My Sister's Intended

by Rachael Anderson

  Prudence attempted to hide her dismay. The supper dance? Could this man not see they would never suit? Perhaps he would if he took the time to discover her interests, but he spoke only of his plants and the health of his livestock, and while Prudence was not opposed to discussing such matters, he never asked for her opinion. He merely informed while she listened and nodded and said, “I see.” If she attempted to steer the conversation in another direction with a comment about politics or books or the latest on dits, he would steer it back to his farm.

  And now he wanted to continue informing her during the supper dance. What more could he possibly have to say on the subject? She did not wish to find out.

  Before she could bring herself to give him an answer, her friend, Miss Abigail Nash, clutched her free arm. "Forgive me, Mr. Winston, but there is a matter of great urgency that I must discuss with my friend.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” said Mr. Winston gallantly, bowing over Prudence’s glove before taking his leave.

  Prudence offered her friend a grateful smile. Tall and beautiful, with golden locks and a willowy figure, Abby had never looked more angelic. “What a dear you are, Abby, though I don’t deserve it after the way I foisted him on you at the last dance.”

  “If you think I did that for you, you are mistaken,” said Abby. “I was merely looking out for my own interests. Admit it, you were about to suggest that he seek me out so that you might be rid of him.”

  Prudence shook her head. “I would never do that to you again. In truth, I was about to suggest he take Miss Stevenson into supper instead of me. Don’t you think they would make a fine pair? She dislikes speaking, and he adores it.”

  “Yes, but does she enjoy listening to discourses on the latest plowing methods?” Abby asked.

  “I can’t say for certain as I have never been able to get her to speak more than a word or two. Have you had better luck?”

  “No. She appears so nervous in every situation. I have attempted to converse with her once or twice, thinking I was doing her a kindness, but I don’t think she considered it as such. I believe she prefers to be left alone.”

  Prudence eyed the girl for a moment, wondering if that was the case. Would anyone wish to remain forgotten in the corner, with no dance partners or friends to help pass the hours? Perhaps Prudence should make more of an effort to get to know her. At the very least, she ought to find out whether or not Miss Stevenson had an interest in farming and livestock.

  “Did your father come with you tonight?” Prudence asked, casting a quick glance around the ballroom.

  “Sadly, no. He is away on one of his business trips again. Great-aunt Josephine accompanied me.”

  “Oh. Where is she now?”

  “At one of the card tables, no doubt.” Abby leaned in close and lowered her voice. “Don’t look now, but Mr. Winston will not cease glancing your way. I believe he is waiting to swoop in the moment it appears as though our urgent conversation has come to an end.”

  “For pity’s sake.” Prudence waved her fan to cool her rising ire. She had no desire to be unkind to anyone as benign as Mr. Winston, but if he did not cease his increased attentions soon, she would have no choice in the matter.

  “Is it too much to ask that a charming, interesting, and handsome man enter the room at this very moment, set his sights on me, and shoo away every other man?” asked Prudence. “Does no such a person exist in South Oxfordshire?”

  Abby patted her arm kindly. “You will probably have to wait until London to encounter him, unless you plan to steal Lord Knave from your sister.” She wiggled her eyebrows and grinned. “I hear he’s quite dashing.”

  Prudence refrained from telling her friend that Lord Knave no more fit her requirements of a dashing gentleman than Mr. Winston did, not that she could fault Abby for placing him in that category. From the moment Prudence arrived, Lord Knave had been on the tip of everyone’s tongue. She was certain the entire town had come this evening with the hope of seeing him.

  “I hear he will be coming tonight,” said Abby, glancing slyly at the entrance.

  “That is what my mother and sister are hoping for,” said Prudence, examining her gloves.

  “But not you?”

  Prudence sighed, not wishing to discuss Lord Knave any longer. She kept picturing her sweet sister walking the expansive halls of Radbourne, alone and forlorn while her husband went off to London. “I do not care whether he comes or not. The way everyone speaks his name, with hushed tones and barely suppressed excitement, one would think the Prince Regent himself is coming.”

  Abby tried to suppress her smile. “If he was promised to you and not your sister, would you care then?”

  “I would never be foolish enough to promise myself to any man I did not know or love.”

  “Of course not,” said Abby. “Ever the romantic.”

  There it was again, that amused tone her sister so often used when Prudence brought up the subject of romance. She was coming to despise the way it pestered her to let go of her dreams.

  Never, she thought. I would rather live out the remainder of my days alone than be subject to a man I do not desire. Not that Prudence wished for that outcome either.

  “Is being a romantic so very wrong?” Prudence asked, more to herself than her friend.

  “Not really,” said Abby. “One day I very much hope to find a man who will make my heart trill, but I have no expectations to encounter him this evening.”

  A hush fell over the room, pulling the girls’ attention away from the conversation at hand and directing it towards the entrance of the ballroom, not too far from where they stood. A man had paused on the threshold, and Prudence couldn’t help but stare. He appeared precisely the way she had pictured Mr. Camden in the book she was currently writing. Tall, distinguished, handsome, and impeccably dressed, he had thick and wavy chestnut hair, piercing blue eyes, and a strong but slightly crooked nose. Confidence seemed to seep from his soul, and Prudence wondered if he was also clever, interesting, and kind.

  His gaze swept over the room, pausing for a moment at the far side. A hint of a smile stretched his lips for the merest of seconds before he continued on. Most people probably didn’t notice the pause, but Prudence did. She always noticed.

  She followed his gaze to find the lovely Mrs. Harper, with her flashing green eyes, silky auburn hair, and well-endowed figure. The poor woman had lost her husband to an accident last summer and had only recently come out of mourning. Her sapphire silk gown attested to it. But as Prudence observed her knowing smile—one that welcomed whatever attention the man on the threshold planned to give her—she no longer felt sorry for Mrs. Harper.

  Prudence looked back at the man, watching him closely as his eyes continued to scan the room. They rested briefly on her and Abby, but not for long. In the end, they settled on Sophia. With an expression that could only be described as resolute, he moved forward, greeting his host and hostess, exchanging a few words with some others, and nodding politely at Prudence and Abby as he passed. A moment later, he stopped in front of her sister and their mother and bowed over Sophia’s hand. Both women beamed with pride.

  So that was the infamous Lord Knave. Prudence ought to have known, she supposed, but she had been certain he would not be nearly as handsome as everyone seemed to think.

  She had been wrong.

  Her sister uttered a few words to him and Lord Knave reciprocated in kind. Her mother inserted a few more, but Sophia and Lord Knave’s expressions remained impassive and their smiles artificial. Conversation appeared to be more of a chore than a pleasure for both of them.

  A new set began forming, and Lord Knave held out his arm to her sister. As they made their way onto the dance floor, Abby leaned in and whispered, “Don't they look wonderful together?”

  Prudence pursed her lips in thought. Oh, they both looked handsome—Lord Knave in his dark, tailored jacket and her sister in her new, shimmering green gown. The moment Prudence had spotted that fabric, sh
e had known it was meant for her sister. Not only did it complement her red hair like no other color did, the fabric molded to her sister’s curves. Sophia had never looked lovelier. But together, they did not look wonderful. They looked ill at ease.

  Is this how they wished to spend the rest of their lives? All for the sake of land and titles?

  It was a depressing thought and one Prudence refused to dwell on for long. Perhaps once they came to know each other better, their smiles would become real and the wretched man would cease sneaking glances at the enticing Mrs. Harper when her sister’s attention was focused elsewhere. Apparently the respected Lord Knave was not as respectable as he would like people to think. When he and Mrs. Harper exchanged yet another secret look, Prudence’s opinion of him plummeted. How could she possibly have compared him to the hero from her book? Mr. Camden was every inch a gentleman, and Lord Knave—well, it seemed his title fit him altogether too well. He was every inch a knave.

  A knave who will one day become your brother-in-law, she reminded herself.

  “Miss Nash, do say you will dance with me,” intruded a welcome voice. It was one of the Calloway twins, come to steal her friend away.

  Prudence might have minded, but where there was one twin, the other was never far behind. Ah, here he came now.

  He side-stepped around a few people, slid between a few others, and finally arrived at Prudence’s side slightly out of breath. “Miss Prudence, I do apologize for arriving in such a state, but I’m afraid it could not be helped. Mrs. Hilliard detained me, allowing my brother an unfair lead.”

  Prudence looked from one Calloway twin to the other, trying to determine which was which. The brothers were as identical as two twins could be. Their noses were the same narrow shape, their eyes the same shade of gray, and their complexions free from any and all distinguishable blemishes. They even dressed similarly and styled their dark-blond hair alike—swept up on top and brushed forward on the sides. Try as she might, Prudence had never been able to tell them apart, which was exactly what they wanted. The two men—or rather, boys—took great delight in baffling those they encountered.

  Although Prudence could never take them seriously, she enjoyed their liveliness and humor. They were, by far, her favorite dancing partners.

  “Never apologize for arriving out of breath, sir,” said Prudence. “It is a compliment to have a man race to one’s side.”

  He leaned in and raised his hand to the side of his face to keep his words from being overheard. “You should consider it a great compliment then. I spied Freddy Standish coming your way and had to virtually gallop to beat him here.”

  From the corner of her eye, Prudence spied Freddy not far away, speaking to another young woman. She lowered her voice. “Bless you for your haste. Freddy always steps on my toes.”

  The twin’s eyes widened dramatically. “No.”

  She nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so. He has ruined many a slipper.”

  “Mine too,” added Abby. “I have learned not to wear my best ones to a dance where he is likely to attend.”

  “Pray tell us that we have never ruined any of your slippers,” said the other twin.

  “Thankfully, no,” said Prudence. “You are both far too graceful to ever do such a thing.”

  “You relieve our minds greatly,” said the twin nearest to Prudence. He took up her hand and bowed over it. “Only tell me that you trust me enough to put your lovely slippers under my protection for the duration of the next dance?”

  “That all depends on who is asking, sir.”

  He feigned an injured look. “Why, Felix, obviously. Do you not recognize me?”

  “Actually I do, Lionel,” she answered, as though she knew without a doubt to which twin she addressed. “I was merely testing your integrity, sir, which I now find lacking. Perhaps I should not dance with you after all.”

  “Ah, perceptive as usual.” He played along as he always did whenever Prudence claimed to know which was which. “What gave me away?”

  “The state of your cravat, if you must know. It appears as though you attempted to tie it yourself, which I know Felix would never do.”

  The one she referred to as Felix barked out a laugh. “I do believe you are right, Miss Prudence. That knot does indeed look pitiful. It couldn’t possibly be the work of our valet.”

  “Not to worry, Lionel,” said Abby, reaching over to straighten his neckcloth. “I fix my father’s often, so I know precisely what to do. There.” She patted his chest. “Good as new.”

  “Thank you, Abigail. I am in your debt.” Lionel shot her a grateful look before returning his attention to Prudence. “I beg you will set your displeasure of me aside for the duration of one dance. Do you think you can? I did gallop to your side, after all.”

  She managed to keep a straight face while she tapped her lower lip in thought. At last she said, “I suppose I can, but only if you’ll agree to gallop to my side again for the supper dance.”

  “That sounds more like a reward than a penalty,” he said gallantly as he led her onto the dance floor. “Perhaps I should fabricate more often.”

  “I’m not sure you can more often than you already do.”

  He laughed as the music for the cotillion began. They bowed and curtsied to each other, and when they rose, she joined hands with him and the man on her right to form a large circle.

  There was a reason Prudence loved to dance with either of the Callaway twins. They were always cheerful and interesting, quick to smile and laugh, and they never failed to lighten her mood.

  But alas, neither had ever made her heart beat in time with her feet.

  “Now really, which twin are you?” she asked as they began the set.

  “Are you doubting your observational skills?”

  “When it comes to you and your brother, I always doubt them.”

  He chuckled. “Rest assured you have guessed correctly then. I am Lionel.”

  She studied him from the corner of her eye—the slight tug of his lips, the glow in his eyes, and the merriment in his expression. Prudence might not be able to tell them apart, but she could tell when someone was attempting not to laugh at her.

  “Drat,” she muttered. “You are Felix after all.”

  He laughed louder this time, drawing the attention of the other dancers. She paid them little mind as she glared at her partner. “Someday, I hope you encounter twin sisters who are every bit as identical and aggravating as you and your brother.”

  He grinned and leaned in close. “And someday I will tell you the one feature that distinguishes me from my brother, but only because I like you so very much.”

  She had to smile at that. “I shall hold you to that, sir, but I will not hold my breath that I will discover your secret anytime soon. You like to tease me far too much.”

  “’Tis true,” he said. “Perhaps I shall direct my barrister to send you a letter upon my demise.”

  She laughed. “Now that, I can believe.”

  They continued to tease and smile and laugh throughout the remainder of the dance. Upon its conclusion, Felix led Prudence to her mother’s side. After a brief exchange, he excused himself to fetch them a drink, promising to return momentarily. Prudence watched him leave, feeling much more cheerful. Not only had he bolstered her spirits but there was now a high probability Felix would save her from an interminable supper with Mr. Winston.

  Her mother leaned in close and whispered, “Must you always steal the attention away from your sister?”

  Prudence looked at her mother in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “The way you made that boy laugh over and over and over again. It caused quite the scene. Everyone in the entire room was staring, my dear, including your sister’s partner.” She emphasized the last part as though Prudence was to blame for the man’s wandering eyes—eyes which she was sure had never settled on her. He had probably been examining the lovely Mrs. Harper, who had also joined the set.

  “The Callaway twins laugh
no matter their partner,” said Prudence, attempting to keep the exasperation from her tone.

  “If you believe that, you are a simpleton indeed.”

  Feminine laughter came from somewhere nearby, and Prudence was quick to nod in that direction. “See? There is Felix now, making Abby laugh.”

  “Yes, but is she making him laugh?”

  “She makes both twins laugh often, Mother. But I fail to see what that has to do with anything. Should no one be allowed to laugh at a dance?” Prudence’s voice rose slightly at the injustice of it all. To be accused of stealing away Lord Knave’s attention—a man she had no interest in at all. What fustian! She had done nothing to deserve her mother censure. She hadn’t even purchased a new gown for tonight’s event. All she’d done was allow herself to have a good time with a friend.

  “Mother, I—”

  “Hush. Here they come.” Her mother pasted a welcoming smile on her face while Prudence tried her best not to simmer. “Ah, here you are. Lord Knave, how good of you to return my daughter to me. I do hope you enjoyed the dance.”

  He nodded and bowed as any proper gentleman would. “Miss Gifford was a delight as always.”

  Sophia blushed, and their mother’s smile widened. “Yes, my lord. She certainly is always a delight.”

  As opposed to your younger daughter, Prudence thought in annoyance.

  “Please,” said Sophia. “You will bring me to the blush if you do not cease such compliments.”

  You are already blushing, Prudence thought uncharitably. Did her mother and sister realize they were practically fawning over the man? For what purpose? Her sister would be better served looking elsewhere for a husband.

  Prudence didn’t fail to notice that her mother had neglected to introduce her to the viscount—not that she wished for an introduction—but it was never a pleasurable experience to be so obviously overlooked.

  “Lord Knave,” said Sophia, apparently realizing her mother’s lapse. “Have you had the pleasure of meeting my sister, Miss Prudence?”