Compromising Prudence

by Marguerite Butler

  “Nothing like this, I’d wager.” She was acutely aware of her bare ankles and endeavored to tuck them further beneath the chair. “There was a man.”

  “Isn’t there always? You mentioned that bit last night. Don’t hang your head so. You’re hardly the first girl to have been seduced.”

  “But I wasn’t seduced!” she protested. Seeing his raised eyebrow, she sighed. “I didn’t do more than kiss him. The whole thing was rather innocent really.”

  “You forget I’ve experienced one of your kisses. Innocent is not how I would describe it.”

  She scowled. “Do you want to hear my tale of woe first or simply proceed to judgment?”

  Hatterly leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs in front, the picture of a relaxed gentleman. “I’m sorry. Pray continue with the woe.”

  She nibbled the scone which wasn’t warm anymore, but still buttery and good. “We were at a house party: Papa, Aunt Hetty and me. After dinner, Tommy — who will be playing the role of villain in this tale — asked me to meet him in the garden.” It had seemed like a magical night, filled with the scent of promises and roses. She had wanted to be caught, so convinced that he would marry her. “I was nervous about playing it sly, but Tommy promised that if we were discovered he would stand by me.”

  “You were and he didn’t.”

  “You want the short version of woe, I see. Very well. He didn’t. In fact, he ran back to London, the beast!” Faced with Papa and their host, Tommy had stammered that he would make things right, but the next day he’d fled the party. Once safely ensconced in the bosom of his family, he made it clear he had no intention of wedding her.

  “That doesn’t sound so horrible. You aren’t the first miss compromised at a house party. Surely your father isn’t so unnatural as to put you out for that.”

  Prudence bit her lip. “There’s more.”

  “I rather thought there might be.”

  “After the house party, Papa locked me in my room. For an entire week I was only allowed out to take my meals.”

  “How very Children of the Abbey!” Mr. Hatterly exclaimed.

  “Isn’t it? Papa said if there were another scandal, if I stepped past the boundaries of propriety again, he would put me out.” She held up a hand. “I know Papa. He meant it. But I slipped out and went to see Tommy, thinking I could make things right.” She was unable to meet Mr. Hatterly’s gaze. “Yes, going to him was an idiotic thing to do, but I had convinced myself Tommy’s family keeping us apart and if I could only talk to him…”

  Her eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry. She looked terrible enough without adding red swollen eyes to the portrait.

  “I take it that his family wasn’t interfering.”

  “Tommy never intended to offer for me.” She closed her eyes. “He did offer to make me his mistress.”

  And had the gall to try and seduce me there in the carriage house, grabbing at my breasts and bottom until I battered him with my parasol.

  “Rotten lout. Pity you don’t have brothers to call him out.” The warmth of Mr. Hatterly’s hand was a welcome surprise as he laced his long fingers with hers. She opened her eyes. He wasn’t laughing at her. She gave him a tentative smile and curled her fingers around his.

  “We were seen leaving the carriage house by his brothers and their friends.” She could still hear the laughter. “I was utterly humiliated.”

  He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I still can’t believe your father would turn you out. A man has a responsibility to his children and not just when they please him. He could send you to live with relatives or find you a position as a companion somewhere. What sort of man just turns his daughter out to the streets?” Mr. Hatterly’s jaw was hard.

  She couldn’t let him be too righteous on her behalf, lovely as the sensation was. “I knew the risks in disobeying Papa. He would have turned me out.”

  “Would have? Did he actually put you out or did you simply leave?” The answer was etched on her face. “Good heavens! Your father has no idea where you are!”

  “I spared him the trouble.”

  “But surely he would never have you on the streets.”

  “You have no idea what he is like. Papa is very firm.”

  “You have me there,” Mr. Hatterly said. “I don’t know your father, Miss…?”

  She had avoided the question long enough. “Wemberly. My name is Prudence Wemberly.”

  “Wemberly?” Horror dawned in his eyes. “Your father is not — .”

  “Sir Algernon Wemberly. Yes, that Sir Algernon, the magistrate. Now you see why he would not tolerate a daughter who shamed him.”

  Sir Algernon was famous for his enforcement of righteousness, temperance, modesty — every virtuous attribute his daughter failed to possess. He didn’t flinch from sending men to their just rewards and would not hesitate to put aside a wayward child.

  Her stomach lurched. Now that she’d revealed her true identity, Mr. Hatterly would recoil.

  All men trembled at the mention of Sir Algernon.

  Charles’ eyes narrowed. This story was entirely too familiar.

  Oh, Gads. It couldn’t be.

  “This scoundrel, Tommy. He wouldn’t be Lord Thomas Petworth by any chance?”

  “However did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  This scandal was the latest on dit: The famously moral Sir Algernon’s youngest daughter disgraced by the rackety Petworth brat. Charles had heard his cousins laughing at the ball about Petworth being caught in his carriage house with a girl, but he hadn’t heard a name mentioned.

  Last night he had settled on the perfect solution for both their dilemmas, but this dose of information was like an icy splash in the face. She wasn’t just any ruined miss, this was a magistrate’s daughter and she had been ruined by the youngest Petworth.

  He longed to bury his face in his hands.

  Why did it have to be Sir Algernon? And why Petworth? Anything else would have been preferable.

  “You know Petworth has already fought a duel over such behavior? The man has no scruples where innocents are concerned. You’re better off not leg-shackled to such a man.”

  How on earth had Sir Algernon allowed that man to woo his daughter? He was the one who should be ashamed.

  “That doesn’t help my reputation. I am finished in society. Worse still, my family will not take me back, not even as a companion for Aunt Hetty. I daresay last night did nothing to repair my future.”

  Charles cleared his throat guiltily. “Probably not. I can’t imagine why you thought to find work as a courtesan.”

  She massaged her temples. “Running away seemed sensible after the third glass of sherry.” Her shoulders hunched. “No, not sensible. It seemed like an adventure.”

  Please don’t let her start crying.

  He was a scientist, a gentleman of learning. He was logical. He was capable. He managed his father’s estate with ease and published several scholarly papers a year.

  He was utterly helpless against a woman’s tears.

  Charles suspected that his sister, Frances, knew this and wielded tears as an effective weapon in her arsenal. If Miss Wemberly cried, she would reduce him to mush and he’d be on his knees offering to call out Petworth.

  Miss Wemberly bit her lip and crossed her arms as if to shield herself. She was much taller than Frances, judging from the shocking length of ankle showing from the robe.

  Her hair was a fright, but it had been silken against his cheek when he carried her up to this room. She only sniffed once, but no tears.

  With a sigh of relief, Charles shifted in his seat. The way she conducted herself was really almost admirable. Most of the women of his experience would be in hysterics given the events Miss Wemberly had endured and yet she remained dry eyed. This was no fragile flower begging for mercy, but a determined young woman who sought what she wanted.

  On the eve of being utterly disgraced she had attempted — somewhat clu
msily — to make her way in the world. The more he thought about it, the more noble, the more dashing she seemed. A woman like this could face down his wild brothers and even wilder sister.

  “I think we can help one another, Miss Wemberly. I’ve a proposition for you. Hear me out before you respond.” He cleared his throat. “I’m offering to make legitimate what you offered for free last night. You’re in need of protection.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You’re offering to make me your mistress?”

  “Of course not! What do you take me for? That isn’t the sort of protection I had in mind. I said to let me finish.” He tapped his thighs with flat palms. This was difficult, far harder than he’d thought it would be. “I have a younger sister, Frances. She must make her debut into society next year. She’s my only sister and, to speak plainly, Frances has spent too much time in the country with a flock of wild brothers. Without the civilizing influence of a mother, Frances has no idea how to behave. Need I remind you that was her port hidden in the dresser? She’ll never make a match with her hoyden ways. You clearly know fashion and how to behave. And not behave as the case may be.”

  “You want to hire me as a companion for your sister?”

  “No, you silly goose! I want to marry you! Will you let me finish?”

  “Marry me?” She gaped at him, her lovely dark eyes wide with shock.

  Was marriage to him such a dreadful idea? She needn’t look so horrified considering she’d tried to find work as a courtesan the night before. Marriage was a logical solution. He’d thought through all possible permutations.

  “You’re ruined and need a husband.”

  “My, but you have a knack for sweet words.”

  “I’m in need of a wife. Father is after me constantly to marry and provide a good example for my younger siblings, especially Frances.”

  “And you think marrying a drunken, ruined stranger would accomplish this?”

  “You aren’t foxed now.”

  “Did you conceive of this folly last night?”

  “I did.” He’d lain awake tossing this around in his mind but the imagined conversation hadn’t gone anything like this. He hadn’t imagined a refusal. “I felt sorry for you and — ”

  “A proposal from pity. What woman would not be grateful?”

  “Look, I’m making a hash of this and you aren’t helping,” he said crossly. “My father has tossed the gauntlet down before me. He insists that I marry in the next year or he’ll choose a wife for me. I have my own life and no interest in changing it. I need a wife willing to stay out of my way. I have a home and I’m in possession of sufficient funds for you to entertain yourself. More than sufficient funds.”

  “I shall be an outcast from society.”

  “The only society I care about is the Zoological Society of London. I’m here to present a paper. Marriage will give me an excuse to remain on my estate except for business. I won’t have to keep up the marriage farce.”

  Stop telling the girl what’s in it for you, mutton-head.

  “You’ll like the estate. It’s very beautiful in Kent. Strayfield — that’s the village — is very nice. I doubt they care a whit for London gossip. I won’t make any demands. I couldn’t care less about an heir. All you have to do is pacify my father and stay out of my way.”

  “And do what? I don’t embroider and I don’t paint.”

  “Do whatever you like. Spend my money. Buy dresses or horses or whatever strikes your fancy. Entertain my sister and teach her how a lady behaves. You can even travel if you like. Frances might like that. She’s always after me to take her traveling, but I can never find the time. You’ll like Frances. Everyone likes Frances, though she is a bit cork-brained.”

  “What a mad notion,” Miss Wemberly said quietly. “You’re mad. Completely and utterly mad.”

  “They do call us The Mad Hatterlys. I thought perhaps you knew that.”

  “A few more questions.” That was better than a no, but he’d thought she would be more eager. “All right.”

  “You mentioned the Zoological Society.”

  “I’m an ornithologist.”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “I study birds.”

  “Yes, I know what the word means. I was not aware that gentleman could choose an avocation.”

  “Birds are my passion, most particularly birds native to England. I want to do my research and papers in peace, not to be dragged around to balls and garden parties. I’m not a dullard, mind you; I have friends. I don’t mind entertaining occasionally, if you want to do that sort of thing, but I detest the London Season.”

  “I rather like London.” She crossed her arms, her pretty mouth set in a stubborn line. “How many brothers do you possess?”

  “Four. Only one still lives at home. The house isn’t crowded. Father is still in America. He won’t return until sometime next year, before Frances’ debut.”

  She was so still that he held his breath. The speculative gleam in her eyes worried him.

  “I’ll do it,” she said finally and held her hand out to him like a gentleman making a wager. “You have yourself a wife, Mr. Hatterly.”

  Chapter Four

  IN SPITE OF HER best efforts, Prudence was forced to ring for assistance in dressing. She had detangled her hair herself, plaited and twisted it neatly into a thick coil, but fastening her stays proved impossible. Lizzy did her best but clearly wasn’t skilled in properly lacing a long corset.

  “How does Miss Hatterly manage when she’s in residence?” Prudence wondered aloud. His sister must bring her own abigail when she traveled.

  “Dresses herself,” Lizzy forced out, puffing from exertion. “Almost have it, miss. Course she don’t come here often. Been over a year since she was last here.” That explained the petite size of the gown and robe.

  “How old is she?” Prudence braced herself with both hands on the bed post as Lizzy closed the middle stays.

  “Two and twenty, I believe.”

  “Two and twenty and not yet made her debut?” Prudence gaped over her shoulder in astonishment.

  Pru’s task might be more demanding than she’d thought. Frances was older than she was. How in the world would she guide an older girl? No wonder Mr. Hatterly was worried. If his sister failed to make a match quickly she’d been on the shelf. Yet if Miss Hatterly was half so comely as her brother, attracting a suitor would not prove difficult. All Miss Hatterly needed to do was keep her mouth closed and be beautiful and rich.

  And not get caught in a compromising position. Must not forget that one.

  It helped if one’s Papa were not so intimidating and overly censorious — and if one didn’t ruin oneself with unscrupulous men.

  “There.” Lizzy said with evident satisfaction. She stepped back, hands on hips and looked Prudence up and down. “You look right nice, miss.”

  Prudence needed to go shopping. Mr. Hatterly had said she could spend his money and she meant to hold him to it. She’d only brought a few modest gowns with her, all she could fit in the small portmanteau. She smoothed the front of her rose pink walking gown. The color was nice. The en coeur neckline was hardly what she would choose for her wedding eve, but she’d never thought she would be married in a little chapel instead of properly churched. Mr. Hatterly had a friend in the employ of a bishop who would help him get the necessary special license and then perform the ceremony.

  By this time tomorrow, Prudence would be a married woman, beyond the reach of her father and the scurrilous gossips.

  This wedding was hardly the fairy tale of her young girl’s fantasies, gliding down a petal strewn church aisle to her handsome prince who waited to sweep her away to his castle in the clouds. No, for her it would be a quick ceremony with an American-born bird-watcher who was taking her to Kent. Pru sighed.

  Mr. Hatterly was waiting for her by the door, checking his pocket watch and fretting. Her heart caught at the sight of his hawkish profile. No Prince Charming could look more handsome or
more perturbed. Surely with a sister he was accustomed to waiting. He couldn’t expect miracles when she had only a few crumpled gowns and a kitchen maid for assistance. He had promised her a trip to her modiste today after applying for the license and goodness knows she would need it.

  When Hatterly spotted her standing at the top of the stairs he went very still except for blinking like an owl. The he smiled and his face lit from within, easing the tension around her heart. She almost tripped in her eagerness to take the hand he held out to her.

  Mrs. Forbes, the housekeeper, produced her bonnet which had been carefully cleaned and pressed until it was no longer a ruined brown lump. She squinted at her reflection in the Cheval looking glass — the bonnet was different.

  She took the bonnet off, turning it in her hands.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Hatterly checked his watch.

  “Patience.” She touched the small bird nestled among the cherries. “This is new.”

  “Yes, well.” He coughed into his glove. “The flower that graced your bonnet was ruined so I replaced it. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? It’s beautiful.” She stroked the tiny bird with her finger. “And so soft. What is it?”

  “A wren. Common enough, but pretty, delicate.”

  “From your collection?” She looked up in wonderment.

  His complexion, already a healthy pink, darkened most agreeably. He hooked his elbow at her. “Are we ready now? We have an appointment to apply for a license.”

  Hatterly didn’t lead her out the door. No, first he drew her off to one side, his face so serious Pru feared he had changed his mind.

  Clearly he’s sobered up or come to his senses or…

  “I have decided that it would be best if we sent your father a message.”

  Her heart constricted until her fingertips were numb and possibly blue as well. “Have you?” She swallowed, which did nothing to alleviate the lump in her throat.

  “Come here.” He took her elbow, leading her to a sitting room with a small writing desk.