Compromising Prudence (6 page)

“I don’t know if you take tea with cream or sugar.”

She was proffering tea that he hadn’t even seen her pour. Charles took the cup and his smile was more genuine this time. “It’s fine as it is.”

Having a woman about was distracting. But as distractions went, she was a charming one, infinitely preferable to his brother interrupting him with his infernal inventions or his sister with her horses.

She plopped a stack of papers down on the floor, wincing at the dust that arose. He really should let Mrs. Forbes into the room more often, but this was his sanctum. He knew where everything was.

Almost.

“I prefer my morning tea without enhancement, but for afternoons, I do enjoy a bit of cream.” Miss Wemberly stirred her drink serenely. “I found the perfect dress today. Did I mention that? It will need to be picked up tomorrow from the modiste.”

“You mean it wasn’t among all those boxes?” She’d bled him so freely this morning there had scarcely been room in the carriage for the two of them.

“The gown required slight alterations. You can’t expect a wedding gown to simply fit, not like…other garments.”

Now that was interesting. She’d blushed remarkably there. What had the woman bought? “I’ll send Johnny tomorrow.”

“Johnny?”

“The footman.”

“We have a footman?” Her countenance brightened.

“Of course we have a footman! I may not maintain much staff at my townhouse, but it’s adequate.” More than adequate for a place he visited only a few times a year. “Mrs. Forbes. Cook. Lizzy. Two footmen. That’s surely sufficient for a house I don’t keep as an actual residence.”

Prudence’s lips twitched.

“What?” He lowered the cup from his lips.

“You travel without a valet. Most men I know would be too vain.”

“Ah, but you forget my only interest in London was the Zoological Society. I’m no tulip.”

“Even so…” she said.

“Even so, the men of your acquaintance are indeed too vain.”

“They are the men of your acquaintance as well, Mr. Hatterly, and all good
ton
…”

“I am assuredly not good
ton
!”

Gads, if she only knew how close she was to the truth. He’d no idea how she would react to learn Petworth was his cousin.

“I’m invited places for the usual reasons,” He said, watching her face carefully.

She raised an eyebrow. “Which are?”

“Money. Pots and pots of it. That and the family name.” He sipped his tea and studied her puzzled face. He had to tell her and it would be better for her to know before they were riveted. He couldn’t feel good about marrying her under any sort of pretense. “Not
Hatterly
, of course.” He set down the cup. “There really isn’t a good way to do this.”

“Of course.” Pru set down her cup as calmly as she could, but her heart was racing. He looked positively guilty and that couldn’t bode well. She should have known there would be a terrible secret.

If Tommy Petworth was the villain of her tale, Hatterly was certainly the hero and Pru had read enough novels to know that the hero always had a terrible secret.

She only hoped there wasn’t’ a wife locked in the attic.

“My mother’s family is…well known. Her father was a duke —
is
a duke. He’s still alive.”

“Her father was…then you are the grandson of — !” She goggled at him. That was not what she had expected him to confess.

“ — a duke who begat three surviving sons who’ve been busy begetting heirs and spares, so don’t expect the title ‘Your Grace’ in your future.”

“But your title? If she was the daughter of a duke — ”

“Mr. Hatterly is the only title I aspire to!” he said ferociously.

She sat back. His color was high and if he gripped his cup any tighter, he’d break the delicate porcelain.

Instinctively, she reached across the desk to touch his hand. “Is your mama’s family so awful?”

He turned his palm upward and she placed her hand in his. Earlier he had held her hand as she became overwrought. Now it was her turn to comfort him.

“I barely know them. Her father disowned her after she married an American. He’s never spoken a word to us. We would have nothing from them, but my grandfather had already willed property and an inheritance to Mother in trust until marriage and there was nothing her father could do. That’s why we have Strayfield Manor. I have a passing acquaintance with some of my cousins but nothing more.”

“Well.” She sighed in relief. As terrible secrets went, that wasn’t terrible at all. “How terribly romantic.”

“Pardon?”

“My parents had an arranged marriage. I don’t think they met more than a dozen times before taking vows. My sister, Constance, knew her husband but marriage was rather convenient for them both, hardly a grand passion. Your mama must have loved your papa to defy her family for him. It’s very romantic.”

“I never saw my parents in those terms.”

“One never does. I expect our children won’t either.”

“Our children?” He made a strangled sound.

“You do expect us to have children.”

“Oh. Children. Of course. Someday. I…” His forehead had the most adorable wrinkles when he was flummoxed. “I thought we might know each other first. I realize I’m a virtual stranger and I did promise not to molest you.”

“How disappointing.” Did he imagine her to be of such a delicate sensibility? How quickly he had forgotten the circumstances of their acquaintance. She must disabuse him of that notion immediately. “I understand what happens between a man and a woman. I do have two married sisters and naturally I asked my Aunt Hetty about it.”

“Naturally.”

“Aunt Hetty wasn’t much help. She said the cattle in the field were able to manage without guidance and that when the time came I only had to lay back and do my duty. As she’s never been married I realize she lacks empirical knowledge. Are you all right?”

He appeared to be choking.

“Fine,” he gasped.

“Should I ring for help?”

He really was the most alarming shade of red.

“Truly. I’m fine.”

They ate in companionable silence for a moment. Cook was clearly a genius in the kitchen; the scones were light as air. She was contemplating whether a third scone was unnecessarily greedy when she noticed Hatterly studying her.

Caught in this endeavor, Hatterly raised an eyebrow and examined her over the rim of his cup. The look was neither flirtatious nor the look of a man assessing a woman’s beauty — not even especially flattering.

She felt like one of his specimens.

Yes, that was the look, as if he was
studying
her, making field notes and little sketches in his mind.

Eating Habits of the Lesser Wifely Heron, by Mr. Charles Hatterly.

“Why have you never married?” She blurted it out without thinking, but it was a fair question and one that startled him. She knew because he choked on his tea.
Good
. She liked having that effect on him.

“Haven’t we covered that already?”

“No, not precisely.”

“I dislike change. My life was fine the way it was.”

“But you’re a man.”

“I should hope so.”

“Marriage doesn’t have to change things for a man. You have your clubs and your mistresses and your gaming hells.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, I meant
you
in the universal sense,
you
as a man, not
you
personally. Don’t look so offended. I merely meant that if you don’t want marriage to change your circumstances, it doesn’t have to. Marriage is one of those things that a man does and then continues on, but for a woman marriage is everything, her entire future. But I digress. We are not speaking of the universal man, but of you. You detest the marriage mart and yet you have so much to offer a woman. Why not take a wife and be done with it?”

“I was adverse to the notion,” he said stiffly.

“Which is no answer of any sort.”

“It is the only answer. I cannot stomach the notion of yoking myself to some woman for whom I have no regard. Marriage need not be a love match, but there should be something there, some admiration or affection.” His fierce expression gentled. “I’m hardly the prime catch you seem to think, my darling.”

“You grossly underestimate yourself. You’re very handsome and your clothes are cut well, although I can’t imagine how you make do without a proper valet.”

“Good looks are common enough. I should warn you the filthy lucre you spent so freely today was earned by trade.”

“I don’t care about that.” Ah. She’d expected the Hatterlys were in trade.

“I didn’t believe that you did. There are many women for whom bloodlines are everything; not only
my
bloodlines, but that of my blunt is of some importance. Only desperate mamas fling their daughters in my path and they’re bland, half-formed offerings at that.”

I cannot stomach the notion of yoking myself to some woman for whom I have no regard…

He was choosing to yoke himself to her. She smiled just a bit to herself. “Half-formed? I take it I am exempt from such scornful insights?”

“You are charming and lively and…comfortable to be with,” he finished. “I never know what you will say next.”

Pru stood. “I’ll leave you to your birds now. While I can’t say I’m thrilled to be called comfortable, I accept your explanation. And in the interest of honest disclosure, I did not spend your filthy lucre this morning. I spent Papa’s.” Hatterly’s mouth gaped. He really was adorable when shocked. “Madame Roquefort is accustomed to sending the bills to him and when she mentioned it,” Pru shrugged. “I did nothing to dissuade her from that notion. Papa will pay the account as well he should. If I am to make my way without a dowry, the least I can do is bring my own trousseau.”

“Won’t that lead him straight to you?”

“I didn’t give her this address. Why do you think I told her someone would call for items I left? Anyway, Madame Roquefort won’t send the bill for at least a month. She never does. By then we will be safely ensconced in Kent.

Hatterly whistled long and low. “I knew I admired you for a reason. You’re a naughty minx, Miss Wemberly. Remind me never to cross you.”

Chapter Six

W
ITHOUT
A V
ALET
T
O
fuss, Charles kept a simple toilet. He despised absurd neckcloths and shirt points so high one could not turn one’s head. Pants should be fitted, but not so tight that a man was in danger of revealing more of himself than should be seen in polite company. He liked his coats cut so that he could put them on and remove them without assistance. His green coat was fine enough for the club. But Hoby boots — every man had his downfall, even one who was so assuredly not a dandy. Rather than attend to his hair for a third time that day, Charles took the time to be certain his boots gleamed enough for a man to shave in the reflection.

He stopped in the front hall to admire his boots in the excellent light. His neckcloth caught his eye in the mirror. Simple was well and good, but creased would never do for the club. There was nothing for it. He would have to return to his chambers and change it.

“There you are. I was despairing you would ever emerge. Shall I tell Mrs. Forbes we’re ready now?”

Charles froze with his hand on rail. “Miss Wemberly!” Could he possibly have forgotten there was a woman in the house? “I…er…ready for what?”

“For dinner, silly goose. The clock says half-past seven and I confess I’m famished. I shouldn’t be as I’ve done nothing of note, but it’s a sad fact.”

Dinner. Of course she expected to dine with him. He schooled his features to what he hoped resembled a man who knew what he was doing but it was too late.

“You were leaving.”

She wasn’t accusatory, but the forlorn note in her voice made him cringe. “I hadn’t realized…that is…Oh, curse it.” He removed his hat. “Fact is I was on my way to the club. Habit and all that. Never thought you’d plan for dinner or…didn’t think. At all.”

“I see. You’re meeting friends.”

“No, actually, I wasn’t. That is, I’m not. I suppose you and Mrs. Forbes planned dinner for tonight.”

Miss Wemberly clasped ungloved hands behind her back. “I thought we would dine together. I never thought you would…”

“And I never thought you had…”

They stood in awkward silence. He tossed his hat on the table and drew off his gloves. “I won’t need these then.”

The way her eyes lit at that was worth a night at home. Dinner with Miss Wemberly would be just the thing. They still had so much to learn about one another.

“I’ll tell Mrs. Forbes.” Miss Hatterly scurried off.

He started a moment later when a young woman clutching a bit of lace passed him in the hallway. She dropped a hurried curtsey.

“Who are you?”

“Rose, sir. Your lady’s new abigail.”

“New abigail? Hired when?”

“Today, sir.” She looked anxious to be gone and so he waved her off with his hand. Apparently, Miss Wemberly had been quite busy this afternoon. He wandered into the drawing room to find another strange woman dusting.

“Who the devil are you?”

“Betsy, sir.”

“Another new servant?”

“Yes, sir. Hired today.”

“Of course you were. Not another abigail, I take it?”

“Oh no, sir. I’m…”

“It doesn’t signify. Off you go, now.”

He was upside down and sideways in his own life. The marriage had been his idea, but the scheme was proceeding so quickly that he couldn’t breathe. His bride-to-be might be demure and she might be sweet, but she was certainly competent at managing a household, frighteningly so.

He heard a knock at the door and voices but didn’t recognize the footman who announced, “Mr. Graham Hatterly and Mr. Sheridan.”

The uniform was new as well.

“Thank you, er…”

“Nick, sir.”

Graham bounded into the room.

Good God! His brother! What next?

“Told you we’d catch him in time,” Sherry said.

“Because it’s devilish early,” Graham said. “Barely decent to be seen. Ought to have a round or two before we go.”

Charles eyed his twin brother’s satin knee-breeches and velvet coat with distaste. “When did you get into town, Graham, and what the devil are you wearing? I’d almost prefer those wretched striped pantaloons to satin breeches! And where do you imagine we’re going?”

“Just like you, Charles. They’re all the crack!”

“The club,” Sherry said, answering only the last question he had heard. “Where else does a man go for his dinner? Say, you haven’t an engagement!” Sherry elbowed Graham. “He has an engagement. Told you he would.”

“No, you didn’t. Charles never does anything but talk of birds and dine at his club, least not voluntarily. He’d cry off an engagement for us but he hasn’t one. See? He’s dressed for the club. That green jacket? Always wears that to the club.”

“As a matter of fact…” Charles brushed lint off his jacket. Graham and Sherry gaped at the doorway. Miss Wemberly stared back at them, equally dumbfounded.

“In fact, he does have a dinner engagement,” Miss Wemberly said, recovering first. “And you’re both invited. You must be one of Mr. Hatterly’s brothers.”

A delighted smile broke across Graham’s face. “Indeed I am. Mr. Graham Hatterly — your servant, ma’am.” He quickly crossed the room and took her hand. “And this is Mr. Sheridan.”

“Hullo,” Sherry said cheerfully.

Charles cleared his throat. “May I present Miss Wemberly?”

Graham swung around to give him “the look.”

Charles was quite familiar with “the look.” His father had mastered “the look,” but he could never quite manage. It was altogether surprising that his rake of a brother seemed well on his way to doing so.

His rake of a brother
who was still holding Miss Wemberly’s hand
.

“Miss Wemberly has graciously agreed to become my wife.”

Charles had the satisfaction of seeing the “the look” wiped from his brother’s face and replaced by something best described as shock. Graham recovered quickly and bestowed his most charming smile on Miss Wemberly. “I wish you both happy then. Is this a celebratory dinner?”

Miss Wemberly laughed. “If you like. I do hope you will stay with us. I’m longing to meet my new family.”

Sherry begged off, but Graham was only too delighted to remain. Mrs. Forbes was as cheerful as he’d ever seen her. She bustled about, ordering the new maids and footmen. Even Lizzy seemed in the spirit of the evening, wearing a smart new uniform.

He scarcely recognized his own dining room. The linens were vaguely familiar and did bear the family crest, but he couldn’t recall seeing them in use since his father had returned to Boston.

Graham had escorted Miss Wemberly in — to Charles’ annoyance, but in no time they were all chatting comfortably.

“There is a surfeit of Hatterlys,” Graham said. “You must call me Graham if I’m to be your brother. Tell me how you met.”

Pru shifted in her seat, but her smile did not fail. “We met at a party. How else does one meet?”

“And you captured his attention.”

“Apparently, I have.”

“Have you feathers, Miss Wemberly? Do you nest perhaps?”

“Oh, now that isn’t fair. If you are to be Graham, I must be Prudence to you.”

Listening to their banter, Charles became aware of two things: first, Sir Algernon must be a veritable ogre.

That was the only explanation for her not having been claimed. Miss Wemberly was radiantly lovely in her gown. She was a charming hostess. She had every accomplishment one could hope for in a wife. Sir Algernon must have been frightening away or refusing suitors.

Second, his cousin Thomas was a fool. He’d always had an inflated sense of his own consequence, but as the younger son of a younger son Thomas was no closer to the title “Your Grace” than Charles was. It would serve Thomas right to end up riveted to some horse-faced shrew of an heiress who would bestow a parcel of rackety brats for him to marry off. No, even worse — the ultimate punishment for a rake — he deserved a house full of beautiful daughters with suitors climbing in every window. Charles pictured Petworth standing armed guard over his house at night and smiled.

Pru couldn’t help but smile when Mr. Hatterly did — both Mr. Hatterlys, actually. The differences were subtle. Graham was cheeky, mischievous. He possessed an infectious humor, although she preferred Charles’ dry wit. Their initial appearances were so very alike that she was finally forced to say, “You resemble one another so closely, I confess I cannot discern who is the elder brother.” She gave Charles a look of mock severity. “You neglected to give me a recitation of the siblings. I only know there are four brothers and one sister.”

“Charles! You haven’t?” chided Graham. “Charles is the eldest son, of course. He manages Father’s estates. In fact,” He sipped his wine. “He is my elder by thirty minutes.”

Pru froze, unsure she’d heard him correctly. “You’re saying…”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you he had a twin.”

“I can’t believe it myself,” she said faintly. “Twins.”

“You didn’t warn her about the twins?” Graham winked. “Twins run strongly in the family.”

“How…er…strongly?”

He ticked them off on his fingers. “Charles and I are twins. Our uncle was a twin and he has two sets of twin sons. Need I go on?”

“Well,” she said finally. “Well. I suppose heirs are not a problem in your family.”

This pleased Graham and he roared with laughter, slapping his knee. “That’s a rare one you’ve found there, Charles. A rare one, indeed! No, there is no lack of Hatterly heirs. No guarantee you’ll have twin sons, but the empirical evidence says otherwise. He really should have warned you.” He wiped his eyes. “I take it I’m the first to wish you happy? Can’t wait to tell the others. When is the blessed day?”

“Tomorrow,” Charles said with a pleased smile. He clearly enjoyed watching his brother choke on his wine.

“You aren’t in earnest! Tomorrow? What? Without the family there? Without anyone in attendance? Unconscionable! How could you not even send a message to me?”

“Didn’t know you were in town, did I?”

“But this haste will never do, Charles.”

“It must,” Charles said with a quiet finality that silenced his brother. Graham was clearly troubled, but held his tongue and instead turned to Pru.

“I suppose this is your last chance to bolt then.”

“Thank you so much for your brotherly devotion,” Charles said.

“Have you any idea what you’re in for? They call us the Mad Hatterlys, you know. I’m the only sane one of the lot.”

“Your home sounds like a great adventure,” Pru said.

Graham snorted. “Oh it’s straight from Minerva Press, all right. Complete with ghosts in an attic.”

“Ghosts? Oh, how exciting!”

“More like barn swallows in the attic,” Charles said. “I’ll thank you not to fill my bride’s head with such nonsense.”

“But I’m dying for such nonsense,” she protested.

“Speaking of nonsensical adventure,” Graham said. “Where are you bound on your honeymoon?”

Charles exchanged a sheepish glance with Pru. “Hadn’t planned for one.”

“Hadn’t…what?” Graham was outraged again. “Good heavens, Charles! First you deny the girl a big wedding and now you’re mean enough to deny her a trip. I say, you can’t let him get away with such things, Prudence. If you want my advice…”