Imprudent Lady (28 page)

“You will have a worse future to expiate as well if you carry on in this way much longer. I see you chafing at the bit to laugh and joke and so on."

“Especially so on.” The temptation was too much for him. He grabbed her, first by the hands, but soon had both arms around her in a strong grip and was trying to kiss her.

At twenty-four years of age, Prudence had never been in a man's arms before. Never had been kissed. She had wanted to turn Dammler back to his old funning self; she had never expected this violent result, and pushed him off in surprise.

“That was not called for,” she said, gasping for breath.

“Don't tease me if you don't want me to reciprocate. I'm too new at respectability to withstand this repeated temptation. You're flaunting yourself at me, Prudence. With those low-cut gowns and fast talk. If you really want me to be worthy, don't do it."

“I am not flaunting myself,” she replied in indignation.

“You've been egging me on to misbehave since the moment I came here. I came determined to be good, respectable, to please you. I would not have borne what I have these past two weeks but for you, and you repay me by trying at every chance to make me break my resolve, so you can throw in my face what a rake I am."

“I did not."

“You did, my girl, and you wouldn't be so angry if it weren't true."

“How was
I
to know why you were acting so unlike yourself? You never said a word to me."

“And you, who know me better than I know myself, couldn't imagine why? Why did you think I went flying off to Reading to make an ass of myself in front of you and Seville, green with jealousy, if not because I loved you."

She opened her mouth to answer, closed it again, and finally said, “Well, why didn't you stay then?"

“You made it perfectly clear you had no use for me. I asked you if I could come on with you to Bath, but you didn't want any
disreputable
companions accompanying you, so I tried to change myself, to become whatever it is you think you want. Well I'm finished with it. I'm not a saint, and I can't become one with you cutting me at every effort I make. You didn't like my old self, and you don't seem to like the new one any better. You delight in torturing me. If you've turned into a flirt, be one full-time. I like it very well, but don't slip back into being an outraged spinster the minute I respond."

“I am not a flirt!"

“You're giving a fair imitation of one. There is a name for girls who lead men on, only to swat them down at the last minute. I shan't sully your virginal ears with it, but you'll hear it from someone soon enough if you go on in this way."

“Why stick at telling me then, since I am so clearly lost to all sense of propriety?"

“You'd like to have something else to beat me over the head with, but I'm on to you now, Miss Mallow. You knew all along what I was. I may have been a damned fool, but I was never a hypocrite."

“No, not before you came here with a poker up your spine and this pompous air of self-righteousness. You—
you
of all people, to be reading
me
a lecture in morals!"

“The tables are turned, are they not?"

“I never lectured you, much as you deserved it."

“Indeed you did not! You enjoyed leading me on to reveal every last shred of my shame, while you sat with your mouth pursed and to ask me another leading question. But you've led me on for the last time. This is the end of it."

A clap of thunder pealed, and a flash of lightning rent the sky. These ominous signs were followed by a sprinkling of rain, and the argument had to be discontinued while they ran back to the carriage. No further squabbling was possible with the Dowager and Clarence present. They elected to continue the painting session at the Countess’ home, and Prudence in a tight voice said that she would like to be left at Laura Place.

She was sure she had lost Dammler. She considered his lecture, and while it angered her, she had to admit there was some justice in it. He had been behaving very properly since coming to Bath, and she had been chaffing him. In fact, the more proper he had become, the harder she had tried to make him stop. And he loved her, he had even said that, and she hadn't known how to turn it to her advantage. She may have been trying to flirt, but she realized she had a long way to go. How could she have stood there and heard him tell her he loved her and managed to send him away angry? “This is the end of it."

Dammler went home to Pulteney Street even more perturbed. As usual, he had said too much, too violently, been too quick—made a fool of himself. There was perhaps some justification in what he had said, but it was no way to go about conciliating an angry lady. He hadn't the patience to hang on in this shilly-shallying manner. Wise Prudence had seen through him, knew he was no stodgy worthy, and didn't care for his pretense. She had liked him best as himself, so he would be himself. He couldn't go on pretending to be what he was not for the rest of his life.

Dammler went into town, ordered six dozen red roses to be delivered to her that day, and a dozen dozen the next, and sent off to the Abbey for the family engagement ring. He then went to his cousin's home and sat in the Purple Saloon, watching the rain glide down the windows.

The first six dozen red roses were delivered to Laura Place, where they caused a pleasant stir.

“He means to do it up proper this time,” Clarence said. “He will be here today if he has to drive all night."

“He is only staying at Pulteney Street,” Prudence reminded him.

“Aye, so he is. He should be here any minute."

Looking out at the sodden earth, Prudence didn't expect he would come that day, nor did he. This is a little reminder to me, she smiled to herself. When a gentleman takes to sending an excess of flowers and diamonds, he means no good. She looked carefully among the flowers for a diamond, but there was none. He is telling me that what I
deserve
after my flirtation is a
carte blanche,
but still it was not what she expected. She had no dread on that score. The only question in her mind was when he would arrive in person. When the dozen dozen roses arrived the next morning, Mrs. Mallow was thrown into quite a tizzy.

“What can he mean by this?” she asked her daughter. “It seems so very odd, but no doubt it is some sort of a joke."

“Yes, it is a joke. Mama,” Prudence told her.

Mrs. Mallow looked at her daughter's satisfied smile, and though she did not see the humour of the situation, but only the foolish extravagance of more flowers than they had vases for, she was happy. At three o'clock Clarence returned from the second sitting, bringing the canvas with him, two-thirds finished. Already a snub-nosed Mona Lisa was taking shape, her orange cheeks standing out against the background of unvariegated green. There was only the family crest to be done, and a few finishing touches. Dammler came along with him.

Prudence, half-hidden behind a tub of roses, asked how the Countess liked her painting.

“She is well pleased with it,” Clarence asserted. “I saw that poor shabby thing Romney did. Pitiful. Made her look like a parrot Well, well, I see we are bathed in roses. Madrid in town?"

“Seville do you mean?” Mrs. Mallow asked.

“The Spanish fellow who is always dashing after Prudence."

“No, Dammler sent these flowers, Uncle,” Prudence told him. “Such an abundance—almost an
excess,"
she peered at the Marquis as she said this. He was trying to look nonchalant, but there was a question in his eyes, and an unsteadiness about the lips.

“I guess we know by now what
this
means, eh?” Clarence announced with a smile of approval.

From Prudence's blushes and Dammler's self-conscious expression, Mrs. Mallow assumed her brother was right for once, and thought of a way to allow them privacy in these tight quarters. “Oh, Clarence, you'll never guess who is here,” she lied brightly. “Mrs. Hering."

“Eh? No such a thing. I had a note from her only this morning and she is in bed with flu, poor soul. I shall tell her to have Knighton drop round to see her. He is always happy to make a call. He will go anywhere."

“Not
that
Mrs. Hering. Her sister-in-law—the elder Mrs. Hering. She has taken the rooms right below us. We must go to see her."

“Yes, we'll drop down this evening and make them welcome."

“Let us go
now,
Clarence,” Wilma persisted with a rueful glance at Prudence, who bit her lip and nodded her head vigorously. “There is no study here for Prudence and Lord Dammler to chat about books in private. Writers want a little privacy. We'll run along to see Mrs. Hering now, shall we?"

“I am always happy to listen to talk of books. They need not avoid the subject on
my
account"

“Yes, but she is waiting for us
now,
Clarence,” she persisted, then took him by the arm and suggested he bring Lady Cleff's portrait for Mrs. Hering to admire.

Clarence, Wilma and Lady Cleff's picture hastened into the corridor, and Wilma carefully closed the door behind them.

“An unlooked-for piece of tact on your mama's part,” Dammler said with a tentative smile.

“What delayed my uncle's catching the hint even longer than usual might be that the elder Mr. Hering is a bachelor, you see."

“In that case, they won't be long talking to Mrs. Hering."

“No.” Prudence glanced to the door nervously, afraid her mother might not manage to keep Clarence out of the way. He would want to be in on the proposal, though he wasn't properly dressed for it. Her impatience transmitted itself to Dammler. He arose and crossed the small room to where Prudence sat.

“Thank you for the rose garden, Dammler. I have been ferreting in all the boxes this past hour looking for a stray diamond. Did you forget?"

“The diamond, I trust, is by now on its way to you from Longbourne."

“Just
one?"
she asked with a pout.

“Just one. I don't mean to spoil you. If you prove satisfactory, I may give you another on our fiftieth anniversary."

“Hmm. It seems to me a certain platinum-haired woman was wearing a great deal more than
one
at the opera..."

“She wasn't wearing one on her finger."

“To be sure, I didn't notice her finger. With so many other interesting parts of her anatomy on view I overlooked that."

“Darling, I've missed you terribly,” Dammler said, drawing Prudence to her feet.

In joyful confusion, she peeped at him a brief moment, then stared out the window. “It looks like rain again,” she said.

“Yes. Darling, my time at Finefields was utterly wasted. London was a desert without you. As to Bath, it has been the worst of the lot, with my trying to reform."

“I daresay it
will
rain before evening,” she answered, examining the sky with a keen interest.

“Prudence, why do you keep staring out the window, pretending you don't notice I'm calling you darling. I expect you to tell me how improper it is, that I might reassure you as to my intentions."

Her heart took to capering on her, and the tumult welled up into her face, revealing itself in a mild form in a shy smile. “I noticed,” she said.

He placed his hands around her neck; they felt warm and pleasantly stimulating. “Well, Prude, no lecture to read me?” he said in a soft, caressing tone, his eyes glowing.

“Prude? Just bring on your Ottoman and see how wantonly I can disport myself."

“Stop batting your amorous blue eyes at me, Prudence, or I'll kiss you to death."

“What a novel way to die,” she answered, batting her eyelashes in a blatant bid for murder.

His head made a lunge towards her, but she pulled back.

“I am a trifle worried by all these flowers. And I haven't heard the magic formula either. ‘Miss Mallow, will you do me the honour,’ it begins,” she reminded him.

“Prudent to the last gasp. I don't mean to give you and Shilla any leeway in future. It's back to the harem for her, and Longbourne Abbey for you."

“I expect an abbey has been the scene of a love nest before. Especially Longbourne Abbey."

“Shrew."

“If there is a single mention of matched bays and a fancy set-up for the park, I shall certainly decline."

“You shall marry me, Prudence Mallow, with or without the fancy set-up.” He pulled her into his arms without further bantering, and kissed her with the experience of a man versed in six tongues, plus a smattering of Hindustani and Chinese, and the passion of a poet in love for the first time. She responded as best she could in English, and a few phrases of French, with which language Dammler seemed well pleased. He did not despair of making her fluent. The first lesson went remarkably well and he was an enthusiastic instructor.

Some moments later they sat together on the sofa, with Dammler's arm around her shoulder and Mrs. Hering and the relatives totally forgotten. “When did you fall in love with me?” he asked.

“When I read your
Cantos from Abroad.
Why should I be different from all the other ladies?"

“Before you met me? Then it wasn't the fine teeth and the tumbling lock that did it? I was certain I was Hero Number One, who palled around chapter ten."

“What conceit! As though I would put you into a book. And when did you discover I was neither a man nor your sister, and that your life was barren without my shrewish presence?"

“Not ’til I left you. I thought of you constantly in London, and was never happy but when I was with you, but I didn't know it was love. I was quite happy with Shilla at Finefields. She was very good at first. Turned her damned hypocrite holy man out, just as I told her to, as soon as he asked her to copy out his sermon."

“A bit of an Ashington, was he?"

“Of course he was. I loathed him. That should have tipped me the clue that you were Shilla, but ‘till got looking about to find an acceptable lover for her, it didn't dawn on me. I realized it was no other than myself meant to have her, say what she would. It was during a heart-to-heart talk in which I was telling her that an English lord—Lord Marvelman, in fact—would dash to her rescue that her eyes widened, turned blue, and I knew. What a damned fool I've been all these months, Prue. Why didn't you tell me I loved you? I wager you knew."