My Sister's Intended

by Rachael Anderson

  She nodded, respecting his desire to protect his friend. Perhaps it was for the best anyway. Prudence didn’t want to cause Mrs. Harper additional pain by stirring up memories of the past, but oh, how she’d love to know the woman’s thoughts on the subject.

  “Do you have any questions for me now?” asked Lord Knave.

  She bit her lip, knowing she needed time to articulate them better. She hadn’t given much thought to her story for days, and if he was truly willing to answer her questions, she wanted to be thorough. “Give me a week, and I shall have a list of questions for you.”

  “A list?”

  She dismissed his concern with a flippant wave of her hand. “Only a few pages or so, nothing too strenuous.”

  “Pages?”

  “Yes, only two or three.” She tried her best to keep a straight face, but it didn’t serve. His expression was far too comical. She giggled. “I’m only teasing, Lord Knave. I promise to keep my questions to a minimum. I shall also think up more ways for you to successfully court my sister. Do we have an accord?”

  Her words didn’t seem to appease him, but he eventually nodded nonetheless. “Very well. Let us meet back here at the same time next week. In the interim, I will take your sister on a ride, and you can begin your list of reasonable questions. How does that sound?”

  “My lord,” Prudence chided. “Are you proposing another assignation with a woman who is not your soon-to-be betrothed? Careful, sir, or I might go back to thinking of you as a knave.”

  “Perhaps I am a knave.”

  “Then you are not allowed to court my sister.”

  He snickered. “I will keep that in mind should I decide that we are not as well-suited as some might hope. It would be an easy thing to behave as my name suggests.”

  Prudence attempted to glare at him, but it fell sadly short of the mark. “You are teasing me.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “But if you’d rather not meet me here again, you may slip me a note at the musicale on Friday, assuming you are planning to attend. Or I could call upon you at Talford Hall. I’m sure your mother and sister would not find that the slightest bit odd. Or perhaps we can invent some sort of code and exchange letters. Do you happen to know a language your parents do not? Egyptian, perhaps?”

  “Do you know Egyptian?” she asked, grinning at his ridiculousness.

  “No.”

  “Then how would you read my notes.”

  “I would hire a translator.”

  Prudence’s body shook from suppressed laughter. “Do stop, my lord, or poor Scamp will think the earth is quaking.”

  Lord Knave pushed away from the tree and approached her, gently removing Scamp from her arms. His close proximity had an unsettling effect on Prudence’s heart, but she did her best to disregard it as he held the puppy up with one large hand under its middle.

  “It appears to me as though you could use some exercise,” said Lord Knave to the puppy. “Shall we let you down?”

  Scamp’s tail waved excitedly, and Lord Knave lowered the animal to the ground, allowing it to run about their feet. Much to Prudence’s relief, her little dog did not attempt to threaten Brute. Hmm… Perhaps he could be trained to mind her in time.

  “I must say, Miss Prudence,” said Lord Knave, wandering over to untie Brute from the tree. “I am glad you trespassed on our property today. It has been a pleasure.”

  “It has,” she agreed.

  “Until next week then.” He tipped his hat in her direction before taking his leave. Brute sniffed, but made no additional noise as he trailed behind at a sedate pace.

  Prudence watched them for a moment before her puppy began yipping once more. She looked down fondly and tugged gently on his leash. “Come now, Scamp. If we do not return soon, Mother will fret and worry and lecture me yet again. You have yet to experience one of her rants, so you must take my word for it that they are not at all pleasant.”

  Scamp barked and began to follow her in his roundabout way. Prudence let him sniff and investigate various things while her thoughts returned to Lord Knave and a smile returned to her face.

  BRAND CAST A sidelong glance at his riding companion. The deep blue of her habit suited her well, and her matching bonnet framed her face in an attractive fashion. But that was as much of a compliment as he could give her. Miss Gifford sat on a horse as though she had a broomstick tied to her back, appearing less than thrilled to be out riding.

  After their almost painful conversation—or rather attempt at conversation—at the musicale a few days earlier, Brand had been hesitant to follow through on his promise to invite her for a ride. It had taken him until Monday afternoon to issue the invitation.

  Now here they were, riding at a sedate pace while struggling to come up with something of interest to say to one another.

  He peeked at her from the corner of his eye, trying to imagine her without a bonnet. Had Miss Prudence been bamming him about that? Did Miss Gifford really enjoy racing across the open meadow with her hair about her shoulders? Brand couldn’t picture it. Nor could he picture her laughing or teasing or saying anything other than what was proper.

  He halted his horse and twisted to look at her. “How would you feel about a race?” he blurted.

  Her eyes widened, appearing both surprised and panicked. “A race?”

  “Yes, it’s when two people—or horses in this instance—attempt to outrun the other.”

  Her cheeks turned a rosy hue. “I know what a race is, my lord. I was merely surprised by the suggestion.”

  “Why?”

  The question seemed to further discomfit her. “I don’t know, exactly. I…” Her words trailed off, and she looked away.

  Brand wondered what made her fidget and blush. Had he said or done something to cause her discomfort? Did the thought of a union between them make her as anxious as it did him? Miss Prudence had said that her sister would like to become betrothed to him, but was that true?

  In an attempt to set her at ease, he mustered a teasing tone. “I’m willing to wager that my horse can outrun yours.”

  His words did not have the desired effect. She didn’t even smile. She merely stared at him in confusion.

  Untie those strings and remove your bonnet, he thought, wanting her to throw all caution to the wind and show her true self. If the woman underneath turned out to be anything like her sister, they could get on rather well together.

  “I…” Again, her voice trailed off as her horse fidgeted beneath her.

  “Do you not like to race?” Brand pressed.

  “Do you?” she returned.

  Why she felt the need to ask such a question was beyond him. Perhaps she didn’t think she could admit to liking such a pastime unless he did as well, though he couldn’t imagine why.

  “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t.” He smiled to soften his words.

  “No, I suppose not.” She surprised him by lifting her chin and looking directly into his eyes. “Under normal circumstances, I do like to race, my lord. But my horse is recovering from a minor injury, and I made a promise to our groom that I would not run him today. So a walk it must be.”

  He nodded, disappointed. “Perhaps another day then.”

  “I would like that, my lord.” Her words sounded stiff and rehearsed, as though she had memorized the line and refused to deviate from it.

  They continued to watch each other, and an awkward silence descended. She was the first to drop her gaze to her hands. Brand tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. How was it that conversation had flowed so easily with Miss Prudence but not Miss Gifford? Although the sisters did not look alike, from what he’d observed on the road the other week, they shared an easy camaraderie. Was it him, then? Was Brand the reason he and Miss Gifford could not get past trivial pleasantries?

  “What sort of injury did your horse sustain?” he asked.

  “Only a sprain, or so the groom believes. I returned from a ride the other day with him favoring his f
ront right leg. After an examination, our groom determined it was nothing serious, but I would be wise not to race him for at least a week.”

  “Would you like to take my horse for a run instead?” Brand asked, hoping she would accept his offer. He desperately wanted to see the other side to this timid girl—the side her sister encouraged him to discover.

  She shook her head. “You are kind to offer, my lord, but I am content to take it slow today.”

  “Have you always liked to ride fast?” he questioned, hoping to keep her talking.

  “I have.” A small smile appeared on her lips. “It is one of the few things that has come easily for me, and I cannot help but love it. The faster my horse carries me, the happier I am.”

  Brand smiled in return, grateful to have at last found some common ground with her. “Then it is settled. As soon as your groom feels it safe for your horse to race, we shall try again, though you’d best prepare yourself to lose.”

  “I shall do nothing of the kind, my lord,” she said, at last showing some pluck.

  Brand wanted her to say something more and continue bantering with her, but she gathered the reins in her hands and urged her horse forward, apparently thinking the conversation finished. A pity, he thought as he watched her move ahead. It would have been nice to see more of that pluck.

  How different she seemed from her sister. Brand knew he shouldn’t compare them, but he found it impossible not to do so. Miss Prudence, with her mischievous dark eyes and quick smile, was like a polished gem, shimmering and radiant. Her sister, on the other hand, seemed more like the unpolished version of a similar gem, not as shiny or sparkly, but not without potential either.

  But how to bring about that transformation?

  Brand had no idea. He only knew that his eyes were drawn to the more radiant sister. He liked Miss Prudence’s smile, her laugh, her wit, and her candid nature. She had shredded his character from the treetops and repaired it from the ground. She had teased him in one breath and complimented him in the next. For that short while with her in the clearing, Brand had experienced a cheerfulness he hadn’t felt in nearly a year. It had lightened and lifted and made him wish he could encounter her every afternoon.

  Brand closed his eyes for a moment, knowing such thoughts would lead to trouble. It was the unpolished Miss Sophia Gifford he should be concerned with, not her sister.

  He drew in a deep breath and forced his mind back to the woman riding ahead of him. Though she appeared more relaxed than she had in the beginning, her back remained straight, and her bonnet still remained securely affixed to her head.

  Time, he thought as he prodded his horse to follow. I simply need to give it more time.

  BRAND FOUND BOTH of his parents in the library with their heads bent together over a small table. They were an attractive pair—his father, the Earl of Bradden, with his tall stature, firm jaw, and distinguished graying hair, and his mother, Lady Bradden, with her sharp, intelligent eyes, dark hair, and youthful skin. According to his uncle, his father had once been the most sought-after bachelor and his mother, with her beauty and sizable dowry, the most sought-after debutante. Their union had been the talk of the ton, placing the young couple among the most distinguished and wealthy in all of England. But that was not the only thing their marriage boasted. From the moment they’d met, Brand was told, they had been mad for each other. His father had done what few men had. He had fallen in love with the right woman.

  His parents looked up, spied their son on the threshold, and immediately quieted their conversation, which meant that they had probably been discussing Brand, or at least something having to do with him, as was often the case of late.

  His suspicions were confirmed when he approached and spotted a map on the table between them, depicting the property lines of all the estates in Oxfordshire. Someone—probably his father—had taken a quill and darkened the line surrounding the greatest estate, Hampstead Manor, which was located in the north part of the county. Another line had been drawn around Radbourne Abbey and Talford Hall, illustrating that if the two properties were joined, the Earl of Bradden and his family would hold claim to the largest estate in Oxfordshire.

  Brand swallowed, knowing how much his father craved that distinction—how much Brand, as heir, should want it, both for himself and for future generations. His parents had always said that his choice of a bride was his to make, but it really wasn’t, not if he wished to follow in his father’s footsteps and marry for the sake of his position and family. Brand had only ever had one choice: Miss Sophia Gifford.

  He swallowed, wondering why his valet had tied his cravat so blasted tight. He slipped his finger under the knot and attempted to loosen it. His mother seemed to notice the gesture, and lines of concern appeared across her forehead and around her eyes. She shifted positions to better face him and folded her hands into her lap.

  “I was only just reminding your father that you should not feel any pressure to tie the knot just yet. You are young and still have plenty of time to make your decision.”

  Brand stopped tugging on his cravat, feeling some measure of relief. His mother always knew how to set his mind at ease. His father, on the other hand, did not.

  “Plenty of time?” he said, obviously not in agreement with his wife. “How can you say such a thing? You know very well that you are as anxious as I am to see him set up his nursery.”

  “He is only six-and-twenty, dearest,” she reminded him with a pat to his knee. “You did not marry until you were eight-and-twenty.”

  “Only because I was required to wait until you had made your bows.”

  Her eyes twinkled with mirth. “You are telling tales, sir. How can you claim to have waited for me when you did not know me?”

  “I knew that I had yet to meet my bride.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Flattery will not serve, Bradden. Admit it. You were far more interested in enjoying the life of a bachelor than settling down.”

  He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Only until I made your acquaintance, my love. The moment I saw you from across that ballroom, I wanted nothing more than to settle down.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the joy in her expression. Brand marveled once again about how lucky his father had been to marry a woman who complemented him in every aspect. If only Brand could be so lucky.

  His mother turned to him again, and with her hand still on her husband’s knee, said, “Even though your father enjoys playing with the possibility of increasing Radbourne Abbey, you need not feel obligated to marry Miss Gifford if you cannot come to care for her. Your father and I would prefer to see you as happily settled as we have been.”

  His father frowned at his wife. “Arranged marriages are not without merit. Only think of my parents. Their union turned out all right, did it not?”

  “Yes, but your sister is not nearly as happily settled, is she?”

  “Only because my parents arranged for her to marry a poppycock, which Miss Gifford is not.”

  “Shouldn’t that be for our son to determine?” said his mother with a gentle smile.

  His father harrumphed in response, but he rolled up the map and slid it into a drawer, saying nothing more.

  Brand thought back on his ride with Sophia. It had gone a little better than previous attempts to court her, but conversation had still taken a great deal of effort. They had not laughed once together. Did Miss Gifford even enjoy laughing, or did she consider it unseemly? Perhaps she didn’t find Brand amusing.

  “Hildebrand, dearest,” said his mother. “What is troubling you?”

  Brand disliked it when his mother called him by his full given name. Most mothers referred to their sons by their titles, as his father did, but not Brand’s mother. She didn’t care for his title, and she adored his given name. “It’s distinguished and far more pleasing on the ears than Knave,” she had told him.

  Brand disagreed. He had grown accustomed to his title long ago, but he had nev
er, and could never, grow to like Hildebrand. It rankled every time he heard it, and he wished greatly she would call him Brand instead.

  She never had.

  His mother changed tactics. “You never said how your ride with Miss Gifford went. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Yes,” he answered curtly, hoping it would put a stop to all talk involving his future bride or expectations. “I simply dropped in to tell you that I will be taking Brute for a walk. Crims seems to believe our daily excursions are doing him good. The beast is at last showing some signs of progress.”

  It was not precisely the truth. The real change had stemmed from their encounter with Miss Prudence and Scamp in the woods. Since that time, Brute had tempered and become far more manageable. When they went out for their daily walk, Brute dragged Brand to the clearing and refused to continue on until he had sniffed, smelled, and inspected the whole of it. When his efforts produced no Scamp or Miss Prudence, only then would the dog move on. Brand found it humorous but couldn’t deny that he, too, wished to encounter Miss Prudence and her puppy again.

  “How long are we to have that beast?” asked his father.

  Brand leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of a chair. “Until I can return him to Catherine a more mild-tempered animal. She has dealt with more than enough this past year and does not need an unruly dog as well.”

  “You seem to have taken a pointed interest in her since your return,” said his mother carefully.

  “She is a good friend, Mother. Nothing more.”

  She nodded slowly, but her expression conveyed both doubt and concern. “Catherine is a dear, but I don’t believe she is the woman for you. You need someone with more spirit.”

  Brand’s answering snicker contained no humor. “And you believe Miss Gifford is such a woman?”

  She nodded without hesitation. “I do. I have had opportunities to observe her up close and from afar, and I believe her to be quite spirited. Did you notice how well she rides today? One might say that she rides with abandon. It’s a beautiful sight. I believe that once you come to know her better she will surprise you most pleasantly.”