Someday, Prudence would find a way to break free from the constraints, but until that day came, she would not be completely manipulated. Perhaps she could persuade Mrs. Clampton to switch the covers on a few books? Probably not. Or maybe Mrs. Hilliard had some novels tucked away in her library somewhere? Yes, that could work. Quite nicely, in fact.
Prudence would do as her mother bid. She would help her sister choose a new gown and see to it that Sophia was the most radiant woman at the dance. With all eyes on her, no one would see the younger Gifford daughter slip away to the library.
What better way to “blend in” after all?
THE AFTERNOON WAS warm and glorious with skies free of clouds and air free of everything but a delightful breeze. South Oxfordshire didn't get too many afternoons such as these, even in the summer, so Prudence had learned to appreciate them whenever they came along.
She and her sister had begged to walk to town, and their mother had eventually relented so long as they took their maid with them. Ruth now trailed behind, giving the girls some privacy—not that they needed it. Ever since Sophia had succumbed to rheumatic fever the previous year, she had withdrawn and never seemed to have much to say anymore. Prudence hadn’t minded because it gave her more time to contemplate her stories, but as she glanced at her sister now, she realized how far apart they’d grown and how she missed the friendship they once shared.
Sophia was no longer sickly. Perhaps it was time to stop treating her as such.
As they strolled along the road, a striking sandstone house came into view, and not for the first time Prudence contemplated the structure. A combination of Palladian and Baroque styles, Radbourne Abbey stood out against the rolling green hills like a queen among commoners. The columns spanning the front commanded attention, and the array of windows made Prudence want to peek inside. She had never been afforded the opportunity, but she imagined marble floors, gleaming wood, and expansive rooms.
The house had served as inspiration for the hero’s home in a story she had begun writing at the beginning of the summer—The Troubles of Counte Montague. The scene she was currently working on involved a heated discussion between the hero and his parents. He wanted to close up half the house and his parents wouldn’t hear of it. They insisted that he—
No, she would not think of that story now. She had determined to let it rest for the afternoon, and that is precisely what she intended to do. Prudence glanced at her sister then at Radbourne Abbey once more, wondering about its occupants. She did not know Lord and Lady Bradden well, but when the time came for them to officially announce the betrothal of their son, The Viscount Knave, to Miss Sophia Gifford, that would undoubtedly change.
“How well acquainted are you with Lord Knave?” Prudence asked.
Sophia appeared momentarily surprised by the broken silence. She quickly recovered and followed Prudence’s gaze, squinting in the direction of the house. “As well as you, I imagine.”
“I do not know him at all,” said Prudence. “I have seen him in the distance, waved at him a time or two, but whenever Mother invited him and Lord and Lady Bradden to dine at Talford, I was always sent to the schoolroom. Thus, I have never made his acquaintance.”
“No, I suppose you haven’t had the chance, have you?” Under the brim of her wide linen bonnet, Sophia appeared troubled. “It is not right, or fair, that your come out has been delayed on account of my illness. I am sorry for it.”
“’Tis nothing.” Prudence waved her sister’s concern aside. If everything had gone according to plan, Sophia would already be married to Lord Knave and Prudence would be preparing for her own London season. Unfortunately, rheumatic fever took an ugly hold on her sister last fall, keeping her homebound for nearly nine months and on the brink of death for part of that time.
How difficult those months had been. Her parents had tried to send Prudence away to her aunt’s, but she had begged to remain, saying she could never pretend as though nothing was amiss when everything was. It had taken a great deal of convincing, but they relented at last, making Prudence promise to stay far away from the sickroom.
She had kept her promise, keeping to her bedchamber, the parlor, the library, and taking long walks when the weather permitted. But the sickness had gone on and on, taking a turn for the worse one day and a turn for the better the next. The months of perpetual concern, endless quiet, and loneliness caused Prudence to escape to her stories with more zeal than ever. They—and her visits to her friend Abby—became her only source of relief from the fear of losing her sister.
Prudence had prayed, she had cried, she had started a story about two sisters who had been as close as close could be until smallpox stole the life of one of them. Why Prudence had allowed the story to veer in that direction, she didn’t know. She only knew that it had caused her to shed a great many tears and feel miserable—at least until she’d tossed the last half of the story into the fire and rewritten the ending to something much happier.
Thankfully, it was her revised outcome that had come to fruition. Sophia had fully recovered and now walked at Prudence’s side free from any of the lasting struggles that affected many rheumatic fever sufferers. Her heart remained strong and her joints were free from pain.
“I begged Mother to allow both of us to be presented at court, but she wouldn’t consider it,” said Sophia. “She said it is not the thing, but in truth, I think she worries that you would capture all of the attention. Where would that leave me if Lord Knave does not come up to scratch? I would become the spinster sister of the most sought-after debutante in England.” Sophia smiled to show that she was teasing, but her expression contained an element of truth.
Prudence’s heart ached at the sight. It was true that her sister’s red hair and freckles were far from fashionable and she wasn’t quite as accomplished as her younger sister, but Sophia was beautiful and talented and more of a lady than Prudence would ever be. If her sister lacked for anything, it was confidence.
“A man would have to be bacon-brained not to notice you,” said Prudence firmly.
Sophia laughed. “Not if you are standing next to me. He wouldn’t be able to help himself, and rightly so. You are gorgeous in the fashionable sense and have an air of confidence about you that cannot be overlooked.”
“Nonsense, Sophia,” said Prudence. “It wouldn’t take more than a moment or two for a man to realize that you are the gem and I am nothing more than a silly bluestocking. And if Mother truly believes me capable of stealing your suitors, which are sure to be in great supply, she would have kept me homebound this summer instead of allowing me out into local society. I most certainly would not have her permission to attend Mrs. Hilliard’s dance next week, especially when Lord Knave is likely to attend—not that any of this matters as you are practically betrothed to the man.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Sophia. “One day I hope to be betrothed to him, but it is not a guarantee.”
That was news to Prudence. For as long as she could remember, When Sophia weds Lord Knave… had been a frequent topic of conversation. Why would her parents speak of their union as though it was a certainty if it wasn’t? They wouldn’t. Sophia was simply being her usual unassuming self.
“I’m sure he is merely waiting for you to make your bows before asking for your hand,” said Prudence.
“That is what both of our parents are hoping for, what I am hoping for, but he is under no obligation to do so and has never implied as much to me. Honestly, I do not know what his plans are with regard to me.”
Prudence frowned at her sister. “He has never implied anything of the sort? Are you sure? What have you spoken to him about?”
Sophia’s forehead wrinkled in thought before she shrugged. “I can’t say for certain. I fell ill before we had too many opportunities to get to know one another. When we dined together, our parents were present, and I don’t believe I contributed much to the conversation. And the few times we danced together, I can only recall discussing the w
eather or the graciousness of our host and hostess. Nothing of consequence.”
The weather? The graciousness of their hosts? Prudence could scarce believe it. She had always assumed the two had known each other as children, at least a little, and had maintained some level of correspondence over the years. They were to be married, after all.
“Were you not playmates when you were younger?” she asked.
“No.”
“Have you never bumped into him while out riding?” Sophia adored riding. Aside from the months she spent in the sickroom, she could be found racing across the meadows on any clear day. Surely they had encountered each other at some point.
“Only from a distance, but I never approached him, nor did he approach me.”
Prudence stopped walking and took her sister by the arm, causing her to stop as well. “Do you mean to tell me that you are planning to marry a man you hardly know?”
She nodded as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Why the devil would you agree to such a thing?”
Sophia appeared startled by her sister’s vehemence, but she did not chide her for it. Instead, she offered up an explanation that sounded more rehearsed than anything else. “Lord Knave will one day be the Earl of Bradden and the master of Radbourne Abbey, as well as a number of other, smaller estates.”
Prudence waited for her to continue, and when she did not, she prodded, “And…?”
Sophia rolled her eyes as though her reasons should be obvious. “And if I marry him, I will become a wealthy countess. In return, he will be marrying the heiress to Talford Hall. Once I come into my inheritance and the two estates are joined, we will be the largest landowners in the county.”
Prudence’s eyes widened in astonishment. All these years, talk of marriage between the two families had been nothing more than a business arrangement? What if they did not care for one another? What if he turned out to be a tyrant or a rake or a bounder? What if he was the sort of man her sister could never grow to love or even care for?
“You cannot be serious,” Prudence whispered.
“But I am. Why else would I marry if not for the enticement that I will one day be a countess?”
Prudence had no words for this. She could only gawk at her sister in what was surely a most unladylike fashion. “What if you cannot love him?” she squeaked.
Sophia smiled a little and shook her head, making Prudence feel as though she was back in the schoolroom, being laughed at for her fanciful notions.
“I'm fairly certain I can find something to love in him, even if it is only his house, his title, his wealth, and his person. He is quite handsome, you know.”
Prudence was not appeased. Perhaps she had read too many novels or invented too many stories, but she desperately wanted to feel the euphoria of falling in love—the sort of love that made titles and wealth and mansions inconsequential, not that Prudence would complain if the man she fell in love with had those things. But she didn't require them. She only required a man who could make her heart leap, her skin tingle, and her world ignite with endless possibilities.
How could her sister consider settling for less?
“You think me unromantic, don't you?” asked Sophia.
Prudence couldn’t even pretend she didn’t think it. “Unromantic, without passion, and mad.”
Sophia laughed. “Let us see how mad I am when I am mistress of Radbourne Abbey and wife to a handsome earl. You, on the other hand, are welcome to marry Mr. Winston, with his small cottage and only one servant. But you will love him dearly, so none of that will matter, will it?”
Prudence grimaced at the very idea of being saddled to that man. “I could never love Mr. Winston. He is far too serious.”
“’Tis a pity you think that,” said Sophia with a grin. “I think he fancies himself in love with you.”
“What rot,” said Prudence, even though she, too, had noticed an increase in his attentions of late, especially at the last dance she’d attended at the town hall. He had attempted to claim her hand for three dances, instead of the acceptable two, and she had been forced to feign dizziness and ask that he procure her a glass of lemonade instead. He stubbornly remained at her side through two additional dances until she had spied her friend across the room and said, “Poor Miss Nash is without a partner. Do say you will be her rescuer, sir.”
Mr. Winston had jumped up to do her bidding, and Prudence had sent her friend an apologetic glance before seeking out her mother and claiming a headache. They had left the dance early that night, and it was all because of the dratted Mr. Winston. She could only pray he had not been invited to Mrs. Hilliard’s dance.
It was a fledgling hope, but she clung to it nonetheless.
Not wanting to discuss Mr. Winston further, Prudence said, “Should I ever fall in love with a man who has only a small cottage and one servant, I would be more content married to him than to a man of fortune who I could never love.”
“Would you continue to love him, I wonder, when you are required to help with the washing, cooking, and mending? How romantic would life be then?”
Not at all romantic, Prudence thought, realizing she had probably spoken with a little too much conviction. “I will simply have to fall in love with a man of means.”
Sophia laughed. “So we are able to select the men we fall in love with now, is that it? In that case, I choose to fall in love with Lord Knave.”
Prudence shook her head and smiled, understanding her sister and not understanding her at the same time. Yes, it sounded wonderful to live in Radbourne Abbey as the wife of a handsome and wealthy earl, but if they could not come to love, admire, or even like each other, that large house would feel more empty than luxurious, wouldn’t it?
Was it so wrong to want to love and be loved? Was it wrong to want to read about love and write about love and experience love? And if it was so wrong, or merely a ridiculous fantasy, why did Prudence desire it so very much?
DURING THE CARRIAGE ride to the Hilliards, Prudence didn't even attempt conversation. She was far too glum. As the carriage jostled her family along, she thought back over her many frustrations of the past week. Each night she had listened until all household sounds had died down before lifting the floorboard near the edge of her bed, removing the stack of foolscap, and crawling back into bed with her pencil in hand and a small candle flickering at her side.
Then she’d waited.
And waited.
And waited.
For nothing.
No interesting conversations emerged, no scenes played out in her mind, and no new characters surfaced. Instead, her existing characters seemed to lose any and all motivations. They became lifeless and droll and so very vexing.
Prudence had at last tossed the papers aside, blaming her mother for taking away her one and only source of inspiration. Whenever she would read, her mind would come alive with dialogue, strategies, and interesting twists and turns. Sometimes she’d dismiss them as ridiculous and other times she would write furiously. Regardless, the ideas would come. They’d always come.
Until now.
“Here we are.” Her mother’s voice broke into her thoughts, and Prudence realized they had arrived at the Hilliards.
She glanced out of the window at the inviting house before her. A wide staircase led up to a charming red brick house with a dozen windows blinking candlelight. It was a romantic site to behold, with beautifully dressed ladies ascending the steps on the arms of well-dressed men, but Prudence couldn’t make herself feel enthused. She had planned to sneak away to the library for the evening, and had thought it a grand idea for a time, but as she worked over the logistics, she came to the aggravating conclusion that her mother would eventually notice her absence and come looking for her. She would have time to read a chapter or two, but that was all, and who wanted to begin a story they could not finish?
Not her. So once again, she was subject to the controlling strings of her mother.
Prudence climb
ed from the carriage with a sigh, knowing that nothing fresh or different would happen on the other side of those walls. The ballroom was bound to be unbearably stuffy, the drinks lukewarm, and Mr. Winston was probably lying in wait, ready to pounce and claim her first two, possibly three, dances. Not even Lord Knave’s impending arrival sparked an interest in her. From Sophia’s descriptions, he sounded as though he would get along with Mr. Winston all too well.
Prudence should have pled a headache and not come at all, not that her mother would have countenanced such a thing.
Just as she feared, the moment they were shown into the ballroom, Mr. Winston solicited her hand for the first dance. She nodded and mustered a kind smile while mentally preparing herself for what would undoubtedly be the longest evening of her life. Surely London would be more exciting than this. It had to be.
“Miss Prudence, you’ll never guess what I discovered in my wheat fields this morning. A turnip plant. Can you imagine?”
Yes, Prudence could imagine it, especially considering the man had harvested turnips from the same field the previous fall. He’d given her a detailed history of his crop rotations the last time they’d spoken. She feigned an interest and muttered a few intelligible responses, knowing he did not want—or expect—an actual discussion.
She proceeded to listen with only half an ear as the music played on and on and on, wishing she could think of some adventurous tale to help whittle away the time, but all her mind conjured up was the image of a servant girl weeding turnips from the wheat.
Insipid, colorless, unimaginative.
When at last the dance concluded, Mr. Winston tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her back in the direction of her mother. “You are looking well tonight, Miss Prudence. That gown is the color of my wheat field in the early-morning light. Do say you will honor me with the supper dance.”
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