The Courteous Cad

by Catherine Palmer

  “I see how much you loathe me.”

  “On the contrary. You cannot possibly understand the depth and breadth of my revulsion.”

  “Nor do you know the full measure of my disgust and abhorrence toward you.”

  At this, he looked up. She was gazing at him, unblinking. He set his teacup on the table.

  “Am I to know the cause of such profound hatred?” he asked. “I believe I have done nothing but rescue you from various and sundry muddy thoroughfares, escort you to picnics and dances, court you with far more passion than was wise, and generally behave the besotted fool. Is it for these reasons you choose to revile me?”

  “No, indeed,” she said. “You have done everything by the book.”

  “By the book? And which book is that? I believe you once asked me to read the book of St. John. I did so and made a great attempt to transform myself accordingly.”

  “If, as you claim, you did read that Gospel, you would know that a man can do nothing to transform himself. Change is wrought only by faith in God.”

  “And you claim to be a woman of faith? a bondservant of Jesus Christ Himself?”

  She looked away. “I am far from perfect, as you well know. Yet, I do try to live in accordance with His teachings.”

  “I have no recollection of Christ instructing His followers to travel about in disguise and create mischief wherever possible while deceiving and betraying those who love them most. In which chapter and verse might I read such a holy command?”

  “You are angry with me, and I accept your wrath. I must assume my sister Mary wrote to you, informing you of my activities and begging you to put a stop to them. Mary was not happy at my leaving London, and I cannot fault her for divulging my secret. Her worry was justified, as is your hostility. Yet, I may defend myself with one claim. My deeds arose from pure motives. Can you say the same of all your conduct?”

  He studied the crackling fire. A log shifted and fell, shooting a spray of bright red sparks. He reflected on the happy family he had left behind at Thorne Hall. How easy Randolph and Olivia were together. How well they blended, each admiring and honoring the other.

  Such serenity would never belong to William. Prudence was correct in her assessment. He had rarely acted from pure motives. His life until now was lived for one purpose only—self-pleasure.

  “Eat your soup,” he said finally. “It grows cold.”

  She shook her bent head. In a moment, he heard a sniffle. He turned to her, startled to find that a tear had trickled down her cheek and now hung from the tip of her nose.

  Dear God, do not let her weep, he prayed in silence. Anything but that. You cannot expect me to forgive her any more than I have forgiven myself.

  “God will forgive me,” she said in a soft voice.

  “What?” He barked the word, startled that her statement was a direct response to his plea.

  Her thin hand slipped out from the cloak and brushed away the tear. “God will forgive me,” she repeated, “but I know you never will. I am guilty of everything you suppose about me.”

  His thoughts flashed back in time to the night he had witnessed her kissing Walker’s hand as they stood outside the inn at Otley. Again at Delacroix House, she and Walker had met in secret, hiding in the shadow of a tree.

  “So you admit that all my accusations and charges against you are true?” he asked.

  “Indeed. In fact, it is possible that you do not know the half of my wickedness.”

  “I suppose I might ask you to enlighten me further. But I fear I have heard and witnessed enough already.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I have already given my account to God, and I shall be compelled to give it again to my sisters. Twice is quite enough to dampen any defense I might wish to make on my own behalf.”

  So saying, she dipped her spoon into the soup and brought it to her lips. William ate his buttered bread, enjoying it not at all.

  Why did he feel so very bad when Prudence was the one who had lied to him and betrayed him? He sipped at his tea, wishing its warmth would comfort his heart as well as his stomach.

  “I have decided I must tell you one thing that is very bad,” Prudence said as she set her spoon on the table. She dabbed her napkin beneath her eyes. “I fear you do not yet know that you have lost all your employees.”

  William did know, of course. Richard Warring had announced it, and the mass of marching peasants had confirmed his report. Yet he felt his bitterness toward her rise again.

  “Really?” he asked. “I have lost my employees? Can you tell me where I might have misplaced them?”

  To his dismay, she smiled. “They journey toward London to take a petition to the king. A petition about the Gag Acts.”

  This he did not know. “The suspension of habeas corpus? The arrest of men who publish seditious treatises? This is why they march?”

  “The mill laborers want the freedom to assemble in groups larger than twelve. That wish arises from the desire to force employers to pay better wages, provide a safer and cleaner workplace—”

  “And tea and cakes? Is that inscribed on the petition they take before the king?”

  Now she giggled. To his consternation, her cheeks had turned pink from the warmth of the fire. Her curls, brought to life by the damp air, framed her face in a golden halo. The cloak had fallen from her shoulders, and he could see the beautiful neck that had so entranced him.

  “The workers at Thorne Mill cannot complain on that account,” she said. “I am told they enjoy tea and cakes every day.”

  He wondered if she knew about the other reforms he planned to make. Had his overlookers bothered to inform the workers, or had Warring lied about this?

  “I should think a ten-hour day, a school for the children, and better food might have kept them from their march,” he said. “Or were they so determined to gather in groups of more than twelve that they disregarded such improvements altogether?”

  “Had they been offered this sort of hope, sir, I am sure any illusions about appearing before the king would have vanished. I did all I could to dissuade them from their course, for I feared it would come to naught. Now they are attacked, arrested, even killed for a dream that could never come true. Worse, they have disgraced themselves and forfeited their positions at the mills.”

  “Indeed they have.”

  She stirred her tea. “I had no success in convincing them not to march,” she said after a moment. “Perhaps I will have no success in begging you to take them back. Yet I must plead for them.”

  “Spare me your entreaties,” he said. “I shall manage my laborers as I see fit.”

  “Yet your management caused them to flee the mill and unite with the Blanketeers.”

  “Excuse me, but I believe it was your inflammatory and seditious troublemaking that caused them to flee the mill.”

  “You flatter me, sir. I may have some small influence upon those I meet, but I am hardly the sort of woman to command their obedience.”

  “Too silly, are you?”

  Her green eyes flashed. “Perhaps I am silly,” she said. “At least I am not evil.”

  “Evil? By the expression of distaste on your face, I must presume you think of me so.”

  “‘Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.’ Matthew 7:20. You will find it in the Bible.”

  At that, he stood. “You may quote the Bible, Miss Watson, when you begin to live by its teachings. Until then, please forgive me for ignoring you.”

  Unwilling to allow her another moment to castigate him, William strode across the room to the door. He must see to his horse—at this moment, the only creature alive he felt certain he could abide.

  “Will you join us in the drawing room, Miss Watson?” As she spoke, Olivia gently touched Prudence’s arm. “The chill air here in the garden cannot be good for your fragile health.”

  “It is nothing but a cold, Lady Thorne, I assure you.” Prudence dabbed her nose with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. In the two days
since returning from Manchester, her voice had grown hoarse and her nose began to drip. She was mortified at the idea of sniffling her way through tea while William Sherbourne glared at her across the table.

  “Truly, I am well enough,” she reiterated. “I enjoy watching the mists curl across the moor.”

  “Yet more than one young lady has been undone by a trifling cold. Do come inside and warm yourself by the fire. I am sure we should all welcome your presence at tea.”

  “Thank you, madam, but I am quite sure of the opposite. I have made a fool of myself and caused your family no end of trouble. I cannot think of any way to apologize that might bring an end to this torment.”

  “My dear Prudence, you judge yourself too harshly. You intended your involvement with the mill to bring about nothing but good. How can you be faulted for that?”

  “Very easily, I assure you. Your husband’s brother will help you count the ways.”

  Chuckling, Olivia shook her head. “You must not think ill of William. He chastises you because it is much easier to be angry than to be in love.”

  Prudence gave a short, humorless laugh. “Love? Lady Thorne, you are mistaken indeed on that account. William hates me. I deceived him. I led the mill workers astray. I have been nothing but trouble to him from the moment he saw me tumble into a muddy puddle.”

  “You have troubled him, indeed, but I wager it is his heart that aches far more than his vanity. His mill will soon be serviceable again. I have no doubt that William intends to employ those workers who return to the mill, and all will be well. Better, in fact. Despite my dear husband’s qualms, William’s reforms can do nothing but increase productivity, build loyalty, and lure the very best of Yorkshire’s weavers to his mill.”

  “Reforms?” Prudence shivered as she spoke the word.

  Olivia slipped off her own shawl and wrapped it around Prudence’s shoulders. “Did he not tell you? Well, you must ask him yourself, for see how he comes even now? William— how happy I am to find you in the garden! Perhaps you can persuade Miss Watson to join us for tea, where I have been utterly unsuccessful. And you must tell her about your reforms, for I have just learned that she knows nothing at all about them. But do not tarry long. Tea waits for no one!”

  With a brief wave, Olivia hurried off toward the great house and the warmth of its massive fireplaces.

  William turned a stony gaze on Prudence. “I wish to inform you that your sister has sent a message to me by courier. I received it just now in the library. Mrs. Heathhill writes that she will arrive at Thorne Lodge tomorrow morning. She asks me to tell you that she intends to depart the same afternoon, taking you with her and intending never to return to Yorkshire lest her family incite further calamity upon mine.”

  Though Prudence had been at Thorne Lodge for the better part of two days, this was her first encounter with William. Sequestered in her room, she had been nursing her cold with ample rest and much reading. His sister-in-law had informed Prudence that William was meeting with his overlookers in the effort to put his mill back to rights. Now she saw by his glowering expression that his wrath had not abated.

  “Thank you for relaying the message,” she said, dipping him the slightest of curtsies. “I am sure Mary cannot come too soon.”

  “I assume your sisters knew of your ruse.”

  “They did—and tried to steer me from it. You must not blame them.”

  “No, indeed. I am content to lay all the fault upon you.”

  Though she felt sure she should shrink into herself with humiliation, Prudence discovered that her own ire prevented it.

  “You enjoy my misery,” she stated. “This does not surprise me. I believe your greatest happiness arises from abusing others and making them feel as wretched as possible.”

  The brown eyes sparked. “Do you speak only of yourself, or do you include the entire human race in your catalog of those whom I have abused?”

  “Not everyone,” she replied. “Yet you have caused more than enough pain and despair to those whose lives you have tainted.”

  Prudence read the flicker of guilt that crossed his face. William knew he had been the cause of much agony. He was well aware of his grave sins—not only in regard to the late Miss Bryse, but also toward his own child, abandoned by the father he would never know.

  “You are a wicked man, William Sherbourne,” she declared. “But I cannot hate you. Rather, I pity you the joy and satisfaction you might feel had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner throughout your life.”

  “Wicked. Evil. These are the labels you paste on me. Not long ago, you told me you had ceased to see the world in black and white. You confessed that your own sins had made you aware of the gray morass into which most of us fall. Yet now I see you have reverted to your former position. You call me evil, and by that pronouncement, you elevate yourself to the opposite character. You are good. Perfect, in fact.”

  “I am hardly faultless, sir,” she snapped back, turning her shoulder on him. “You know that only too well. I am guilty of many things, yet your wrongs are far graver than mine.”

  “Are they? And how is that?”

  “You ruin lives.”

  “By operating a worsted mill?”

  At this preposterous response, she whirled on him. “Do you think I speak of the mill? No, indeed! You are a bad man where women are concerned, and I have no doubt you will suffer greatly for your iniquities.”

  “And you are a good woman where men are concerned? Spare me your self-righteous indignation, madam. I am the witless buffoon who has succumbed to your wiles so often as to realize at last your duplicitous nature. You, Prudence Watson, are the wicked one.”

  “Wicked?” She covered her mouth with her hand, recalling suddenly the endless line of men with whom she had toyed, her secret trysts with Mr. Walker, and her dalliances with William even as she plotted to bring about the downfall of his mill.

  “Oh, you are right,” she blurted. “I am bad. Perhaps as bad as you but . . . but . . .”

  “Who is good, Prudence? Who is truly good but God Himself? And which of us is good enough to please Him? Who may stand before Him guiltless? None. I cannot rattle off Scripture so easily as you, yet my reading of the Epistle to the Romans taught me that all have sinned, and St. John’s Gospel assured me that Jesus Christ provides our only path to God. No one approaches the Father apart from Him.”

  “Yes, Christ makes us clean,” she agreed, humbled at the recognition of her many failings. “You have read more of the Bible than I supposed, and you are quite right about our sin. All the same, God loves us. He did not go to the trouble of sending us His Son merely to point out our transgressions. I am convinced that Christ came to save us, to die in our place. Anyone who trusts in Him is acquitted.”

  “Acquitted? Do you believe that, Prudence? Do you truly believe it?”

  The somber tone of William’s voice took her by surprise. “Of course I do,” she said softly. “If we but ask, God forgives all our sins.”

  “All?”

  She thought of the abandoned baby. “Forgiveness is an odd thing. God pardons us if we ask, yet He rarely removes the earthly consequences of our wrongdoing. For some, the penalty spreads, afflicting everyone around us with pain and sorrow.”

  “I imagine God must find it rather easy to forgive. It is far more difficult for others to pardon us and for us to pardon others. Forgiving ourselves is hardest of all.”

  “Yet not impossible.”

  With that, he bowed. “I wish you good afternoon, Miss Watson. I am to be away from home on business all day tomorrow. It is unlikely we shall meet again.”

  As he turned to walk away, Prudence called out. “William!”

  He halted. When he faced her again, she saw agony written in his eyes and suffering in the turn of his mouth. “What is it, Prudence?”

  “Reforms. Olivia spoke of reforms at your mill. She said I must ask you.”

  “I described the reforms to you already. A ten-hour workday.
A school for the children. Better food. My employees’ rebellion had nothing to do with my instituting reform. They have you to thank for the improvements. I was swayed more by the petitions of a pretty girl. My laborers’ seditious march threatened my resolve, but I concluded that the changes are for the best. Good day.”

  Stunned, Prudence watched him walk away. A ten-hour day. Better food. A school for the children!

  “Upon my word,” she murmured. “I succeeded after all.”

  William made every effort to be out when Prudence and her sister left Thorne Lodge. Early the next morning, he rode to the mill alongside his brother. Randolph was in a jolly humor, eager to tease William and joke about one thing after another—though his mood was little appreciated by the younger Sherbourne.

  Both men were gratified to find most of the looms, carding engines, spinners, and other machinery back in operation. Shamefaced, none of the laborers dared to look up from their work as their masters inspected the building from the smithy upstairs to the waterwheel below.

  “She will be gone when you return to the house,” Randolph observed as he and William sat on a low stone wall beneath the mill to watch the massive wooden wheel turn. “Did you not wish to bid her farewell?”

  His brother was speaking of Prudence Watson, of course. Despite the woman’s treasonous deceptions, both Randolph and Olivia persisted in making references to her beauty, her keen wit, her good intentions toward the needy, her happy financial situation, and her family’s beneficial connections in society. In short, they did everything but insist that William propose marriage to the young lady at once.

  “I bade her farewell yesterday,” he told Randolph. “It was a weighty conversation for two people so prone to being frivolous. We discussed the Bible.”

  Randolph shot him a look of disbelief. “And how did you find it?”

  “Mysterious but true.”

  With a laugh, Randolph elbowed his brother. “Come, man, enough of your nonsense. When do you plan to see her again?”

  “I have uncompromising plans never to see her again.”

  “But you love her. More to the point, she loves you. You witnessed the mighty battle I fought to win my dear Olivia from the clutches of those who tried to part us. Will you let Miss Watson escape without putting up the smallest effort to keep her?”