by Julia London
“But how—”
“Leave that to me. But if that is the reason you have accepted Stanhope’s offer and let the American go, I suggest you rethink your decision.” He turned toward the door as if he meant to leave.
Prudence suddenly darted across the room and caught his arm. Startled, Merryton turned back to her. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you so much.”
He stiffened with the physical contact and carefully put her back. “You’re welcome, love.” He went out.
Prudence stared at the place he’d been standing, her mind whirling, her heart beating so quickly it pained her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
New York
Two months later
MR. GUNDERSON WAS not waiting patiently for Aurora’s return, and even had he been so inclined, he lost all patience with her when she thought it prudent to explain to him that the reason she’d been delayed was because she’d very nearly married a Frenchman.
To say that Mr. Gunderson’s hackles rose was an understatement. He was livid. Not that it mattered, really because in the time Roan had gone to fetch his sister and bring her home, Mr. Gunderson and Miss Pratt had begun an unlikely courtship, born of common ground, and now, they were to be married.
Which meant that Matheson Lumber had been ejected from the triumvirate Roan’s father had carefully constructed. “I ought to send you to your aunt in Boston,” he’d angrily shouted at Aurora.
Roan thought it was perhaps the first time he’d heard his father raise his voice to Aurora.
Naturally, Aurora apologized to her family for it. If there was one thing on which they could all depend, it was that Aurora always apologized for whatever she’d done.
“Why did you tell him you meant to elope?” Beck had demanded of her. “He was already cross with you. Now he despises you and all of us!”
“Well, I didn’t think I should lie,” Aurora had argued. “I wanted to explain that it was only a moment of infatuation, but now that I am home I realize how foolish I was and I very much wish to repair it. He didn’t give me the chance.”
It was far too late for Aurora, but Roan had gone to Susannah to offer his apology to her and her father. It was Susannah, however, who had apologized to Roan. “I’m sorry,” she’d said, peering up at him with her small eyes. “But I never thought you really held much esteem for me.”
He’d looked at the dark-haired woman. She was short and squat, and her brow set in a permanent frown of worry. He thought of Prudence, of her sparkling eyes, her irrepressible smile.
“I, ah...I can’t say that I knew you well at all, to be perfectly frank,” he’d admitted.
Susannah had nothing to say to that. She had merely nodded. Roan wondered if that meant she agreed with him. Or did she merely understand him? Prudence never had any reluctance to speak her mind. God, how he missed her.
“Please forgive me, Susannah,” Roan had said.
She’d nodded and had shown him out, her thoughts kept to herself.
Roan reported to his brother and sister what Susannah had said that afternoon when they went riding. Aurora took great exception. “Of all the things to say! Of course you held her in some esteem! Now it makes me cross that I ever defended her to Miss Cabot.”
That brought Roan’s head up. “What?”
“Hmm?” Aurora asked. Roan caught the bridle of her horse and reined them both to a stop. “Roan! What are you doing?”
“What did you say, Aurora? On what occasion did you defend Susannah Pratt to Prudence?”
Aurora blinked guiltily. “I thought I was doing the right thing!” she said quickly. “I’d made such a mess of things, and I didn’t want us both to have gone back on our word—”
“What are you talking about?” he roared.
“Roan,” Beck said sternly, but Roan would not let go of Aurora’s bridle.
“Just...just that on the night we arrived, I might have explained to Miss Cabot that you were committed and held Miss Pratt in high regard—”
“A lie!” Roan said.
“Well, how was I to know?” Aurora stammered. “I thought surely you must hold her in some regard as you’d agreed to propose to her. I was thinking of our family, and I thought Miss Cabot needed a bit of a nudge to let you go.”
Roan could only stare at his sister. Had she always been so impossible? Had she always done what she pleased without regard for anyone else? He let go of her bridle and spurred his horse on, needing to be away from her. He heard Aurora shout at him, but he paid her no heed.
He didn’t know if he was angrier with Aurora or Prudence. Aurora for having said anything at all; Prudence for having failed to ask him if it were true. But then again, Roan had been angry with the world of late. He’d had almost two months to think of what had happened in England and the pain of having left Prudence had not abated in the least. There was not a day that passed she wasn’t in his thoughts, not a moment he didn’t regret not having fought harder for her. He had accepted her dismissal when he should have proposed marriage to her in earnest.
Aurora’s regrets were public. His were not. To anyone around him, Roan appeared as he always had—confident and busy. But he was empty, depleted of spirit. He imagined Prudence married now. He imagined her in another man’s bed, which was particularly torturous to him. He imagined that she had moved past her week of adventure, and could smile again.
Roan couldn’t. He was hopelessly mired in his loss.
There was more talk of sending Aurora to Boston, but Aurora appealed to their father. “Susannah Pratt and Sam Gunderson are marrying next week. We’ve all been invited. I can’t miss it, Papa. If I miss it, everyone will think it’s because I have hard feelings. Don’t you want his father to know there are no hard feelings?”
“Aurora is staying here,” the senior Matheson announced at supper one night. “If she doesn’t attend, everyone will think it’s because she has hard feelings. I would not want his father to believe that is true, not if we are to repair our relationships there and have any hope of renewing our agreements.”
Aurora smiled a bit smugly at her brothers. Roan and Beck rolled their eyes. It had been so all their lives and they knew better than to fight it.
The illustrious wedding would be celebrated at the City Hotel in New York, the only place large enough to accommodate all the guests. This was a society affair, and all of New York wanted to attend. Roan preferred what he considered a typical wedding: a small family affair in a parlor. Something that could be quickly done and from which he might quickly leave so that he didn’t have to think of Prudence.
He tried desperately not to think of her. He tried to put the past behind him, but it felt impossible. He saw her everywhere, under every bonnet, walking down every street. Every woman in New York whose hair was the slightest shade of gold was, for the space of a breath, Prudence.
The day before the wedding Roan joined his parents at the family’s town house on Broadway Street in the city. Roan wouldn’t be in town long—he intended to leave for meetings about the canal as soon as the wedding was over. He would ride north, alone, with bedding and a shotgun and perhaps one of the family dogs to accompany him. That was where Roan intended to work out his bad humor. He’d never been a maudlin man and he didn’t care to be one now. Fortunately, he’d be gone for weeks. He would not see bonnets or blond hair. He would forget. He would make himself forget.
When he arrived that afternoon at the family town house, Martin, the butler, held out a tray and informed Roan that a Mr. Lansing had come to call.
“Who is Lansing?” Roan asked, racking his brain as he picked up a letter from the tray.
“He is the captain of a sailing vessel, sir. He said a Mr. George Easton had sent him.”
Just the name of Easton gave Roan a quee
r feeling. “Thank you, Martin.” He went into the library and ripped open the seal of the letter, hoping and praying for any word of Prudence. Something. Anything.
The letter was nothing more than an introduction of Captain Lansing from Easton and an expressed hope that they might discuss the cotton trade. Enclosed were some figures Easton had mentioned about the sort of profits they could expect.
Roan tucked the letter away and thought of Prudence’s eyes. Would it have been so very difficult to include a note from her? A message? At the very least, a postscript? Miss Cabot sends her regards. Miss Cabot took her wedding vows on this date. Lady Stanhope is taking a bridal tour with her husband...
There was not even a mention of her name.
The next morning, the wedding of Susannah Pratt and Sam Gunderson was held in a chapel, and the wedding luncheon served in the City Hotel. People gathered outside the windows of the hotel to catch a glimpse of the bride and to see the finery of New York’s wealthiest. Roan stood to one side dressed in his best dark suit and silk waistcoat, wishing the damn luncheon would come to an end so he might go back to proper moping.
He noticed Aurora in the Gundersons’ company, standing close. He even thought he detected a hint of a smile on the old man’s face. He shook his head—his sister was remarkable in her ability to charm.
“A toast!” Mr. Pratt said jovially, having imbibed more than his fair share of champagne. “Roan Matheson, you should make it,” said a jovial Mr. Pratt. “After all, you are responsible for our daughter’s happiness.”
The guests roared with laughter, all of them having heard the gossip, apparently.
Roan stifled a groan and stepped up to Susannah’s side. He had to admit, in her wedding finery and with the glow of happiness on her face, she was much more becoming than she’d ever appeared to him before. She had artfully arranged her dark hair, and in her fine dress, she made a small, happy bride. Roan put his arm around her waist, dipped down to kiss her cheek and, with their backs to the window, he lifted a flute of champagne and toasted her union with Gunderson, wishing them many happy years. When the toast was done, the meal was served to fifty assembled guests.
Roan imagined the cost of feeding them all to be something that would make him uncomfortable. If this were his wedding, he imagined Prudence and him taking their luncheon alone, in a room in this hotel, with no one present but a girl to fill their tub with bathwater.
“You look glum.”
Roan had been so lost in his rumination he hadn’t even noticed Aurora. She cocked her head to one side and peered up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m bored.”
“Really?” She sounded skeptical. “I thought it a lovely wedding. Miss Pratt was surprisingly lovely.”
Roan smiled.
“How strange that you would be bored by it.”
“How strange that you would be diverted by it.”
“Oh, it’s all water under the bridge now,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “At least I had the opportunity to express to Mr. Gunderson how ardently I held him in my esteem, and how very sorry I was for having bruised his feelings. He said I was incorrigible, but he’d always known that about me.”
“I suspect all of New York knows that about you.”
Aurora laughed. “I’m really very happy for them, aren’t you? They seem to genuinely admire each other. Oh! Speaking of admiration, I saw the most remarkable thing.”
“What?” Roan drawled, uncaring.
“I saw a girl who looked so much like Miss Cabot that they might have been twins! Imagine, a woman who looks like her here in New York. She was unusually pretty, wasn’t she? At least I thought she was.”
It was as if everyone suddenly stopped moving, as if everything inside Roan had gone very still. “Where?” he managed.
“Outside, on the sidewalk,” Aurora said, and pointed to the window.
Roan whirled about. There were dozens of people milling about, looking in the windows of the hotel.
“Goodness, it wasn’t her, Roan,” Aurora said, looking slightly alarmed. “It just looked like her. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
Roan dropped his empty flute where he stood and strode for the door, pushing past several guests, upsetting one woman who cried out at him. He ran out of the hotel, jogged down the steps to the street and looked around him. Right, left, across the street. There were so many faces, so many people gathered to see the society wedding at the City Hotel.
No, she couldn’t possibly be here. Aurora was right—it was just someone who looked like her. Surely there would have been some mention of her in the letter if she were here.
Now he felt foolish.
Dispirited, Roan turned to go back into the hotel. And when he did, he saw a glimpse of golden hair beneath a bonnet. The woman was walking down the street away from the hotel. It was another of the many Prudences Roan seemed to notice every day, but he shouted “Prudence!” nonetheless and began to push past people to reach her.
“Prudence!” he said again, catching up to her. He touched her arm.
The woman whirled around. “I beg your pardon!”
It wasn’t Prudence, of course it wasn’t! It would never be Prudence. When would he accept that simple truth? All the life went out of him and Roan decided in that moment that enough was enough. From that moment forward, he would not think of her. He would not mope. He would get on with his life once and for all. “I beg your pardon, I thought you were someone else,” he said apologetically.
The woman walked on and Roan turned back. And when he did, his heart stopped beating.
Prudence was standing behind him on the walk, her hazel eyes wide with surprise. Roan couldn’t speak—he couldn’t even be sure she was real.
“I...I am so sorry,” she said, and put her hand to her breast.
He didn’t understand. “Pru?”
“I shouldn’t have come,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize what he meant when he said the City Hotel—”
“Is it really you?” Roan asked stupidly, still trying to make sense of it, to understand where she’d come from.
“It’s my fault, Roan. Again!” she said with a nervous laugh. “But I won’t keep you. I know that you are...occupied,” she said, making a nervous whirling motion with her hand. “On my honor, I never would have come had I known. I just thought perhaps you were... I mean, I hoped, I hoped that you still felt...” She blinked. And then she bowed her head as she tried to gather herself.
She was real. His love, his heart’s desire, was standing before him on a crowded sidewalk in New York. Roan took a cautious step forward. People were passing left and right, some slowing to have a good look at them. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he said. “How...when did you come? Are you alone? Did someone come with you?” he asked, looking around them now.
“I am such a fool,” she said sorrowfully.
“Fool,” he repeated, not understanding.
“Don’t try and spare my feelings. I don’t deserve it. I saw you in the window, Roan. I know. I saw you.”
“Saw me what?” he asked, confused, looking over her shoulder to the hotel.
“I saw you and your bride!” she blurted.
“What? No! No, no, Pru, that was... Oh my God, no, I didn’t marry Susannah Pratt! Sam Gunderson did. I only made a toast.” He mimicked the toast, one arm around an invisible Susannah, the other with his arm lifted in the air.
Prudence blinked.
“You thought I married? How could I, after England? How could I possibly?”
“You didn’t? I thought— Aurora said—”
“Never listen to a thing Aurora says,” he said, taking a step forward. “Good God, take nothing she says to heart. Even I have been reminded of it in the worst way these past few weeks. No, Pru, I am the same man I was
when I left England. I feel the same way. No, that’s not entirely true, I am far worse. I yearn for you every day.”
A small smile began to form on her face. “Do you mind that I came?”
“You must be joking,” he said, moving to stand before her. “I’ve thought of nothing but you, Prudence Cabot. Only you. I relive our moments together, I kick myself for having left without you, I wish for the days to pass quickly so I won’t torture myself with memories, and I think of you, married. Where is he? Did Stanhope come with you?”
“No!” she cried, horrified. “Oh dear. There is so much to tell you.” She reached for his hand. “Roan...I’ve thought of nothing else but you, either.”
That lurch in his chest was his heart, the beat of it renewing with a vigor that left him a bit breathless. “Come,” he said, linking her hand in the crook of his arm. “There is a tavern nearby—”
“But what of the wedding?”
Roan smiled. “I won’t be missed.”
In the tavern, he bought them two tankards of ale. Prudence hardly touched hers as she told him all that had happened in the past several weeks, including the details of Stanhope’s offer and the threat he’d made to Mercy.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
“I thought there was nothing you could do,” she said. “I thought there was nothing anyone could do.” She went on to tell him that she’d been so distraught when he’d left, she could hardly summon enough to care about anything else. She removed the letter he’d written her from her reticule and showed it to him. It was worn, obviously read many times. “This was all I had to keep me,” she said. “In the end, it was Lord Merryton who convinced me to come for you.”
“Merryton!” he said, disbelieving.
Prudence told him that Merryton had coaxed the truth from her and had made her see that she could reach for her desire.
“Thank God you did. What happened to Stanhope?” he asked.
Prudence shrugged. “I don’t know, exactly. Grace said he had a sizable gambling debt Merryton threatened to have called in. Of course Stanhope has no means to pay it. They reached some arrangement.”
