My Sister's Intended

by Rachael Anderson

  She lifted her chin and greeted them with nothing more than a smile.

  Sophia looked down, her brow creased in surprised confusion. “Prudence, where have you been? Mama has been searching the house and grounds for you all morning, but no one knew of your whereabouts, not even Ruth.”

  Prudence glanced at Ruth perched at the back of the gig and offered her an apologetic look. Then she lowered her voice in an attempt to disguise it. “I’d best be on my way then. Good day to you both.”

  “Are you ill?” Sophia persisted. “Your voice sounds… odd.”

  The sun came out of hiding, and Prudence squinted into it. She cleared her throat and tried to make her voice sound a little more normal, but not quite. “I’m just a trifle parched is all. Nothing to worry about. Good day.”

  She didn’t take more than a few steps when her sister’s voice came again. “You have traveled rather far. Would you like a ride home? It is half past two already.”

  Half past two? Prudence’s eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced at the sky, noting the sun’s location in the western sky. Oh dear. No wonder Sophia seemed on pins and needles. How in the world would Prudence explain her lengthy absence to her mother? Would she believe her daughter had gone for a walk and lost her way?

  Not likely. Prudence knew the land far too well.

  “I, er…” Prudence eyed the gig, thinking a ride would be most welcome. Her feet ached, and the sooner she returned home the less time she would be required to explain away. But the contraption only seated two people comfortably, and it would be far worse for Prudence if she was seen disrupting an outing between Lord Knave and her sister. Her mother would never forgive her that.

  “Thank you, but I’d prefer to walk.” Too late, Prudence realized she’d forgotten to disguise her voice. She bit her lip and glanced at Lord Knave, noting with chagrin the spark of recognition that appeared in his eyes.

  Confound it all, she thought to herself as she began to walk away, only to be halted by his voice.

  “Tell me, Miss Prudence, have you been out and about all day?”

  She eyed him with suspicion, wondering what sort of information he was hoping to uncover. She wasn’t about to admit that she had climbed a tree and lectured him from the treetops that morning. He may think he recognized her voice, but he couldn’t be certain, could he? She’d probably only imagined his recognition.

  “For most of it, yes,” she answered.

  He glanced at her gown and pursed his lips in thought before saying cryptically, “Have you changed gowns since this morning?”

  Prudence nearly coughed. Drat. He did think it had been her, otherwise he would have never asked such a question. Sophia looked at him oddly but didn’t say anything.

  Prudence bit her lip. Should she lie? The thought twisted her stomach in an uncomfortable fashion. She hated outright lying—it pricked at her conscience in a displeasing way and never failed to complicate matters. But if she told the truth, what would he ask next? Would he inquire as to the color of gown she had been wearing earlier? What would she say then?

  Prudence settled on a vague answer. “A woman often changes clothing multiple times a day. There are morning gowns, promenade dresses, visiting gowns, walking gowns, carriage dresses, riding habits, dinner gowns, ball gowns—”

  “Honestly, Pru, do you think Lord Knave cares about such things?” interrupted Sophia, her face slightly pink from embarrassment.

  Prudence could only hope that she had bored Lord Knave into forgetting his line of questioning. Unfortunately, he appeared more amused than anything. “Actually,” he said in a conversational tone, “I had no idea a woman’s wardrobe contained such a wide diversity of gowns. However do you keep them all straight?”

  “We don’t,” said Prudence, pleased by the shift in conversation. “Ruth does that for us.”

  Lord Knave followed Prudence’s gaze to the maid seated on the back of the gig. He shifted in his seat to better see her. “Ah yes, your maid. Forgive me, Ruth, I had almost forgotten you were with us.”

  Ruth shot him a look of surprise. “A maid’s suppose ter be forgotten, milord.”

  “I disagree,” he said. “No one, be it a maid or a queen, should ever be forgotten.” With those few words, the man had effectively turned Ruth up sweet. Prudence could see it in the rosy hue to her cheeks, her bashful smile, and the slight ducking of her head.

  Whatever was the man about?

  “Tell me, Ruth,” he continued. “Do you have a great deal of washing to do every day?”

  She giggled and nodded her head. “Aye, milord, and mendin’ too. Why, only this mornin’ Miss Prudence tore the sleeve of her walkin’ gown, and I had ter—” Ruth stopped suddenly when she noticed Prudence’s glare. Her cheeks turned a fiery red, and she quickly dropped her gaze to the ground, no doubt berating herself for saying too much.

  Prudence wanted to berate her as well even though she knew it would be unfair. As much as she wished the maid’s words had gone unsaid, how could she blame the girl? She had been placed in the uncomfortable position of being addressed—and complimented—by a handsome viscount. Any woman in her position would have been disconcerted.

  Really, the person Prudence ought to berate was Lord Knave himself, especially now that he appeared altogether too pleased with himself.

  He turned his attention to Sophia. “Tell me, Miss Gifford, do you enjoy writing?”

  Sophia blinked in confusion, understandably perplexed by the man’s strange and seemingly unrelated questions. “I enjoy penning letters to family and friends. Is that what you mean?”

  “What about stories? Do you also enjoy spinning a tale?”

  “I do not. Why do you ask?”

  He leaned forward and gathered the reins into his hands, cocking his head to look at both women. “The most perplexing thing happened to me only this morning. I discovered a partially written tale about a man who, bless his soul, had made the mistake of marrying a woman with a highly suspicious nature.” Though he spoke to Sophia, his eyes twinkled at Prudence when he referred to the woman in the story.

  She attempted not to glare at him even though she desperately wanted to. A woman of a suspicious nature? Her?

  Perhaps she had arrived at an incorrect conclusion in the library, but she had not arrived there without good reason. How many men took a beautiful woman into a secluded room and planned to rendezvous at a hunting lodge for an innocent purpose? And they had embraced as well! It had been a compromising situation no matter their intentions. Lord Knave ought to be grateful it had been her in that chair and not some gossip.

  Sophia didn’t appear overly pleased with him either. “Do you think me capable of writing such a tale, sir?”

  “Not necessarily,” he said, unperturbed. “I simply found the page near the edge of our property lines and wondered if it could be you. It was written in an elegant hand and, if I could be considered a passable judge of the written word, was fairly well crafted.”

  The compliment took Prudence by surprise, and she found herself bereft of words. He had thought her words well crafted? Truly? She’d expected him to be shocked that any woman could have such unnatural thoughts, let alone record them. But no. He made it sound as though she had a particular talent for it. Did he mean it?

  No. Surely not. He was merely goading her or attempting to extract more information.

  “Perhaps the woman in the story was patterned after your sister,” said Lord Knave, still addressing Sophia but glancing at Prudence with a hint of a smile. “Does she not appear highly suspicious at the moment?”

  “My sister?” Sophia had never appeared more flabbergasted. “Are you now implying that she could have written such nonsense? Because I assure you that she did not. She might enjoy reading novels on occasion, but she would never write one.”

  “Indeed.” He mused, his expression showing his surprise.

  Prudence stiffened as a disconcerting thought struck. Lord Knave was now privy to something she ha
d never told another soul. What did he plan to do with the information?

  Sophia looked at him with a quizzical eye. “Sir, are you well? You seem a bit…”

  When her sister’s voice trailed off, Prudence was quick to say, “Addled?”

  Sophia glared at her. “I was going to say ‘not yourself.’”

  Lord Knave didn’t try to hide his amusement. His eyes sparkled merrily. “On the contrary, Miss Gifford, I have never felt more like myself. Do not say you find me peculiar.”

  “I…” she spluttered, clasping her hands on her lap in an uncomfortable gesture. “I do not know what to think, my lord. Perhaps it is I who is unwell.”

  Prudence very much wished to ring a peal over Lord Knave’s head. Her sister had not noticed the humorous gleam in his eyes and didn’t realize he’d been teasing her. As a result, he’d embarrassed Sophia, causing her complexion to clash abominably with her hair.

  Prudence sent him a chilly look. Say something to correct what you have done, sir, or I shall… Well, she did not know what she would do precisely, other than accuse him of being a knave yet again, only for different reasons this time.

  He seemed to understand her silent glare and cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Gifford. I was only jesting. You most definitely are not unwell. In fact, I have never seen you look more well. You ought to blush more often. It is most becoming on you.”

  Prudence barely refrained from rolling her eyes, and might have, if not for the snicker that escaped her sister’s lips.

  “You’re doing it much too brown, my lord. Blushes have never become me, nor will they ever,” answered Sophia frankly. “But I thank you nonetheless.”

  Prudence nodded in approval at Lord Knave. Not only had his exaggerated praise distracted Sophia from her embarrassment, but it had given her something to laugh about as well. Well done, sir, she thought.

  Perhaps he would make her sister a good match after all, assuming he remained silent on the subject of her writing. What had he done with that page she’d dropped? Burned it? Tossed it out with the table scraps? Tucked it away somewhere safe with the intent to blackmail her at some point?

  Hmm… that could make for an interesting beginning to a story.

  No. She would not think about another story at this moment. She had already let her mind run away far too long this afternoon.

  “Will you both be attending Mr. and Mrs. Beckham’s soirée on Friday next?” Lord Knave’s voice intruded.

  Prudence nearly nodded until she realized this was the first she’d heard of the dinner party. Her brow puckered. “I’m not certain. Do you know anything about it, Soph?”

  “Yes,” Sophia said. “Mother showed me the invitation the other day, and I saw her write our acceptance. We will be there, Lord Knave.”

  Prudence nodded absentmindedly, thinking it odd that this was the first she’d heard of the invitation.

  “Are you certain we cannot return you to Talford Hall?” Sophia asked, no doubt ready to resume her ride.

  “I’m certain,” said Prudence. “Mother will be displeased with me no matter when I return, and I have disrupted your drive long enough.” She waved them off with a bat of her hand. “Please continue enjoying this delightful day. I shall take the shortcut through the woods and prepare myself for a sound lecture.”

  Lord Knave chuckled and tipped his hat. “I shall see you Friday next then. Good day, Miss Prudence.”

  Prudence watched them drive away and had to wonder at Lord Knave. Only this morning she had been certain of his sinister character, but now… well, now she didn’t quite know what to make of him. He had mourned the loss of a good friend and showed a great kindness to Mrs. Harper. He had not berated Prudence for trespassing or for falsely accusing him. He had not made her feel unworthy for penning a silly tale. And he had not given away her secret.

  Was Lord Knave the sort of man her sister could grow to love?

  She was beginning to think he very well could be. The hope brightened her spirits and lightened her worries about her sister. Perhaps Sophia’s unlucky circumstances were not so unlucky after all.

  “PRUDENCE EDITH GIFFORD, where on earth have you been?” came her mother’s voice from the parlor. It echoed through the foyer in a foreboding, spine-tingling way.

  Prudence sighed, squared her shoulders, and walked into the room to find both of her parents already seated—her mother on the settee and her father on the large, brocade chair next to the fireplace, neither looking very pleased. The room was decorated in greens and yellows, and Prudence had always thought of it as a cheerful room. Today, however, it felt cheerless.

  She mustered a smile. “Father, how wonderful to see you. When did you return?”

  “From my journey or from my extensive ride around the estate, searching the grounds for you?” His deep voice resonated through the room, carrying with it none of its usual warmth and fondness. The worry lines that creased her father’s forehead, in addition to his receding gray hair, made him appear two decades older than his wife even though only ten years separated them.

  Prudence experienced a stab of guilt that she had been the cause of some of those lines. Perhaps all of them.

  “Forgive me, Father,” she said, adding quickly, “and Mother. But I could not resist basking in this beautiful day. I’m afraid I lost all track of time.”

  “Lost all track of time?” cried her mother. “That is your excuse? Your father and I were beside ourselves with worry thinking you had been snared by a trap, attacked by wild dogs, or had befallen some other dreadful fate. And now we are to understand that you simply lost all track of time? Are you in earnest?”

  Her father’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his expression became quite grim. Prudence had never seen him in such a state. Her mother was often distressed by Prudence’s somewhat wild behavior, but her father, never. He had always doted on her.

  Until now.

  For that, Prudence was sincerely sorry. Not only should she have left word of her whereabouts, but she shouldn’t have allowed her mind to carry her away for so long. It had been unfeeling and selfish. She could not blame either parent for being distressed.

  Prudence sank down on the chair next to her father and clasped his hand between both of hers. “Papa, Mama, I truly am sorry. Do say you will forgive me.”

  Her earnestness seemed to appease them a little, at least her father. Her mother threw her hands into the air in a gesture of exasperation.

  “I cannot make sense of you, child. You are confident and converse well with others, and those who are acquainted with you call you charm itself. But in the confines of our home, you gravitate towards solitude and are constantly lost to whatever thoughts wander through your mind. But you have never taken yourself off with such careless abandon as you did today. What is it that occupies your mind so completely?”

  Prudence swallowed and released her father’s hand, moving hers to her own lap. How could she possibly explain without revealing certain truths they would never wish to hear? Despite her many fallouts and misunderstandings with her mother, Prudence did love and respect her, and she adored her father. She had no desire to say anything that would disappoint either of them, but that’s precisely how they would feel if she ever told them about her deeply-rooted longings.

  But she had to say something. They deserved some sort of explanation.

  “I…” Prudence began, thinking frantically. “I suppose you could say that I am feeling a little lost of late. I used to fill some of my spare time with an interesting book, but now—”

  “You mean all your spare time,” corrected her mother.

  Prudence had to concede the truth of her mother’s words—almost. “Perhaps more than I should have, I will admit. But now… well, now I am not quite sure what to do with myself. I went out today with the hope of figuring some things out, and I really did lose sight of the hour.” She hoped her answer did not stray too far from the truth. It had been a stretch, yes, but not entirely false.
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  Her father sat up straighter in his chair, and the grooves in his forehead faded somewhat. His lips pursed together in thought before he brightened and slapped the arm of his chair. “I think I have a solution.”

  Prudence stared at him in confusion. A solution to her distraction? She could not possibly fathom what that might be. Would he propose a stricter schedule for her that left no room for distractions? Did he intend to send for the doctor? Or did he plan to wash his hands of her and take her to Bedlam?

  “You need a purpose in your life, do you not?” said her father. “Something to keep your mind busy and your focus on a worthwhile pursuit. You have a great deal of energy that needs an outlet of some sort. Wouldn’t you agree, my love?” He looked to his wife for confirmation, but she appeared as perplexed as Prudence felt.

  “I suppose,” she said slowly.

  His grin widened as though he had landed upon a brilliant plan. “What you need, my dear girl, is a puppy.”

  AS PENANCE FOR disappearing all day, Prudence was sentenced to remain at home until she could prove to be more responsible, which meant no more dances, dinner parties, picnics, or outings to town. She could walk about the grounds, practice the pianoforte, and improve her watercolors, French, and needlepoint, but that was all.

  Prudence quickly grew to feel quite stifled, which affected her thinking as well. The story she had been bursting to write felt trapped in her mind the way she felt trapped at Talford Hall.

  Goodness, her imagination was a finicky thing.

  It was with great relief that her father at last followed through on his promise to procure her a puppy. One look at the little Yorkshire terrier, and Prudence’s heart melted. Lively and mischievous, the creature scurried around her bedchamber, burrowed beneath her bed clothes, and nibbled on her fingers. Prudence wanted to give him the perfect name, but try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a single word that suited him. Mischief described him well, but it would never do for a name, nor Trouble either. Chaos sounded too extreme, although the pup did cause a fair amount of it whenever he escaped the room, tripping up servants and attempting to jump on the furniture.