Prudence Pursued
Page 8
After a brief silence, Clarissa said, “Margaret does not love him—not in the least.”
“Does she love another?” Prudence probed, trying to keep her tone matter-of-fact.
“Not that I am aware of,” Clarissa answered, blushing.
“Clarissa, I am sorry for putting you in this position,” Prudence insisted. “I know you do not wish to betray any confidences. I understand, certainly I do. Aunt Judith and I are simply trying to understand Margaret’s reluctance. A marriage of convenience is better than no marriage at all, or so my aunt believes.”
“Have you not asked Margaret yourself?”
“We have done so, but she seems to have no plausible excuse—only she does not love him. As far as my aunt is concerned, it is no excuse at all.”
When Clarissa arched a dark eyebrow, Prudence continued, “It would be a most suitable match, and my aunt is hoping it will come off. Even though Margaret feels no affection for Sir James now, she may do so in the future. Many couples learn to love one another after they are married.”
“This is true,” Clarissa acknowledged without enthusiasm.
“Perhaps Margaret knows something about Sir James’s character we do not know—something which repels her,” Prudence hinted.
Frowning, Clarissa said, “If that is so, she has not shared it with me.”
“And your brother Harry?”
“What of him?” Clarissa asked, seeming puzzled by this sudden shift.
“Would he know something unsavory about Sir James? If so, would he repeat it to Margaret, do you think?”
Clarissa shook her head, the dark curls brushing against her pink cheeks. “No, he would not. Besides, Harry admires Sir James a great deal. You heard him say so the other day. He has offered to accompany Sir James on the next voyage although I am not at all certain my parents will allow it.”
“I assume Harry knows Sir James has offered for Margaret?”
Clarissa hesitated and then blushed. “I did mention it to him—and swore him to secrecy. My brother and I are close, you understand. And we are both such good friends with Margaret, I did not think she would mind if he knew.”
“Was he surprised?”
“Yes, he was a little.”
“Well, no matter,” Prudence said with a sigh. They continued to stroll at a leisurely pace, well enough behind the other two couples so their conversation could not be overheard. “I suppose Sir James will woo her ardently, and Margaret will be won in the end.”
“Perhaps it is just the suddenness of it,” Clarissa said finally. “Perhaps Margaret simply needs to get used to the idea. His proposal came as a surprise to her—or so she told me. She did not think Sir James had noticed her at all.”
“I still cannot help but wonder if she might have special feelings for someone else, a younger gentleman, perhaps one of Harry’s friends or acquaintances.”
Clarissa shook her head. “I do not believe so. She has not mentioned it. But then, she does not confide readily.”
Chuckling, Prudence said, “True. I am sure if Margaret gushed on about one of Harry’s friends, you would recall it.”
With a tinkle of laughter, Clarissa replied, “Indeed! Margaret is so reticent if she gushed about anything at all, I would certainly take note of it.”
Later that afternoon, as Prudence sat reading—or attempting to read—in her aunt’s drawing room, she contemplated the possible obstacles standing in the way of Margaret accepting Sir James’s proposal of marriage. Prudence wondered how she might go about discovering and then removing those obstacles. She had hoped for an intimate conversation with her cousin regarding these matters, but Margaret was upstairs suffering with a mild fever. Blisters had formed on her arm, just as the doctor had cautioned. Meg insisted she did not feel at all well, but Prudence suspected her cousin simply did not wish to be questioned any further about her reluctance to accept a most advantageous marriage offer.
Looking up from the devotional book her father had recommended, one she had brought with her to Bath, Prudence glanced over at her aunt. Mrs. Leyes dozed upon the sofa, a forgotten romance novel open upon her lap. Prudence sighed. She felt a little homesick. She had received a letter from one of her Sunday school students—the ten-year-old daughter of a farmer’s widow. The handwriting appeared painfully scrawled, but the sentiment was clear—young Jenny Sutherland missed her teacher and wondered when Miss Pentyre would be returning home. The girl had given the brief letter to Prudence’s mother, who had forwarded it to her absent daughter, along with a newsy missive of her own.
Prudence sighed again. This time it served to waken her dozing aunt, who glanced about briefly as though having forgotten her bearings. Judith blinked once or twice before fixing her fond gaze upon her niece.
“I noticed Mr. Younghughes wasted little time in renewing his acquaintance with you, my dear,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Aunt Judith, I hope you will not contemplate any matchmaking on my behalf,” Prudence warned. Frowning, she closed her book, placing a green satin ribbon on the page as a bookmark.
“Pru, let me be frank. You are no longer in your salad days. Mr. Younghughes would be a suitable catch. You would be mistress of your own home and comfortably situated. You are not still hoping for a romance, are you?”
Prudence gave her a weak smile. Romance? She had never felt romantic toward any particular gentleman of her acquaintance. Sometimes, when reflecting upon this lack of sentiment, she found herself missing what she had never experienced. She’d heard so much about romance—it was a frequent topic of conversation among young ladies. She had also read many romance novels when she was younger. Once Prudence had longed for the rush of excitement, the thrill of anticipation when looking for a special face in a sea of faces, listening for the sound of a beloved’s voice.
But it was not to be. She remained unmarried. This was surely God’s plan for her life. Prudence had accepted it long ago and refused to mourn over what could never be. Besides, she had much useful work to do, and her parents were grateful for her tireless efforts in the parish. She would stay busy visiting the sick, feeding the hungry and caring for the widows and orphans, as Saint James admonished the believers to do in his worthy epistle.
“I wish you would give Mr. Younghughes a little encouragement,” her aunt continued.
“I have not come to Bath to promote my own interests, as well you know,” Prudence answered with a shrug.
She had come to ease her aunt’s anxiety and to promote her young cousin’s welfare. She intended to do so. Before she could pursue this topic of conversation further, they were surprised when the maid announced the unexpected arrival of Sir James. Aunt Judith sat upright on the sofa, straightening her cap and smoothing her skirt. She then took a fortifying sniff from her vinaigrette bottle. Prudence resisted the urge to primp and tidy herself, banishing any vain thoughts at once. Brownell had not come to see her after all.
The man limped in, wearing a dark blue coat with gold buttons, buckskins and boots. He carried a bouquet of red carnations mixed with baby breath and white rose buds. Even though he still limped, Prudence noticed how he moved with more spryness than before, and she felt happy to see how he appeared to be on the mend after so long a convalescence.
“Good afternoon, Sir James,” Judith greeted him. “I’m sorry Margaret is not well enough to visit with you today. She is experiencing minor ill effects from the vaccination—a slight fever and mild headache.”
“I expected as much,” he replied. “Have the blisters formed on her arm?”
“Yes,” Judith told him, her hands fluttering near her throat. “She’ll be all right in a few days, will she not?”
“Absolutely,” he assured her. “She’s young and hearty,” he added with an approving nod.
Amused, Prudence felt her lips twitch. She could think of several more appealing adjectives, which would please Margaret more than young and hearty. If this was any indication of the sort of sweet talk James gave her co
usin, she wondered if his mother had not despaired of him ever winning a lady’s hand in marriage.”
“The flowers are for Margaret,” he said, presenting them to Judith without ceremony, “but I’ve come to beg a favor from Miss Pentyre while I am here.”
James cast Prudence a quick, sidelong glance. She raised her eyebrows, aflame with curiosity and a sort of mild fluttery excitement hard to define. Her aunt frowned, apparently puzzled. “And what might that be, Sir James?” she inquired.
“Tomorrow I must go on a mission of mercy to Lady Richmond’s School for Young Ladies,” he informed her. “The headmistress, Mrs. Trimmer, has obtained the necessary lymph to provide vaccinations for her young students. She wishes me to perform the procedure. The girls there are orphans, don’t you know? It is one of my mother’s favorite charities, and I am a trustee. It is no great distance from Bath. As the students are young females, I thought perhaps an able female assistant—one who has assisted with the procedure before—would be a great help to me.”
“Cannot Mrs. Trimmer administer the vaccine?” Judith asked.
James shook his head. “She is a timid soul—afraid she’ll cut the girls too deeply and perhaps leave a scar.” Turning to Prudence, he said, “Edward Jenner himself sent the lymph. It arrived by post yesterday. Miss Pentyre, I know you have helped your father with this simple procedure in the past. You were such a great comfort to Margaret when she was undergoing the same the other day. Do say you’ll accompany me,” he said, smiling. “With your approval, of course, Mrs. Leyes,” he added, turning back again to Judith.
“Pru, are you willing?” her aunt asked. The woman seemed anxious to please Sir James, but uncertain perhaps about sending her unmarried niece off on a journey—no matter how brief—alone with an unmarried gentleman. Prudence had no such qualms. She found Sir James to be exasperating, it was true. But he was certainly never boring or vulgar. He was trustworthy. Prudence did wonder, as she glanced at her aunt’s anxious countenance, if her aunt considered it the height of impropriety for her to go off alone with Sir James. Surely not? Prudence was not a young miss straight out of the schoolroom. She was nearer thirty than not—a woman grown. And plain. Besides, Sir James was the son of one of Aunt Judith’s dearest friends. Surely he could be trusted.
“I am more than willing,” Prudence announced, earning a broad smile from their visitor. She tried to ignore the unexpected flutter in the pit of her stomach and focused on her need to feel useful. Prudence felt a surge of pride that he would have considered her instead of some other lady of his acquaintance, such as Dorothea Greenwood or even the younger Eleanor Greenwood. “Is Lady Brownell to accompany us?” she inquired.
“No, ma’am, she has a previous engagement, and I do not like to postpone the trip as I am not certain how long the cowpox lymph will be viable. You understand, of course, the fresher it is, the more effective the vaccination. I would have asked my good friend Reverend Greenwood and his wife to come with me, but as you know, he is not yet fully recovered, and I do not like to tax his strength. And Eleanor—Mrs. Greenwood—does not like to leave him for any length of time, which I am sure does her much credit.”
Turning back to Judith, James added, “Mrs. Leyes, I am certain your niece will be a great comfort in easing Mrs. Trimmer’s anxieties and those of her young charges, for Miss Pentyre is not at all squeamish.”
He said it in such a way as though it was high praise, but his eyes twinkled at her, causing Prudence to have mixed feelings about the uncertain compliment. She also noticed how, when addressing her aunt, James was not as bold and brash as he usually was when speaking with her. He appeared to be on his best behavior. Prudence had a sudden and horrid suspicion he was testing her mettle in some way.
With a nervous smile, Judith took a comforting snort of her vinaigrette. At last she said, “Of course, Prudence may accompany you on your mission of mercy, Sir James.”
She gave him a nod.
“You need have no apprehensions, Mrs. Leyes. I will look after Miss Pentyre as though she were my own sister.”
Prudence accepted this pronouncement with hollow enthusiasm.
“With Miss Pentyre's able assistance, I will be able to complete the task in half the time,” he added. Turning to Prudence, he said, “I’m sure your good father would approve, when informed about it. He is a stanch support of the Jennerian procedure, I know.”
“Yes, he is,” Prudence said stiffly. Again, she felt a prick of suspicion. But why? “What time shall you call for me tomorrow?”
A time was set and the arrangements made. Despite her misgivings, Prudence discovered she was eagerly anticipating the next day’s outing. She remained excited the rest of the afternoon and throughout the quiet evening, as she entertained her fretful and feverish cousin by reading aloud from one of the many romantic novels Margaret had borrowed from the circulating library.
Why she should simmer with excitement, Prudence could not say. She had helped with hundreds of vaccinations before. This would be no different. It could not be James’s company Prudence sought, for she didn’t like him above half. But if pressed, she would admit he was far more interesting than Benedict Younghughes or most any other gentleman of her acquaintance. Surely it was nothing more than eagerness to be useful again after more than a week of rusticating in her aunt’s house. She was happy to go out of duty, if nothing else. So she made up her mind to ignore the excitement his invitation had aroused in her. After all, James would have asked Margaret to accompany them too, no doubt, were she not indisposed.
When he arrived the next day at the scheduled time, Prudence was ready. She had already changed her outfit twice, wanting to look her best and yet not wanting to appear as though she’d gone out of her way to do so. Carrying a candy tin in one hand, Prudence allowed James to lead her to the street, where she was surprised and rather amused to see he planned to convey them to the school in his mother’s infamous blue barouche.
“My darling parent insisted,” he said with a grin.
“It will be an experience,” Prudence assured him, a smile hovering at the corner of her lips.
She was a little astonished to see he’d removed his eye patch. There was a raw scar across his eyelid and the uppermost part of his cheek where a sword had swiped him.
“Is it too repulsive?” he asked nonchalantly. “Shall I don the patch again?”
“I see no reason to do so,” she responded as calmly as he. Prudence forced herself to regard the scar closely without wincing. “It is healing. Does it still hurt?”
“Not any more,” James admitted, with a shrug. Then he added, “I feared the young females at the school would be even more apprehensive of the Jenner procedure if I showed up looking like a one-eyed buccaneer.”
As he prepared to hand her into the conveyance, she held out the tin for him to hold until she had settled herself inside.
“What is this?” he asked, passing it back to her.
“Treacle candy. Aunt Judith’s cook prepared it.”
“I did not know you had a sweet tooth, Miss Pentyre,” he replied.
“It is not for me, Sir James,” she said, but did not illuminate him further.
She had just settled herself comfortably against the cushions, smoothing her skirts and resting the candy tin next to her on the seat, when she glanced out the window and noticed Benedict Younghughes approaching her aunt’s house on foot—intent on paying a morning call, she guessed. Quickly ducking back, Prudence retreated into the shadowy recesses of the carriage, so she could not be seen by passersby on the street.
James, having apparently noticed both Younghughes’s approach and Prudence’s reaction, gave orders to the driver and then climbed nimbly into the carriage. He regarded Prudence with a grin.
“Puddingheart!” he declared.
Prudence bit back a laugh and sat watching him with mixture of good humor and annoyance.
“Trying to avoid being seen by old Shortshanks, were you?” he inquired.
James nodded his head knowingly. “I understand. He does prosy on and on about his collection of old bones.”
“Fossils,” Prudence amended.
“Yes, fossils,” he replied. After a moment’s pause, he added, “I feel sorry for poor Youngblood, I must confess it.”
“Younghughes!” Prudence insisted. “Why do you feel sorry for him?”
“I know what it is like to be avoided.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I sometimes think Margaret avoids me when I seek her out.” Then changing the subject quickly, James asked, “You do not care for him, do you? The poor man has no chin! And he’s a great bore besides.”
Arching a brow, Prudence said, “He does not approve of you either. He thinks you are dangerous.”
“Indeed? I am intrigued.”
“He told me you gnash your teeth at him, and he cautioned me to keep my eye upon you,” Prudence said.
James laughed heartily. Prudence did the same, noting what a delightful laugh he had. The man seemed quick to find humor in the ridiculous, and she liked that about him.
“But you have not answered my question, Miss Pentyre. You do not care for him in particular, do you?”
“Of course not,” Prudence declared with a huff. “We are merely acquaintances. I confess to being interested in geology and fossils, to some extent. Mr. Younghughes finds in me an interested audience, that is all.”
“You may think it is all,” James told her, “but I can assure you Younghughes does not. I noticed the way he stared at you in the Pump Room the other day. He positively beams with good will in your presence. I’ve got eyes in my head. He’s taken a fancy to you.”
Prudence felt herself blush. When she said nothing, he asked, “Has he lured you to his home like a spider tempting a fly, hoping to show you his collection of old bones?”
“No, he has not,” Prudence said, indignant that James should think she could be lured anywhere. “Occasionally in the past, he has shown me a specimen or two he has brought with him — to the Pump Room or to my aunt’s home.”