The Misgivings About Miss Prudence: A Sweet Regency Romance (School of Charm Book 4)

by Maggie Dallen

  Damian was already heading toward the door. “I can be in London by nightfall.”

  “Good luck,” his uncle called after him.

  His head was spinning as he mounted his ride. He had no time to prepare for a journey, not when the woman he loved was on her own, no doubt terrified about what the future had in store.

  Why had she left like that? Why hadn’t she come to him?

  He shook off the fears that threatened to mar his certainty. He would go to her, he would find her. And once he did…

  He wouldn’t leave her side until she agreed to be his bride.

  15

  Delilah was watching her warily as she and the other girls pretended to embroider. “So you just...left, then?”

  Prudence, who actually was embroidering, continued to stare at the linen in her hands. “That is correct.”

  “Well…” Delilah’s voice trailed off in what was either shock or awe or perhaps a mix of the two.

  Prudence didn’t have to look up and see Delilah’s expression to know that she’d stunned her best friend. She’d stunned herself with her rash actions.

  “Well, I for one am proud of you,” Louisa said, leaning over to wrap an arm around her shoulders in a side hug.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Delilah said quickly. “I am so very proud of you for standing up to that nasty great aunt of yours. It’s just so surprising, that’s all.”

  “Very surprising,” Addie added as she bounced her brother Reggie on her knee.

  It was Miss Grayson who broke the silence and asked the one question she did not wish to face. “Do you have any idea what you will do now?”

  Her hands froze over the embroidery. She’d been doing nothing but think about that ever since she’d left her aunt’s house. The entire carriage ride back to town had been filled with that question.

  Well, that wasn’t quite true. The ride back she’d dwelled extensively on the dilemma of what she would do now that her aunt had washed her hands of her and the last of her family saw her as a disgrace, that was true.

  But what she studiously hadn’t thought about had seemed to fill that long carriage ride even more.

  A particular person.

  And unwanted feelings.

  She dropped her linen into her lap with a sigh. “I have no idea what I shall do, but I won’t be a burden to you any longer than I have to.”

  Miss Grayson leaned forward and laid a hand over hers. “You could never be a burden, dear Prudence. You are a part of this family, and you always will be.”

  Prudence was horrified to find tears welling in her eyes at the kindness. It was hardly unexpected—Miss Grayson was always kind. She was the kindest woman Prudence knew, and the most sensible as well. And as if that wasn’t enough, Miss Grayson was a beauty and no one could deny it.

  And yet she was nearly on the shelf.

  And Prudence was sure to follow. She glanced down at her frumpy gown and her too large hips. She did not need a mirror to see that she was plain—too plain for the likes of Damian.

  He’d see that one day, and when he did...well, she did not wish to be there as a witness.

  “Perhaps you could tell us more of this music tutor you spoke of in your letters,” Delilah said.

  Prudence sniffed, her lips pressing together in a scowl that felt too familiar. “Really, Delilah, subtlety is not your specialty.”

  Delilah grinned, utterly unrepentant. “So Rupert tells me. But it’s still amusing to play coy.”

  Addie laughed and Louisa leaned forward. “I’ve heard Lord Damian is exceedingly handsome, is that true?”

  Prudence sniffed. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “What?” Addie laughed again. “You do not have eyes?”

  “Of course I have eyes,” she said, her tone turning smug and sanctimonious.

  Heavens, had she always sounded so much like Mr. Benedict? How did any of her friends stand her?

  And yet she couldn’t seem to shake it. She fell back into her role of priggish Pru with ease. It was safer this way. This was far more comfortable than the Prudence she’d become these past weeks while away.

  Still the same but...different. Uncovered. Laid bare.

  And all because a rakish young gentleman had decided to flirt with her and make her laugh. She picked up her embroidery just so she could have the satisfaction of stabbing something.

  “So?” Louisa asked, all impatience and frenetic energy, as always. “Is he as handsome as they say or not?”

  “He is very handsome.” Her lips felt numb. She didn’t wish to speak of Damian. She didn’t wish to think about him or hear about him or—

  “Miss Grayson, there is a visitor.” The housekeeper looked flustered as she entered the room, and it was no wonder. It was far too late for visitors.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” Miss Grayson said before sweeping out of the room. So graceful, their Miss Grayson. So perfectly perfect.

  Prudence stabbed at her embroidery again.

  Aunt Eleanor would have loved to have a great niece like Miss Grayson.

  “Come on, then,” Delilah said, pulling the embroidery out of her hands before she could destroy it. “It is just us girls. You can tell us.”

  She feigned surprise. “Tell you what?”

  All three of them exchanged looks that made her want to scream. Like an outsider looking in, as always, but this was worse than ever because they looked so sympathetic. So understanding.

  “You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Addie asked gently.

  And that was the worst of it. They did understand.

  She shook her head but couldn't bring herself to voice the lie.

  “Oh dear, you can talk to us.” Delilah gave her a sympathetic smile as she placed a hand over hers. “If anyone understands how confusing love can be, it’s us.”

  She looked from one sweet, gentle smile to the next. Yes, they did understand...but they also had no idea.

  Because their love was reciprocated. Hers was not. It could not be.

  So she tugged her hand out from beneath Delilah’s. “This is not the same thing at all.”

  Miss Grayson reentered the room as Louisa came to sit beside her on the settee. “Then try explaining it to us.”

  Prudence shook her head, her throat growing tight with their kindness. “I cannot explain it to you, none of you would understand.”

  Miss Grayson cleared her throat softly in the doorway. “Then perhaps you ought to explain it to Lord Damian.”

  Prudence blinked in surprise. “Pardon me?”

  Miss Grayson’s wince spoke of sympathy and regret...and perhaps just a twinge of amusement. She nodded toward the entryway. “He is here and he wishes to see you.”

  Prudence’s hands were shaking as she left her friends in the warm comfort of the private sitting room and made her way toward the formal drawing room, with Miss Grayson by her side.

  “Will you be all right, dear?” Miss Grayson asked quietly when Prudence’s steps grew slower with each passing second.

  She nodded but her mouth was too dry to reply.

  “I’ll keep the door open, but I’ll give you some privacy, shall I?” Miss Grayson asked. She didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer as she nudged her into the room and poked her head through the doorway behind her. “I’ll be just out here in the hall should you need me.”

  Miss Grayson might have said more, but if she did, Prudence didn’t hear it. She was too busy gaping at the sight before her.

  Damian had never been so handsome. Nor such a mess. He hadn’t bothered to wash the dirt of travel off of himself or even shave, it seemed.

  He looked...well, he looked like a ruffian. But that somehow made him that much more handsome. Like some dastardly highwayman come straight off the pages of one of Louisa’s gothic romances.

  “You’re well,” he said. He seemed to be speaking to himself as his gaze traveled over her, taking in every detail of her plain gown and her simple updo as she was scrutinizing him
.

  She was surprised to see his shoulders slump in relief.

  He’d truly been worried about her welfare.

  That knowledge jarred her out of her shock long enough to assure him. “I am fine. Thank you for your concern.”

  He nodded, his expression inscrutable and his gaze fierce. “I am glad. I was worried when you left so quickly.”

  Her gaze dropped to the ground as shame washed through her. He’d worried about her. Of course he had, he was kind like that. She hadn’t meant to alarm him, only protect herself.

  “I suppose your aunt shipped you off too quickly for you to come and say goodbye,” he said, his tone holding a question and...something else. There was an edge there she’d never heard before.

  Was he angry? Upset? She glanced up and swallowed thickly at the dark intensity of his gaze.

  “Uh…” She meant to agree. It would be simple enough to blame her aunt for her hasty departure. But she’d never been good at lying, particularly not to him. “I did not wish to see you.”

  Guilt slammed into her, making her drop her gaze again in shame. What a coward. So weak in the face of her emotions. She’d known that if she’d seen him, if he’d been kind and taken pity…

  She wouldn’t have been able to walk away. She cleared her throat. “I did not want to say goodbye.”

  “I know.” His voice was clipped.

  Her head snapped up as she faced him. “You do?”

  “Your aunt told me so, but I supposed I’d hoped that she was lying.” He shrugged, his smile rueful and sad. “I wouldn’t put it past her to lie to me if she thought it would inflict pain.”

  She made a noncommittal sound of agreement.

  He titled his head to the side as if to see her better. “From your aunt, I’d expect to be hurt. I did not see it coming from you, however.”

  Prudence winced. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—”

  “Then why did you leave without a word?” He let out a huff of air and ran a hand through his hair. When he spoke next he softened his voice. “Why, Pru? Was it because…” He licked his lips and shifted his stance as if bracing himself. “Was it because you knew what I was going to say? Did you suspect that I would propose?”

  She saw the hurt in his eyes and it made her own ache intensify a millionfold. But she couldn’t lie. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He flinched and closed his eyes briefly. “And you thought that it would be easier to avoid the conversation altogether than to reject me.”

  It wasn’t a question, but still she said, “Yes.”

  He stared at her for a long, excruciatingly quiet moment. Then he shook his head slowly, his brows coming down in confusion. “Why?”

  She blinked in surprise. Wasn’t it obvious?

  She blinked again when his expression shifted from confusion to suspicion and he took a giant stride in her direction, closing the gap so thoroughly that she could not breathe.

  Well, she could, but she didn’t wish to. If she were to inhale his scent, feel his warmth…

  She didn’t trust herself to be strong. But she needed to be, for his sake.

  He leaned in close, his eyes peering at her as though she were a science experiment. “Why, Pru? Why would you say no when I know for certain that you love me?”

  16

  As far as proposals went, this was not exactly what he’d had in mind. Damian hadn’t spent much time daydreaming about how he’d one day propose, but if he had, he wouldn’t have guessed that it would be like this.

  Demanding the woman he loved to admit that she loved him back.

  But now that the word ‘love’ was out there, and his gamble paid off because the look in her eyes…

  It said everything.

  He’d been right. Her shock, her horror… While they were hardly flattering—horror was not the first emotion he’d hoped to see during his proposal—they were the affirmation he needed. Rudely jabbing a finger in her direction, he couldn’t help but crow, “I knew it.”

  She jerked back as if he’d struck her. “You...what?”

  “I knew you loved me.” He stalked toward her. If she thought he was going to let her run away again, she could think again.

  “I-I didn’t say that,” she said.

  “But you do.”

  She glared.

  He grinned.

  This was more like it. “Why did you run, Pru? Why did you leave without a goodbye when you had to know that I’m in love with you, too.”

  His voice rose in anger as he spoke and he ended with a huff. No, that was definitely not how he’d planned to tell her that he loved her. But now that his panic over her welfare was fading, frustration was taking its place.

  And, if he were being totally honest, alongside frustration there was pain. His pride was stinging and his chest still ached just as it had when he’d discovered she’d left without so much as a farewell.

  “Y-you’re in love with me?” she echoed. Her eyes were deliciously dazed. “But you can’t be.”

  He frowned, his hands on his hips as he glowered at her. “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m not—that is, I will never be….” She seemed to give up with a loud sigh of exasperation that was so very Pru it made his lips twitch with amusement.

  Her mouth pursed and her expression became unbearably superior. So very sanctimonious. “What you feel for me isn’t love, Damian.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he interrupted.

  “It’s sympathy,” she continued. He caught a flicker of a wince before she added, “It’s pity.”

  “Sympathy? Pity?” His head jerked back and his voice was so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if her friends rushed in to save her. Running a hand through his mussed hair, he gave his head a shake in disbelief. “You think I want to marry you out of pity?”

  She pressed her lips together tighter. Priggish Pru in all her glory. With a little shrug, she added, “You feel sorry for me. Admit it.”

  He leaned in toward her, lowering his voice as he tried to contain his frustration. “You are a very difficult woman to feel sorry for, do you know that?” He started pacing to keep from reaching for her. He wanted to pull her close, to kiss her, to make her promise that she would never run from him again.

  But he couldn’t do any of that until he got this simple truth through her thick skull. “I do feel sorry that you were stuck with such a poor excuse for a guardian your whole life,” he said, still pacing as she stood still as a statue in the center of the room. Her hands folded neatly, her face composed as she’d been taught.

  “See?” Pru sniffed. “It’s merely sympathy because you are a kind man.”

  “Kind...kind?”

  Her brows drew together at his insensible railing, but really. Kind? That was all she saw in him?

  She drew in a deep breath. “Yes, kind. But one day you will realize that you don’t really love me and you’ll regret your decision. I am not fit to be a marchioness and I am not the woman you should be tied to for the rest of your life.”

  He gaped at her for a long, tense moment.

  “Prudence Pottermouth.” He drew her name out as he moved toward her slowly. “I’ve called you many names over the years and have accused you of being a goody two shoes, a prudish prig, a—”

  “Is there a point to this?” she snapped.

  “Yes, because I never once suspected you to be a martyr.”

  She stiffened, her brows drawing down as she returned his glare.

  “It seems I’ll have to add that to your list of faults,” he continued. “And yes, I am well aware of your faults, just as I suspect you are very well acquainted with mine.”

  She pinched her lips together tight and he could practically see her tallying a list of said faults.

  “But if you’d let me continue, I was going to say that while I do feel sorry for your plight, I am not asking for your hand out of some sense of obligation. You more than anyone ought to know how much I detest duty and
responsibility as a motivation.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. He had her there.

  “And besides, you feel sorry for me as well,” he added.

  “What?”

  “Of course you do,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I lost my parents, you lost yours. We’re both pitiable to a degree.”

  She frowned again, looking flustered.

  Flustered he could do. He was hardly calm and collected himself. He supposed being in love made flustered a common state.

  “But are your feelings for me based in pity?” he asked.

  She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before shaking her head.

  “Then why is it so hard for you to believe that mine aren’t either?”

  She took a deep breath, she opened her mouth, but to his surprise—and he suspected to her surprise as well—she started to cry.

  Sniffling, she bit her lip, and his anger and frustration faded fast in the face of her tears. “Oh, Pru,” he groaned as he closed the distance between them and tugged her into his arms. When she burrowed into him, her face nestling against his chest and her arms wrapping around his waist...he felt himself crash. His heart was no longer his and he knew it.

  He’d been falling in love with her for who knew how long, but in this moment he hit rock bottom. She owned him, heart and soul. He couldn’t stay angry with her because she was a part of him, whether she knew it or not.

  When she pulled back to look at him she was still sniffling but her tears were easing and she swiped away the last of them with impatience. “How can you love me? My own friends can barely tolerate me and…” She pulled back to look down at herself and he could see the self-loathing, the critical judgement that came from years of emotional abuse. “You cannot love me.”

  His heart threatened to break in two with those words but he lifted a hand to tilt her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. “No, Pru, you cannot love you. Not yet, at least. But I hope in time you will come to see yourself the way that I see you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes again and her lower lip trembled.