Sally James

by Otherwise Engaged

  'Thank you for taking me to see the ascent,' she said, holding out her hand as she prepared to descend from the phaeton, but to her surprise he gave the reins to his groom, perched up behind them, and the man drove off as he escorted her up the steps.

  Tanner appeared to expect him, and Prudence, puzzled, heard the butler say Sir Dudley was waiting for him in the library. She escaped to her bedroom, and after taking off her bonnet sat down thoughtfully, wondering what business he could possibly have with her uncle. So far as she knew they were not on especially friendly terms, for her uncle was at least fifteen years older than Lord Mottesford.

  She concluded, since they were both interested in politics it must be something to do with that, and picked up the Roman toga, which was almost finished, to make a start on the hem.

  Five minutes later there was a tap on the door and Biddy appeared.

  'If you please, Miss Prudence, Sir Dudley wishes to see you in the library,' the maid told her, and with a puzzled frown Prudence set aside her sewing and followed the maid downstairs.

  Sir Dudley called to her to enter when she tapped on the door of the room he regarded as his own sanctum, but instead of finding him seated in one of the deep leather armchairs beside the fireplace, her uncle was standing in the middle of the room.

  'Come in, my dear,' he said with a smile, and then, with a muttered excuse she did not catch, walked past her and out of the door.

  'Uncle – ' she began, and stopped in surprise.

  'He is being tactful, my dear,' a deep amused voice came from behind her and she spun round, startled. She had not seen Lord Mottesford, standing in shadow beside the heavily curtained windows.

  'What are you doing here? What do you mean?' she demanded, her heart beginning to beat rapidly.

  'Come and sit down,' he replied, and when she did not move walked across to her.

  She was too bewildered to resist as he took her hand in his and drew her across to sit in one of the armchairs. He retained her hand and smiled down at her, and her unpredictable heart seemed about to perform acrobatic feats, leaving her breathless and in some indefinable way, afraid.

  'Prudence, my dear, I have your uncle's permission, indeed his blessing, for what I have to say. I do not think it will come as any surprise to you, after my loss of control some nights ago at Vauxhall. I know I offended you greatly then, but I can only plead that I love you so much I was lost to all sense of propriety. Prudence, I love you very dearly, and hope you can return my regard. Will you agree to become my wife?'

  She stared at him, utterly astonished. This was not at all what she had expected. Her heart pounded in her breast and threatened to choke her. For a moment she glimpsed paradise, and knew this was what above all else she wanted. Then she recalled the reality and was consumed with a bitter, deep anger which hurt more than anything else she had ever experienced.

  'How dare you!' she gasped in the end. 'How dare you make such game with me?'

  'Game?' he asked, his brows drawn together in a single straight line. 'I don't understand.'

  'You can pretend,' Prudence raged at him, her breath now fully restored, 'pretend to love me, when all the while you are concerned with a stupid wager!'

  'Wager? What is this, my love,' he demanded, dropping to both knees and attempting to seize her hands in his.

  With a frantic sob Prudence evaded him and struggled to her feet, backing away from him across the room.

  'Keep away from me!' she exclaimed as he rose and took a step after her. 'Yes, my lord, your wager with Mr Gregory! Oh, don't pretend you had forgotten it. This is a trick to win, is it not? The month is up today, and having failed to twist me round your little finger, or whatever it was you said you would do, you hope to win by this despicable trick! A hundred pounds! A paltry, miserable hundred pounds! How did you plan to escape once the bet was paid, my lord? Or does winning a disgraceful wager such as you made mean more to you than love? Would you have found some excuse to repudiate the betrothal, or would you have gone through with it, allowing me to believe your lies?'

  As he tried to catch her hands in his she twisted away, and with her eyes filled with tears ran towards the door. Oblivious of the astounded Tanner who was walking through the hall, and her aunt who stood at the door of the drawing room on the first floor, she sped upstairs to her own room, taking a moment to lock the door behind her before she threw herself on to the bed and gave way to tearing, racking sobs.

  Chapter 7

  For two days Prudence kept to her room. In truth she was suffering from an incapacitating headache, but it had been brought on by the storm of weeping she had indulged in after Lord Mottesford's proposal.

  She had, with some reluctance, opened the door to her aunt, and then had poured out into that astonished lady's ears the account of the wager Netta had overheard.

  'He said he would bring me to heel!' she said furiously. 'Just because I prevented him from beating poor little Harry!'

  'When was this?' Lady Frome asked in surprise, and too late Prudence recalled she and Netta had carefully concealed from her aunt the episode of the broken window.

  'It was a month ago,' she explained slowly. 'We did not want to worry you. The boys were playing cricket in the square, and the ball broke Mr Kennedy's window. He was quite amused, the following day,' she added hurriedly. 'He said it was a capital shot. But then Harry ran across in front of that man's horses and he caught him and tried to whip him. He's a despicable brute!'

  Lady Frome disentangled this speech, and sighed.

  'The boys feel so cooped up in town, but Harry must be taught to treat horses with proper care, or he could be hurt.'

  'Of course he was to blame, but he's still a baby! There was no need to be so – so vicious about it. And no need at all to treat me as though I were a – a thing for men to make sport of! I'll not be used so!'

  'But my dear,' Lady Frome protested, astonished at her vehemence, 'no man would go so far as to offer marriage simply to win such a stupid wager!'

  'He would!' Prudence said through gritted teeth. 'He cannot bear to be wrong, or to lose anything!'

  'He has asked to see you again,' Lady Frome said mildly, but Prudence shook her head angrily.

  'No! What purpose would it serve? This was his last chance, the last day, and it was plain I was not besotted with him as he had hoped.'

  'But if it is as you say, and after today he would lose the wager, what point would there be in pressing the offer?' her aunt asked. 'He must be sincere.'

  'He has to pretend he was. I hate him!' was all Prudence, at that moment incapable of reasoning logically, would say.

  Lady Frome left her alone, knowing that in this intractable mood, which occasionally attacked her normally sensible and equable niece, explanations must wait until Prudence had recovered her composure.

  The next day, pale, heavy-eyed and listless, Prudence came downstairs, although she refused to drive out with her aunt or to discuss Lord Mottesford's offer, saying it was all at an end and she had no wish ever to hear his name or his offer mentioned again.

  When Charlotte came to see how she was, however, exclaiming at her wan looks, she did her utmost to hide her lack of spirits from her friend, explaining she had suffered from a cold.

  'But you will be well enough to come to our masquerade, won't you? Charlotte asked urgently. 'I wouldn't dare to wear the toga if you were not there, to give me support by wearing your own.'

  'Of course I will come,' Prudence said, although with a heavy heart. Lord Mottesford was bound to be there, and she dreaded meeting him again. If he spoke to her she could not snub him as she would like to do, for that would cause comment and odious speculation. But she determined that neither would she dance with him, nor permit him to speak privately with her.

  'Not that he is likely to wish to,' she said under her breath.

  'I beg your pardon?' Charlotte asked.

  'I'm sorry, I was not attending. Your toga, you asked? I have finished mine.'

 
'Good. So have I. I finished the hem after I smuggled it into my room. Emma is practising all day in her hoops,' she confided with a giggle. 'She prances about in her room in front of a mirror, and rehearses going sideways through the dining room door, because it isn't wide enough for her to pass otherwise.'

  'Is your mama going to wear a gown like that?' Prudence asked suddenly, unable to visualise the sight the plump and short Lady Mottesford would present if she donned the wide skirts of her youth.

  'No, she has ordered a costume as a shepherdess,' Charlotte revealed. 'It is so short her ankles show! And she intends to carry a crook, but the problem is that the only one she could find is over six feet high, and it is rather difficult to manage, especially going through doorways.'

  Confronted with the image of Lady Mottesford practising carrying her crook through doors where Emma was edging through sideways, Prudence suddenly dissolved into helpless giggles. She must attend the masquerade if only to see this. And she had promised Charlotte, so there was no going back.

  She would have to meet Lord Mottesford again some day, unless she wished to spend all her life hidden behind doors, she told herself firmly. It was, after all, his fault in the first place they were at odds, so if anyone were to be ashamed of the affair it ought to be he.

  When the day of the masquerade arrived, however, not even the spectacle afforded by Lady Mottesford, arrayed in sprigged muslin, and coyly displaying her thickening ankles, while clinging as if for support to her crook, and Emma in full sail across the ballroom in a striped pink and yellow damask gown as wide as it was long, could distract Prudence from her nervous anticipation of how Lord Mottesford would behave.

  'I do like your toga,' a rather pale Charlotte said, looking at the straight white garment edged with gold braid which Prudence wore so splendidly. 'Mama was furious when she saw mine,' she confided to Prudence as soon as she could detach her friend from the rest of the Frome party. 'She almost sent me back to my room, forbidding me to attend the masquerade, until it occurred to her it would look decidedly odd if I were not at my own ball.'

  'Was she horrid?' Prudence asked sympathetically. 'Did you tell her it was my fault, as I suggested.'

  'Of course not. I do not intend to blame you for my actions. I just hate it when she shouts,' Charlotte said with a shudder. 'She used to shout at Papa after they were married. I think it started when Emily – Emma came to live at Trelawn Manor, for I know Papa was angry he had not been told anything about her. But at least I am not wearing that ghastly dress. I don't care what she does to me afterwards!'

  'What can she do?' Prudence said bracingly. 'She will no doubt have forgotten all about it by tomorrow.'

  'She threatened to send me away to stay with her brother-in-law, Mr Clutterbuck, so that I would miss the rest of the Season,' Charlotte said, swallowing a sob. 'He is a tailor and has a business in Harrow.'

  'She cannot do that."

  'She would if she were in a pelter. She doesn't need me so much now she knows more of the ton. It was only because of my father and his old friends that people were kind to me, and so also had to be friendly to her and Emma, you see,' Charlotte explained simply.

  'I don't suppose she will send you away, it would look so foolish if the real reason were to become known, and you can be sure I would make certain it was,' Prudence declared, a martial light in her eye.

  Charlotte sighed. 'I do wish I were as brave as you are,' she said wistfully.

  Prudence felt anything but valorous at that precise moment, for she had just seen Lord Mottesford enter the room. Despite his domino and mask, his only concession to costume, he was unmistakable, tall, slim, and with an arrogant air of breeding and command which no disguise could hide.

  Swiftly she turned her back, hoping to avoid him for yet a while until she had composed her nerves. It was utterly ridiculous, she chided herself. What, after all, could he do? If he were angry with her he would doubtless not approach her, since there could be little point in quarrelling. Then she could be comfortable.

  When the musicians struck up for the first dance she was thankful her partner was eager to talk, so she could abandon her unprofitable thoughts. She smiled and flirted, determined to give Lord Mottesford no inkling of how she felt, and was unreasonably piqued when, instead of laying siege to her, he appeared to be enjoying himself enormously, even when dancing with Emma, made ungainly and more than usually maladroit by her lamentable costume.

  She was laughingly refusing to reveal her identity to a rather young gallant when, causing her to jump nervously, Lord Mottesford took her arm in a hard, unyielding hand, and spoke softly to her.

  'There you are! My dance, I believe. Pray excuse us,' he added to the young man, who blushed and backed hurriedly away as if caught in some social misdemeanour.

  'I am not dancing with you!' Prudence hissed angrily, struggling to drag her arm away from his grasp.

  'Good, it suits me very well to sit this dance out. Come,' he said calmly, and before she could protest Prudence found herself whisked across the room and through the doors leading to the conservatory.

  This was attached to one side of the ballroom, a long, narrow room dimly-illuminated with a few hanging lamps which were virtually lost amidst the profuse foliage, where Lady Mottesford had caused chairs to be placed suggestively in discreetly secluded pairs.

  Lord Mottesford led her inexorably past numerous potted palms to the far corner, where they were totally hidden by a bank of exotic flowers and broad-leaved shrubs.

  'Sir! Let me go at once!' Prudence demanded, struggling to shake off his hand, but instead of obeying her, Lord Mottesford seized her other hand and drew her towards him.

  'You will listen to me!' he said abruptly. 'When I last saw you I was too astounded by what you said to detain you, and you had vanished before I had recovered my wits. How did you know about that ridiculous wager?'

  'It is ridiculous, is it, my lord? Can you expect anyone to be pleased at being made the object of such? Especially if the desire to win leads you to such lengths. I could scarce believe Netta when she told me, but she's a truthful child, and you have not denied it.'

  'Netta? Your young cousin was there that day? I had not realised. So that explains it, she overheard Edward Gregory making the wager with me, and that is your reason for rejecting my offer. Would it interest you to know I called off the wager within a week? Soon after I had met you, in fact? When I realised that instead of my first intention of a brief flirtation I knew that you had captivated me, and I wanted you above all else?'

  'I don't believe you!' Prudence retorted angrily, unwilling to admit the hope that he loved her, despite his words. 'Gentlemen do not call off wagers, however stupid and humiliating they are!'

  'You really think I would offer marriage in order to win it?' he asked incredulously. 'Or did you imagine I would collect my winnings and then find some way of escaping from our engagement? Do you think so badly of me?'

  'You need say no more,' Prudence replied, still unwilling to be convinced. 'I neither know nor care what you intended, and there is no need to discuss it any further. Now pray release me and permit me to return to the ballroom.'

  'Don't be such a little idiot!' he retorted, exasperated. 'I thought no more about the wretched wager and my offer, instead of being a desperate bid to win a paltry hundred pounds, was genuine!'

  'Your protestations will do nothing to convince me, my lord!' Prudence said angrily, struggling to free her hands from the firm clasp he had on them.

  'Then perhaps this might!' he snapped, and before she could evade him, she found his arms clasped tightly about her, and his lips clamped hard to hers.

  Unable to breathe, Prudence felt she was about to swoon, for she lost all sense of balance and did not know whether she was standing on firm ground or floating in a misty void. His lips were warm, masterful and searching, enticing her own into weak submission, and then the beginnings of a trembling response. Her limbs, after the first outraged stiffening, lost all powe
r of movement as she was moulded to his muscular frame.

  He heard the approaching footsteps first and Prudence, shattered by her unexpected reaction to his embrace, found herself suddenly released and thrust into a chair partly concealed by the flourishing greenery. Before she could recover her breath sufficiently to tell him just what she thought of his outrageous behaviour Lady Mottesford's voice penetrated her awareness.

  'Dicky? Are you there? Oh, there you are, my dear boy. I thought I saw you coming this way. You have promised the next dance to dear Emma here, have you not?'

  'My dear Aunt,' he said suavely, stepping forward so that they did not come far enough to see Prudence. 'I was admiring the plants. Are they the work of the Frintons, or did you bring them in for the evening?'

  'A jungle, is it not?' Lady Mottesford trilled. 'Well, dear boy, it is far more enjoyable to admire the plants in company, so I will leave you with Emma.'

  'Let us sit this dance out, Dicky, my dress is so heavy?' Prudence heard Emma say, and before Lord Mottesford could answer she subsided in a frantic rustling of heavy damask draperies on to a seat just behind the plants hiding Prudence. 'Are you enjoying the party?'

  'It is unusual,' he replied drily. 'But, Cousin Emma, you look hot. I think we would be sensible to go in search of lemonade.'

  Emma giggled. 'Oh Dicky, you are a naughty man. Are you afraid of what people might say if they found us together here? Do you like my costume?'

  'It is original,' he replied smoothly, and despite her anger Prudence was almost betrayed into a giggle at the tone of his voice.

  'Yes, isn't it?' Emma said complacently, oblivious of his irony. 'There are no more like it. Charlotte was going to wear one just the same, but she would not. The sly little thing made herself a silly Roman toga. Mama was very angry with her, and almost forbade her to attend the masquerade. I think after all I'm glad she refused to wear it, for it makes me more unusual, doesn't it?'

  'Very. But I really do think we need that lemonade. Or would you prefer champagne?'