Prudence hesitated and then with a slight nod, stood. Christian captured her fingertips in his and raised each hand to his mouth, one at a time. Her skin burned from where he caressed the skin with his lips. Then, reluctantly she dropped a curtsy and started for the door.
From across the room, her brother muttered, “So much for no scandals, no elopements, or rushed marriages.”
She shot a look over her shoulder and winked at Christian. His laughter followed along behind her as she took her leave.
Chapter 20
Lesson Twenty
There are times when a gentleman will surprise you. Sometimes it is a good thing….
An uncharacteristic solemnity cloaked the house. Such somberness might match the austere moods of other propriety-driven lords and ladies, but it never held a place in the home of the boisterous, vivacious Tidemore clan.
Standing at the edge of the window in the Ivory Parlor, Prudence stole a glance over her shoulder at the clock atop the fireplace mantel.
Thirty minutes past eight. In another hour, she was to meet Christian in Hyde Park—for their wedding. Warmth spiraled through her heart. As a matter of formality, they could have married in any parlor or church or office. But he’d have them wed in that spot that was so very special to her. Even though he’d never given her words of love, his actions belonged to a man who cared…in some way.
A smile pulled at her lips. For all the hurt and disappointment she’d known with her family’s rejection of Christian, excitement ran through her, still. How was a young lady not to smile on her wedding day? Her grin slipped. Even if her brother would prefer to face her husband on a dueling field than a table at White’s for drinks.
Prudence sighed and returned her attention to the window. She peeled the curtain back and stared out into the streets below. The dark pall cast through the home better matched the day Patrina had disappeared with Albert Marshville, to this, her wedding day. Annoyance twisted inside her. And more…she battled the betrayal of having her judgment and feelings so boldly challenged by those she loved.
She gave her head a wry shake. So this is what her brother had dealt with when Prudence had challenged his regard for the then governess, Juliet.
“Tsk, tsk. Tsk, tsk.” Not for the sixth time, Penelope had clucked her disapproval like a bothersome chicken. Reflected in the windowpane, with her hands primly folded on her lap and disapproval stamped in her features, the middle Tidemore daughter would have earned the pride of their mother for that dour look.
Prudence gritted her teeth and continued to present her back to Penelope. She’d not rise to the younger girl’s bait.
Alas, she’d wager Sin had put Penelope up to her grating lectures these past three days. “You do know it is not too late to reject the gentleman’s offer.” That phrase sternly delivered by Penelope had been uttered with the same mantra-like quality as mother’s previous, no scandal, no elopements, and no rushed marriages prayer.
Annoyance gave way to anger, and she released the curtain. Knowing a calm, emotionless response would grate, she said simply, “I do not intend to reject Christian’s offer. I want to marry him.” And as much as she longed for her family to accept Christian into their fold, their approval would not drive her actions this day. “He will be my husband, Penny,” she said gently. She and Penelope had been partners in crime through the years. This great rift caused a hollowness in her chest.
Yet, for whatever reason, Penelope had developed an almost tangible antipathy for the man she’d soon call brother-in-law. “It was a mistake accepting his offer.” Penelope tightened her mouth. “Or rather offering for him and then accepting his offer.” She paused and gave her a pointed look. “After he rejected you.”
Those words were meant to wound and they did, squeezing at her heart. She dropped her gaze to Penelope’s lap. Her sister crushed the fabric of her skirts. The other girl wanted a fight. That much was clear. “Oh, Penny,” she said softly. She could not fight with her. Not on her wedding day. This was supposed to be one of the happiest days in a lady’s life. “Why can I not make you see that he is a good man?” Well, most ladies.
Her younger sister ceased fiddling with her fabric. “He is a rogue,” she said flatly.
Prudence frowned.
“Reformed rogues make the best husbands.” And lest she forget… “Jonathan is proof of that.”
The other young woman shot to her feet. “How can you not see? He is not reformed. He is a man in need of a fortune. A fortune hunter. You represent nothing more than the means to his way out of debt.” Had she screamed the words, they could not have run through her with such ugly force.
The muscles of her throat bobbed. For the rub of it was, in this regard, her sister was unerringly on the mark. If there had been no fortune, there would be no Christian. God help her. She still wanted him anyway. “Why do you hate him so?” she asked quietly.
Penelope shook her head with an aged wariness better suited to one of far more advanced years. “I hate him because he will eventually hurt you.” Then almost as though an afterthought, she added, “and there will be a scandal.”
Ah, Penny. Sweet Penny who’d spent the better part of three years fashioning herself into a proper, mama-pleasing miss. She’d go through life being someone she was not. How could she know that ultimately one could strive to blend with Society, but you could not ultimately separate your spirit from who you were—even to please the ton. “Oh, Penny,” she began. “There is no scandal this t—”
Frantic footsteps sounded outside the parlor and their gazes flung in unison toward the entrance of the room just as Poppy entered. Their youngest sister froze in the doorway. A newspaper clutched in one hand, Poppy’s chest heaved with the force of her exertions. She borrowed support against the frame. “S-scandal.”
Prudence’s heart missed a beat. “Scandal?” she repeated dumbly.
The youngest Tidemore sibling placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward, gasping for breath. “S-something h-has happened.”
Prudence swung her gaze to Penelope. Indignantly, Penny folded her arms. “I have not caused a scandal.”
Which could only mean…
Poppy continued to suck in rasping breaths. “M-mother and S-Sin. Th-they were…” Her words trailed off as she focused on drawing in air.
Prudence raced across the room. “They were what?” she demanded. She could not conceal the panicky edge underscoring those three words. While her heart thumped loudly in her ears she assured herself that the scandal Poppy spoke of needn’t involve her and Christian. It—
“I-it is about you and the marquess.”
And her heart stopped. Poppy held the paper up. Regret, pity, and fury lit the blues of her eyes.
Prudence stared at the wrinkled pages in her sister’s hand a long moment. She shook her head once and then backed away. Coward that she was, she didn’t want to know the damning words on those pages, because with the same intuition that had driven her out of the shop and into Christian’s arms all those months ago, the same intuition that now told her that those sheets were about to shatter all her illusions of happiness.
Penelope stepped past Prudence and rescued the copy from their younger sister’s hands. “I will take that,” she muttered under her breath.
“It is on the front page.” Poppy stole a sheepish glance at Prudence.
A vise tightened about her lungs, making it difficult to form words. “Wh-what does it…?” Those words trailed off as Penelope’s frantic gaze skimmed the sheet. With each word she read, rage built in her blue eyes until the fire there threatened to singe the gossip column in her hand. “The bastard,” she hissed.
Prudence clutched her hands at her throat and as her sister lifted her eyes, she braced for some triumphant, I-was-of-course-correct expression there. Instead, hurt bled through with the fury in her stare. Perhaps there was another man who’d earned her sister’s ire. Perhaps there was—“Who?” That whispery word slipped past her lips.
&nb
sp; “The marquess,” Penelope bit out.
Perhaps there was a greater likelihood of horses flying over the King’s castle. “Let me see.” How did those words emerge so steady? Her sisters exchanged a look. “Let me see!” she demanded, her tone rising in pitch.
Penelope thrust the paper out. “I am sorry,” she said with such gentleness that all her meanness these past three days faded with the evidence of her sisterly loyalty.
With numb fingers she collected the heavily wrinkled copy of The Times. She worked her eyes over the front page. The paper shook in her hands and she gripped the edges hard to steady her grip. Perhaps it was not so very damning and that her sisters were merely being their dramatic Tidemore selves. And—
The Wager that Led to an Heiress
Her heart missed a beat. She closed her eyes a long moment not wanting to read those words, not wanting confirmation that she was, in fact, the heiress they spoke of and not wanting to know of any ugly wager that involved her name.
“Do you want me to read it?” Poppy asked with such gentleness, tears popped behind her lashes.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she shook her head once and then forced her eyes open and read.
The Marquess of St. C’s circumstances will improve tremendously this day as he weds the scandalous, Lady Prudence T. It is no secret to the ton, that given the shameful nature of their family’s past, that the lady could not afford to be particular where offers of marriage are concerned. Forced into partnering her on a lost wager, the marquess was heard plainly speaking to the Earl of M and quite correctly stated, “The lady is purported to possess a fat dowry and, with her family’s scandal, would be an easy lady for me to claim. There are certainly worse things than losing a wager to dance with an heiress.”
A most advantageous wager on that gentleman’s part…
The paper slipped through her fingers and sailed to the floor with a soft thump.
“You’re not even really that scandalous,” Poppy put in, sounding as affronted as if they’d had their legitimacy thrown into question.
“Oh, God.” Prudence’s whispered prayer came as though down a long hall. She swayed and dimly registered Penelope and Poppy catching her arms and guiding her toward the sofa.
“I do not even care that he has dogs,” Poppy sputtered. “I despise that Lord Maxwell with every fiber of my being. I wouldn’t have him if Sir Faithful licked his boots in approval.”
Through her sister’s venomous fury, she sought to put order to her suddenly upended world. Surely there was some mistake. Surely…She slid her eyes briefly closed again. Surely she’d not been this much of a fool. Prudence shrugged off her sisters’ hands and stared blankly across the room at the hearth where the fire snapped and hissed. Those cold, callous words printed; those did not belong to the man who’d waltzed her across Lady Drake’s ballroom floor. Or who’d flipped through the pages of her sketchpad.
Unless, it was all as the gossips claimed. Could it be nothing more than a ruse, a ploy to ensnare an heiress that she’d neatly stepped into? Prudence gave her head a shake. “Impossible.” Christian was not that man.
“Not impossible,” Penelope said with a firmness to her tone.
Another set of footsteps sounded in the hall and the trio looked to the door.
Sin’s tall frame filled the entrance. He took in his sisters and then settled his stare on Prudence. “Poppy and Penelope,” he said quietly. And perhaps there was hope for biddable Tidemores after all, for her two younger sisters filed from the room.
Her brother pushed the door closed behind them with a soft click.
Of its own volition, her gaze went to the also heavily wrinkled paper in his hands.
A pit settled in her stomach.
“Pru,” he began.
“It is a mistake,” she blurted.
Pity glinted in his eyes. She averted her stare from that detestable sentiment. Her throat worked. Why could he not be the angry and bothersome older brother now? “He would not do that.”
Sin set his jaw. “He did.” And by the furious glimmer in his eyes, he’d take Christian apart with his bare hands for the shame he’d visited upon Prudence.
She thrust aside the thought. “No, he did not.” Christian was not that man. He’d been only honest with her from the moment he’d plucked her out of the way of a shopkeeper’s dirty water all those months ago.
Prudence gave her head an emphatic shake. “He could not h-have.” Her voice quavered and then another blasted sheen of tears misted her vision.
With an unexpected show of temper, Sin let fly a black curse that raised the heat on her cheeks. “Why did you select him, Pru?” There was a faint entreaty there from a brother who’d been so unable to protect yet another sister.
Prudence gave him a sad smile. “Oh, Jonathan.” She crossed over to him. “You so desperately want to protect all of us from scandal and ruin and hurt, but just as you made your decision with Juliet, so did I make this choice.”
And it was a choice that could not be undone. By the solemn set to his face, he knew, as much as she did, that even if Christian was guilty as charged of that despicable wager, Prudence had no option except marriage. Another pressure weighted her chest. She could not have been so wrong about him.
With a grunt, Sin pulled her into his arms the way he’d done when she’d been a small child and ruffled the top of her hair. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, with his actions and stern tone more the father he’d always been to four fatherless-too-early girls.
“Like what?” His shirtfront muffled her words.
He grunted and set her away. “As though when we get to Hyde Park and he confirms it that I’ll force you to wed St. Cyr. I don’t give a jot about a scandal.” Yes, what was another when presented with the two before it? Except they both lied. It mattered still to Penelope and Poppy.
Sin held his arm out. “Under the circumstances, I’ve asked Mother to remain behind.”
For this was to be no happy joining of two families. Her mother and sisters would not be present this day. She managed a nod, even as hurt lanced her heart. As she allowed him to lead her to Christian and their wedding, fear churned through her. What if he’d made that wager?
Christian rubbed his hands together to ward off the winter’s chill. Not for the first time since he’d arrived in Hyde Park that morning, he tugged out his watch fob and consulted his timepiece. Thirty minutes past nine.
Perhaps in the three days since he’d seen Prudence, she’d put proper thought in to the folly of her decision to forever bind herself to a worthless bounder who offered her nothing. Three days was a good deal of time for her disapproving brother to talk reason into her, and yet… He glanced up at the hideous elm, the one captured upon her pages…and yet, Prudence was not a woman who would ever do as she was bidden. His heart lightened. That undaunted strength and originality set her apart from all other women before. And that tree that so often drew him back to his days of war now contained altogether different memories; those different from death and dying and Lynette’s betrayal. Now, the thoughts were of her.
At his side, Maxwell, chuckled. “A lady so determined to wed you does not strike me as one to jilt you at the altar.” He glanced about. “Or in this case, a tree.”
The lean, tall, ancient minister who’d agreed to the rather unconventional ceremony, however, looked a good deal less confident than Maxwell. With a beleaguered sigh that stirred a puff of winter air, the man flipped through his pages. “Perhaps she is not coming?”
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” His mother’s panicked tone cut across his own fears. “Never say that.”
He cast a glance at the two cloaked figures of his mother and sister. And then fixed a glare on Maxwell for worrying Christian’s always cheerful mother. His friend mouthed a silent apology.
“Do you think she’ll not come?” Lucinda looked about the park. “That would be quite despicable of her.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I did not take her
for a lady without honor.” Concern underscored her words.
“She will be here,” Christian claimed. Though he wasn’t sure whether he sought to reassure the vicar who wanted to be here not at all, his mother and sister, or himself. He checked his timepiece once more.
“But what if she does not come?” Lucinda pressed with a temerity that made him grit his teeth. “Will you gallantly fight for her love? Will you set out after her?”
“It has only been another three minutes,” Maxwell supplied. “Perhaps she does not know the particular tree to meet at?” That momentarily silenced the fretting Villiers women.
At his friend’s suggestion, a frown turned Christian’s lips. Granted, the desolate barrenness of Hyde Park was filled with a vast number of leafless trees. He looked up at the oddly shaped branches extending out like angry limbs. A strong gust of wind shook them overhead and a lone brown leaf fluttered down, dancing a twisted, sideways path to the frozen earth. The elm upon her page. “She knows,” he said at last. The greater likelihood was she’d either come to her senses or had been locked away by a determined to protect her at all costs brother. Christian stooped down and picked up one of those crisp, brown leaves. He trailed the tip of his finger along the veins.
His mother worried her hands together. “Most women do not dream of getting married in the dead of winter beside a dead oak tree.” She gave him a reproachful look that said she expected more of her son.
…You see, some of the magnificent tree might be aged and even dying, but it still lives and should be celebrated for that…
Christian shoved himself to his feet. “Elm.”
His mother cocked her head.
“It is an elm tree and the lady will be here.” Had they awaited any other young lady, his friend would indeed have proven correct, and yet Prudence was unlike any other woman he’d ever known. She craved more than the material world sought after by title-grasping ladies of the ton.
“Whatever is Terry doing here?”
Lords of Honor-The Collection Page 41
