The Perfect Rake (40 page)

Prudence felt tears prickle against her own lashes as she hugged her sister to her. It was as if a load had been suddenly lifted off her shoulders. They had come through it. The grim days of Grandpapa were truly behind them. Charity was in love and about to be married. The Merridew girls were no longer alone and friendless. All would be well. It had to be.

Lady Augusta poked her bright head around the door. “Girls, girls, are you awake? Come, arise, there is so much to do. It is a perfect day for a wedding!”

Charity was radiant. Dressed in a celestial blue silk gown richly trimmed with blond lace, she was a vision to take one’s breath away. It was as if she glowed from within. Her dress was the exact color of her eyes.
Mama’s eyes
, thought Prudence. For a moment she wished she had not sold Mama’s sapphires. They would have looked perfect on Charity but she dismissed the melancholy thought. This was not a day for regrets. And had they not sold the sapphires, they could not have reached this point…

They all looked beautiful, her sisters, like a bunch of perfect blooms; Faith and Hope in the palest of pale pink dresses, both with slightly scooped necklines and feeling very grown-up. Grace, like Prudence, was dressed in pale jonquil with knots of blue ribbon around the hem.

“Oh, what perfect visions you all are,” exclaimed Lady Augusta, herself resplendent in a gown of rich maroon and aqua, which clashed brilliantly with her hair. “It is a crime, a positive crime to waste this sight on a bunch of Bath nobodies. Still, I comfort myself with the reflection that I shall attend to all your court presentations and preside over your coming-outs!”

Prudence glanced at her in surprise.

Lady Augusta caught her look. “You don’t think I am letting you go now, do you, Prudence? I haven’t had such fun in years. After this wedding I shall be Charity’s aunt indeed, and therefore, you shall all be my nieces. I never had children, you see, was never blessed. And now…it’s almost as good as having five daughters.” She blinked rapidly and exclaimed crossly, “Dratted weddings! They always make me excessively sentimental, but I shall not cry! I vow it. If I do, this lampblack concoction will run, and then I shall look a sight!” She glanced at Prudence and winked. “Well, you don’t think these dark lashes are natural, do you?”

Prudence laughed. “I never gave it any thought, ma’am.”

Lady Augusta turned to Charity. “Now, my dear, here is your something old and something borrowed. I was married in it in Argentina, a gift from my husband. It was his mother’s.” She produced a magnificent handmade white-lace mantilla, laid it carefully over Charity’s shining locks, and stood back. “Perfect, my dear, just perfect. You look like an angel. Oh dear, I should never have darkened my lashes.” She pulled out a wisp of lace-edged cambric and carefully applied it to her eyes.

“Now, the something new is your gown, and I must say the dressmaker has done us proud, my dears. I hadn’t dreamed we would find someone so capable in this town at such short notice.”

“And it is also something blue,” piped up Grace, “so that’s everything.”

“No, not quite, my dear. My nephew Carradice sent these around this morning. Said Miss Prudence would wish her sister to go to her bridal wearing these stones.” And she drew from a box a sapphire necklace and matching earrings.

Prudence stared. “But they are…they are…” She was unable to speak for emotion. How had he known? How could he have guessed what this would mean to her, to all of them?

“Mama’s sapphires,” said Charity softly. She turned to her younger sisters and explained, “Mama was married in these. They were her wedding gift from Papa. Now we shall have Mama and Papa with us at my wedding. How kind of Lord Carradice to send for them. Did you ask him to, Prue?”

Prudence just shook her head, her heart too full to speak.

“Now, here are the carriages to take us to the abbey,” said Lady Augusta briskly. “In you get, gels. Grace and the twins in the first one with me, and Prudence and the bride in the second one. Wait a few minutes before you set off, Prudence, the bride should always be a little late.”

“Oh, but ma’am,” Charity exclaimed.

“Nonsense. It is good for the groom to be made to wait. Men need to be kept on their toes, ladies, remember that. Never let them take you for granted!”

Bath Abbey glowed in the sunshine. The bishop had agreed to perform the ceremony and stood at the altar, gorgeous in his embroidered vestments. Edward awaited the arrival of his bride, pale, neat, and anxious. Gideon lounged next to him.

The doors opened, the organ music swelled, filling the huge, vaulted abbey with magnificence. Neither Edward nor Gideon noticed. They each had eyes only for their beloved ones.

Prudence’s eyes clung to Gideon. She wanted to thank him, to tell him what his gesture of the sapphires had meant to her, to them all. But the wedding began and the moment was lost.

The bishop began the service with a long and rambling sermon about the holy estate of matrimony and the solemn commitment it was. It seemed to go on forever. The attention of his small, captive congregation soon wandered.

In such a huge and venerable church Prudence felt small and insignificant in the scheme of things. Oddly enough, it was a comforting feeling. Her mind was filled with Gideon. His eyes caressed her; she tried to avoid his gaze. She needed to talk to him, to have it clear between them what he wanted of her, but she couldn’t discuss such things at her sister’s wedding.

She was aware of every slight shift and nuance in his posture.

Was Phillip right? Would this be the closest she would ever get to standing in front of the altar with Lord Carradice?

The bishop rambled on and on…and at one point surprised Prudence in a huge yawn. She’d hardly slept the night before. Embarrassed, she tried to pay better attention.

Finally, the bishop uttered the familiar words, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

It was her cue. Prudence took a breath and stepped forward. As eldest sister, and in the absence of male relatives, she would give away the bride. “I—”

“I do.” A ringing voice echoed from the back of the church.

With one accord, the entire wedding party swung around.

“Great-uncle Oswald!”

And indeed it was Great-uncle Oswald himself, dressed in his finest morning suit, his hat tucked under his arm as he strode down the aisle, his face wreathed with smiles.

Great-uncle Oswald here in Bath? And how could he know to come here, to the abbey, at this time? Prudence swung around and met Lord Carradice’s gaze with a silent question. Had he told Great-uncle Oswald? Lord Carradice shook his head. It seemed he was as surprised as anyone.

Had Grandpapa come, too? Prudence was filled with misgiving. Great-uncle Oswald was beaming, she told herself. Could she trust his smiles? He’d said “I do.” It wouldn’t be a trick, would it? Her anxious gaze swept the church behind him. Nobody followed him in.

“Grandpapa?” Prudence asked as he reached the small wedding party assembled at the altar.

Great-uncle Oswald shook his head and patted her shoulder. “Safely back at the Court,” he said in a low voice. “Doesn’t know anythin’ about this little aff—” He stopped suddenly. “Good God! Is that Gussie Manningham? I thought she was in Argentina.”

“Er, yes, I suppose it is, if you mean Edward and Gideon’s aunt, Lady Augusta Montigua del Fuego,” Prudence said, considerably surprised by the sudden change of subject.

“Where’s her husband?” whispered Great-uncle Oswald.

“I believe she was widowed last year and returned to England some months ago,” responded Prudence, distracted. “Great-uncle Oswald, how did you know about the wedding? How did you find us?”

“Widowed, eh?” muttered Great-uncle Oswald. He raised his voice. “Well, get on with it, Chuffy. I’ve already said I’d give this beautiful great-niece of mine in marriage, so let’s finish this weddin’.”

To everyone’s amazement, the immensely dignified bishop responded mildly, “If you’ve finished nattering, Ozzie, I shall. Thought you’d never get here. Never bored a congregation so badly in my life.” He winked at Prudence; then, returning to his usual sonorous tone, continued with the wedding service.

Prudence blinked. Chuffy and Ozzie? The bishop’s sprawling speech had been a delaying tactic. He must have sent for Great-uncle Oswald. But how did he know they’d run away? And why send for Great-uncle Oswald and not Grandpapa? And why was Great-uncle Oswald suddenly more interested in Lady Augusta than in his great-niece’s runaway wedding? It was all very confusing.

Chapter Eighteen

“Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.”

W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

“G
OOD-BYE, GOOD-BYE
!”

The carriage rumbled away down the street, piled high with baggage, the Duke of Dinstable and his brand-new duchess waving from the windows. Prudence, the twins, and Grace spilled out into the street, calling farewells and exhortations to write. Lady Augusta and Great-uncle Oswald watched from the steps of the house. Lord Carradice leaned against the railings of his own house, watching the departure, an odd, twisted smile on his face. Prudence wondered for a fleeting moment what that look betokened, but the excitement of her sister’s departure pushed it from her mind.

They watched until the coach swung out of sight. Feeling suddenly bereft, Prudence turned instinctively toward Gideon. She had barely spoken a word to him at the wedding, and Charity and the duke’s decision to set out for Scotland immediately had meant an abbreviated wedding breakfast, much to Lady Augusta’s frustration. It was the first real opportunity to speak to Lord Carradice.

But how did you ask a man whose wonderful gesture had brought magic to your sister’s wedding day, if he wanted to make you his mistress? And if he did, what would she say?

She needed to repay him for the sapphires, too. She hoped she had enough money left.

Before she could speak to him, however, Great-uncle Oswald called her over. “Now young missy, I think you have some explainin’ to do. Shall we step into the sittin’ room and over a soothin’ cup of tea you shall explain to me why the deuce you didn’t tell me you’d run off from the Court in the first place!”

“Tea, Great-uncle Oswald?” Prudence asked in an effort to distract him. “I thought you didn’t approve of tea.”

“I’ve given Gussie’s cook a packet of my best chamomile, so enough roundaboutation, miss, and into the house with you!”

Meekly, Prudence preceded him into Lady Augusta’s house.

“You were protectin’
me?
” uttered Great-uncle Oswald in amazement. “You thought
I
was dependent on my brother?”

“Aren’t you?” Prudence asked, puzzled. “He was always complaining of how much it cost to keep you.”

“He what?” Great-uncle Oswald’s eyebrows rose.

“And your extravagant ways.”

He snorted. “Well, that I can believe. Always was the nipfarthingest fellow when it came to spendin’ money on the good things in life. But when it came to business, now—”

“Business?” Prudence repeated. “I thought his business was hugely successful.”

“Hah!” snorted Great-uncle Oswald. “Was until he and I parted ways more than ten years ago. Without me to prevent his wild schemes and mad speculation, the company went steadily downhill! No head for business at all, you know. Throws good money after bad on the most ludicrous ventures.”

“But—”

He shook his head again in wonder. “Can’t get over it—you were protectin’
me!
Five little gels, runnin’ off to who knew where, exposin’ yourselves to horrible danger, only to protect
me!
” He took out a large handkerchief and blew noisily into it.

Prudence was touched. “Of course we wanted to save you from Grandpapa’s wrath, Great-uncle Oswald. He was forever reading of your appearance at some society event, and he would invariably rant and rave and threaten to cut you off without a penny. And then when we came to you, you were so kind and generous toward us, taking us in without a murmur, and it can’t have been easy for you.”

“But it was delightful, m’dear,” Great-uncle Oswald said, shocked. “Don’t know when I’ve enjoyed so much excitement as I have since you gels came to enliven my home. M’life was dwindling into lonely old age before you arrived.” He blew his nose again, a long, quavering trumpet of emotion.

Touched, Prudence prompted him into less emotional waters. “Er, the business, Great-uncle Oswald. You were saying it was failing…”

“Oh, couldn’t let the family company fail—bad business for a start, even if it was nothing to do with me—bad for all of us! Employees who’ve been with us thirty years and more. Bought out your grandfather a few months back. Flatter myself it’s on the up-and-up now.”

Phillip had said much the same thing, Prudence recalled. Only he had not mentioned Great-uncle Oswald at all. “Do those employees know of your involvement in the company now?” she asked.

“No. No need to make a fuss o’ things. Don’t like it widely known I’m in trade at all, though it did get me my handle.”

“Your handle?” Prudence was puzzled.

“Well, good gracious, gel, don’t you remember anything from your schoolroom lessons? I’m
Sir
Oswald Merridew, ain’t I? The younger son of a baron ain’t usually a knight, is he?” He sat back in his chair with a satisfied air. “No, nothing of mine came to me from my father or my brother. Earned it all myself—includin’ the knighthood.” He noticed Prudence’s confusion and explained, “Services to the Crown, say no more,” and laid his finger along the side of his nose.

Prudence sat back in her chair, astounded. “So you do not depend on Grandpapa’s charity?”

Great-uncle Oswald snorted. “I should say not! Boot’s on the other foot, if you want to know the truth. Old fool’s speculations left him without a feather to fly with. Was in debt to his eyebrows until I towed him out of the River Tick.”

“Grandpapa was in debt?” Prudence was stunned. “So you have supported us all along? Even before we came to London? We owe you so—”