The Perfect Rake (41 page)

“Nonsense, nonsense. Owe me nothin’ at all! Such foolishness,” he blustered in embarrassment. “What else am I going to do with my money, eh? Childless old widower like m’self. It’ll all come to you gels in the end, so don’t fret about anyone owin’ anything, m’dear. But if anyone’s a pensioner on somebody’s charity, ’tis your grandfather, and so I told him when he arrived in London last week, blowin’ sound and fury.” He snorted again. “Sent him packin’ back to Dereham with a flea in his ear and a warning that if he left the Court again without an invitation from me, I’d be cuttin’
him
off without a penny!” He glared at Prudence indignantly. “D’ ye know, he was makin’ threats against you that would make your hair curl! Has he done that before? Laid a finger on any of you gels?”

Prudence could not speak for the relief flowing through her. She jumped up and hugged Great-uncle Oswald fervently. She’d been half expecting Grandpapa to arrive at any minute; instead he was back at the Court to stay. She felt so much lighter and freer. Charity was married and happy, Grandpapa was no longer a threat to them, and their future, for the first time in years, looked rosy. She felt Great-uncle Oswald’s hand patting her on the back, soothing, awkward, a little uncertain. She collected herself and stepped back.

“Well, missy? Did he mistreat you?” His kind, old face was crumpled with worry and not a little guilt.

She didn’t want to lie anymore now that the need to lie had passed. On the other hand, to tell this sweet man how terribly Grandpapa had treated them would make him even more upset than he was. He would feel responsible and be racked with guilt. She could see no point in raking up old grievances. Better to let it go.

“He was a harsh disciplinarian,” she said, recalling Phillip’s view of the matter, “but then, having five young girls to deal with probably tried his patience severely. Let us talk of him no more, dear Great-uncle Oswald—or should I call you Great-uncle Ozzie? You are very sneaky, you know, turning up like that at the abbey.”

He chuckled. “Surprised you, didn’t I? Thing is, went to school with old Chuffy. Can’t believe he’s turned into a bishop, of all things. Was a shockin’ loose screw at school. Anyway, when Dinstable and young Charity applied for the license, Chuffy smelled a rat. Recognized the name, of course. Knew I had my great-nieces staying with me in London, so wondered how one of them came to be in Bath applying for a weddin’ license. Sent me a note, and I came posthaste. Can’t have you gels getting married without me there to give you away, can I?” His smile died away, and he pursed his lips in a dissatisfied pout. “Didn’t think much of the wedding itself, though, Prudence. The abbey is a fine big church, and good to have a bishop do the deed, but apart from that, bit of a hole-in-the-corner affair for a duke and a diamond like your sister, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, m’dear.”

“Oh, but it was exactly how Charity and Edward wanted it,” Prudence assured him. “Small and private with only family present. I know Charity was thrilled you came. We all were.” She rose from her chair and kissed him warmly on the cheek. “You are very dear to us all, you know.”

He pulled out the handkerchief again and blew another long, emotional blast. “You’re a dear good girl yourself, and when we fire you and Carradice off, we’ll do it in grand style, what? St. George’s, Hanover Square, and we’ll get Chuffy down to officiate—he looks good in purple, have to say it—and then a ball to celebrate. And o’course, a ball beforehand to announce the engagement—when was it that the Welsh great-aunt died again? Carradice’s mourning should be done by then, surely?”

Prudence swallowed. The time had come for her to confess the betrothal to Lord Carradice had been a stratagem. Not a very nice stratagem, she thought guiltily, looking at the beaming elderly man before her. He was such a dear. He would feel dreadful to discover his well-meaning effort to get her settled before letting her beautiful sisters loose on society had, in fact, been a source of much anxiety to them all.

She opened her mouth, but Great-uncle Oswald, clasping his damp handkerchief, smiled at her with such benevolent affection that she could not do it. And with her future relationship with Lord Carradice still unclear, she could not leave things as they were.

“Lord Carradice and I have quarreled,” she blurted. “There will be no wedding in Hanover Square or anywhere else, I’m afraid.” There, it was out. Not the whole truth, but enough.

To her amazement, Great-uncle Oswald only chuckled and tucked his handkerchief away. “Pooh! Lovers tiff,” he said. “Happens to all newly betrothed couples, once the initial excitement wears off. What happened—Carradice balkin’ at the prospect of parson’s mousetrap? Shouldn’t let it worry you—fellow was a rake. Bound to feel a few qualms about relinquishin’ his freedom, but—”

Prudence shook her head. “No, it wasn’t that.”

“You, is it, gettin’ cold feet? Now that
does
surprise me. A rake, now, that’s understandable. But you…” He peered at her shrewdly. “Not gettin’ missish on me, are you, Prudence? If it’s…er…conjugal matters worryin’ you, Gussie will set you right.”

“No, no!” she assured him, embarrassed to find herself discussing such matters with an elderly male.

Great-uncle Oswald shook his head decisively. “In that case, just a tiff, mark my words. Boy was smitten. Swear to it on my life. And the glow in your face whenever Carradice walks in the door, m’dear—could light a candle with it.”

Oh, dear Lord, had she been so obvious? That was what came of Gideon’s way of looking at a girl as if…as if she were the only girl alive in the world. As if she were the only one he cared about…It was those velvet dark eyes of his that did it…made a girl feel…special, loved…cherished.
Wanted.

Yes, but what did “wanted”
mean?
If Gideon didn’t plan to marry her, she wouldn’t allow him to be trapped into it by her own scheming and her well-meaning great-uncle’s enthusiasm.

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Great-uncle Oswald, but our betrothal—Lord Carradice’s and mine—is definitely off. And now I must…I must retire for a moment. Thank you for coming to the wedding. And you cannot know what a relief it is to me that you have dealt with Grandpapa for us, so thank you for that, as well.” She kissed him on the cheek again and hurried from the room.

What a tangled web she had woven herself into. She had just severed two betrothals; no wonder her head ached.

She hesitated. Upstairs was her bed, narrow and cold and private. Lord Carradice would be with the others in the front parlor. She needed to talk to him but at the moment, there would be no chance to be private. There was a wedding to reminisce about and Great-uncle Oswald’s arrival to exclaim over. She would have to sit there politely, as if the doubts were not burning her up inside, chatting of trifles, while his dark eyes caressed her and his honeyed tongue teased.

She turned toward the stairs. What she needed was a cup of hot chocolate and a good cry.

“We have been invited to a small party this evening by my old friend, Maud, Lady Gosforth,” announced Lady Augusta, brandishing a note that had just arrived. It was the day after the wedding and they were all sitting in the parlor after tea. “I knew Maudie in the old days, before I left for Argentina. I haven’t seen her for aeons. Her note says she arrived in Bath a day or two ago and and has just this minute learned I was here. She sent this around, urging me to come and saying if I had houseguests, to bring them, too.” She set down the note on the mantelpiece. “How delightful. Maudie was always the one to know all the latest gossip! Oswald, you know Lady Gosforth, don’t you?”

“Should say I do. All the world knows Maudie.”

“It is exactly what we all need, a little entertainment to cheer us up, for there is nothing worse than a wedding without a proper party to make one feel sadly flat! Gels, you must come, too—not you, I’m sorry, Grace, dear, you are too young as yet. But Faith and Hope certainly, for though you are not yet out, a small, private party in Bath in the home of a family acquaintance is perfectly
comme il faut.
Now hurry along, girls, we leave at eight. Oswald, may I request your escort?”

Great-uncle Oswald bowed. “Delighted to, Gussie, m’dear, delighted. I shall go next door and change immediately.” The duke had given him the use of his house while he and Charity were away, so it was only natural that Lady Augusta had invited him in to tea. Lord Carradice, too, had been invited, but to Prudence’s relief, some other engagement—or discretion—had kept him away.

She didn’t know whether she wanted to see him or not. How could she keep him at arm’s length to talk when all she wanted was to throw herself into his arms?

Faith and Hope followed Great-uncle Oswald from the room, excitedly discussing which dresses to wear. Prudence rose, uncertainly. She had promised Phillip she would not go about socially in Bath for a week and there were three more days to go.

Could a small, private party be called “in public”? No, Prudence decided, and Phillip’s doubts about the respectability of Lady Augusta and the duke had always been nonsensical. In any case, she would have the escort of Great-uncle Oswald, and nothing could be more respectable than that.

Prudence went upstairs to change into a party dress.

“You look beautiful, my Prudence,” a deep voice said as she came down the stairs a little before eight. “But then, you always do.”

She looked down at him. Gideon. Lord Carradice. Gazing up at her, his dark hair gleaming, his eyes were dark and warm upon her. Her throat tightened, and she felt suddenly close to tears. Of course, it was just his way, but oh, when he looked at her like that, with that midnight gaze that caressed and heated her from within, she truly felt beautiful. And her dress really was beautiful, deep blue with a silver tissue overlay and silver trim. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize you were coming, too, Lord Carradice.”

How did you ask a man, “Oh, by the way, did you ask me to marry you the other day or were you merely suggesting I become your mistress?” Formality was the key to surviving this, she hoped.

He stood at the foot of the stairs, smiling faintly, dressed in black satin knee breeches, striped stockings, a white waistcoat, and a black waisted coat with long tails, looking darkly elegant. He must have dispensed with the bandage, for nothing spoiled the line of that elegant coat. The thought gave her relief; he was healing from the injury she had done him.

Nobody else had yet come down. His long, angular face was freshly shaved but retained that dark tinge that she found so attractive in him. Her skin tingled with remembrance of the sensual abrasion of those dark bristles. A faint, pleasurable frisson passed through her. Holding the banister rail, she managed to resume her progress down the stairs, hoping the heat in her cheeks did not betoken that glow Great-uncle Oswald had spoken of.

“Yes, Aunt Gussie sent a note around informing me there was to be a small party and that I was required for escort duty. I did not dare refuse. A terrifying creature when crossed, my aunt.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Prudence dryly, even as a lump rose in her throat. He knew she was feeling awkward after their last encounter and was talking nonsense to spare her.

He strode forward as she reached the last few steps and took her hand, as if she were some fragile, delicate creature. Through her evening gloves, she felt his strength, his warmth. He took the silver tissue cloak that was draped across her arm, shook it out, and swung it around her, wrapping her in it, and him. His arms were around her and before she realized what he was about to do, he’d planted a soft kiss on the nape of her neck. A shiver passed through her entire body, and it was all Prudence could do not to lean back into his embrace.

She forced herself to resist, saying in a voice that squeaked with tension, “Could we talk privately tomorrow morning, please?”

“Of course.” He added in a low, sincere voice, “Fear not, Imp. I’ll importune you no more tonight. I did not mean to distress you just now, but you look so very lovely, like an angel in a silver cloud, I could not help myself. I apologize.”

Prudence had no idea what to say. Just as the silence was stretching to uncomfortable limits, she recalled she owed him a debt of thanks. “I must thank you for sending us the sapphire necklace. I don’t know how you retrieved it, or how you knew which one to retrieve, of all the jewelry I sold.” She gazed up at him, “It was the very sapphire set my mother wore at her wedding, and it meant such a lot to Charity…and to me, for her to wear it. I will, of course, repay—”

His face twisted. “Ah, don’t, Imp. You know I don’t want—”

Just then, the twins clattered noisily down the stairs, dressed in pale yellow muslin and calling for Lord Carradice to admire them. This he did with alacrity, and her sisters were delighted by his lavish and very silly compliments. Grace hung over the banister, watching them a little wistfully.

Lord Carradice glanced up and noticed her. “Greetings, young Limb,” he called up to her. “I thought tomorrow afternoon we might visit a fair. There is one to be held in a village not far from here. Would you care to accompany me?”

Grace called down her assent, her eyes shining.

Prudence bit her lip. Of course he would offer her little sister some sort of consolation for being left out of the party. He was Gideon. How could anyone resist him?

Lady Augusta descended the stairs in a wonderfully lowcut gown of emerald-shot satin and a black-and-gold shawl draped in the Spanish manner. Around her neck was a necklace of gold and emeralds.

When Great-uncle Oswald arrived, he snatched off his hat and gazed at her in stunned admiration, muttering, “Magnificent, b’gad. Magnificent!”

Gideon nudged Prudence, and she followed his amused gaze to where Lady Augusta was adjusting her shawl with a vast deal of nonchalance and a satisfied little smile.

“Are we all ready to leave?” said Lady Augusta. “Then let us do so at once.”

Even though the evening was fine and Lady Gosforth’s home only a short walk away, Lady Augusta had ordered a sedan chair to carry her. “I know they are a little passé,” she explained to the girls, “but I always loved the look of these things when I was a gel. It looks so marvelous—a lady being carried along in a palanquin like an Oriental princess, with her cicisbei strolling along beside her, carrying her fan—drat it, forgot to bring a fan. Never mind. Oswald, you’re my chief cicisbeo, pretend there is a fan, will you?”