Prudence Pursued (9 page)

“Yes, just the same.” James made the motion of crossing his heart to assure her he did not lie.

This gesture set the girls to giggling.

“Sir James, how can we thank you?” Mrs. Trimmer declared. She gushed with praise, telling him he was all a good trustee should be. She went on in this manner for some time. Brownell seemed to take it all in stride, but Prudence thought she detected a flush beneath his ruddy cheeks. Could it be the man was so modest?

When Mrs. Trimmer asked if he and Miss Pentyre would like to join them for luncheon, Prudence was surprised when he turned to her, eyebrows arched. “It is for you to say, Miss Pentyre,” he said quietly.

Mrs. Trimmer appeared politely hopeful, while the girls wriggled with excited anticipation. Prudence should have been annoyed with the man for putting her in the awkward situation. But she wasn’t annoyed at all. She realized had he come alone, he would in all likelihood have stayed to dine with the students. He was a trustee, after all. But now he seemed mindful only of her time and pleasure.

“Let us stay,” Prudence told him, smiling. “I would enjoy it above all things.”

Turning to Mrs. Trimmer, James said, “May we sit with the students rather than the staff and faculty? Miss Pentyre will sit across from me to make sure I mind my manners.”

As Mrs. Trimmer tittered and led the students to the dining hall, Prudence fell in step beside him, saying in a low voice, “I am quite sure I could not make you mind your manners or anything else, come to think of it.”

Eyes dancing with humor, he regarded her in an enigmatic way, saying, “Miss Pentyre, I believe you would be surprised.”

The brief return journey from the charity school with the intriguing baronet was particularly enjoyable. Not once did Prudence feel the sharp rise of her bristles. In fact, she was made to feel keenly aware of how she had misjudged Sir James. True, the man was candid to a fault, and he had a teasing, confrontational manner, which could be considered abrasive. But he was also fascinating, amusing, and kind. He had a soft spot for children, which Prudence found endearing. She felt obligated to inform Margaret of the details of her outing and to urge her cousin again to consider James’s offer of marriage. She was also eager to write to her parents about the experience at the school, knowing they would be interested, particularly her father. Papa might even share it as an anecdote at his next meeting of the local chapter of the Jennerian Society.

But before going in search of her cousin, Prudence made her way to the kitchen. Her first task, even before removing her bonnet and shawl, was to return the cook’s candy tin. She found Mrs. Higginbottom in her usual domain, surrounded by a confusion of kettles and cauldrons, copper pots and pans. The busy woman, thin as a reed, stood kneading bread dough upon a flour-covered pine worktable, placed strategically in the middle of the room. A young kitchen maid was up to her elbows in sudsy water, washing dishes. They both bobbed a curtsy when Prudence entered.

“Thank you for indulging my whim, Mrs. Higginbottom,” Prudence said, smiling. “The pupils enjoyed your treacle candy immensely.” She need not tell the woman the candy had been unnecessary as an enticement. James’s charming manner had won the pupils over completely.

The cook gave a brisk nod. “I am pleased to have been of service to you, Miss Prudence, and Sir James too. It’s important work—doing the vaccinating. I lost two nephews to the smallpox and my own sister, poor darling, went blind from the disease when she was but a girl.” She shook her head with sad remembrance.

“It is little wonder so many refer to the dreaded disease as the speckled monster,” Prudence said.

“Indeed, miss,” Mrs. Higginbottom agreed with an emphatic nod of her head.

Prudence thanked her again and made her way upstairs. She tossed her shawl and bonnet on the foot of the bed. She tugged off her shoes, replacing them with a pair of comfortable slippers and went down the hall in search of Margaret. Her cousin, however, was not in her room. She went back downstairs and was met by her aunt coming out of the library. Noting the woman’s lopsided cap and wide, blinking eyes, Prudence gave a half smile and asked, “Did you take a nap in the library, Aunt Judith?”

“No, dear, but a nap took me,” her aunt quipped. “I thought I heard you come in just now. I want to have a word, Prudence.”

She made a motion with her hand for her niece to follow her into the library. This had once been Uncle Giles’s exclusive domain, Prudence recalled, and the room was still a reflection of his masculine tastes. She reflected wryly it would have been better if the man had spent more time here than in the clubs and gaming halls which had led to his family’s current financial embarrassment.

As Judith took a seat on the large horsehair sofa, she reached out a blue-veined hand and gently tugged Prudence down beside her. “Was your mission with Sir James concluded successfully?” she asked, smiling at her. “Were all those dear little children safely vaccinated?”

Prudence nodded and proceeded to give her aunt a detailed account of the morning’s activities and their dining experience with the pupils afterwards. Her aunt, however, appeared to listen absently, as though she was distracted or not interested. Annoyed, Prudence summarized her report, then ended it abruptly.

Aunt Judith did not appear to notice. Still clinging to Prudence’s hand, she said,

“Mr. Benedict Younghughes came to see you this morning. I told him you were out.”

“Er…yes, Sir James and I saw him coming down the sidewalk as we pulled away,” Prudence admitted.

“He has invited us to tea tomorrow,” her aunt informed her. “I accepted on your behalf. I believe it is his intention to show you his scientific specimens. He said you had expressed an interest.” Lowering her voice, she added, “I am told he has numerous human organs preserved in glass jars. I don’t believe it is quite decent, do you?”

“What do you mean you accepted on my behalf?” Prudence asked, frowning. “Are we not to go together?”

“Margaret cannot go,” Judith reminded her. “She is still a bit feverish, don’t you know? And I couldn’t possibly leave her alone.”

“And I cannot possibly visit Mr. Younghughes alone either,” she insisted, distressed.

“Certainly not,” her aunt agreed. “Mrs. Greenwood is coming for you in her carriage. She and her son and daughter-in-law have also been invited to take tea with Mr. Younghughes. You need feel no qualms in going with them. I know how much you are interested in all things scientific—although I cannot understand why. But I would not want you to miss this opportunity. Besides,” she smiled archly, “I believe Mr. Younghughes invited
you
most particularly. He frequently asks about you when you are absent from Bath. With a little encouragement, Pru, he might be brought around to making you an offer.”

“I think not,” Prudence replied in quelling tones.

“But if he did so, would you consider accepting?” Judith probed. “He would be a comfortable husband, I believe, although it is rather a shame he has no chin to speak of. Still, he has a modest competence and comes from a good although undistinguished family. You would be mistress of your own household, Prudence, and that must surely count for something.”

Prudence lowered her gaze. She knew her aunt and even her longsuffering mother felt she was now at an age not to despise any offer, which might be made to her. Considering her advanced years, she knew if Mr. Younghughes did show a particular interest in her, she should welcome his addresses. He would be an eligible suitor, but Prudence felt nothing for the man. Indeed, she found him to be a bit boring, despite his interesting scientific pursuits.

“Aunt Judith, I do not wish to marry. I think I do not have a romantic disposition,” she replied.

As soon as she said it, Prudence knew it for a lie. The realization shocked her entire body like an unexpected jolt of lightning. She had been so certain of God’s plans for her life. They did not include love or marriage and children. But this visit to Bath had stirred up passions she thought she did not own. Prudence realized, after spending a day with James, she did indeed have a romantic disposition, which had nothing to do whatsoever with Benedict Younghughes.

Prudence felt both bemused and ashamed of these newly aroused emotions. The idea she would entertain a notion of Sir James as a romantic interest when he’d so recently made an offer of marriage to her own cousin was unconscionable. Her stomach roiled with bitter despair. Desperate to change the subject, Prudence said thickly, “I think I should tell you, Aunt Judith, Margaret has confided in Clarissa Paige regarding Sir James’s offer.”

Her aunt sighed heavily. She slumped back against the sofa cushion. “I suspected as much. How came you to find it out?”

“I contrived to have a private conversation with Clarissa yesterday afternoon while we were strolling on the Crescent Green. She told me Margaret had taken her into her confidence, even stating Margaret did not love Sir James and could not accept his offer.”

Prudence went on to relate the conversation she’d had with her cousin’s closest friend. As she did so, she felt—for the first time—some deep sympathy for Margaret’s reluctance to marry a man she did not love. Pressed to contemplate the possibility of an offer from Mr. Younghughes, Prudence realized she would not accept such an offer under any circumstances. Did Margaret feel the same violent reluctance? Or was it simply immaturity, which caused her young cousin to hesitate in accepting so suitable an offer? And if it proved to be the latter, was Prudence truly obligated to convince Margaret to marry James when she now felt a growing reluctance to see the two wed to one another?

“Clarissa also told me she felt quite certain Margaret is not harboring a secret passion for some other gentleman,” Prudence added, pushing forbidden thoughts from her mind.

Judith tilted her head to one side and after a moment’s consideration, she replied, “Perhaps we can yet make her see reason.”

Prudence, uncertain, said nothing. After all, how could Margaret make a reasonable decision when she didn’t know her mother’s reason for pressing her into a marriage of convenience in the first place?

Her aunt rose from the sofa and indicated a clutter of correspondence and bills lying in untidy piles on the desk behind them. “I need to get back to what I was doing, Prudence. We’ll speak more about the matter later. I did tell you, did I not, I’m hosting a small dinner and musical evening in honor of your visit? It is all I can manage, considering my indifferent health.” She sighed heavily.

“It is kind of you, Aunt Judith, but there is no need. I understand Lady Brownell is hosting a rout party later this week. I am certain to renew my Bath acquaintances then. Please do not go to any expense or trouble on my account.” She rose from the sofa.

“Well, the thing is done, Pru. I sent out the invitations as soon as I knew you were coming to Bath. There will be only twenty-four of us—unless you would like me to invite Mr. Younghughes as well.” Judith quirked a brow. Her eyes appeared to gleam with hopefulness.

“That won’t be necessary,” Prudence replied stiffly. “And if there is anything I can do to assist you, you have but to ask. I am more than willing to relieve you of as many of the tasks of entertaining as you would wish.”

Her aunt thanked her and took her place behind the desk, fixing her skewed cap as she did so. Prudence left in search of Margaret. Duty compelled her to relate where she had gone and what she had done with Sir James during the earlier part of the day. She discovered her elusive cousin in the small salon where Prudence frequently retreated to write letters. Margaret slumped rather listlessly upon the small sofa nearest the hearth. A small fire crackled there.

“Oh, here you are, Meg. I must tell you about my mission of mercy, as Sir James called it.” She took a seat in the chair nearest the blaze.

As Prudence related a lively narrative of the day’s events, careful to omit any unseemly personal feelings about the man and how much she’d enjoyed his company, Margaret eyed her in such a way Prudence felt like a rare object of curiosity.

“What is it, Meg? Have I sprouted horns? Do I have a third eye in the middle of my forehead?” she demanded.

“No, of course not,” Margaret answered peevishly. “You speak of what you did at the school as though it had been pleasurable and not a duty or obligation. Your eyes are positively glowing.”

“I did enjoy myself immensely,” Prudence confessed. It was all too true. In fact, if she considered carefully, she felt certain she could include this day as one of the most wonderful days of her life. She refrained from sharing such an intensely personal observation with her cousin.

“I accompanied Sir James because I considered it my Christian duty to do so, but still I enjoyed the task. He was surprisingly gentle with the pupils—all girls. You should have seen him, Meg. He shall make a wonderful father, I think. He had such a pleasing, coaxing manner I needn’t have taken Mrs. Higginbottom’s treacle candy at all. But you mustn’t tell her I said so,” she added with a wink.

Unexpectedly, Margaret’s face showed every sign of crumpling into tears.

“Good heavens! Meg, what is the matter?” Prudence asked, vacating her chair to kneel beside her distraught cousin. She clasped Margaret’s hands comfortingly between her own.

“Oh, Pru I’m so unhappy. I’m in such a predicament,” she wailed. “I DON’T want to marry Sir James.”

For a brief moment, Prudence closed her eyes. On the one hand, she felt exasperated. On the other, she felt the stirrings of elation, followed by a sharp pang of guilt.
Lord, give me wisdom,
she silently implored.

“I don’t know what to do,” Margaret went on with a watery sniff.

“It will practically kill Aunt Judith if you don’t accept him,” Prudence said. When her cousin’s mouth gaped, she added, “There is more at stake than you realize.”

“Such as?” Margaret dabbed at her eyes with a crumbled linen handkerchief.

“I cannot tell you. I promised Aunt Judith I would not.”

Prudence found herself in a turmoil of mixed emotions. She knew the match between Margaret and James would please so many people. But deep down, although she didn’t dare acknowledge it, even to herself, there was a small forbidden thought she would be greatly relieved if Margaret did indeed turn down his offer. Still, she had her duty, and she would do it. She was, if nothing else, dutiful. It was a virtue, wasn’t it, to fulfill one’s duty? Prudence had always wondered why
dutifulness
was not one of the Fruits of the Spirit, listed with love, joy, peace, patience, faithfulness, and all the rest. She felt certain were she to change places with Margaret, she would accept the baronet’s offer for the sake of her family’s financial stability. It would be her duty to do so, wouldn’t it?

Heaving a sigh, she said, “Margaret, if you are quite certain you cannot love Sir James and will not be happy married to him, then we must put an end to this nonsense. Tell your mother. She is not a tyrant, nor is she mercenary. If you cannot abide the thought of marriage to the man, she will not force you into it.”

“But you said there’s more at stake than I realize,” her cousin reminded her.

“There is.”

“Then why did Mama tell you, but not me?”

Prudence shrugged. “I think she does not wish to burden you unnecessarily. If you marry Sir James, it would not be necessary for you to know.”

Margaret frowned and gave a snort. “She should have told me then and not you. I am no longer a child!”

“Then quit behaving like one,” Prudence said acidly. Margaret looked so hurt Prudence immediately regretted her harsh words. “I am sorry, Meg. We’re all on edge.

“It’s not the thing, you know, stringing a gentleman on the way you have been doing. Accept him or refuse him, but give your mother the real reason for doing so.”