The Misgivings About Miss Prudence: A Sweet Regency Romance (School of Charm Book 4)

by Maggie Dallen

  He started to scoff, ready to tease her for this rare display of melodrama, but caught himself just in time.

  She was not in jest. She was serious. She was debating whether or not to eat the sweets. Her great aunt’s horrible words came back to him and he growled low in his throat. “Eat the tart, Pru.”

  She blinked up at him in surprise. “Pardon me?”

  “Eat the tart,” he said, gentler this time. “Your aunt has no idea what she’s talking about.”

  “W-what do you mean?” she started.

  He rolled his eyes as he shifted to face her. “Tell me, Pru, in all your years living with the Dowager Demon, have you ever seen gentlemen ogling her skin-and-bones body?”

  Pru’s eyes widened but he was not done.

  “Have you ever heard of a man longing for a woman whose stomach is growling and who looks as though she’s one missed meal away from starvation?”

  Pru blinked, her lips parting in surprise, no doubt at his passion for this particular topic.

  “Do you think any man in his right mind would prefer a skin-and-bones miserable old stick like your aunt to someone who is as lush and vivacious and beautiful as you?”

  Her eyes were so wide he nearly drowned in them, her lips were so soft and full when they weren’t pursed or pressed together in a thin line of disapproval. She was so utterly beguiling when she wasn’t—

  “That was entirely inappropriate,” she breathed.

  He choked on a laugh. She was beguiling when she forgot to be priggish Pru. Although, he couldn’t quite stop his grin because her words lacked heat and it truly was fantastically diverting to get a rise out of her.

  If she were to simper or giggle or heaven forbid flirt after such a phenomenally forward speech like that—

  Well, that just wouldn’t be Prudence, now would it?

  And where would be the fun in that?

  He watched her profile as she watched the crowds milling along the path before them. Honestly. When had she become so pretty?

  Or had she always been pretty and he’d been too thick to notice?

  He nodded to himself. Probably the latter. He’d been a remarkably stupid boy. Well, perhaps not stupid, but definitely selfish. So caught up in his own grief and the wild emotions that came from being uprooted from his comfortable world as the son of society’s outcasts. In one moment he’d gone from being a society scandal to the marquess’s one and only heir.

  Not even his father had believed he would actually inherit when he’d been the heir presumptive, but as each year passed and his uncle failed to remarry, it was becoming alarmingly clear that he might really be stuck with the title and role he did not want.

  If only his uncle’s first wife hadn’t died. If only he’d had a happy marriage. If only he were anyone but Damian, the thought might not be so abhorrent. But he hadn’t been born to this life, and he certainly never wanted it.

  He found himself lost in memory until her voice brought him back to the present. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to a fair like this one, I almost forgot they existed.”

  He let out a short burst of air, halfway between a laugh and a scoff.

  “The last time I came to this one—”

  “You were miserable,” he finished on her behalf. He’d meant it to be teasing. Though she had been miserable. Sometimes it had seemed like she was always miserable, and she’d never been content to revel in misery alone.

  He glanced over now, expecting to see her rolling her eyes or sighing in exasperation. He was surprised to find her blushing. A mottled red streaked her neck as she dipped her head but her eyes were unfocused, lost in thought.

  Lost in memories, just like he’d been.

  “That’s true,” she murmured. “I was miserable.”

  And all at once, he was ready to kick himself. Of course she’d been miserable. She’d been living with the Dowager Demon back then, too. Her parents had never been around, as far as he knew. She’d been stuck in that awful stuffy house with that horrid, cruel woman.

  He winced as the full weight of his childish self-absorption hit him upside the head.

  Of course she’d been miserable...and he’d done nothing to help. “I’m sorry, Pru.”

  She whipped her head to the side to face him. “Pardon me?”

  He cleared his throat. “I, er...I wanted to apologize.”

  Her eyes were wide again. Wide and unblinking. “For what? Bringing me here?” She laughed softly. “I’ll admit, I’m worried about how I’ll explain this to my aunt, but I’m rather pleased to have a break—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “That wasn’t what I meant. I meant that I’m sorry for when we were kids. I’m sorry for teasing you and playing pranks.”

  Her brows knitted together in confusion. “You’re sorry?” Suspicion like he hadn’t seen in days lit her eyes. “Why?”

  He flinched. “Er…”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “It’s just that now, as adults, I realize that…” He cleared his throat. Oh curse it. He was toeing the line of pity again, and that would not do. He spit it out quickly. “I realize that your life must not have been easy living with the Dowager Demon and I’m sorry for my part in making your situation more uncomfortable.”

  She stared at him for such a long time he started to fidget. Then she burst out in a laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound that brought countless heads turning in their direction, startled birds flying out of the tree overhead, and her chaperone peering over with a glare.

  She recovered quickly. “You should not call her that, you know.”

  He merely tipped his chin in acknowledgement since the chastisement sounded like something she uttered out of habit more than anything.

  “Still,” he said, a smile teasing his lips as he watched her settle, her whole body seeming to soften with that laugh, her features going from pretty to stunning with that rare display of joy. “You could not have had it easy as a child in that house.”

  She cast him a quick sidelong look and what he saw there made his heart ache. He felt sorry for Prudence today but the thought of her as an innocent child in that house that held no love, only criticism and scorn…

  It made him want to pull her into his arms and tell her all that she was worth, give her everything that she deserved.

  The urge came on so fast, so insistent, it left him temporarily stunned and speechless.

  “You are hardly to blame for my childhood woes,” she said, her smile wry and just a bit cynical. “There is plenty of blame to go around and none of it belongs to you.”

  He shifted toward her. He had questions that begged to be asked but that were none of his business. He’d heard the rumors about her parents, the dowager duchess’s younger sister’s wayward daughter. But back then it had all felt so removed. He hadn’t bothered to think about what that had been like for her, abandoned by her parents and left with a woman without a maternal bone in her body, the rest of the family taking no interest in her.

  “Besides…” Her smile turned gentle. Sweet, almost. It stole his breath right out of his lungs. “You didn’t exactly have an easy childhood yourself, now did you?”

  The question was rhetorical but he still found himself murmuring, “No. I suppose not.”

  Just like he’d heard rumors about her parents, he had no doubt she’d heard every detail of the scandal that was his parents. “But,” he said, shifting closer. “I was treated kindly by my uncle, and was given every advantage.”

  She made a noise.

  He looked over with a start. “Are you laughing at me?” He honestly wasn’t certain whether to be shocked, amused, or offended.

  She bit her lip. “My apologies, it’s just…” She dropped her voice low in a comical impersonation. “I was given every advantage.” Her laughter was sweet and melodic. “I’m not certain who you are trying to convince but it was not terribly convincing.”

  He started to laugh, as well. “You’ll think me ungrat
eful…”

  She leaned over, nudging his shoulder with hers in a move that was surprisingly playful. “Go on.”

  He shrugged. “It’s just...I was happier with my parents, that’s all.”

  “Mmm.” Her murmur of agreement seemed to say everything and nothing, and it held more than a little bit of wistfulness.

  “But Uncle Edward truly was kind. He still is.” He flashed her a rueful smile. “He’s probably too kind. Some might say he spoils me.”

  “Really? Who would ever say such a thing?” she asked so mildly that it made him laugh.

  “I trust you think it’s true.”

  She shrugged, turning away. “I would have said as such as a child, I’m certain. But I was also terribly jealous of your kind uncle so it’s possible I was holding a bit of a grudge.”

  “A bit of a grudge?” he asked, his brows arching in disbelief.

  Now it was her turn to laugh at herself, and the fact that she did warmed him all the way through. “Fine. I was extraordinarily jealous of you and your kind household and I treated you badly because of it. Happy now?”

  “Very.” He wasn’t certain if she had changed, or if he had, or if they were only now truly getting to know one another, but hearing her laugh at her own self-righteous image made him shift his view of her again.

  At this rate, he wouldn’t recognize her come nightfall.

  7

  This was pleasant. Too pleasant.

  As far as Prudence was concerned, this entire outing had been too pleasant by far. Is there such a thing as too pleasant? She could practically hear Louisa asking that question, but the answer was yes.

  Yes, there was.

  Because nothing good could come of enjoying Damian’s company. Nothing good could come of all this time they’d been spending together unless she suddenly and miraculously became a musical genius.

  And unless musical genius was contagious, she couldn’t imagine how he would accomplish this by forcing her to eat a jam tart.

  She took another bite as they watched the crowds in companionable silence. Not that she particularly minded the tart.

  In fact, this treat was the highlight of her week considering she’d eaten the last of the sweets she’d brought back with her from Miss Grayson’s ages ago, and her aunt’s idea of dessert was an extra serving of vegetables with her dinner.

  “Mmm.” She let out an embarrassing little moan as she let the last bite melt in her mouth, her eyes closed to savor every last taste sensation. When the last of it was gone, she sighed and opened her eyes to find Damian staring at her.

  Not just staring. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded and so intently focused on her she found herself jerking back with a start, her hand coming up to her lips to ensure there were no embarrassing crumbs or smears of jam causing this sudden interest. “What is it?”

  He cleared his throat and shook his head. “I have never seen anyone enjoy anything as much as you have that tart.”

  She bit her lip, a blush threatening to make her face a mottled mess. “Oh, er…” She looked down at her lap, searching for an excuse for her unbridled joy that did not include explaining Aunt Eleanor’s strict diet.

  “You should always be eating treats.”

  “Pardon me?” She looked up in surprise to see him blinking as if coming out of a daze.

  “It’s nice to see someone enjoy their food,” he said, but he wouldn’t quite look her way. Then he was dusting crumbs from his hands and standing. “Shall we?”

  “Shall we...what?” she asked, still completely perplexed.

  His smile was slow and...wicked. There was no other word for it. She no longer believed him to be wicked, but when he smiled like that…

  A girl could forget.

  He reached a hand down to her and after glancing over at her scowling chaperone who would report everything that happened today to Aunt Eleanor, she accepted. He helped her up and linked her arm through his so he was leading them away from the fair, toward the grove of trees on the neighboring farm.

  “Where are we going?”

  He glanced down at her. “I was not lying when I said we would have a lesson today.”

  She bit her lip, stealing a glance back at her chaperone who was far enough away not to hear every word, and still… How much had she heard?

  Her stomach toppled and turned at the thought.

  “Pru?” He peered down at her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. No. Not really. But right now was not the time to think about the world of trouble she would be in when she got home. Nor was it the time to lose focus of her goal.

  To win over her new potential husband. True she did not know him, but that hardly mattered. She couldn’t exactly go through the rest of her life without a husband, now could she?

  This was what she’d been telling herself for days now, ever since she’d arrived at her aunt’s and the reality of her situation had become clear. Mr. Benedict was her one chance to escape. To have a family of her own and a life that wasn’t under her aunt’s thumb.

  She’d managed to forget all that in the safe harmony of Miss Grayson’s but being back with her aunt brought with it a stark reality. Being here today and dealing with unwanted childhood memories made that reality that much clearer.

  She had been miserable as a child, but she did not wish that for her future. Marriage offered a way out. Her salvation. Her aunt would not pick a cruel man, and by all accounts he was a pleasant fellow.

  And yes, she’d asked around. Delilah had met him a few times over the years and she’d said he’d seemed...nice.

  On the old side, perhaps, but nice.

  Older she could deal with. Nice was what mattered.

  And if her nice salvation required that she be able to entertain and perform, why then she would do it. She straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “All right, I am ready,” she said when they came to a stop. “Tell me where to begin.”

  He let her arm go and turned to look at her as her chaperone found a seat nearby on a log and began to crochet. Damian looked too and then tugged her further away. So far they bordered on being out of sight as well as out of earshot.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “First of all, this needs to go.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “This…” He shook her shoulders gently and her whole body twisted and turned. “Why are you so stiff? It’s unnatural.” He pulled back to give her a meaningful look. “Tell me honestly, are you made of wood?”

  A small laugh escaped before she could stop it. “I am determined, that’s all.”

  “I see.” He eyed her curiously. “Well, you look rather like a soldier heading into battle, and that is not at all the right attitude for this occasion.”

  “And what occasion is that?”

  “My first opportunity to hear you sing.”

  Her throat closed up entirely. She couldn’t have let out a squeak. Her eyes went wide and his did, too.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She gave her head a little shake, but she knew her panic must have been written clearly across her face. She wasn’t certain how she’d thought he’d begin with her voice but she’d let herself hope they would ease into this. Her teacher at Miss Grayson’s had spent nearly a month just working on breathing exercises. Wasn’t that where he was supposed to start?

  His brows came down as he crossed his arms. “You don’t wish to sing.”

  She shook her head frantically.

  “Why not?”

  She had to swallow three times before she could get the words out. “Because I can’t.”

  He frowned. “Of course you can. You sang carols along with all the rest of us as a child. I don’t recall a particularly lovely voice but I’m certain I would have remembered if you couldn’t even carry a tune.”

  She shook her head again. But that was then, didn’t he see? That was back when singing had just been singing. That was before music lessons had become her own personal f
orm of torture.

  She shook her head yet again, so hard her teeth were rattling as she kept her lips pinched tightly together.

  He stared at her in surprise as she kept her mouth mutinously shut. The stalemate might have gone on forever if he didn’t cave first. “Perhaps we should start with something simple. A hymn, perhaps?”

  She glowered at him and his look of optimism.

  “You cannot tell me you do not sing at church.”

  She made a hmph noise while keeping her mouth shut.

  He sighed and crossed his arms. “I thought you were serious about this.”

  The gentle rebuke had her resolve fading fast. He was right. She’d been determined just a moment ago to make a go of this.

  But that was before he’d suggested she sing. The mere thought made her throat feel tight and croaky like a frog. One bad memory after another reared up until she was shaking.

  There was nothing more humiliating than her great aunt’s displeasure when she failed to hit the right note.

  Whatever he saw on her face, Damian relented with another sigh. “All right, let’s take this even slower then, hmm?”

  She nodded, finally able to take a deep breath. “Perhaps we should try another instrument. I heard the harp was not so difficult to….” Her voice trailed off pathetically at his knowing look.

  That was right. She’d nearly forgotten. He’d heard her attempts with the harp. The poor instrument had barely survived the ordeal. “That harp wasn’t tuned correctly,” she muttered.

  Though who she was trying to fool was anyone’s guess.

  All at once, a wave of bitterness had her scuffing her toes into the dirt at her feet. “Silly music. If I don’t marry because of a ridiculous harp, I’ll...I’ll…” She blew out a long exhale in lieu of a threat.

  They both knew it was baseless anyhow. If she did not marry, she would have no power, no leverage, no status...no nothing.

  “Silly music,” she muttered again, mostly because it felt good to say.

  He was watching her closely, an odd mix of sympathy and determination on his face. “You don't have to take your displeasure out on music, you know. Music has no ill-will toward you.”