“If anyone can talk Margaret into seeing reason, it would be you. She has always admired you—you have been more like an elder sister than a cousin. I am so grateful.” Mrs. Leyes sniffed into her handkerchief.
“I am quite as fond of Margaret as she is of me,” Prudence assured her, sitting down upon a small chintz-covered settee.
“Margaret cannot afford to pass up this opportunity. In truth, it is like manna from Heaven. You must make her see it, Pru.” With a sigh, her aunt sank back against the chaise. “How could I bear it if I should die, leaving my only child a spinster?” she wailed. “Margaret, an old maid!”
Prudence lowered her gaze, focusing her attention upon the ornate garnet ring her grandmother had given to her on her sixteenth birthday, more than a decade ago. Her distraught aunt, realizing what she had said, quickly begged pardon and gulped a swallow of tea from a dainty cup.
“I’m sorry, Prudence,” she sputtered, her pale face flushing. “I did not think. Oh, my wicked tongue! I do rattle on. Giles always said so, and it is lamentably true.”
Clearing her throat, Prudence replied, “It is also true I am—as you say—an old maid. I’m nearer thirty than not and still unmarried. I am resigned to my fate and contentedly so.”
She forced a smile and admitted on most days, this was indeed true.
Love and marriage were not part of God’s plan for her life. She had come to accept it—most of the time. She felt blessed to have the loving support of her parents, as well as the modest inheritance left to her by her grandmother, which became Prudence’s to manage when she had reached the age of twenty-one. And although Mrs. Pentyre often hinted how delighted she would be to see her youngest daughter happily married, as were her other children, Patience and John, neither she nor the vicar persisted in this and seemed pleased to have Prudence remain with them to help with the church work.
Fixing her niece with a tender gaze, Judith added, “I do hope you will not think me impertinent, Prudence, but I cannot help wishing you were credibly established—like your sister Patience, married to a kind and generous husband.”
“I have not yet met the right gentleman, Aunt Judith, nor am I likely to do so—at my age,” she replied with a quick shrug. “Thankfully, my parents have allowed me to make my own matrimonial decisions.” Prudence winced then as she realized how condemning the comment must sound to her aunt who, indeed, wanted to force her own daughter into a marriage of convenience.
But her aunt had not noted the condemnation in her tone, and Prudence, eager to change the subject, said, “I must confess, I am surprised to learn Margaret is not yet officially betrothed. In your letters to Mama, you intimated the match had been made. We expected to see the announcement in the Times before I left for Bath.”
“No, it is not official yet,” her aunt replied with a tragic sniff. “And through no fault of Brownell’s, I assure you. He’s come up to scratch. Margaret is the one balking at the fences,” she went on with a lamentable mix of metaphors. “I don’t know what to do. I am at my wit’s end. She says she wants to carefully consider the offer. But there is nothing to consider, as far as I am concerned. I have never known Margaret to be so stubborn. She has always been such a good, biddable girl. But now…” Judith’s shoulders slumped with despair.
“Perhaps Meg’s affections are engaged elsewhere?” Prudence suggested.
“I do not believe so,” she replied, her forehead creasing with perplexed wrinkles.
Recalling her cousin’s less than enthusiastic comments about the gentleman, Prudence added, “Perhaps she finds Sir James repugnant in some way.”
“How can that be?” her aunt queried. “The man is rich, attractive, and personable, even though his manner may be considered…” she paused to find the right word.
“Brusque?” Prudence prompted.
Her aunt frowned. “Perhaps, but his lineage is impeccable. He came to Bath for the express purpose of recovering his health and securing a wife. He fixed his attention on Margaret almost at once.”
“After first being rejected by the vicar’s daughter, I understand,” Prudence pointed out. She regarded her aunt with arched brows.
“Not our vicar’s daughter,” Judith replied, as though this made all the difference in the world. “Margaret has never had an offer before, you know. To be quite honest, she is not likely to have another. Although I love my daughter dearly, I must admit the child is lamentably plain.” Mrs. Leyes shook her head. “Even if Margaret should receive another offer, which is doubtful as I have said, it would surely not be as advantageous as this one. It is why I have sent for you, Prudence. You must convince Margaret to marry Sir James!” She raised a languid hand to indicate the teapot.
Prudence shook her head, declining the offer of tea. “I’ll try to be helpful to you, Aunt Judith,” she replied. “I wish Margaret all the happiness in the world, but I will not urge her to marry someone she finds repulsive.” She fixed a candid gaze upon her aunt’s pale face.
“Then you must convince her Sir James is not repulsive,” Judith said stiffly. “He is an excellent man with a superior mind. He has many fine…er…qualities besides his fortune. For Margaret, this will be a most splendid match.” After a moment’s pause, she frowned and asked with quiet hesitation, “Did Margaret say she is repulsed by him?”
“She complains he is rather an odd fish,” Prudence replied frankly. Licking her dry lips, she added, “Margaret also thinks he is old and unattractive.”
“Old? Bah! He is not yet thirty-five years of age,” Judith insisted. “I will admit, he is not handsome in the conventional way, but he has a rugged, manly appearance. And he is rich. I believe I mentioned it, did I not? His father invested heavily in the East India Company. Sir James himself has done considerable business in the East as well, importing antimony, I believe. It is my opinion he should be commended for increasing the wealth of the estate left to him by his late father.”
“And yet Margaret doesn’t seem impressed. I’m not sure she even likes the man,” Prudence pointed out.
“What’s not to like?” her aunt protested. “Sir James has wealth. He’s generally admired and has none of the usual vices—like gambling and excessive drink. Truly, Prudence, he has quite turned everyone’s head with his tales of dining in foreign palaces with sultans and Oriental princes. He brought back with him many curious mementos of his journey to the East. It is true he is not debonair. But he cuts quite a romantic figure nonetheless. Bath society has embraced him.”
“Yes, but Margaret mentioned he walks with a limp and wears an eye patch.” Suppressing a smile, Prudence tried to conjure an image of the adventurous Sir James Brownell. The image portrayed by her aunt and the one provided by her young cousin merged into something of a comical figure.
“Poor man! He was injured while fighting with Malay pirates. Why, he was actually shot in the battle! Lady Brownell saved the bullet and keeps it under glass, like some prize specimen to show to everyone who calls.” Judith shook her head, tugging impatiently at her gown. “But to his credit, Sir James is determined to take a missionary back with him the next time he journeys east. As you are a vicar’s daughter, you must approve.”
“You are close friends with his mother, I believe?” Prudence asked, ignoring the comment.
“Yes, Eliza and I were at school together. Bosom chums,” she added with a reminiscent smile. “We shared an infatuation for our dashing art instructor, Signore Angelo Roscetti—such a handsome man with black moustaches and flashing dark eyes.”
Prudence gently led her aunt back on course. “Before I do what I can to convince Margaret to accept Sir James’s offer, are you quite sure she has not formed a secret passion for another?”
Her aunt seemed bewildered by the suggestion. “No,” she insisted. She then quickly amended this declaration with, “I don’t know. Margaret has not shown a partiality to any young man I am aware of. Nor has any gentleman singled her out.”
“Could she be meeting someone
in a clandestine manner?”
“Prudence, no!” Judith declared. One frail hand fluttered to her throat. “I’ve not heard of it. Someone would surely have noticed and informed me of it, don’t you suppose?”
Prudence thought much went on in Bath that her reclusive aunt would not know about. She could tell by Judith’s flushed face and agitated manner the notion of Margaret meeting someone clandestinely had never occurred to her. Prudence wished she had not mentioned it. Aunt Judith would, she feared, fret about it.
“Poor Margaret has been suffering with megrims of late. Some days, her appetite is poorly," Judith stammered. “And yet on other days, she fairly blooms with good health and high spirits. It is puzzling, of course, but I believe it is often so with the young. They can be emotionally intemperate.”
“Don’t worry, Aunt Judith. If Margaret does have a secret tendre for some other gentleman, I will ferret it out,” Prudence promised. She felt no qualms about doing so as Margaret had not given the slightest indication she nursed a secret passion for another. “Who knows? He may even be in attendance at Lady Oldenfield’s gathering this afternoon. I shall look sharp.”
Her aunt’s eyes widened with apprehension. She blinked. “Did she mention…?”
“No, Aunt Judith, I do not mean to tease you,” Prudence hastened to assure her. “Meg did not confess any such secret passion to me. She is merely indifferent to Sir James—so she told me. She cannot bring herself to accept him as her husband.”
“Do what you can to see she warms to him,” her aunt pressed. “If there is someone else, Clarissa Paige may possibly know who it might be.”
“I remember Miss Paige,” Prudence said, immediately recalling the pretty, dark haired young woman, who was Margaret’s true and closest friend. If her cousin had indeed revealed any secret passion to her bosom chum, Prudence would find it no easy task to pry the secret from Clarissa’s loyal lips.
“Be clever, Prudence,” her aunt cajoled, as though reading her thoughts. “You must persuade Clarissa to speak with you regarding Margaret’s confidences—if indeed she has shared such.”
“I fear you overestimate my abilities, Aunt Judith, but I will try.” In a teasing manner, she tilted her head to one side. “I may have to take up a flirtation with Clarissa’s brother, Harry. He might be more forthcoming, under the right circumstances, if he knows anything at all about a secret amour.”
Judith appeared mildly astonished. Then realizing it was only a jest, the woman gave her a complacent smile and shook her head. “This is not a laughing matter, Prudence. Nothing must prevent Margaret from marrying Sir James.” Then squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose, she exclaimed with sudden warmth, “The child vexes me so! She gives Sir James no encouragement at all.”
“I am frankly surprised this indifference has not cooled the gentleman’s ardor,” Prudence admitted, smoothing her skirt with one hand. She felt even more intrigued about Sir James Brownell than before. Her cousin was not a beauty or an heiress. Why should Sir James be so insistent upon marrying Margaret when surely there were young females who would be more willing? Why did he not give her up, as he did the vicar’s discriminating daughter and move on to more fertile ground?
“To oblige his mama, Sir James is determined to take Margaret to wife, and I thank God for it,” her aunt said feelingly.
“Because you don’t want her to remain an old maid, like me,” Prudence replied in an offhand manner, hoping to lighten her aunt’s mood.
After a brief but pregnant pause, Judith confided in low, tragic tones, “Because there is the most abominable debt to pay.”
Bewildered, Prudence asked, “What debt?”
“Giles’s gambling debts.” This in a lower tone still.
Prudence gasped softly. She had not known her Uncle Giles had gambled or that he’d left his widow saddled with gambling debts. “Is it so steep then?” she asked, leaning forward. “Does Margaret know?” She wondered too if her own mother knew her elder brother had been a gambler.
“No, Margaret does not know, and Prudence, I beg you will not tell her,” her aunt pleaded, sitting up slightly on the chaise. “You would not be so unfeeling? She idolized her father and knows nothing of his gambling habit. Giles loved Margaret too—called her his Little Button. He never once complained I did not bear him a son.” With a sniff, Judith carried her crumbled handkerchief to her nose. Her eyes filled with sentimental tears. “I cannot help but think had I been able to produce more children, perhaps he wouldn’t have taken to gaming as he did,” she added in a tremulous voice.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Judith, I had no idea,” Prudence admitted, dismayed. “Does my mother know about the debt? Does my father know?”
“Oh, yes, Henry, God bless him, has helped when he could,” Judith told her. “Your dear mother has been quite understanding too. But your father is not a rich man either, although he is a landed gentleman and fortunately need not rely solely on his living from the church for an income. But I do not want to be a burden upon your parents—upon anyone. I’ve sold most of the Leyes family jewels, which came to Giles when we married—all except the pearls, which I gave to Margaret upon her coming out. I still hold the sapphires too, which I planned to give her upon the occasion of her marriage.”
Prudence, surprised by the revelation of her late uncle’s vices, felt a surge of bitter resentment toward him for placing her aunt and cousin in this awkward predicament. Excessive gambling was one of the many sins the popular reformer Mr. William Wilberforce so strongly denounced. More than once he had declared theirs a decadent generation of excesses. Her father couldn’t have agreed more and preached the same from his pulpit on more than one occasion.
When Prudence remained silent, her aunt went on. “I have been trying to quietly pay back what I could over the years. It has not been easy. Other widows in my predicament often have sons or brothers to pay off these so-called debts of honor, but I refuse to be completely dependent upon Henry. Why, it would send him to the poorhouse! And I can hardly allow Giles’s debts to follow Margaret and me to the grave, can I?”
“This is dreadful!” Prudence exclaimed, shaking her head as she tried to digest her aunt’s shocking news. “I would never have guessed Uncle Giles gambled so excessively—and how you, his widow, would be held responsible for his debts.”
“It is hardly something one talks about it, even within the family,” her aunt acknowledged with an embarrassed blush. “You must promise me you will not mention this to Margaret.” She blinked several times.
“I promise,” Prudence replied. She meant it.
Her aunt hung her head. “Oh, Pru, it is so humiliating. You see, Giles owed money to many close friends and acquaintances. It is imperative that Margaret marry Sir James, so we might settle your uncle’s debts honorably.”
“I have no desire to pry too closely, but does Sir James know the extent of the debts?” Prudence asked.
“Yes, I’ve taken Sir James into my confidence. He has assured me he will pay off the debts in full once he and Margaret are married. He is all that is kind and good, I assure you. I look forward to living out the rest of my years with peace of mind and a modicum of comfort.”
Judith, reaching for a clear bottle of lavender-colored pills, peered at her niece and said, “Come now, let’s not talk of it any more. Go to Lady Oldenfield’s and see Margaret safely vaccinated. Meet Sir James and take measure of the man. You will not find him wanting. Then see if you cannot persuade your headstrong cousin to look upon him more favorably.”
“I will do my best,” Prudence assured her, rising. “Will you send for the carriage?”
Her aunt nodded and reached out a hand toward her. Fixing Prudence with a look of earnest appeal, she said, “So you quite understand now, don’t you, Pru? If Margaret does not marry Sir James, her future will be as uncertain and precarious as my own.”
Prudence, holding her aunt’s cool and trembling hand, nodded and swallowed hard. She could indeed
understand how, from her aunt’s perspective, it was important to both her future happiness and security—as well as Margaret’s own—the marriage to Sir James come off successfully. “I do understand, Aunt Judith. You may rely on me.”
But as she took her leave, Prudence was still puzzled by the gentleman’s persistence. Why should he be so intent upon marrying Margaret when she seemed less than eager? Prudence loved Meg, certainly, but her cousin had no beauty, position, or wealth to recommend her. Not only was she indifferent to his suit, but also her family was encumbered heavily with so-called “debts of honor.”
And if Margaret had spoken truthfully, Sir James’s affections were not strongly engaged either. This was not a love match on either side. It didn’t make sense. Could not a man with Sir James’s wealth and position find another Bath miss to propose marriage to—one without an embarrassment of gambling debts to pay off in her father’s name? Surely his mother had other friends with eligible but more willing daughters?
It was a perplexing riddle. Prudence made up her mind to resolve it.
Chapter Two
“There he is—Sir James Brownell.”
Margaret leaned close to whisper in her cousin’s ear, as she and Prudence paused momentarily upon the threshold of Lady Oldenfield’s fashionable green and gold salon.
Prudence glanced in the direction Margaret indicated. She eyed the gentleman, with piqued curiosity. Based on conflicting descriptions she’d received from her aunt and cousin, Prudence had created an unflattering image in her mind regarding Sir James’s appearance. She was more than a little surprised when he proved to be taller and more broad shouldered than she’d expected and younger too.
Prudence Pursued Page 2