“Gramma is the Dowager Baroness Aldridge. She’s not how you might expect of an elderly lady,” she said to recover her poise, as he moved back and took up the reins. “She has lived an unconventional life.”
“How so?”
Prue giggled. “Gramma married twice. She loved her first husband, my great-grandfather, Joseph, deeply, but said her second husband obliged her by dying.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s honest.”
“Yes. I never met him. Mama is her granddaughter. I overheard Gramma speaking to her about it, and a lover Gramma had had when she’d first been widowed. She’d refused to marry him. His name was Mr. Peters. I met him once working in the garden, which was a hobby of his. He died several years ago. Gramma says she is now content to live alone with her pets.”
“Cats?”
“No. An otter and a cockatoo.”
His eyebrows shot up. “‘An otter’?”
“Gramma rescued Fergus some years ago. He was hurt, and she nursed him back to health,” she explained, as if this were a reasonable thing to do. “Once he was well, he refused to return to the wild.”
“And the cockatoo?”
“Gramma says Hodge used to belong to a sailor. His language is quite shocking.”
“I can imagine,” Lord Hereford said dryly. “I look forward to meeting her.”
“She can be a little blunt,” Prue said uneasily.
“Indeed.” He sounded amused.
Glad to see him unbend a little, she smiled at him. “Did you inheritthe viscountcy when after your father passed away? Or is he still with us?”
That shadow darkened his eyes again. “No, I’ve lost them both.”
“I am sorry. Was it long ago?” She wasn’t sure why she wanted to know more about him. Perhaps it would explain the sadness she had glimpsed in his eyes.
“My father passed a few years ago and my mother when I was a baby.”
He had been denied a mother’s love. Sympathy for him tugged at her heart. “Oh, how dreadful? I am sorry. Did your father remarry?”
“No.” He looked away. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”
His tone warned her not to pursue it. Prue fell silent.
After another hour had passed, they entered Richmond’s leafy streets. The dank air heralded their approach to the River Thames, which flowed along beside Gramma’s property. Negotiating a few turns on the road, the curricle proceeded beside a high stone wall.
“We’re here. This is Waterford Manor.” Prue was eager to see Gramma and the quirky old house she’d loved to visit as a child. Perhaps here, with her loving great-grandmother, her despair would ease a little.
Lord Hereford guided the horses through the ornate iron gates beneath glaring stone gargoyles sitting atop each pillar. The drive led through an avenue of ancient elm trees bordered by dense gardens, which was more a tangle of shrubbery and vines.
“Gramma doesn’t care for orderly gardens.” Prue settled her hat firmly on head and smoothed her gloves, eager to dismount. Despite arriving in this fashion, she was sure Gramma would welcome her.
Lord Hereford cast her a wry glance. “Perhaps she sees a little of herself in you.”
Prue couldn’t help but grin. “My father accused me of it on occasion.”
Her smile ebbed away at the stark reminder that he was gone from her life.
Weak autumn sunlight burst out of the clouds and filtered down through the branches to light their way along the dim avenue.
With a quick glance at Prue, he drove on toward the old mansion.
