That girl wouldn’t last in this household for long if she couldn’t handle being yelled at.
She couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Damian. It was easier to watch the poor girl tremble than to face the tenderness and affection she feared she might see when she looked to Damian.
“Pru, look at me.”
She huffed, pursing her lips as she tried to feel annoyed with him for his heavy handedness. “I do not know why you got me into this in the first place,” she said when she finally dragged her gaze upward to look at him.
His lips twitched with amusement. “You couldn’t avoid this forever, you know.”
For a moment she wasn’t sure to what he was referring. To this moment right here and now? To her potential marriage? To another dreaded recital?
It didn’t matter.
“I’m not ready,” she hissed.
“Of course you are.” For once there was no laughter in his eyes, no twitch to his lips. He was serious. “You are Prudence Pottermouth, the strongest, bravest girl I know.”
She tried to think of a way to snap at him, to chide him or glare at him...but she couldn’t. Her lips were trembling too much to purse, tears were pricking the back of her eyes, and her heart…
Her heart felt as though it was breaking. The way he was looking at her right now, with such confidence and admiration, with such tenderness and...and love.
It made her want to laugh and weep and scream all at once.
Instead she turned away. Her gaze moved toward the door where the small crowd of soon-to-be-horrified audience members were talking amongst themselves. The marquess seemed to be the center of attention and she watched in horror as her potential fiancé fawned over the man like he was the prince regent himself.
“I can’t go through with this.” The whisper escaped before she could stop it. She wasn’t even certain herself to what she was referring. Watching this man—this bore—this would-be gentleman who cared not for her intellect nor her company, but who was merely in the market for a show horse. Someone with the right connections he could trot out at gatherings to impress his colleagues.
She pressed a hand to her belly. No, she could not do this.
“You can.” Damian murmured the words of encouragement gently. “I did not lie to your aunt when I said that you were ready.”
“You told her I was perfect,” she hissed, latching on to anger and her fears of performing in front of an audience because it was easier than thinking about what else was to come. The stand she must take. The decision that had been made in her heart that could not be undone.
“Music is not meant to be perfect,” he said, his voice low but insistent. His gaze held hers, so fierce. So kind. So understanding. “It is meant to be filled with emotion, which you have. It is meant to encompass passion and beauty and elegance.” He leaned forward, so close that his lips brushed against the wisps of hair at her temple. “And that is all you, my dear.”
She shut her eyes as if that could shut out the words. “You know what I mean, Damian. Now they expect me to be good. To be perfect.”
“And you are perfect.”
Her eyes snapped open and she found herself looking straight into her worst fear. Love.
“You are perfect to me,” he said. His fingers touched her chin, tilting her face up so she was forced to see the emotions there.
Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of it, at once so eerily familiar and so disconcertingly strange.
“Just keep your eyes on me,” he said. No, he commanded.
Her brows arched in surprise at his tone and his lips quirked. “Just this once, Pru, do as I say. Yes?”
She nodded and even managed to add, “I suppose I must. You are the musical genius.”
His low rumble of laughter warmed her all the way through and eased the tension that had been choking her throat and making her rib cage feel too tight.
“This is as simple as singing a hymn at church, which you did beautifully as a child.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he held up a finger to stop her.
“And today will be no different. Do not try to be anything other than who you are, Prudence, and you will be perfect.”
She swallowed down the last of her protest and gave him a short nod instead.
Her aunt was shooing the small audience to their seats and Prudence moved so Damian could take his seat at the pianoforte. As he passed her, he paused. “And Prudence?”
“Yes?” She looked up and her heart thudded wildly at the heat in his eyes.
“When this is all over, you and I…” He leaned in closer. “We will talk.”
She swallowed.
“We will finish the conversation we started today.”
It wasn’t a question so she did not answer. She merely watched him walk away.
When at last the dreaded recital got underway, she did as Damian instructed. She watched his fingers move over the keys so effortlessly, the way he walked through life. She kept her eyes on his soft smile that seemed to say everything would be fine.
And it would. For him, it would.
She watched his eyes, which were the first eyes to ever look at her as though he saw her—completely and in all her imperfect glory—and found her loveable nonetheless.
And when it came time for her to open her mouth and sing, the sight of him staring back at her, that smile and his gaze—it relaxed her enough to get through the song.
Not perfectly. Very far from perfectly.
But she savored the moment all the same.
While the marquess was cornered by Mr. Benedict, Aunt Eleanor was having a quiet conversation in the far corner with Sir William, that left Pru and Damian on their own.
Alone...except for all the other people in the room.
They might as well have been alone, though. To her mind, there was no one else there.
“You were amazing tonight,” Damian said.
She laughed. “I was passable.”
“You were perfect.”
She rolled her eyes. “You were the only person to think so.”
He narrowed his eyes as if mulling it over. “Everyone else is a dullard.”
She let out an utterly unladylike snort of amusement. “If you say so.”
He puffed his chest out. “Well, I am the musical genius here. And I do say so.”
She tipped her chin to concede. “I will not argue the point. If the musical genius says I was perfect, who am I to fight it?”
He laughed at the teasing in her tone like she’d hoped he would.
She truly hadn’t been all that good, but she’d held a tune, all thanks to him. Her gaze hadn’t wavered from him, though it was likely rude to ignore the audience.
But with her eyes on him and his on her, she’d been able to relax. To be herself. And whether her aunt had approved...she knew not.
She doubted it.
She was almost guaranteed to have been disappointed.
But even so, Prudence would survive. Just like she would survive whatever retribution came her way when she informed her aunt that she would not marry Mr. Benedict. She couldn’t, not when she knew for certain that it would be more of the same. She’d always thought marriage would spare her from the miserable life she’d had with her great aunt, unappreciated, unvalued, and unloved.
But if she were to marry Mr. Benedict, it would be more of the same. And the thought of it, a lifetime sentence of more of the same…
She could not do it. It was no longer a matter of what she wished or what she wanted, it was now a matter of what she could bear.
She might not be able to have the man who’d stolen her heart, but she could not bear to commit the rest of her life to more of the same. She’d rather face the fear of an unknown future than the certainty of crushing disappointment.
Now she just had to tell Mr. Benedict.
And her great aunt.
Her stomach roiled at the thought but she shoved it to the side. For tonight, fo
r just a little while, she wanted to be happy. Was that so much to ask?
“Pru…” Damian’s voice instantly set her on edge, so filled with meaning. “We need to talk.”
She looked away to make sure no one overheard. She supposed he was right. So much had happened between them, and yet...nothing at all.
He hadn’t compromised her, and she was still promised to another. Or at least she assumed that was the conversation happening right now on the other end of the room.
She wouldn’t be for long, but Damian needn’t know that. Because if he did, if he thought for one moment that her crying off this potential engagement was because of him…
She winced as she remembered what he’d said only the day before about wanting to save her.
He would, that was the beautiful thing about Damian. The thing she hadn’t noticed when she’d been young, or at least she hadn’t been charitable enough to give him credit for.
He was protective and generous and thoughtful. A tease and a prankster and a rebel...and good. He was such a good man.
So good that he would anger his uncle and thwart all of society just to save her from an unhappy marriage.
The thought made her breathing shaky.
He was so kind that he would feel the need to take care of her, maybe even marry her if he knew that what she felt for him was what was finally setting her free.
Terror the likes of which she’d never known had her closing her eyes for a moment. But this terror wasn’t enough to shake her resolve.
Damian had opened her eyes to the fact that she’d been living in fear for far too long. She’d spent a lifetime trying to fit into a role that was too small. She’d worked her whole life to be the perfect niece and one evening in Mr. Benedict’s presence and she’d known that her future would be more of the same.
“Prudence?” Damian’s voice was soft. Gentle. “Are you all right?”
She forced a smile. “Yes,” she said.
She would be. Of that she was certain.
His gaze was warm and knowing. “It will be all right, you’ll see. I’ll make certain of it.”
Her smile trembled. That was the trouble. He would make everything all right if she let him, but she couldn’t allow that.
He had a life ahead of him, one filled with obligations and duties that he could not shirk. His uncle would never approve of her, and society as a whole would have a fit. A marquess could not marry the daughter of a scandal. A gently bred woman, yes, but her connections were not outstanding and besides all that, she knew as well as he that it would be a union born of pity.
Sympathy.
Kindness.
That was nothing to ruin a life over, and she couldn’t bear to be the cause of his downfall. He’d weathered his parents’ scandal and that was all he ought to bear.
He might not see it yet, but being selfish never led to any good and if she let him help her, she would be making the most selfish choice of all.
Her aunt and Sir William started to head their way.
“Meet me tomorrow,” Damian murmured under his breath. “Promise me.”
She nodded. It was the best she could do.
She never had been much good at lying.
14
Damian stared at the miserable-looking lady’s maid who’d acted as chaperone merely two days before. “What do you mean, she is gone?”
Her sigh was filled with impatience. “I apologize, my lord, but she is not here.”
He gave his head a little shake and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. There had to be some sort of miscommunication here. “Where did she go? Into town?” He was already half turning toward the stables where he’d left his horse, too eager to get to Prudence this morning to walk the distance between properties.
“She’s gone back to London.” It was the Dowager Demon’s voice in the hallway that made him freeze.
“London?” He turned back slowly and found himself facing that frightening smile as the old lady stalked toward him.
“Indeed.”
“When…” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the panicky sensation setting in. “When did she leave?”
“First light of dawn.” Her tone was so brisk as though her words weren’t crushing him where he stood. “She should be back to that silly school of hers soon enough, I’d imagine, though what she plans to do with herself once she wears out her welcome there, I have no idea.”
His mouth parted as he gaped at the old woman who seemed to be shooing him toward the door as she spoke. “What do you mean?”
The dowager duchess’s mouth turned hard. Cruel. Unforgiving. “I mean, she made her bed when she refused Mr. Benedict. Now she must lie in it.”
His heart was galloping. His blood rushing past his ears in a roar as he struggled to keep up. All he could think was—she refused him! His Pru had refused him!
He gave his head a shake as the ramifications hit. Her aunt was cruel at the best of times, but if Pru had gone against her wishes, thrown away the alliance her great aunt set in place—no doubt for mercenary reasons on her own…
His stomach sank. Oh, his poor Pru.
She needed him now more than ever. “You ought to have let her see me,” he snapped.
The older woman’s eyes widened in shock. No doubt it had been a good many years since anyone had spoken to her in that tone.
He found he couldn’t care in the slightest if she was offended or not.
“Ah, now I see,” the dowager duchess said with a pale imitation of a smile. “The silly brat went and fell in love with you then, did she?” She sniffed in a manner he knew well—but it was far less endearing coming from this witch. “I should have known she was just like her mother. No sense, that one, no matter how much I tried to get it through to her that she was useless. Worth nothing but what value I gave her.”
His hands clenched, his jaw so tight he thought it might shatter.
Never in his life had he thought he’d see the day when he itched to strike a woman. Instead, he forced words out through clenched teeth. “She is worth more than a heartless lady like you could ever imagine.”
She froze in shock, her lady’s maid tensing beside her with wide eyes. The dowager duchess shocked them both when she let out a bark of a laugh in response. “So you’re just as much of a fool as she is, I see.” Her laughter was cold and harsh. “Perhaps you two would have made a fine pair.” She shook her head, disgust plain as day on her features. “Two selfish brats, no better than their good-for-nothing parents.”
He let the insults slide off him. All that mattered now was finding Pru. He needed to make sure she was all right and then make this right.
He straightened to his full height and summoned every ounce of training his uncle had instilled in him for the day he inherited the title. “I’m going to retrieve your niece now, and when I get back, my wife will expect an apology.”
The old woman had the nerve to scoff and when she next spoke she had the sort of smug cruelty of a predator toying with its prey. “I wish you luck, I assure you. But I don’t know what makes you think that headstrong little brat will be any more reasonable for you than me. After all, I told her she ought to see you to formally apologize for embarrassing you with her poor performance the other night.”
His stomach sank as the dowager duchess’s eyes lit with malice. He could see it coming clearly, whatever it was this old witch was holding over him.
“Even this morning, I told her she was free to make a stop at your estate to leave a note formally apologizing and to say her goodbyes…”
His heart twisted in his chest.
“But I’m afraid Prudence didn’t wish to see you.” Her smile morphed into a sneer as she shut the door in his face. “And neither do I.”
His uncle was no help whatsoever. “If she left of her own volition, I’m not sure what you can do about it.”
“But Uncle…” Damian dropped his head back with a groan. “I was going to propose.”
“I know, and
I already told you that I believed it was a poor decision.” His uncle’s expression was wary, as it had been the night before when Damian first told his uncle of his plan.
He hadn’t exactly been seeking permission, but his uncle had granted it all the same—along with a word of warning about marrying for all the wrong reasons.
Namely, love.
“Look, Uncle Edward, I know you had a bad experience, but that doesn’t mean that I cannot make this work.”
His uncle leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “It’s just…” He sighed again and shifted, eyeing Damian carefully. “You are young and so is she. It’s easy to confuse longing with love at your age and—”
“I love her, Uncle. Of that I am certain.” Even as he said it, the words felt right. There was no other word for it. Did he long for her? Certainly. Did he find her beautiful and enchanting?
Of course.
But it was more than that. He loved the way her mind worked; he loved that he was one of few who was lucky enough to see past her prim, pursed lips and her fierce scowls to the sweet, vulnerable, giant heart that lay beneath.
He loved that she challenged him and that she saw straight through his charm and his flirtation to the man beneath. He loved that she did not laugh at his dreams of a conservatory and that she saw all that he wished he could be.
He loved...her. He loved her with all his heart, and he knew that she felt the same.
“Are you certain that she shares your feelings?” his uncle asked.
“Yes.” He said it without a doubt because if there was one thing he knew it was Prudence. And there was no denying the emotions he’d seen in her eyes when they’d been alone together. There was no way he’d been alone when the very real, very physical connection pulled them together and seemed to wrap them in a cocoon of their very own.
He stopped pacing his uncle’s office long enough to turn and face him. “I know that she feels it, too.”
His uncle looked like he wished to argue, but he merely nodded. “Very well, then. I suppose there’s only one thing left to do.”
The Misgivings About Miss Prudence: A Sweet Regency Romance (School of Charm Book 4) Page 11
