The Courteous Cad (22 page)

“
William?
Do you call him that?” Sarah was attempting to untangle her sister’s flaxen curls and pin them up again into a semblance of ladylike mode. Pulling pins from her own hair, she inadvertently dislodged an artful coil near the top of her head. But after a momentary groan of dismay, she returned to her charge.

“You
must
be Mr. Sherbourne’s intimate friend, Pru,” she insisted, “for you would not address him so informally if you were mere acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances?” Mary huffed. “Had you seen them together as I did, you would harbor no doubts about their undying passion.”

“Please, Mary, we are not at all passionate—oh!” Prudence yelped in pain as her sister began scrubbing away the dirt on her cheeks. “You will tear my skin off! Sarah, you have poked my head three times with that pin!”

“I have never seen your hair in such snarls,” Sarah declared. “You cannot have washed it in weeks. Whatever were you thinking?”

“She was thinking of saving mill children,” Mary groused as she went to work on Prudence’s neck. “Our sister would rather eat black bread and wear rags than earn the affections of a man who is handsome, wealthy, and well connected. She prefers a horse cart to a grand carriage. She enjoys laboring fourteen hours a day over a loom more than painting landscapes, playing the pianoforte, and eating petits fours.”

“I was not working at a loom,” Prudence protested. “I am a spinner. And I shall have you know that when I departed Thorne Mill, my threads were nearly all evenly spun and my spindles were well ordered in the carriage. Even the scavengers and piecers are pleased with my progress.”

“Our youngest sister prefers the company of scavengers to that of lords and ladies of the realm,” Mary continued. “She has forgotten that our father labored all his life to raise us from association with such riffraff and provide us a better future.”

Sarah shook her head. “I am sorry, Mary, but I cannot disapprove of Pru’s efforts at reform or her interest in the lot of those whose society is beneath her own. We must not think of ourselves more highly than we ought. Our father was a tradesman, and his wealth was purchased at a terrible price to himself and his daughters. I admire our sister, though I do wish she had gone about her crusade in a manner more forthright.”

“But I was very plainspoken in the beginning,” Prudence protested. “I told William exactly how I feel about his mill. He mocked me.”

“Mocked you? That is unacceptable,” Sarah pronounced as she stepped back to study her efforts at creating a satisfactory coiffure.

Mary had finished scrubbing and was attempting to tug off her sister’s ragged gown.

“What was Mr. Sherbourne to do but make light of our sister’s heedless behavior and assertions?” Mary asked. “Do you believe he should have agreed with Pru’s condemnations, torn down his mill, set all his workers out on their ears with no livelihood, and conceded his worsted trade to competitors? Of course not! Thorne Mill sits on the estate of a great family with a rich ancestry. The water that powers the looms is theirs, as are the stones that built it. To destroy such a thing would be a sacrilege. Now stand up straight, Pru, and I shall try to tie this ribbon in place. Good heavens, Sarah, did you really wear this gown? I hope not. It is tragically horrid. Indeed, I am tempted to pity the poor thing for its utter hideousness.”

“I must have abandoned it here for that very reason,” Sarah said. “It is truly awful. The neck is too low and the sleeves too short. The fabric is . . . oh, dear . . . very thin.”

Mary crossed her arms and sighed as she joined Sarah in regarding their younger sister.

“Pru, you look terrible,” Mary concluded. “Your hair has gone utterly mad, and the gown could not be worse. But I fear nothing else can be done to redeem you.”

“Wear my pelisse,” Sarah suggested. “I do not need it, for I shall be warm enough if I sit near the fire.”

But before she could shrug out of the lightweight plum-hued jacket, Prudence shook her head. “Keep your pelisse, Sarah. Its color would make the gown appear even more dreadful. No, indeed, I have brought this moment upon myself, and I must face the consequences. Let us go down and greet Mr. Sherbourne. But if I may beg your mercy, dearest sisters, please make every effort to conceal my recent activities in Otley. William must be told, but I am the one who should confess.”

“Very well,” Mary agreed. “Sarah, lead the way.”

As Sarah’s younger sisters assumed their positions behind her, Prudence lifted up a prayer for mercy. She had sinned against William. No one could doubt that. Soon she must pay the price for her transgressions. The very thought of disappointing and angering him inflicted a pang of pain in her heart. But the anticipation of seeing him again, speaking with him, losing herself in his deep brown eyes brought a lighter spirit, a warmth that could only be ascribed to love.

William decided at once that he liked Henry Carlyle, Lord Delacroix. As the two men sat across from each other near the fire, their conversation took amiable and pleasant turns. Henry had recently undertaken a sea journey to China in an effort to establish a profitable tea trade. His partners in the fledgling enterprise included Charles Locke, the husband of Prudence Watson’s eldest sister, Sarah.

Henry must know Prudence well, William deduced. Perhaps the man had set his hopes on making her his wife. It certainly would be an agreeable arrangement for both families. But she could not possibly return Henry’s affections. William remained convinced that her ardent avowals of love for him alone precluded the success of any other suitor.

“How did you find your late uncle’s widow and her sisters upon your return?” William asked as a maid entered the room bearing a laden tea tray. “I trust they were all well.”

“Mrs. Heathhill and Miss Watson had ventured away on a tour of the northern counties. But Mrs. Locke greeted me with as much pleasure as did her husband—especially on learning the success of my journey. The tea trade, you must know, is . . .”

His words drifted off as something near the door captured his attention. William turned to look. The sight that met his eyes took every thought from his head, every word from his tongue, every movement from his limbs. Henry was rising to offer greetings, but William found he could not move as three lovely women glided across the carpet toward the tea table.

“Ah, you have come at last,” Henry intoned. “Welcome.”

With supreme effort, William managed to force his frozen legs to stand. But when Prudence Watson’s eyes met his, the endeavor was nearly undone.

He had never seen her so beautiful. Never seen
anyone
so glorious, magnificent, stunning—

“Mr. Sherbourne, I should like to introduce my guests,” Henry was saying, words barely heard through the numbing, swirling mists in William’s head. “As you may know, my late uncle wed Miss Sarah Watson not long before his untimely death. That union gave her the title of Lady Delacroix and a most awkward kinship as my aunt—for as you see, she is younger and certainly more handsome than I.”

Hearing the polite laughter of the others in the room, William attempted a smile. But Henry continued.

“Lady Delacroix was soon widowed, and she might have remained in that mournful state had Mr. Charles Locke not stepped in to make her the happiest of women. She willingly surrendered her title and estate to me—a most generous gesture, I assure you. Mrs. Locke and I were always great friends, and now we are business partners as well.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Sherbourne,” Sarah said, favoring William with a graceful curtsy. “I hear much pleasant news of you from my sisters. I believe Mary and Prudence were guests in your ancestral home on several occasions.”

“Indeed,” William responded with a bow. “Mrs. Heathhill and Miss Watson will always be welcome at Thorne Lodge. And now . . . now you and your husband must find an occasion to make a tour of the northern counties. My brother and his wife would enjoy nothing better than to make your acquaintance.”

Realizing he had woefully fumbled the words, William made every effort to focus his attention on the matters at hand: tea and convivial conversation. But it was hopeless. He could do nothing except stare at Prudence—just as she, in turn, fastened her eyes on him.

He had been wrong about her, William realized. Utterly mistaken. Just as she had assured him before their final farewell, Prudence had returned to London with her friend Anne. All his qualms about Polly the spinner were nothing more than the work of a suspicious mind. Prudence had not been laboring to foment a rebellion at the mill. Malicious subterfuge and deviousness had not occupied her these weeks since they parted company.

No, indeed. Yet something about her had been altered. If possible, Prudence Watson was more beautiful than ever. Like blossoms on porcelain, her cheeks were suffused with pink. Never had William seen her hair so deliriously riotous. Golden curls tumbled here and there, framing her glowing eyes and dancing against her ivory neck.

The gown she wore, a delicious confection in some mysterious shade of blue tinged with green, clung to her form, highlighting the narrow waist and curved hips he had imagined in his dreams. The ethereal sleeves of her gown exposed her slender arms . . . arms that he ached to feel wrapped about him once again.

“Is she well? Mr. Sherbourne?” The strident question drew William’s attention, and he realized belatedly that Mary had been speaking to him.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Is who well?”

“Our dearest Olivia, of course. No great estate could boast a more gracious mistress.”

“My brother’s wife is well,” William said quickly. “She expects to welcome a second child in the autumn.”

“Delightful!” Mary exclaimed. “A baby. How very agreeable.”

“It is happy news indeed. The continuing addition of children will make Thorne Lodge truly a family home again. So much so, in fact, that I have decided to remove myself to another lodging on our estate.”

“Chatham Hall?” Prudence spoke up. “You are to live there?”

He studied her face for a moment, attempting to read any possible message in those green eyes. Did Prudence now wish she had agreed to view the grand home that day when they had ridden together across the moors? Could it be possible that she cherished the hope of becoming his wife and building a family of their own?

But he could not grant himself the luxury to speculate further. All eyes were on him.

“Chatham,” William answered, “is indeed to become my home, Miss Watson. Until recently, Lady Thorne’s brother lived there. The young man suffers a vast deal from a malady of the mind, and at Chatham he was cared for by a staff of tutors, apothecaries, and others charged with improving his health. I am happy to say that he continues to recover very well, far better than anyone expected or hoped. So well, in fact, that his sister has elected to situate him in a school near Canterbury. There he will continue his progress under the care of doctors and teachers who specialize in such cases. Chatham Hall is empty, therefore, and I have been invited to make use of it.”

“But to live in a great house all alone cannot be pleasant,” Mary remarked. “Perhaps you have reconsidered your position against matrimony, Mr. Sherbourne. Are you are not eager to wed and to begin a dynasty of your own?”

It took every fiber of William’s strength not to glance at Prudence. Reading her response to her sister’s comments would tell him so much. But that moment of revelation must wait until they were alone together.

The thought of holding Prudence in his arms as he proposed such a union filled William with a warm gratitude and joy. The hope that she might accept him despite his flaws was almost too much to bear. But such a rendezvous must take place in the perfect setting. For this reason, he was eager to advance the idea he had concocted on his journey to London, and he determined to turn the present conversation toward it.

“When the time is right,” he told Mary, “I shall reflect on my future and what it may hold. Until then, I have more than enough to fill my plate. I am in London to accomplish an aim I hope might improve the fortunes of my mill.”

“Your letter to me hinted of some such business,” Henry said, as if on cue. “May I ask your purpose in wishing to meet with me and these fair ladies?”

“Of course,” William said. “My request is a bold one, sir. I presume to make such an audacious appeal on your generosity only because of my high regard for you—a regard fostered by Mrs. Heathhill and Miss Watson.”

“I am glad to know I merit their commendation of my character. I believe I have not always been so favored. Indeed, more than one member of my extended family has called me a cad.”

William chuckled. “That label, I believe, is too easily given out. I myself have been regarded as such on occasion.”

“Excuse me,” Prudence said, “but I believe no one would call a decent, honorable gentleman by that name. A true cad earns his own reputation.”

Both men turned to her. Mary gave a small squeak. Sarah cleared her throat.

“But the character of these two dear friends,” Prudence went on, “must be considered above reproach, for we know them too well to doubt they are both true gentlemen. I am most eager to hear Mr. Sherbourne’s proposal.”