“Then tell me what I do not know.” Margaret fixed her mother with a challenging stare. “Pru says there is something.”
Judith cast a reproving glance at Prudence. “It is too bad of you, Pru. I told you I did not want Margaret to know.”
“She must be told,” Prudence insisted. “Margaret is not a child. She said as much to me earlier today. Perhaps, if she is better informed, she will realize she must accept Sir James’s offer. It is her duty to do so.”
Margaret arched both eyebrows then. “You told me you did not like Sir James.” Her tone was accusing.
“I have changed my mind. I do like him,” Prudence admitted, studying her fingers. She feared she liked him all too well.
There was a moment of heavy silence when each of them avoided looking at the others. Finally, Judith heaved a sigh before confessing, “Margaret, my dear, your father left many debts when he died.”
“What has it to do with me?”
“Everything, my dear girl.” Judith and Prudence exchanged incredulous glances. Then fixing her attention once more on her daughter, Judith asked, “Did you not notice when I let your father’s valet go and the butler and footmen, as well as other members of the staff?”
“I assumed it was because they were no longer needed after Papa’s death.”
“And the private box at the theater?” her mother ventured.
Margaret only shrugged. Then frowning, she asked, “Does this mean we must cancel the musical evening we had planned for Prudence?”
“Silly girl,” Prudence said with a sigh.
“It would be such a splendid match,” Judith added wistfully. “Splendid.”
“I’d rather live in squalor than marry him,” Margaret insisted with quiet stubbornness.
Prudence shook her head at her cousin’s foolishness. Noting her aunt’s slumped shoulders and despondent expression, she felt more sorry for Aunt Judith than Margaret. The woman had been carrying the burdensome secret all alone. It could not be easy, considering her health problems. Moved by a surge of compassion, Prudence rose from the bench and made her way over to her aunt. When she placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder, Judith patted it appreciatively.
Shifting her glance to Margaret, Prudence said, “Now it is your turn, Meg. Your mother has explained why she hoped you would accept Sir James’s offer. Now you must explain why you will not.”
Margaret winced. Her face reddened to a most unbecoming shade. “Pru!” she whined. She crumpled her handkerchief into a wrinkled wad.
Prudence cocked her head, waiting.
Judith sniffed. “You must think me a heartless ogre, Margaret.”
“No, Mama, I do not,” she insisted. “It’s just I…” she blushed more fiercely, “I love someone else.”
“And who might he be?” her mother demanded in an ominous tone.
“I cannot… I cannot say,” Margaret stammered. “I’ve told no one.”
“Not even Clarissa,” Prudence put in.
Judith raised her eyebrows in surprise. “It must indeed be a great secret then if you have not shared it with Clarissa Paige.” She studied her daughter pensively. “Does this gentleman—for I presume he is a gentleman and not a common butcher boy—does he reciprocate your regard?”
Margaret lowered her eyes. She shook her head. Her lips trembled. Following a long, ragged sigh, she said, “He does not even know how I feel. How could he? He thinks I am just a friend. But it is impossible for me to marry another when I feel as I do.” After another heartfelt sigh, she added in a meek tone, “Impossible.”
Judith’s sigh was as heartfelt as Margaret’s own. “Well, my dear, if you cannot accept Sir James’s offer, than I shall have to live with the consequences. We both will.” Her mouth drooped with tragic despair.
Relieved and elated, Margaret sprang from her chair. Rushing to her mother’s side, she clasped her hands, gushing, “Oh, Mama, thank you for being so understanding.” Her eyes filled with grateful tears.
“I do not understand at all,” her mother replied with a sad shake of her head. “In my day a girl married to please her family, not to satisfy some romantic whim. But if you will not marry Sir James, this is the end of the matter. The marriage, however, would have been an answer to all of our problems.”
“Not mine,” Margaret put in gloomily. As an afterthought, she asked, “How much money is owed, Mama?”
Judith named the amount.
Margaret gulped. Prudence pursed her lips. She tried not to think any more poorly of her deceased uncle than she did already. As Sir James had pointed out, Uncle Giles had been sadly rolled up.
“I am sorry I cannot bring myself to marry Sir James,” Margaret insisted. “I can see I am a disappointment to you.” She hung her head. “I hope your friendship with Lady Brownell will not suffer.”
With a melancholy shrug, Judith mused, “I cannot think what dear Eliza will say. She had hoped — we both did — that our two families would be united as one.”
“Margaret, it is settled, you must send for Sir James,” Prudence said. “You need to tell him at once you cannot — will not — accept his offer. You’ve kept him dangling long enough, I think.”
She felt guilty in her relief. Margaret would soon set Sir James free from any obligation. Prudence wondered if she should make another push to convince her otherwise, but quickly decided against it. If Aunt Judith had accepted Margaret’s decision, she would do so as well.
Margaret’s eyes widened. Turning to her mother, she implored, “Could you not…?”
“No, my dear,” Judith said, thrusting her chin forward. “As you are old enough to receive marriage proposals, you are old enough to reject them as well. Despite his brusque manner, Sir James is not ill tempered. He will not eat you, you know. He would have been a most amiable husband, don’t you think so, Prudence?”
Her aunt turned to her with a hopeful glance, as though they might have one last chance to convince Margaret to yet change her mind. Swallowing hard, Prudence considered her response carefully before saying, “Yes, I believe he would make a most amiable husband.” A band tightened around her heart. Her voice sounded rather breathless to her own ears. Had her aunt noticed?
“But who can say? Perhaps someone else will offer for me,” Margaret spoke up, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “Prudence had two offers in her youth.”
Prudence felt a twinge of resentment at her cousin’s choice of words. In her youth? Was she so old then?
“We will not go to debtor’s prison, will we, Mama?” Margaret asked then.
“No, dear, I don’t believe so. I can mortgage this house to pay off the majority of the more pressing debts,” Judith told her with a weak smile. “But if I do so, there will be nothing for you, Margaret, after my death. Nothing but a small annuity.”
Prudence slipped an arm around her aunt’s shoulders. “You will not die anytime soon, Aunt Judith, so please do not fret about it. Besides, you can trust Mama and me to look after Margaret. She would always be welcome in our home.”
Margaret rallied, saying, “As I now understand our circumstances, I will try to do my part to economize. We can stop going to the theater so often. Most of the comedies are quite stupid anyway. I only go because everyone else does. No more new dresses or hats or gloves or…”
Her mother interrupted her sharply. “Pea goose! If I do not deck you out appropriately, how will you ever catch the eye of another suitable gentleman? You are still young. You come from a good family. Perhaps someone like Mr. Younghughes,” she slid a sidelong glance in her niece’s direction, “may yet make an offer for you.”
Prudence, ignoring this jab, noticed her cousin’s shudder. Margaret, turning to her, asked, “Pru, perhaps you could suggest ways in which we can live more frugally?”
“I am happy to help in anyway I can,” Prudence offered.
Judith kissed her daughter on the forehead and rose from the couch. “What’s done is done. Your father’s debts, as you say, Marg
aret, should not be your concern.” She sniffled loudly into her crumpled handkerchief. “Think upon them no more. Send a note to Sir James asking him to come around at his earliest convenience. As Prudence has wisely pointed out, it is not fair to keep him dangling on the hook any longer.”
Although Margaret shuddered again, Prudence felt both a strange elation and a dismal hope.
“Perhaps I could wait until after Lady Eliza’s rout party?” Margaret suggested meekly.
“No!” both Prudence and her aunt declared in unison.
“Don’t be so poor spirited, Meg!” Prudence said. “Do it and get it over with.”
Her chin up and her cheeks flushed, Margaret glared at her cousin with a decided spark in her eyes.
“Yes, my dear. Do it quickly and be done with it,” Judith said with weary resignation. After this pronouncement, she drifted from the room, presumably to weep into her pillow, Prudence decided.
Margaret sank back down on the couch. “What do I say in the note?” she asked helplessly.
“Simply state you desire a few moments alone with him,” Prudence told her. “He will be expecting to have some private conversation with you to hear your decision, one way or another.”
“But when he comes, what do I say then?” Margaret asked, wide-eyed.
“Tell him the truth, Meg. Politely decline his offer, saying you will not suit. Tell him you do not desire to distress him and hope you two can contrive to remain friends.”
“But what if he decides to make a push?” Margaret pursued.
“I think he will not,” Prudence confessed. “He will be quite noble and withdraw. He’ll never trouble you about the matter again. That is what you want, isn’t it?” She hoped her voice did not sound too hopeful.
Margaret nodded. “Oh, yes, I just want to put this behind me. How we shall contrive to remain friends, I do not know. But then I suppose we were never friends in the first place.”
“Oh, Meg,” Prudence said, giving her cousin a pitying glance. “You foolish, foolish girl.”
Chapter Eight
As it turned out, there was no need for Margaret to send a brief missive summoning Sir James Brownell. The gentleman arrived the next day to pay a morning call, bearing a basket of assorted cheeses.
“I’ve come to inquire if Miss Leyes has fully recovered from her vaccination without any ill effect,” he said, smiling at Judith, who greeted him with rigid discomfort. He acknowledged Prudence with an even broader smile and a slight inclination of his head.
Noticing the basket, Prudence’s lips twitched with amusement. Any other visitor would have brought Margaret a posy or perhaps a basket of strawberries or grapes—more suitable offerings for a recovering invalid, if indeed Margaret could be considered an invalid at all. Instead, the man came bearing cheese, of all things. “It appears you have been doing the marketing, Sir James,” she teased.
He chuckled in his throaty way. “I have a great fondness for cheese. I confess it. Cheese is the one thing I miss the most when I am overseas. No one makes it like the English.” Foreseeing her immediate protest, he cut her off with a flap of his hand. “Yes, Miss Pentyre, I know there are cheesemakers on the Continent and elsewhere in the world, but their yields are mere watery concoctions or bland messes not worthy to be called cheese when compared to those produced in the British Isles.”
While he prattled on about his favorite cheese shop in Bath, Margaret tiptoed into the room, having been sent for by her anxious mother. Prudence thought her cousin appeared nervous and pale, and yet surprisingly determined too.
As Prudence and her aunt promptly withdrew with polite haste, Judith closed the door softly behind her. She appeared to wobble, unsteady on her legs. “I feel faint, Pru,” she murmured.
At once Prudence grasped her aunt by the elbow. The poor woman did indeed appear gray and distraught. “Shall I help you to your room, Aunt Judith?” Prudence asked, concerned.
Judith shook her head. “No. Remain here. They will not be a moment. After all, how long can it take for my foolish daughter to put an end to her future happiness and mine? I still cannot believe Margaret intends to refuse his offer.” She carried the back of her hand to her nose and then sniffed and closed her eyes.
“Pru, when Sir James comes out, will you see him to the door?” Judith requested. “Express my most sincere regrets. Say whatever is required. Then send Margaret to my room at once. My poor, poor, foolish girl,” she choked. “I cannot bear it.” Gripping the banister, Judith groped her way up the next flight of stairs to her room.
Outside the drawing room, Prudence paced. A storm of emotions raged within her heaving bosom. She’d agreed to her aunt’s request to see James to the door when he took his leave, but now she wished she had not. What should she say to him? How could she keep her emotions reined in? Foolish, foolish Margaret. Prudence hoped with all her heart her careless cousin might not inflict any emotional pain upon the man. He did not deserve it.
Of course, James himself had told her neither Margaret’s affections nor his own were engaged; it was not to be a love match on either side. But had he been bluffing? Did he feel a more sincere regard for Margaret than he dared let on? To her surprise and embarrassment, Prudence couldn’t bear to think of the man sitting in the drawing room nursing a broken heart. It was unthinkable! She acknowledged the compassion she felt for him and marveled at it. Why she felt drawn to him, she couldn’t say exactly. Her mother would be astonished to learn of it certainly. So would her sister Patience. But there it was—she liked the man. She liked him a great deal. There were so many things about him she found attractive—his smile, his sense of humor, his passion for those things which mattered to him. His pretty way with words.
This last reflection brought a smile to her quivering lips. How he would laugh to hear her thoughts upon his diction! But yes, he did have a way with words, for when he spun a tale or gave an account of something having taken place in Borneo, James was mesmerizing. True, he was brash, outspoken and had a tendency to show off—and infuriatingly so! And yet even those tendencies set him apart from every other man Prudence had ever met. Sir James Brownell cast them all in the shade, and most particularly the hovering Mr. Benedict Younghughes.
As Aunt Judith had predicted, the couple’s private conversation took little time. The door opened, and James stepped out into the corridor. Noticing her there, he arched his brows and closed the door behind him. With a wry smile, he said, “Miss Pentyre, I can see by your countenance you must know my sad news already. Your fair young cousin has thrown me over.”
“Sir James, I…” she stopped. Words eluded her. Straightening, she said after clearing her throat, “You cannot know how distressed my aunt is.”
“I can well imagine it,” he assured her.
Prudence touched him on the forearm. “I am…so sorry.” She spoke disjointedly, her heart pounding like a drum within her chest. James merely inclined his head.
Self-consciously, Prudence withdrew her hand from his arm. As they descended the stairs, she told him, “I want you to know I did not have anything to do with Margaret’s decision. You had asked me—the first time we met—if I could not encourage my cousin to accept your suit not to stand in your way. I have not done so. I told her only yesterday she was foolish for NOT accepting your proposal. Please believe me. I am not responsible for her reluctance or her final decision.” To her own ears, her voice sounded thick with emotion.
James paused on the step. Glancing down at her, he observed with mild surprise, “Miss Pentyre, I believe you are in more distress than I am myself over the matter.”
“Margaret is young and foolish!” she declared. When James said nothing to this, Prudence felt rather foolish herself. She could feel a hot flush upon her cheeks and dared not think what her aunt would say if she could now overhear this awkward conversation. Glancing sidelong at him, Prudence noticed James was regarding her with an odd expression upon his face. “Please believe me,” she said in a meek tone.
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br /> He replied softly, “I do believe you, Miss Pentyre. You may put any doubts out of your head at once. I am quite sure you had nothing to do with Margaret’s refusal of my offer of marriage.”
Prudence replied, “I think Margaret has qualms you may persist with your suit.”
“She need have no fears in that direction,” James assured her, continuing his descent down the stairs. Then on a lighter note, he added, “I believe you would have enjoyed our brief encounter in the drawing room just now, Miss Pentyre. I behaved in a most ridiculously gallant manner, while Margaret trembled like a blanc mange.” When Prudence frowned, James hurried on. “Don’t get on your high horse, dear girl. I guessed by your cousin’s demeanor as soon as she entered the drawing room she fully intended to reject me. I promise you, I did not prolong the agony.”
“I should hope not,” Prudence replied stiffly.
“You know, if I were not such a frippery fellow, I believe I would feel quite dejected by your cousin’s rejection of my suit,” he went on in a lighthearted manner.
“So you are not dejected?” she asked hopefully.
James shook his head, giving her a crooked smile. “Not in the least. But it does come as somewhat of a blow to my self-esteem, I must confess. Having much to offer as a potential bridegroom, I naturally assumed Margaret would be amenable to my suit—even grateful I had proposed in the first place. She apparently is not.”
Feeling shy, Prudence asked, “I hope she was not rude.”
“No, poor Margaret did the thing quite prettily, but she appeared convinced I must be some kind of monster and would take off her head with a single bite. Ha!” The grin slipped from his face as he watched Prudence. “I beg your pardon. You are frowning so fiercely, I must surely have offended you.”
“I am not frowning. I am thinking,” she protested. “I fear I’m making a muddle of this. My aunt would have me say…”
“Stop! I know Mrs. Leyes has asked you to say all that is proper and so on and so forth. Do never mind, Miss Pentyre. There is no real harm done. As their plan did not come to fruition, your aunt and my dear Mama, I daresay, will console one another at some later time. No doubt it is all for the best. It might even be considered humorous. Unfortunately, your aunt and your young cousin lack a sense of humor, as I pointed out to you before. They will not see the humor in the situation, I’m sure.”
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