The School of Charm: Books 1-5

by Maggie Dallen

No, she was absolutely content to marry a wealthy merchant. It was the best she could hope for and she knew it.

  Mr. Benedict turned to her. “My, you are quite well connected, aren’t you?”

  Her smile felt wan. “I suppose I am.”

  “Now you are being modest, dear.” Her great aunt’s voice was grating in its falseness. “Why, just this afternoon Lord Damian assured me that he and his uncle would be joining us for a music recital so we can all hear how well his lessons have been working.”

  “The Marquess of Ainsley will be joining us?” Sir William’s eyes were wide with shock. He and Mr. Benedict both looked suitably impressed.

  Her aunt’s gaze was fixed on her and Prudence was certain she’d seen her start.

  Recital? Tomorrow?

  And Damian would be there? She couldn’t even bring herself to think about the marquess or her potential husband, not now when pieces were falling into place.

  So that was how he’d handled her aunt. With a bribe. He’d no doubt used his position and his uncle’s to ensure that her aunt was appeased.

  Prudence toyed with her spoon. She wasn’t certain whether to be amused, impressed, or annoyed. Was that how he handled all situations? How many times had he been caught alone with a student and talked his way out of it by using his uncle’s status?

  “Miss Pottermouth, is everything all right?” Mr. Benedict asked.

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” She smiled brightly, as if that would make it true. Meanwhile her insides were twisting and churning and she could not be sure whether it was at the idea of performing or the thought of Damian with other young ladies.

  “Well, I for one am looking forward to hearing this performance tomorrow evening,” Mr. Benedict said with a smile in her direction that felt so patronizing it bordered on insulting. “I may find music and the arts a frivolous pastime but having a wife who can entertain clients and colleagues in the drawing room is a fact of life for a man like me.” As he said this, he puffed his chest out to a magnificent degree.

  Prudence felt the words like a blow. No, it was his tone. So sanctimonious. So smug. So...so…so similar to her own.

  Was that how she sounded?

  The air rushed out of her lungs as she thought back to all the times Louisa had used those very same words to describe her.

  She’d always been so sure of herself. So confident in her skills—well, all except one. She’d always known that she worked hard to be the perfect wife, that she did her very best to be the perfect niece her aunt expected.

  And right here, right now, it all seemed to be for naught. Because she hadn’t mastered the one skill that mattered most to this man.

  After dinner, her aunt cornered her alone. “Do not think for one second that you are excused for the way you behaved earlier,” she snarled when Mr. Benedict and Sir William were out of earshot.

  “P-pardon?”

  Her aunt’s expression was hard, her tone unyielding. “Your behavior was a disgrace,” she hissed. “Taking Lord Damian off alone like that. Throwing yourself at him like some sort of—”

  “I did not—”

  “Do not interrupt me, girl.” She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “Do you think you can do better than Mr. Benedict, is that it? You, the daughter of a scandal? Do you think that just because you are distantly related to a peer you have a right to that status yourself?”

  “N-no, Aunt—”

  “Lord Damian can do better than a girl like you, and if you have your sights on the marquess, then let me tell you—”

  “I don’t have my sights on anyone.” She said it too loudly and she and her aunt both paused to glance over at the gentlemen.

  “Keep your voice down and don’t cause me any more problems.” Her aunt was already fixing a frightening smile on her face as she turned back toward the others. “And you’d better prove Lord Damian correct tomorrow evening.”

  “Prove him correct? W-what did he say?”

  Aunt Eleanor’s smile faded with a sniff of disdain. “He said you were perfect. Ha!” She let out a bark of laughter that held no humor, only insult. “Can you imagine?”

  “He said that…?” Her voice trailed off because it was quickly becoming clear that she was talking to herself. Her aunt had already set off to give orders to the staff and Prudence was left to stand there and wonder.

  Just what exactly had Damian said to her aunt earlier today?

  Chapter Twelve

  Uncle Edward rubbed at his temples as early afternoon light filtered in through the study’s open window. The autumn air was crisp and refreshing, but it did not seem to be helping his uncle’s headache. “And you two were alone?”

  Damian winced. He had a suspicion that he was responsible for this particular headache. No matter how he phrased it, his uncle kept coming back to that one point. “As I said before, we’d had a chaperone but she’d taken the carriage back and—”

  “And you were alone,” his uncle finished.

  Damian sighed. He wasn’t sure why he was still trying. Possibly because he didn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression. Not about Pru, at least.

  Guilt nagged at him, and something else, too. Something far more elusive and way more terrifying. He’d been so close to Prudence, and when her aunt and those others came outside, nothing had been going on between them, but…

  He’d wanted to kiss her.

  He’d thought about it.

  Oh, who was he trying to fool? If he’d been out there alone with her for one second longer, he would have kissed her. There was no doubt about it, and there was certainly no thinking involved.

  How could he not kiss her when she was looking at him like that? Like it was just the two of them. Like they were a team, on the same side, like she might actually need him and his help. Like he had something to offer.

  Uncle Edward rubbed his eyes. “You need to be more careful, Damian.”

  “I know, I know. But it was my fault, not hers. And the only way I could make it right—”

  “Was to offer me up as a sacrifice at some poor girl’s music recital?” His uncle looked pained.

  Damian winced again. “Well, when you phrase it like that…”

  His uncle gave a short laugh but it trailed off as his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Damian was starting to be very familiar with that look. “This isn’t another one of your attempts to find me a new wife, now is it?”

  Damian did his best impersonation of a man offended. “I would never.”

  His uncle raised a brow.

  “I would never...so soon after my last attempt,” he amended, making them both grin.

  Edward shook his head. “You’re the only person I know who wants to run from the peerage.”

  “I’m the only person you know. Period.” He heaved a weary sigh that sounded remarkably similar to his uncle’s. “You’re so mired down in work and obligations, you never meet anyone new. Perhaps there is a wonderful young lady out there who is perfect for you—”

  “Damian,” his uncle growled in warning.

  Damian sighed again, this time in exasperation. His uncle had always been tight lipped about his first marriage, which ended when his wife died shortly before Damian was brought to live with his uncle. All he knew for certain was that his uncle wasn’t keen on trying again, even if that meant the title passed on to him—the notorious half-gypsy nephew who had no desire to take on the role.

  But, that was a battle for another day. For right now, all that mattered was making good on his promise to the Dowager Demon to ensure his uncle was in attendance this evening. Otherwise, he hated to think what sort of trouble Prudence would be in with the old bat.

  Only talk of his powerful uncle and his slightly exaggerated interest in Prudence had smoothed over her obvious anger at their impropriety.

  “You will come, Uncle, won’t you?” He leaned forward eagerly and watched as his uncle relented right in front of his eyes.

  “Fine. What better way to spend an evening
than listening to a novice musician perform?”

  He ignored his uncle’s sarcasm, rising to leave the room before he could change his mind. Damian hadn’t gone far when he was stopped by a servant with a missive addressed to him.

  The flare of joy that shot through him at the sight of Pru’s name scrawled across the bottom was alarming. At what point had he become so enamored with the goody-two-shoes from the neighboring estate?

  He shoved the question aside for another day because she wanted to see him.

  Alone.

  He raced toward the thicket of trees that divided the property, not even needing exact directions to know where she’d be hiding. It was the fallen log that had played a role in any number of their childish games.

  Well, his games. She’d never wanted to play. She’d been too busy with her lessons or trying and failing to keep her pinafore perfectly crisp and clean.

  Now he knew why, of course, but at the time all he’d wanted to do was make a mess of her starched white fabric and tug her long braids until she lost that fearsome scowl.

  And now… Well, now she’d lost the scowl and he found he wanted it back. He far preferred an angry sanctimonious impossibly prudent Pru to one who cowered in fear.

  When he spotted her, pacing the area between the two trees that formed a sort of gateway between the properties, he was fairly certain his heart stopped. His blood burned in his veins.

  Whatever this was, this new reaction to seeing Prudence, he wasn’t certain he liked it and he had no idea what to do about it.

  “Damian!” She cried out his name so sweetly when she saw him. Almost like she’d missed him. The thought warmed his heart. It also made him realize that he had missed her. Which was ridiculous. He’d seen her less than twenty-four hours before.

  “Damian, what are we to do?” she asked as he drew near.

  He stared down at her for a moment, only now seeing the panic in her eyes. And then it hit him.

  Of course.

  The reality of her situation was only now occurring to her. She couldn’t have spent an evening with that pompous bore and not seen the writing on the wall.

  She wasn’t meant for a man like that. A man like Mr. Benedict would stifle her. He would bring out her worst tendencies and smother the parts of her that made her so deliciously Pru. Her passion, her straightforwardness, her vulnerability and her clever methods of hiding it, her big heart, and her even bigger brain…

  “Damian, are you even listening to me?”

  Her wonderful tendency to sigh as she talked as though she could hardly contain her exasperation for one more moment.

  His lips curved up at the thought. “My apologies, what were you saying? You wish to avoid this engagement, of course, but—”

  “What? No! Of course I don’t want out of the agreement.”

  He found himself gaping like she’d been staring at him. As though she’d just grown a second head. “You don’t?”

  She looked pained at the very idea. “Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”

  Why? He shifted uncomfortably, watching as the breeze stirred the dark locks near her temple and pressed the too-loose gown against the lovely curves of her body.

  Why indeed?

  She’d never show the slightest interest in abandoning this union, only in making it a certainty. That was what these lessons were all about. He rubbed at his forehead in confusion. At what point had he lost track of that?

  He supposed it was because up until yesterday afternoon her potential husband had been invisible. Unthreatening. Now he was a dark cloud looming overhead, threatening to wreak havoc and impossible to ignore.

  But at this particular moment she seemed less bothered by the doom of her future than by him. Her glare turned fiery. “Are you even listening to me at all?”

  He tugged at his cravat as it hit him with full force. She would marry Mr. Benedict. She wanted to marry that man.

  Had it suddenly grown uncomfortably warm out here? Why was it so beastly hot on an autumn afternoon like this? His insides felt like they might combust. Perhaps something had gone sour in his breakfast because that was the only explanation for this sudden churning in his gut whenever he thought of Prudence and that doughy-faced bore with the blank stare.

  Prudence threw her hands up, her eyes wide. “What are we going to do?”

  “About what?”

  “About me? Performing.” She hissed the word ‘performing’ like it was a scandalous act.

  “What are you worried about? You needn’t play the pianoforte. I’d be happy to accompany you.”

  “You want me to sing?” Her voice went up so high he winced.

  “I take it you do not relish the idea of singing.” He’d aimed for droll but fell short.

  Her answer was a glare. “You had better not be finding this amusing. After all, your reputation as a musical genius is at stake here, remember.”

  “I remember.” He tried not to smile, he truly did. But the way she’d said ‘musical genius’ made it impossible.

  She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You are not allowed to be amused.”

  Without thinking, he placed a hand over hers and held it to him. All at once the atmosphere between them shifted from her bickering exasperation and his answering amusement to something else entirely.

  This ‘something’ seemed to crackle in the air between them and weigh him down like he was moving in the midst of a dense, thick fog.

  “What are you doing?” Her words sounded muted, her lips barely moving.

  He knew this because he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from those lips.

  So many emotions chasing each other like a dog chasing its tail. There were thoughts and feelings and emotions he’d never once felt before and knew not how to name. There were so many things he wanted to say. But what came out of his mouth was, “You don’t really care if you impress this stuck-up bore, do you?”

  “How do you know he’s a stuck-up bore?” she returned.

  He tugged her closer and she didn’t resist. His heart was pounding, his blood roaring in his ears. “You didn’t deny it.”

  “Because it doesn’t matter if he’s a bore or not.” Her words were even but her breathlessness gave her away. She wasn’t as unmoved by his proximity as her words made it seem. “He is the man I am to wed.”

  “Is that what you wish?” He found himself holding his breath.

  “It is what I’ve been meant for my whole life.”

  “And I’m meant to be a marquess,” he said. “But I do not wish it. So I’m asking you again, do you wish to marry that man who you’ve only just met?”

  She blinked, her brows drawing together as if the question confused her. “I have no other options. If I do not marry him…” She didn’t finish. Jerking her hand away, her eyes flashed, her chin set. Her shoulders straightened with resolve.

  He saw the moment she convinced herself that she had no other option and so she would embrace this one.

  “Pru, you are the one who told me that I could make of my life what I wished. Why should it not be the same for you?”

  She arched her brows. “Do you honestly believe that? With my parentage and the scandal and—”

  “I come from a scandal too, you might recall.”

  Her eyes flashed again, and this time it was with bitter anger. “You think that the fortunes and fate of an heir presumptive to a marquess is the same as that of a scandalous daughter with very few connections and a modest dowry?” She took a step back, irritation clear in her gaze. “Do you honestly think we are the same? That our options are similar?”

  He hated the resignation in her eyes. He hated it even more that she was pulling away from him, crushing the intimacy of this moment. “Pru…” He drew her name out as he moved toward her, unwilling to let her walk away. And once again he knew not what he wished to say. All he knew was that he couldn’t let this moment end without telling her how he felt.

  And how is that?


  He swallowed a thickness in his throat. A painful ache in his chest. He wasn’t sure what this was, but he didn’t want it to end.

  And he certainly couldn’t stand by and watch her marry someone so clearly beneath her in personality and charm and grace and—

  “What are you doing?” she snapped.

  He stopped. He hadn’t realized he’d been following her, stalking her like prey as she backpedaled away from him.

  While he felt like he was drowning in the fierce intensity of these new feelings, she looked like she might scatter into the wind if he touched her wrong. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with tension and for a moment he feared she might shatter. Her eyes were darting this way and that, her feet shuffling backwards.

  He had a horrible feeling she was getting ready to bolt.

  “What if there were other options, what if—”

  Her wide-eyed look temporarily stopped him. Her shock looked horrifyingly similar to...horror.

  Nerves had his mouth going dry. Was he really doing this? Was he honestly suggesting she turn her nose on the life she’d planned? And for what? For him? For a man with a bad reputation, whose prospects for the future were a gamble, at best?

  Was that what he was asking?

  Yes. He reached for her hands and held them tight. Yes, he was.

  “What if there was someone else,” he started, his voice gruffer than he’d ever heard it as the enormity of his emotions overtook him like a tidal wave. His head was reeling. When had this happened? At what point had Prudence gone from being the bane of his existence to the center of it? When had her happiness begun to mean more to him than his own?

  When exactly had he lost all reason and fallen head over heels in love with Pru?

  As his thoughts threatened to run away from him, Pru actually did.

  She tugged her hands out of his grip and stumbled back a few steps. He was shocked to see tears welling in her eyes. The sight of them clawed at his heart.

  “Pru, what I’m trying to say is, there is someone else.”

  She shook her head before he could continue. “This is what my aunt wants—”

  “But what about what you want?” Frustration made his tone harsh and for once he was the one glowering as they faced off. “What about what I want?”