” Prudence asked, her own alarm bells ringing.
“Revenge,” Evan said, his voice as cold as the word.
“Revenge?” Prudence repeated, the word tasting metallic in her own mouth.
She didn’t like Simon, nor did she trust him, but she had never thought of him as dangerous. Perhaps she should, since he had taken a shot at her yesterday, but then, he hadn’t really known it was her, had he? Besides, revenge was an emotion so filled with hate that surely it required a motive beyond anything she had ever given him.
“On whom is he looking to get revenge? And for what?”
“You. Me.” Evan sat beside her on the bed. “I’m not exactly sure who he considers the object of his revenge. Perhaps he doesn’t either, but his goal has been thwarted, and he is not the type to take that lightly.”
Prudence wasn’t sure if it was the cold grayness of Evan’s eyes or the thought of Simon hating her so much that sent the shiver up her spine. She tugged the bedclothes up to her chin.
“But why?” None of it made any sense.
“He wanted you, and I took you out of his reach.”
Prudence snorted. “No, that isn’t possible. Simon couldn’t possibly love me. He’s hated me since we were in school. I broke his nose, remember?”
“I didn’t say he loved you. I said he wanted you. There is a difference.” Evan sounded so logical as he explained the cold facts of reality.
Of course there was a difference between wanting someone and loving them. Prudence picked at a loose thread on the coverlet. Hadn’t her husband proven that? He had shown her she wasn’t the undesirable maiden bound for an early spinsterhood she had always considered herself to be. He had clearly wanted her. The more she thought about it, the more she became certain he desired her as much as she did him. But could he ever love her?
She supposed she should be grateful. He could have found a way to stir his own arousal, make love to her in a perfunctory fashion, and then consider his future secured.
After all, once they consummated the marriage, there was no way for it to be annulled. The only other option was divorce, and despite her threats, he had to know she wouldn’t submit the Ashcroft name to such a scandal. Her family fortune legally belonged to Evan now, and she had thrown her heart in for good measure.
“Stay away from him.” Evan’s words were hard.
Prudence’s gaze shot back to his face. She searched his eyes for the slightest show of emotion. Did he care for her? Even a little? If he did, why didn’t he stay and protect her himself?
“Yes, of course I will.” She tried to make her tone light, reassuring, but the crack in her voice gave her away.
Evan rose. “Perhaps you should send for Richard. I’ll be gone for at least a week. I’m sure he’s been a guest of the household before, and his presence would be little cause for gossip among the servants.”
Did she detect a note of warning again? Surely Simon hadn’t managed to convince him there really was something to her relationship with Richard. Or maybe he was just signaling that, given the agreement she had made with him, he didn’t expect her to be faithful either—just discreet.
“Isn’t that a little like the fox guarding the hen house?” Prudence grumbled.
Let him think there was still something to their relationship. It would give him reason to stew while he was away. Perhaps he might even find he didn’t care for the original terms of their agreement.
“Better to have a fox that loves you guarding you than one who is set upon devouring you.” Evan grabbed his coat and strode toward the door.
“Fine. Maybe I will send for Richard.”
Without another glance at his wife, Evan pulled the door shut behind him, leaving Prudence feeling more confused and alone than ever. There was only one thing she felt certain of. She and Evan would have been better off making love than talking.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Prudence picked at the breakfast Mrs. Hatcher set on her bedside table. She didn’t miss the disappointment mixed with concern on her housekeeper’s face when Mrs. Hatcher returned an hour later to carry away the nearly full tray of cold food and tea. Prudence gave a sleepy yawn, as though she had just woken up, not been wide-eyed since dawn.
Once she was alone again, Prudence rose from her bed. It would be better to pretend that nothing was amiss, go about her day as usual, than to give Mrs. Hatcher undue cause for concern. Not that she could ever really hide anything from the housekeeper who had always been something more of an aunt to her.
Prudence opened the wardrobe on the far side of the room. She hadn’t seen Netty much recently, but at least the girl had thought to stock her husband’s wardrobe with some of her clothes. Although her gratitude dissipated somewhat as she picked through the odd collection. They were all her most unbecoming dresses. When Prudence had tried to wear the canary yellow gown to a lawn party, Netty had even told her it was all wrong for her coloring. So why would these be the dresses she picked?
Instead of goi
ng to her old room, Prudence chose a dress of dove gray muslin that was more suited to a maid’s closest than the wardrobe of a newly married woman. It matched her mood, even if it did nothing for her appearance.
Once dressed, Prudence combed through her long auburn tresses. She considered asking Netty to come and help her arrange her hair, but that would give the girl a prime opportunity to pry into the state of her mistress’s marriage. And once the girl had her teeth sunk into a bit of juicy gossip, she would certainly spread it throughout the household in a matter of minutes.
Because of the servants, Prudence would not invite Richard to stay with her. The more she acted as if nothing was amiss, the less likely they were to catch on to her misery and gossip about it.
Of course, she wouldn’t be able to hide anything from Richard either. He would see through her façade within minutes and have her pouring her heart out to him as soon as they were alone.
If Richard really did love her as more than a friend, she couldn’t put him through that. Even if he loved her only as a friend, there was always a chance he would take it upon himself to do something to solve her problems. When they were children, Prudence had been the one to get them into trouble, while Richard could always be counted on to get them out.
Prudence tied her hair back in a simple gray ribbon, then stared at herself in the mirror. Now what?
She reconsidered extending an invitation to Richard. They could at least while away the time playing cards or chess. No, games left plenty of time for idle conversation, even encouraged it. Richard would have her revealing all in the space of time it took her to consider her next move. Besides, distracted as she was, she would undoubtedly lose. She hated to lose.
She could always read. Prudence didn’t dislike reading, but she doubted that anything she had in her library would be sufficiently entertaining or thought-provoking enough to distract her from her problems.
In the end, she chose a book of poetry by a collection of unremarkable poets and flopped down into an overstuffed chair in the library to read. Well, not read exactly. The poetry, being unremarkable, and Prudence never having much affinity for poetry anyway, she had plenty of opportunity to brood while she pretended to read.
A knock on the library door mercifully took Prudence away from a particularly woeful verse dedicated to the poet’s cat.
“Come in.” She closed the book on her lap, not bothering to mark the page.
“Pardon the interruption, Miss Prudence.” Mrs. Hatcher wore a frown that cut deep ridges into her brow. “There are some men here to see you.”
Prudence rose from her chair, clutching the book to her chest as though it were a shield.
“Did they say who they were or what they wanted?”
“Only one of them. He gave me his card.” Mrs. Hatcher handed the small rectangle to Prudence.
Prudence almost groaned aloud as she read the familiar script.
“Tell Mr. Manley I’m not receiving today.”
Mrs. Hatcher winced. “He told me he has a writ. If you didn’t admit him, he has the legal authority to search the manor.”
“Ransack is more like it,” Prudence mumbled, tapping Simon’s card against her lips.
Did he know Evan was not at home? Probably. The coward.
“The thing is, the rest of the men look like…” Mrs. Hatcher paused as though she weren’t clear how to describe the rest of Simon’s entourage. “Well, they don’t exactly look civil.”
Prudence straightened her spine. “Well, we shall be civil even if they aren’t. Show them into the library, Mrs. Hatcher.”
Prudence longed to have Simon turned out on his ear, but if he had a writ, she had no choice but to admit him. At least by voluntarily allowing him and his men in, she might avoid having her home pillaged even if it would still be searched. She had nothing to hide, or at least no more so than any other Rhode Island merchant. And there was nothing here that would incriminate her. Let him search.
“Prudence… Oh, I beg your pardon. It’s Mrs. Foster, isn’t it? How nice it is to see you again.” Simon’s nasal tone was more pronounced than ever.
Had he sounded that cruel at the academy? No, his tone had been more spiteful then. Now there was an edge to his words that chilled Prudence to the bone.
“First, let me see the writ.” Prudence held out her hand.
There seemed to be no point in maintaining a pretense of civility. She could do nothing to stop him, but the sooner they were done with this business, the sooner he would be gone.
“Of course. Of course.”
Simon reached into his breast pocket and produced a folded piece of parchment. He gave Prudence that same cold smile when he handed it to her.
Prudence unfolded and scanned the document. It looked official enough, but this was the first time she had ever seen one. If only she had invited Richard for a visit. The offices at Ashcroft had been searched often enough. He would know how to discern a real document from a forged one.
Prudence handed the parchment back to Simon.
“Well, shall we begin?” His question was directed to his men.
“Just a moment.” Prudence raised her hand.
One of the men, a brutish-looking fellow with a face that looked more like a lump of clay than a man, sneered at her, showing yellowed teeth. What was left of them anyway.
“Mrs. Hatcher, fetch Gil for me, will you, please?”
“No need, ma’am. I’m right here.” Gil stepped through the door.
Bless the man for his loyalty. He had evidently been listening outside the door. Perhaps it was time to add a bottle of Madeira to the brandy in the closet.
“Gil, Mrs. Hatcher, assemble the staff. I want Mr. Manley’s men accompanied throughout the house. None of them are to be left alone. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The barest hint of a smile cracked his impervious demeanor.
“You don’t trust me?” Simon appeared almost pleased.
“No, I don’t.”
How Gil did it, Prudence couldn’t have guessed, but within minutes a virtual army of servants stood outside the doorway. Everyone, from the cook to the stable boys appeared at the ready. Even Netty made an appearance, although she eyed Simon like she were a cat and he, a bowl of cream.
She could have him. In fact, maybe a dalliance with Netty would rid him of his obsession with her. Not that she believed his obsession was based on desire, despite Evan’s assertions, but her maid might serve as a distraction from whatever demons gnawed at Simon’s soul.
“Thank you all for coming,” Prudence told the assembled servants. “Mr. Manley is a customs official and has what appears to be a lawful writ of assistance.”
She couldn’t help herself when it came to the implication that Simon’s authority might be anything but perfectly legitimate. The arrow hit its mark, too. Simon’s snakelike grin melted a little.
“I’d like you to break up into groups and accompany these...” Prudence stumbled over her words as she assessed the rather motley assortment, “gentlemen as they search the manor.”
“But why should we let ’em?” a young man asked. “There’s more of us than there are of them.”
At seventeen, the head gardener’s son had a body so muscled he resembled a Greek statue. Unfortunately, his brain nearly matched that of a marble statue as well.
She had to ensure things didn’t get out of control.
“No, Calvin. We have nothing to hide. Let them search. I would just prefer that the house be in one piece by the time they are through.”
“And what do we do if they start destroying things, ma’am?” another man asked.
The man with the clay face bared his teeth.
“Just send one of your group for Gil or me. We’ll take care of it. You’re not to resist. Am I clear?”
There was a general muttering among the servants. The only thing clear was that many of them were none too pleased. She didn’t blame them. This might be Ashcroft Manor, but it was their
home, too.
The group dispersed, following Simon and his men as they went their separate ways down the long corridor and up the stairs to the floors above. A tall man with greasy hair and a pointed nose remained with Prudence.
“I’m to search the library with you, ma’am.” The way he leered at her, Prudence half expected to see spittle dripping down his chin.
“That’s all right. I prefer to remain out here in the hall where I can be available should anyone need me. You’re welcome to search it by yourself. I’ll just leave the door open.”
The man’s grin dissolved into something just short of a smirk.
Prudence held her ground, shoulders squared and eyes level. Short of dragging her into the room, something the writ most certainly didn’t allow, he had no choice.
Pinning her with a malevolent gaze, the man strode past her and into the parlor. Prudence held her breath, half from fear, half from the stench of old sweat and cheap whisky that wafted after him.
As promised, Prudence left the door open. However, she couldn’t bear to watch as he rifled through her books, tossing them to the floor when he found nothing of interest. She closed her eyes and didn’t turn around when something fell to the floor and shattered. It was probably just a vase and nothing of great importance.
By the time Simon returned, Prudence’s nerves were nearly as shattered.
“Have you satisfied yourself?” She folded her arms across her middle.
A couple more of his men gathered behind him, followed by Netty. Clay face gave her a hungry look. Had he been the one Netty favored? Alas, there was no accounting for taste.
Allowing Simon to search the premises had been the right thing to do. Evidently not finding what he was looking for, he had finished quickly. The sooner she saw the backs of him and his men, the sooner she could get back to her…she looked down at the book of poetry she still had clasped in her hands. Spending the afternoon with mediocre poets and their cats was still preferable to an afternoon with Simon.
Willing Love Page 25
