Lady Jocelyn’s sharp eyes remained on her son’s face, but she nodded. “I think you’re right. ‘T’is a pity though. She’s the only eligible girl hereabouts. I’m not sure what we can do about the Mistletoe Ball without a woman at your side.”
“There’s nobody at all?”
“Reid, there are lots of lovely girls in the village. But you can’t, in all fairness to the Chillendale line, wed a milkmaid.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why not, when the dinner bell rang. Which probably saved him from a scolding.
Much later that evening, he thought to ask his parents a question which had popped into his mind as he stared into the fire in the family parlor. “Father, have you or Mama ever heard the name Eldridge?”
*~~*~~*
Prudence pulled another candle from her small store and lit it from the embers in the fire. The light was welcome, but she was warm enough and had no complaints about her humble accommodations.
It was indeed a clever little hideaway, using the rock face as an impenetrable wall and the overhang as the basis for the rest of the enclosure. The boys had woven reeds and green things through the slats they’d nailed together, and over time—at least fifteen years or so, she guessed—nature itself had provided the mortar to seal the joints. It was thus snug, if cool, and almost invisible.
But tonight, with the one candle flickering around and revealing her personal belongings, it felt like an empty home.
It was the first time Prudence could remember feeling quite so alone. She’d always been gregarious, even as a child. Aunt Dorothea had recognized that and encouraged her to mingle with all levels of society, carelessly disregarding murmurs of disapproval from her peers.
As she matured, her natural pleasure in the company of others became tempered by caution and discretion. After learning the circumstances surrounding her birth, she understood they were to be hidden, and she obeyed. They meant little to her, but if they upset others, then she would conceal them. Perhaps even forget them.
Which she had done most successfully until her aunt informed her that it was time for her to marry—and Lord Eldridge of Bickford Mere had requested her hand. He was over sixty, possessed of a sizeable estate, and needed an heir.
Upon hearing that, all her girlish dreams evaporated in that one instant. Her hopes of being allowed to learn about the things that fascinated her, or to read every book she desired…all vanished with that announcement.
She had no choice at all in the matter. In fairness, she knew her aunt was ailing, and with the optimism of youth did her best to keep hoping that matters would improve. Sadly, they had not.
Her aunt had lived to accomplish the task of settling her niece with a husband, and seeing her walk down the aisle to become Lady Prudence Eldridge. Prudence returned from her somewhat dismal honeymoon, on the Yorkshire moors, to the sad news that her aunt had passed away.
From that point on, she was on her own. And she accepted that, determined to make a life for herself that would render her content.
Lord Eldridge, however, had other ideas.
For the next few years, Prudence worked harder than she had ever worked before. It seemed that Eldridge was under the assumption that a wife would do everything the servants would do. Therefore, he did not need more than a few to take care of the rest.
He sacked most of the Bickford Mere staff, and his wife found herself doing more cooking and less reading, more cleaning and less learning. She fell into bed at night, exhausted, only to have her nightrobe tossed over her head while her husband took his pleasure of her in increasingly futile attempts to father an heir.
It was, without roundaboutation, a living hell. She endured it for six long years, during which she developed a backbone of steel and an ability to wipe all her emotions from her face when necessary.
As her husband began to weaken, mostly due to his affinity for imbibing to excess over his meals and an utter lack of interest in any exercise, Prudence gently assumed a little control over the household. By the time he was confined to his bed, she ran the place, and upon his demise, Bickford Mere was a thriving concern once again, with a full staff, spotless rooms and a good income from the estate.
Content to be a widow, she looked forward to many years at the home she’d built without help from anyone.
But, thanks to the law and human greed, it was not to be.
A hitherto unknown male Eldridge relation presented himself as the rightful heir. The title was a lifetime honor, and not in perpetuity, so he would not have the right to call himself Lord Eldridge. But after several months, the lawyers confirmed that he was indeed the heir to her husband’s estate.
Prudence was offered the opportunity to remain and help the new owner, his wife, and their six children adapt to life at Bickford Mere.
She politely refused, and was gone with little more than a dress or two, before they took up residence.
She blessed the foresight that had urged her to make some arrangements that were purely personal. Thanks to that instinct, she now had a modest income which could, if managed conservatively, provide her with a small house should she wish to relocate.
She did, heading south toward her early home. And finally she settled into a lovely old cottage, taking the reins of management herself, and enjoying the chance to entertain her cousin and the few close friends she’d kept over the years.
Thanks to cousin Brent, she was now here, in Little Chillendale, curled up in her cloak and smiling at the memory of an afternoon that had exploded into something completely unexpected.
She stiffened, suddenly hearing a sound outside. It might be a fox, or another creature hunting for food.
