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‘It’s Jethro,’ Pru quavered.
‘Jethro?’ Who on earth was Jethro?
‘Bates, Miss Dessy. His name’s Jethro.’
‘Has he said something to upset you?’ Decima felt quite at sea. The two of them had spent hours together, apparently in a state of constant bickering, but what was there in that to produce tears now?
‘Oh, no, Miss Dessy.’ Pru’s face crumpled. ‘I think I’m in love with him.’
‘You are in love with Bates?’ Decima stared at her. ‘But I didn’t think you liked him much. You seemed to argue a lot and be exasperated with him…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘He is rather older than you,’ she suggested cautiously after a pause.
‘A bit,’ Pru admitted. ‘Doesn’t matter, though.’
‘No, of course not,’ Decima agreed hastily. ‘But does he feel the same way?’
‘I don’t know.’ Pru’s lip trembled in a way that made Decima’s quiver in sympathy. ‘I think so. He’s not what you’d call chatty.’
‘That is certainly true. Did you agree to correspond?’
Pru shook her head. ‘It was all a bit sudden, leaving, and I didn’t think.’ She sniffed again, her cheeks flushed, and an uneasy thought crept into Decima’s mind.
‘Pru, you didn’t…you haven’t done anything…unwise? Have you?’ Then she remembered. ‘No, of course not, how silly of me, you couldn’t have, even if you had been so imprudent, not with his broken leg.’ There was a silence, then Pru slid a sideways look at Decima. ‘Pru! Truly? How? No…do not tell me, I do not want to know.’
What if Pru becomes pregnant? With that thought came the treacherous memory of Adam’s body hard against hers, her own newly sensitised flesh quivering towards surrender. She could so easily have been worrying about exactly the same thing for herself. At least she would never have to face him again, never find herself laid open to either the temptation or the rejection that encounter would bring.
The tears were rolling fatly down the maid’s cheeks now. Oh, Lord! Now what am I to do? Charlton would say she should instantly dismiss Pru, but then Charlton could be the most unblushing hypocrite. ‘Pru, if you still feel the same way about him in a month or two, then I promise we will go and find some way to be close to Lord Weston so you can see Bates again.’ And what if Pru was with child and Bates was not prepared to do the right thing? That was a bridge to be crossed if they came to it.
Pru gripped her hands convulsively, too upset to speak her thanks. Decima smiled at her, as comfortingly as she could. But inside she quaked; there was no way she could bring Bates and Pru together again without Adam’s help. And that meant seeing him again.
Chapter Eleven
Augusta was, predictably, delighted to see her back, completely incurious about her journey and hardly interested to learn how Hermione and Charlton were. But she did blink vaguely at Decima as they stood in her new glasshouse and observe, ‘You are looking different, dear. Have you changed your hair?’
That was typical of Augusta and Decima took no notice. But she was shaken by her dear friend Henry. Sir Henry Freshford rode over from his neighbouring estate the next day, alerted by the infallible country grapevine that she was back.
‘Henry!’ Decima stooped to receive his brotherly kiss on her cheek, so much more welcome than any salutation of Charlton’s. ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘Yes, fine,’ he replied, looking at her oddly. ‘Dessy, what have you been up to?’
‘Me? Why, nothing. Do come and see Augusta’s latest extravagance.’ She tugged his arm until he followed her through to the glasshouse, built out at an angle from the house so that it formed a conservatory extension to one of the sitting rooms. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? She is planning to pu
t ferns and palms and even orchids in here.’
She expected Henry to be immediately interested, to look at the heating pipes and ask about the water supply. Instead he stood regarding her, his head on one side and a smile quirking the corner of his mouth.
Henry Freshford, baronet, was the best-looking man Decima had ever met. Although his height was below the average, his features were classically perfect, his colouring blonde, his eyes a periwinkle blue and his figure elegant. His looks in themselves were enough to draw many female admirers, but his breeding and wealth attracted the young ladies’ mamas even more.
The short man who had to fight off lures and the tall woman who no one would consider marrying had formed an unlikely, but deep, friendship. For Decima he was the brother she would have chosen; for him, she seemed to be the perfect feminine confidante.
‘Why are you staring?’ she demanded, sinking down onto one of the new sofas that had been bought for the glasshouse. ‘I thought you would be interested in what Augusta has been doing.’
‘I’m much more interested in what you’ve been doing, Dessy.’ He sat opposite her and crossed his legs, leaning back to study her face.
‘What do you mean? And, please, do not call me Dessy. I’ve just realised how much I hate it.’
‘Of course, Decima.’ Normally he would have been distracted enough by this to demand to know all about her sudden decision. Not today. ‘Now, stop changing the subject and tell me who he is.’
‘Who?’ It came out as a startled squeak and she knew she had blushed. ‘What can you mean, Henry?’
