Prue Wakefield

by

Tea with a worried mother

 

An excerpt post. In Revealed in Mist, Her Grace sets my heroine’s mind at ease.

Prue hesitated in the street outside her next destination. Callers needed to present their card at the gate, be escorted to the front door and delivered to the butler, then wait to be announced. On most days of the week, uninvited guests below a certain rank in society would have difficulty making it past the first obstacle, but on Thursday afternoons, the Duchess of Haverford was ‘at home’ to petitioners.

Past encounters had always been initiated by Her Grace. A scented note would arrive by footman, and Prue would obey the summons and receive the duchess’s commission. Though she was always gracious, never, by word or deed, had Her Grace indicated that she and Prue had any closer relationship than employer and agent.

The entrance and public rooms of Haverford House were designed to impress lesser mortals with the greatness of the family—and their own lesser status. Prue was ushered to a room just off the lofty entrance hall. Small by Haverford standards, this waiting area nonetheless dwarfed the people waiting to see the duchess.

Two women, one middle-aged and the other a copy some twenty years younger, nervously perched on two of the ladder-backed chairs lining one wall. Next to them, but several chairs along, a lean young man with an anxious frown pretended to read some papers, shuffling them frequently, peering over the tops of his spectacles at the door to the next room. Two men strolled slowly along the wall, examining the large paintings and conversing in low whispers. A lone woman walked back and forth before the small window, hushing the baby fretting on her shoulder.

Prue took a seat and prepared for a wait. She would not tremble. She had nothing to fear. Both Tolliver and David said so, and Aldridge, too. But how she wished the waiting was over.

It seemed a long time but was only a few minutes, before a servant hurried in and approached her.

“Miss Virtue? Her Grace will see you now.”

Prue gave the other occupants an apologetic nod and followed the servant.

The duchess received her in a pretty parlour, somehow cosy despite its grand scale. Prue curtseyed to her and the woman with her. Were all petitioners waved to a seat on an elegant sofa facing Her Grace? Addressed as ‘my dear’? Asked if they should care for a cup of tea?

“Miss Virtue takes her tea black, with a slice of lemon,” the duchess told her companion. Or was the woman her secretary?

“Miss Virtue, my companion, Miss Grant. Miss Grant, Miss Virtue has been of great service to me and to those I love. I am always at home to her.”

Was Miss Grant one of the army of relatives for whom Her Grace had found employment, or perhaps one of the dozens of noble godchildren she sponsored? The young woman did not have the look of either Aldridge or his brother, nor of their parents. Prue murmured a greeting.

“I was not expecting you, Miss Virtue, was I? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Your Grace. I just… I have some questions, Ma’am.”

“You should have sent a note, my dear. I will always take time to see you. I was happy to give a good report of you to my friend Lady Georgiana, of course.” As she spoke, the duchess took the tea cup from Miss Grant and passed it to her.

“Your Grace, I would like to speak with you alone, if I may. I beg your pardon, Miss Grant. I do not mean to be discourteous.”

The duchess stopped her own cup partway to her lips and put it carefully back into the saucer, examining Prue’s face carefully.

When she spoke, it was to Miss Grant. “Celia, my dear, will you let those waiting know that I will be delayed…” she consulted her lapel watch, “…thirty-five minutes, but I will see them all today? Perhaps you could arrange refreshments for them? Return on the half hour, please. That is all the time I can spare, Miss Virtue. If you need longer, I will ask you to wait or return another day.”

Prue shook her head. “The time will be ample, Ma’am. Thank you.”

As Miss Grant left the room, Prue was silent, collecting her thoughts. The duchess waited.

“You knew about Antonia. You have known all along.” Prue shifted uneasily. She had not intended to sound accusing.

The duchess inclined her head, her face showing nothing but calm. “Since shortly after her birth.”

Prue did not know how to ask the questions that crowded her mind, but the duchess had exhausted her noble patience, which was, after all, on a schedule. “What is it you wish to know, Miss Virtue? Why I said nothing?” Her voice softened, and her eyes were compassionate. “I read your sister’s letter, and thought to write back and offer you and the child a place with me. I did not think a home filled with such… such judgement could be happy for either of you. But family is best, if it can be contrived. And there was Aldridge. I was unsure how things had been left between you. He seemed to feel a genuine fondness; I thought he might… He has more charm than is helpful in such situations, and I did not want my granddaughter raised… Well. That is not to the point now.”

She took a deep breath. So she was not as calm as she seemed, either. “I sent someone I trust to check whether you needed my intervention, and found you had left the letter writer to live with another sister. A more hospitable environment, my agent thought.”

Prue knew who the duchess’s trusted messenger was. “Tolliver.”

Her Grace nodded. “Yes. Thomas and I have an equal commitment to protecting and championing those to whom the Grenfords owe a duty.”

“You and I have met since, Your Grace.”

“Your secrets are yours to keep or share, Miss Virtue. I have often wished to ask after your daughter, but I did not wish to intrude. My son’s carelessness changed your life in ways for which I can never compensate. The Grenfords have responsibilities here, but no rights.”

Prue felt suddenly dizzy as her tension drained away.

“I was afraid,” she admitted. “I knew about the three girls: the young ladies you are raising. I thought you might… I feared you would take Antonia. Aldridge told me you would not, and so did David and Tolliver.”

The duchess leaned forward to pat Prue’s hand. “Oh, my dear. I am so sorry you were worried. Matilda, Jessica, and Frances had no one else, and at the time we found them I did not understand that a quieter life in a less prominent household would have served them better. Frances was the last I took into my own home, and that was nearly ten years ago. Now Thomas and I do better by those we find. But there, done is done, and the girls and I love one another dearly.”

She had kept Prue’s hand in hers, and she now gave it a comforting squeeze. “I can assure you, Miss Virtue, I have never taken a child from a mother, or from relatives who cared. The future those little girls faced,” she shuddered at the thought, “was unutterably grim.”

She sat back, and picked up her abandoned cup to take a sip. “You say Aldridge reassured you. He knows about his daughter, then?”

“He has met her, Your Grace. He saved us from a dastardly villain. It was quite heroic.” Prue found herself telling the duchess about the attack in Tidbury End. “I would like to talk to the Dowager Lady Selby, but she has not been at home,” she finished. “Surely she would be concerned at the plight of her grandchildren?”

Her Grace wrinkled her nose and frowned, her lip curling. “Not from what I know of her, my dear. But have young Wakefield escort you to my ball on Thursday. I shall arrange for you to have a private interview with Lady Selby.”

A discreet knock at the door warned the duchess their time was nearly up. The Duchess of Haverford stood and walked Prue to the door, and Prue found herself enfolded in a tight embrace. “I shall continue to rely upon you for your professional services from time to time, my dear, and will be pleased to say a good word if ever it can help you. You will let me know if there is anything else I can do,” she commanded. “Should the opportunity arise, I would dearly love to meet your daughter, entirely at your discretion.” She turned her head away, but not before Prue had seen the glistening eyes.

Prue curtseyed. “My association with you has always been to my benefit, Your Grace; I am certain such acquaintance with the House of Haverford can only be to Antonia’s advantage.”

by

Tea with a worried mother

This excerpt is from Revealed in Mist.

Prue hesitated in the street outside her next destination. Callers needed to present their card at the gate, be escorted to the front door and delivered to the butler, then wait to be announced. On most days of the week, uninvited guests below a certain rank in society would have difficulty making it past the first obstacle, but on Thursday afternoons, the Duchess of Haverford was ‘at home’ to petitioners.

Past encounters had always been initiated by Her Grace. A scented note would arrive by footman, and Prue would obey the summons and receive the duchess’s commission. Though she was always gracious, never, by word or deed, had Her Grace indicated that she and Prue had any closer relationship than employer and agent.

The entrance and public rooms of Haverford House were designed to impress lesser mortals with the greatness of the family—and their own lesser status. Prue was ushered to a room just off the lofty entrance hall. Small by Haverford standards, this waiting area nonetheless dwarfed the people waiting to see the duchess.

Two women, one middle-aged and the other a copy some twenty years younger, nervously perched on two of the ladder-backed chairs lining one wall. Next to them, but several chairs along, a lean young man with an anxious frown pretended to read some papers, shuffling them frequently, peering over the tops of his spectacles at the door to the next room. Two men strolled slowly along the wall, examining the large paintings and conversing in low whispers. A lone woman walked back and forth before the small window, hushing the baby fretting on her shoulder.

Prue took a seat and prepared for a wait. She would not tremble. She had nothing to fear. Both Tolliver and David said so, and Aldridge, too. But how she wished the waiting was over.

It seemed a long time but was only a few minutes, before a servant hurried in and approached her.

“Miss Virtue? Her Grace will see you now.”

Prue gave the other occupants an apologetic nod and followed the servant.

The duchess received her in a pretty parlour, somehow cosy despite its grand scale. Prue curtseyed to her and the woman with her. Were all petitioners waved to a seat on an elegant sofa facing Her Grace? Addressed as ‘my dear’? Asked if they should care for a cup of tea?

“Miss Virtue takes her tea black, with a slice of lemon,” the duchess told her companion. Or was the woman her secretary?

“Miss Virtue, my companion, Miss Grant. Miss Grant, Miss Virtue has been of great service to me and to those I love. I am always at home to her.”

Was Miss Grant one of the army of relatives for whom Her Grace had found employment, or perhaps one of the dozens of noble godchildren she sponsored? The young woman did not have the look of either Aldridge or his brother, nor of their parents. Prue murmured a greeting.

“I was not expecting you, Miss Virtue, was I? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Your Grace. I just… I have some questions, Ma’am.”

“You should have sent a note, my dear. I will always take time to see you. I was happy to give a good report of you to my friend Lady Georgiana, of course.” As she spoke, the duchess took the tea cup from Miss Grant and passed it to her.

“Your Grace, I would like to speak with you alone, if I may. I beg your pardon, Miss Grant. I do not mean to be discourteous.”

The duchess stopped her own cup partway to her lips and put it carefully back into the saucer, examining Prue’s face carefully.

When she spoke, it was to Miss Grant. “Celia, my dear, will you let those waiting know that I will be delayed by…” she consulted her lapel watch, “…thirty-five minutes, but I will see them all today? Perhaps you could arrange refreshments for them? Return on the half hour, please. That is all the time I can spare, Miss Virtue. If you need longer, I will ask you to wait or return another day.”

Prue shook her head. “The time will be ample, Ma’am. Thank you.”

As Miss Grant left the room, Prue was silent, collecting her thoughts. The duchess waited.

“You knew about Antonia. You have known all along.” Prue shifted uneasily. She had not intended to sound accusing.

The duchess inclined her head, her face showing nothing but calm. “Since shortly after her birth.”

Prue did not know how to ask the questions that crowded her mind, but the duchess had exhausted her noble patience, which was, after all, on a schedule. “What is it you wish to know, Miss Virtue? Why I said nothing?” Her voice softened, and her eyes were compassionate. “I read your sister’s letter, and thought to write back and offer you and the child a place with me. I did not think a home filled with such… such judgement could be happy for either of you. But family is best, if it can be contrived. And there was Aldridge. I was unsure how things had been left between you. He seemed to feel a genuine fondness; I thought he might… He has more charm than is helpful in such situations, and I did not want my granddaughter raised… Well. That is not to the point now.”

She took a deep breath. So she was not as calm as she seemed, either. “I sent someone I trust to check whether you needed my intervention, and found you had left the letter writer to live with another sister. A more hospitable environment, my agent thought.”

Prue knew who the duchess’s trusted messenger was. “Tolliver.”

Her Grace nodded. “Yes. Thomas and I have an equal commitment to protecting and championing those to whom the Grenfords owe a duty.”

“You and I have met since, Your Grace.”

“Your secrets are yours to keep or share, Miss Virtue. I have often wished to ask after your daughter, but I did not wish to intrude. My son’s carelessness changed your life in ways for which I can never compensate. The Grenfords have responsibilities here, but no rights.”

Prue felt suddenly dizzy as her tension drained away.

“I was afraid,” she admitted. “I knew about the three girls: the young ladies you are raising. I thought you might… I feared you would take Antonia. Aldridge told me you would not, and so did David and Tolliver.”

The duchess leaned forward to pat Prue’s hand. “Oh, my dear. I am so sorry you were worried. Matilda, Jessica, and Frances had no one else, and at the time we found them I did not understand that a quieter life in a less prominent household would have served them better. Frances was the last I took into my own home, and that was nearly ten years ago. Now Thomas and I do better by those we find. But there, done is done, and the girls and I love one another dearly.”

She had kept Prue’s hand in hers, and she now gave it a comforting squeeze. “I can assure you, Miss Virtue, I have never taken a child from a mother, or from relatives who cared. The future those little girls faced,” she shuddered at the thought, “was unutterably grim.”

She sat back, and picked up her abandoned cup to take a sip. “You say Aldridge reassured you. He knows about his daughter, then?”

“He has met her, Your Grace. He saved us from a dastardly villain. It was quite heroic.” Prue found herself telling the duchess about the attack in Tidbury End. “I would like to talk to the Dowager Lady Selby, but she has not been at home,” she finished. “Surely she would be concerned at the plight of her grandchildren?”

Her Grace wrinkled her nose and frowned, her lip curling. “Not from what I know of her, my dear. But have young Wakefield escort you to my ball on Thursday. I shall arrange for you to have a private interview with Lady Selby.”

A discreet knock at the door warned the duchess their time was nearly up. The Duchess of Haverford stood and walked Prue to the door, and Prue found herself enfolded in a tight embrace. “I shall continue to rely upon you for your professional services from time to time, my dear, and will be pleased to say a good word if ever it can help you. You will let me know if there is anything else I can do,” she commanded. “Should the opportunity arise, I would dearly love to meet your daughter, entirely at your discretion.” She turned her head away, but not before Prue had seen the glistening eyes.

Prue curtseyed. “My association with you has always been to my benefit, Your Grace; I am certain such acquaintance with the House of Haverford can only be to Antonia’s advantage.”

by

Tea with the daughters

While Parliament was sitting, Eleanor, the Duchess of Winshire brought all her female brood together for tea once a week, or at least those who were in London. Her daughters of the heart, though she’d birthed none of them.

She looked around the room at them all chattering, sharing family news and discussing the issues facing their world and the charities to which each devoted time and attention.

Cherry, Duchess of Haverford, had her head close together with Matilda, Sophia, and Prue. Cherry was the beloved wife of Eleanor’s eldest son, and the lady responsible for the happiness that lit Haverford’s eyes and curved his lips into a smile whenever she was near, or even when they were briefly parted and he thought of her. She was also Eleanor’s niece by marriage, being the daughter of Eleanor’s husband’s deceased brother.

Matilda, Countess of Hamner, her eldest foster daughter, was once known to all the ton as the Ice Maiden, though no one would think it to see her now. Matilda had entered Eleanor’s nursery as a baby, and captivated the Duchess of Haverford, as she was then, with one fathomless gaze from those blue eyes.

Sophia, Countess of Sutton, wife to her husband’s eldest son, was a lady who coupled great dignity with enormous warmth. Sophia was another Eleanor had loved all her life, since her friend the Countess of Hythe had asked Eleanor to be godmother to the newborn babe. After Sophia’s marriage to Jamie and Eleanor’s marriage to his father Winshire, Sophia was now her daughter in law, as well as religion and affection.

Prudence Wakefield was the mother of a number of Eleanor’s grandchildren. It was true that the younger ones who were acknowledged as grandchildren were so only by courtesy, since Prue’s husband David was a by-blow of Eleanor’s first husband and no blood relation. The eldest could not be acknowledged as a blood relation, for she was the daughter of Prue and Eleanor’s eldest son, conceived in a long ago youthful folly that the family had no intention of sharing with the world. Those who noticed her resemblance to the Haverfords assumed David was her father, as he was in every way except biological. To make the relationship even more complicated, she and David had taken Tony into their family. He was a slum brat, rescued by Cherry, and discovered to be the offspring of Eleanor’s younger son, Jonathan.

Ruth, Sarah and Becky were also deep in conversation. Ruth was the Countess of Ashbury and the Duke of Winshire’s daughter, and Sarah was Countess of Lechton and twin sister to Cherry. From the serious looks on the two faces, Eleanor would guess that they were talking about the medical clinic that Ruth had founded and where Sarah’s husband Nate worked.

Like Prue’s, Becky’s relationship with the Haverfords had elements that most of the world did not know. She was Baroness Overton, wife to the current Duke of Haverford’s closest friend. But under another name, she had once been Haverford’s mistress. Bella, the youngest Overton daughter, was another unacknowledged grandchild.

Rosemary was laughing with Jessica and Frances. They were probably talking about Frances’s debut ball, which had been a grand success.  Lady Rosemary Winderfield was Winshire’s youngest daughter, and the only one yet unmarried. Perhaps she would choose a husband this year. Certainly, she would need one to chase away the wistful look Eleanor had caught from time to time when Ruth watched the other ladies with their children.

Jessica’s laugh was good to hear. Eleanor’s middle foster daughter, the Countess of Colyford, still wore black for her husband, though Eleanor wondered how she could mourn him after what he’d done to her, and tried to do. She was laughing again, though, and would perhaps put off her blacks soon.

Frances’s laugher was unforced. The sweetest of Eleanor’s three foster daughters was also the smartest. She had quickly summed up the majority of her suitors as fribbles without serious intention and had picked out the fortune-tellers with unerring accuracy. Eleanor, Winshire, and even her brother Haverford told her to marry for love, and Eleanor hoped that she would.

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Tea with Lady Overton and Mrs Wakefield

 

The Duchess of Haverford was entertaining two younger women to afternoon tea, and so far, the afternoon was going as she planned. The children, who were having their own tea party at a small table further along the terrace, were getting on well. Frances and Antonia, both thirteen,  fussed happily over little Belle, treating her as an animated version of the dolls they had outgrown.

“Your other children would have been very welcome,” she said to the two mothers.

Becky Overton smiled. “The older girls are looking forward to having Overton to themselves, Aunt Eleanor. They love Belle, but she does rather demand the entire family’s adoring attention. Besides, I thought you might enjoy having her …” she trailed off, darting a glance at Prue Wakefield and then another at Antonia, Mrs Wakefield’s daughter.

Ah. She had noticed the girl’s eyes and her colouring. Eleanor had assumed that she would. No such biological markers identified Belle, though — under the circumstances — it was as well she favoured her mother. In this situation, though, it made things difficult. Eleanor wanted to accomplish her purpose for bringing the mothers and daughters together without breaching the confidence of either of them, but she could not immediately see how to do it.

“I have left the rest of my brood with my husband, too, Lady Overton.” Prue addressed her remark to Becky, “and I suspect my reasons were similar to your own.”

Becky’s slight flush indicated that she’d heard the last part of the sentence, but she addressed the first. “How many children do you have, Mrs Wakefield?”

For a few minutes, they traded the names and ages of children. Becky had three older daughters, and Prue a son and two daughters all younger than Antonia. Their eyes kept drifting to the tea party, and eventually, Becky asked, “Did you invite us both here for the same reason, Aunt Eleanor?”

The duchess hinted at the truth. “I think it important for Belle and Antonia to know one another, my dears.” She thought for a moment and added, “More than that, I cannot say.”

With two such intelligent women, it was enough.

Prue went first. She had always been a woman of great courage. “Antonia is my David’s daughter, Lady Overton, but she and I met him for the first time some seven years ago.”

Becky nodded acknowledgement. “Belle was born after my marriage and is my Hugh’s little treasure, Mrs Wakefield.” She took a deep breath and continued. She had never lacked for courage, either. “Her Grace is one of the few people who know that Hugh was not present for her conception.”

They turned to Eleanor, and Prue put their question into words. “They are half-sisters?” She read the answer in the duchess’s eyes. “Yes. You are correct. They should know one another.”

“May I ask, Your Grace,” Becky ventured, “is Frances also a sister?”

Eleanor shook her head. “An aunt, rather, as are my older wards.”

The relationships would not be mentioned again. Eleanor knew she did not have to discuss the necessity or even the decision; these ladies had been keeping secrets for many years, and would not risk any harm to their families. But as she watched them talk, joining in from time to time; as she enjoyed the chatter of the children at play; she gave thanks that, even if she could never recognise her granddaughters, she was at least blessed to know them and to love them.