by Anne Gracie
“I hadn’t though that far ahead,” she admitted. “I just want to get away before he gets here—oh, and I will need to sell some jewelry. I will not have sufficient—”
“You need not sell your trinkets,” he began. “I shall advance a sum—”
“I’m sorry, but I could not possibly accept money from you,” Prudence interrupted him firmly. She added in a softer voice, “Your help is most welcome, Lord Carradice, and I will gladly borrow your cousin’s carriage, but you know it would be most unseemly for me to borrow money from you.”
“Bah! Propriety be hanged—”
“I have jewelry set aside for just this purpose,” Prudence insisted. “And I would appreciate it if you would assist me in the selling of it, for I must confess I do not know where to start.” She looked at him, her eyes troubled. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate—”
Gideon scowled, then sighed and smiled at her ruefully. “I know, and you are quite right. I’m sorry, I should not pinch at you for your scruples. I shall help you sell your baubles, though it goes against the grain. Finish your letter, my dear, and don’t give it another thought. I think I can hear my cousin’s voice in the hall, which will mean your carriage awaits you.”
He left the room to check arrangements with his cousin.
It didn’t take long for Prudence to finish the letter to Great-uncle Oswald. She left it propped up on the mantel in the drawing room, sealed with wax, his name on the front. She hurried upstairs to see to the packing of her things, but there was nothing left for her to do. Her maidservant, Lily, had done it all for her; the bedchamber had been swept clean of her possessions, the portmanteaus were packed and strapped onto the Duke of Dunstable’s somewhat antiquated but undeniably large traveling carriage. Also in the street, being walked up and down by Lord Carradice’s groom, was a dashing phaeton drawn by two magnificent grays.
“Miss Merridew and I have a small commission to perform in the city,” announced Lord Carradice. “We shall travel in the phaeton and catch up with the rest of you.”
“I hope there’s room for me, Miss Prue,” declared a loud voice behind them. Lily stood in the hallway, clutching a bundle to her chest. “I’d rather be skinned alive with a blunt knife and me innards eaten by rats than left behind to face old Lord Dereham!”
“It’s all right, we wouldn’t do that to you,” Prudence assured her. “Of course you shall come with us.”
Lily glanced from the carriage with the crest on the panel to the dashing phaeton and hesitated. “Which carriage are you ridin’ in, miss?”
Lord Carradice said softly, “Lily, it would be best if you traveled in the main coach with the duke. Miss Prudence and I are using the phaeton.”
Prudence opened her mouth to suggest that she needed Lily as chaperone but he caught her attention, and gave her a significant look that encompassed the battered old box. She subsided. He was right. She didn’t want a witness to the shame of having to sell her mother’s jewelry. It was bad enough he knew what straits she was reduced to, but Lily, good soul that she was, would gossip. And besides, she told herself, it would be an hour or so in an open carriage with a groom in attendance. No chaperone was necessary.
Lily’s face fell. “But don’t you and Miss Prudence need me here, me lord?”
“We do, of course, but I think my cousin the duke would be sincerely grateful for your assistance. One mere man with so many young ladies…He’s relying on you, Lily.” He smiled winningly.
“Ah, well, if the duke needs me,” said Lily with the air of one accustomed to the helplessness of dukes. She handed her bundle to a groom and took her place in the carriage, swelling visibly with pride as the duke helped her to mount the steps.
James, their loyal footman, stood in the evening shadows, watching the whole proceedings, doing his best to look nonchalant. Prudence saw the longing in his eyes and realized he was too proud to ask to come with them. “James, we wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind,” she said softly. “Please come with us—if you want to, that is.”
“Oh, thank you, miss. O’ course I want to!” James bowed with alacrity and raced up the servants stairs to fetch his belongings.
“Is there a chimney sweep you’d like to invite, too?” Lord Carradice murmured, and Prudence turned defensively.
But his gaze upon her was warm and lit with approval and understanding, so she explained, “James has been one of our only friends…” She looked up at him. “Until now.”
There was a lump in her throat, making it difficult to speak. Back in Norfolk, many people knew of their situation but had turned a blind eye, leaving five young girls at the mercy of a harsh and twisted man. She cleared her throat and continued, “James risked his position many times in order to protect us—Grace, in particular. We could not possibly leave him behind to face Grandpapa’s wrath.”
“No, of course not,” he said softly. “Loyalty is your middle name, is it not, Miss Imp?”
James came clattering down the stairs with a bundle under his arm. He tossed it up to the roof and climbed up beside the coach driver. Good, thought Prudence. The duke was a welcome escort, but he was not very athletic looking, and Charity was his priority. If James was with them, there would be a strong, masculine arm for Grace and the twins as well.
Her sisters peered out of the coach, looking a great deal less anxious now that the excitement of travel was upon them.
The butler watched the whole thing with a dour expression. He tweaked Lord Carradice’s sleeve and muttered something under his breath. Prudence raised her brows in enquiry.
Lord Carradice explained, “Niblett here is concerned that my cousin and I are kidnapping you and your sisters, not to mention half the staff. I hope you will reassure him.”
“Of course nobody is being kidnapped, Niblett,” Prudence assured him. “We’ve been called away on an urgent family matter. I’ve left a letter for my great-uncle in the drawing room. Please make certain he gets it on his return. I shall write again when we arrive at our destination.”
“And where would that destination be, miss?” inquired Niblett.
“Oh, it’s all in the letter,” she said vaguely. Even had she decided on a destination, she wouldn’t tell Niblett. He was the sort of butler who loved gossip and who would tell her grandfather everything at the drop of a guinea, or perhaps five.
“Oh, you can tell Niblett, my dear.”
Prudence tried frantically to catch his eye, but Lord Carradice seemed oblivious.
“My cousin and I have planned the journey in detail. We are going initially to my lodgings, for there is something I must drop off. Then we’re off to my house.” He added helpfully, “To my house, in Derbyshire. And thence, north, to my cousin Dinstable’s seat, in the far reaches of Scotland.”
Prudence groaned.
“Oh, Niblett won’t betray us, my dear girl,” Lord Carradice assured her. “Will you, Niblett?” He slipped a folded banknote in the butler’s direction.
Niblett bowed in majestic, creaky assent and pocketed the banknote without a flicker of awareness.
Prudence was aghast. “I wish you had not done that,” she said as he assisted her into the phaeton. “Niblett is not to be trusted with any secret. The moment anyone offers him even the paltriest sum of money, he will tell all.”
“I’m sure we can rely on Niblett to do exactly what we wish.” Gideon took Prudence’s hand in a firm, soothing grip. “Trust me, Miss ImPrudence, I am an excellent judge of character.”
Prudence looked unconvinced.
Lord Carradice put on his driving gloves and picked up the ribbons of the phaeton. He nodded at his cousin, who signaled back, and the large coach rumbled away over the cobblestones, everybody waving madly. Lord Carradice signaled his groom, who released the horses’ heads and leaped up behind as the phaeton moved off down Providence Court.
Behind them, Niblett smirked as he closed the front door.
Chapter Twelve
“The very instant I saw
you, did
My heart fly to your service.”
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
AS THE CARRIAGE WHEELS RATTLED OVER THE COBBLES, PRUDENCE’S hand stole to her breast where Phillip’s betrothal ring hung hard and heavy against her heart.
It ought to be Phillip who was helping her now, not Lord Carradice.
And it ought to be Phillip who dominated her dreams at night and her thoughts by day…not Lord Carradice.
Gaslights illuminated his profile in momentary flashes as the phaeton twisted and turned through the maze of streets. She held herself rigid and apart from him but could not prevent herself from bumping lightly against his shoulder and thigh each time the high-slung carriage swayed and rocked. She tried to ignore the unsettling sensations each moment of contact caused her, tried to keep her back ramrod straight, but it was difficult. What she really wanted was to cling to his arm and feel his strength supporting her.
Once off the main thoroughfares, the streets were eerily quiet. Though they were by no means the only ones abroad at this hour, they were the only open carriage. She shivered, though the night was not at all chilly.
She leaned back a little to get a clearer view of Lord Carradice’s profile and observed him obliquely, disturbed by the tenor of her thoughts. Over the past few weeks she’d done her level best to dismiss him from her mind and heart, telling herself sternly that he was frivolous and unreliable and that she was foolish and faithless and wanton at heart, as Grandpapa said.
She’d been warned by Lady Jersey and others that Lord Carradice had merely been entertaining himself with her until something better came up. Bored persons of the ton did that, they’d explained: Take up a person for a time and make much of them, then drop them for no reason, cutting them dead the next time they met. It was the way of the the sophisticated world.
And yet tonight, she’d entrusted herself and her sisters’ safety to them without a moment’s hesitation. A notorious rake and his supposedly misanthropic cousin. And now she was alone in the darkness with the rake and far from fearing for her reputation, she took great comfort from his presence and his words of reassurance.
Who could have known the frivolous rake would turn out to be such a source of strength and comfort? It had been hard enough to withstand his blandishments before…Now it was going to be even harder.
“Is it far?” she asked.
He glanced at her sideways. “The jewel broker, you mean? No, not far, in fact, just around the corner.” His grays slowed and turned into a narrow street, where the buildings were crowded together. It was the sort of neighborhood where no gaslights burned. Were it not for Lord Carradice’s carriage lights, the darkness would have been total, for none of the houses showed even a single light burning.
Prudence clutched the battered box tight against her. “I never imagined it would be possible to sell jewelry at this hour of the evening. Are you sure it can be done?”
He smiled and eased his horses to a walk in front of a tall, narrow building. “I’m sure. I have done business with this fellow many a time. He will not mind being disturbed.”
Prudence nodded. The sharp edges of the box bit into her chest. It was foolish, she told herself firmly; she’d known for weeks, months, that she would need to sell her mother’s jewelry, and yet now that the moment had arrived, she wanted to cling to it, to the last physical mementos of Mama and Papa.
Lord Carradice jumped nimbly down, secured his horses, and held up a hand to Prudence. She took a deep breath and laid hers in his outstretched hand, but to her surprise, he shook his head, kissed her hand lightly, and returned it to her lap.
“T’will be better if I see Sitch alone,” he said. “Just hand me the box and I’ll see to it.”
“You need not spare me—” she began.
“No, it isn’t that. Sitch is a canny devil. If he sees there is a lady involved at this hour of the evening, he will surmise that the situation is urgent and use the knowledge to drive the price down. However, if I stroll in, apparently on my way to a gaming hell and needing to convert a few assets into cash, well, he is used to such scenarios from clients.” Lord Carradice held out his hand for the box.
Prudence bit her lip. She opened the lid for the last time, took out the pile of handkerchiefs and fiddled with a hidden catch. “There is a false base,” she explained.
Despite the dark, she could almost see Lord Carradice’s brows rise.
“It was necessary,” she said defensively. “Grandpapa searched our belongings. He took Mama’s diamonds when I was eleven, said Mama was wicked and evil and her baubles an abomination of Jezebel.” She glanced at him briefly, fiddling in the dark with a hidden catch. “Only she wasn’t! She was good and kind and beautiful, and he was the evil one!”
She took a deep breath and continued. “I made a stocking purse and hid it under my skirts, with the rest of Mama’s precious things in it. They belong to my sisters and me, not him! But it was too difficult to carry them all the time—they are quite heavy, you know—so I got the stableboy to make a false bottom for this shabby old box.”
She darted him a faintly mischievous look. “I kept it open, in full sight on my dressing table, holding handkerchiefs, and Grandpapa never suspected a thing, though he was certain there must be more jewels hidden away—Mama’s papa was wealthy, though not well born. And Mama took her jewels when she and Papa ran away.”
“Aha, a runaway match.”
“A love match,” she corrected him. “A very great love match. Mama’s papa didn’t want her marrying into the dissolute aristocracy, and Grandpapa didn’t want his son to marry a cit. So they ran away to Italy.”
The catch finally shifted, and Prudence removed the false base of the box. She dipped her fingers into the small trove of family treasure. She knew each piece by heart. Here was the sapphire necklace and earrings…such an intense, vivid blue—the exact color of Mama’s and Charity’s eyes. She’d always imagined Charity wearing them for her wedding, as Mama had at hers…
And here was the heavy, smooth coolness of the pearl choker that Mama loved so much. She closed her eyes a moment and remembered Papa fastening it around Mama’s long and elegant neck, for the clasp was always stiff and difficult. It was always an event of laughter and teasing, but each time, Papa would kiss Mama on the nape after he had fastened it…a slow and lingering caress…and the laughter would fade, and an odd, exciting tension would fill the room.
Prudence had not understood it as a child, but now suddenly, years later, sitting in a phaeton in a dark London street, she realized what the tension was that had hummed so tangibly between her parents…
Desire.
She glanced at Lord Carradice standing silently watching her and as their eyes caught, a sudden silence hummed between them.
The moment stretched. His hand reached toward her and she wanted more than anything to take it. Even as her hand lifted to reach out to him, one of the grays snorted and stamped restively and the carriage jerked. Prudence grabbed the side to steady herself, and Lord Carradice went to the horse’s head to assist his groom.
“It were a rat, me lord, a big ’un,” she heard Boyle say. “Ran right under ’is hooves, it did.”
Prudence shivered. She watched Lord Carradice murmuring soothing sounds to his horse, calming it with his hands while his groom calmed the other one.
The moment was gone. Prudence knew she needed to ensure it never returned. She took one last, long look at the contents of the box, blinking away the tears that stung her eyelids. Prudence and her sisters were her mother’s true legacy. What were cold jewels and metal compared with the happiness of Mama’s daughters? And memories—her memories were in her head, not this dear, shabby old box…
“There is nothing you want to keep?”
Her fingers lingered on the locket. It was broken, though the catch could be mended, no doubt. It was quite large and made of gold, so it would fetch a neat sum, but to her, the most precious part of it was inside. She opened it. One l
ast look at the faces painted inside, a silent renewal of her promise to Mama as she died, that she would take care of her sisters.
“No, there is nothing,” she tried to say, but the words choked in her throat. She shook her head and, with shaking fingers, closed the locket and made to replace it in the box. They were not good likenesses anyway, she told herself.
His hand stopped her, closed around her fingers, enclosing the locket. “Keep it.” His voice was oddly harsh. “If you need to sell it later, you can, but for now, keep it.”
Her fingers tightened thankfully about the old gold trinket. She shut the lid of the box carefully and handed it to him. “Make sure you get a good price,” she whispered.
Be damned to a good price, Gideon thought. Did she think he was the sort of man who would haggle over the price of a woman’s bits and pieces? He almost snatched the box from her, so uncertain was his temper. It was unbearable to see her so vulnerable yet so determined not to accept his help.
He yanked on the doorbell, sending it jangling noisily in the nether reaches of the house. After a few moments, an upstairs window opened. Old Sitch peered out, a nightcap on his head.
“Who is it?” he quavered.
“Carradice,” Gideon barked.
Grumbling under his breath, the old man disappeared and a few minutes later he unbolted the door. “’Tis an unusual hour for you to come calling on me, me lord! No trouble, I hope.”
Gideon thrust the box into the man’s hand. “Have these cleaned, reset, and restrung—whatever is needed to bring them up to scratch again.”
“Cleaned and reset?” Old Sitch stared at the collection of jewels, then scratched his head, bemused. “You came at this hour to ask me to clean some jewels.”
“And reset any that need it, yes,” Gideon said brusquely. “I am leaving town this night, immediately, and need the job done by the time I return.”
“You’re never fleeing the country, me lord?”