The music room, a large, pale green chamber with a green marble fireplace and an Oriental rug, appeared festive in the glow of a profusion of candles and floral arrangements. Prudence had already renewed her acquaintance with most of the guests her aunt had invited—the Greenwoods, the young Paiges and their parents, the Vicar and his wife, and of course, Lady Brownell—and greeted them warmly. She experienced a rush of gratitude upon learning Aunt Judith, who appeared in both good spirits and good health, had not sent a last minute invitation to Benedict Younghughes.
Margaret also appeared in her best looks. She beamed with happiness and spent much of the evening glued to Clarissa’s side, with Harry hovering at her elbow. The evening’s music was provided by a young Italian tenor, Signore Luigi Vitaliano, who performed with skill and passion. When he sang, Prudence could feel goose bumps tickle the skin on her arms. And yet, without Sir James in attendance, Prudence found the evening rather flat, like a sour note struck on the pianoforte.
Following a lavish supper, Judith invited her guests into the large salon to take tea. Prudence herself served Lady Brownell. “I am sorry Sir James could not attend this evening,” she said with polite candor, as she took the chair next to the lady’s own. “I had hoped to speak with him more about Borneo.”
“James hurried off to London yesterday, on business,” Eliza explained. “I believe it had something to do with the refurbishing of his ship. He insisted it could not be put it off.”
“I am glad to hear it is only business which prevents him from coming. I feared he might be ill or indisposed.”
Eliza gave her a wan smile. Leaning closer, she whispered behind her fan, “You need not worry about my son, Miss Pentyre. He is not in despair over your cousin’s rejection of his suit.”
Prudence felt her cheeks grow pink with guilty embarrassment. “I didn’t think it for a second,” she lied boldly. “Sir James is resilient, if nothing else. I did not imagine he was moped.”
“No, he is not moped,” his mother admitted, sighing. “But, all the same, he is so lonely.”
Eliza leaned away then to speak to the guest on her left, while Prudence clasped her trembling hands in her lap, trying to ignore the sudden, tight pain clutching at her heart.
Chapter Nine
“Meg, may I see the tiger tooth earbobs Sir James gave to you? I’d like to wear them to Lady Brownell’s rout tonight, if you would allow me to do so.”
Margaret sat at her dressing table completing her toilette for the evening’s party. She stared at Prudence as though her cousin had lost her mind. Then with a shrug, she indicated her open jewel case, exclaiming, “Honestly, Pru! They will not complement your gown.”
“I daresay they would not complement any gown of mine, or yours either,” Prudence replied affably. She probed the contents of the box and found the earbobs at once. “They are quite exotic. I cannot understand why you never wore them. You’re such a pudding heart.”
Margaret let out a mild snort.
“You don’t mind if I borrow them, do you?” Prudence asked.
“Please yourself,” Margaret replied with another shrug, pinching her cheeks to bring the color to her face. “I have considered returning them to Sir James. Perhaps I should do it at once.”
“I hardly think it is necessary,” Prudence told her. “They are only souvenirs of his foreign travels. They are not expensive jewels—which he would not have presented to you anyway unless you had accepted his proposal.”
“True enough,” Margaret agreed. “They cannot be valuable after all. You may have them, Pru, if you like.”
Watching her cousin as she examined her reflection in the mirror, Prudence asked, “What has happened? Tell me, Meg! You have a sparkle about you this evening,” she observed.
Surprised, Margaret straightened her shoulders. “Nothing has happened, I assure you.”
“And yet you seem different and have done ever since declining Sir James’s proposal,” Prudence told her. “You have been looking extremely well. You appear to be in high spirits too.”
“Do you think so?” Margaret asked, her expression softening. “I must confess I feel different. The proposal was a burden, you must know.”
“Sir James would consider such a comment a heavy set down.” Prudence chuckled.
“I did not mean to be insulting,” Margaret hastened to assure her.
Prudence nodded. “Has Aunt Judith said anything further about the matter?”
“Do you mean has she been mifty with me?” Margaret asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Prudence shrugged, laughing, “I guess that is what I mean.”
Tilting her head to the side, Margaret sighed, “Not at all. Mama hasn’t said a word about it. But each day I expect to receive a trimming, especially when we are alone together. I fear she is more cross than she is willing to admit. But just when I expect a tirade, she simply clutches her handkerchief to her breast, sighs heavily and mutters, ‘What shall become of us?’ And then she slumps upon her sofa.”
This so aptly described her aunt’s way of coping with life’s disappointments Prudence found it nearly impossible not to snigger.
“I sometimes think it would be better if she would give me a severe scold,” Margaret went on. “Instead, she only sulks and sighs. I cannot help but feel pangs of guilt.”
“And well you should,” Prudence declared, glancing down at the earbobs she held in her hand. “You have been a sore trial to her. Aunt Judith is keenly disappointed. She had so hoped to be free of your father’s debts.”
Margaret sighed again. “I know, but it cannot be helped now.” She studied her reflection in the looking glass. “Perhaps my future will be brighter than Mama supposes. Who can say?”
Prudence flashed another sharp, suspicious glance at her cousin’s reflection. “Something has happened,” she insisted.
“Nothing has happened, as I already told you.”
Prudence responded to this with a skeptical, “Hmmm.”
Turning around to look at her, Margaret said, “I will confess I feel hopeful, but not for the reason you imagine. The One-Who-Will-Remain-Nameless has not singled me out, nor is he aware of my special feelings for him. Nothing has changed in that regard. But had I dutifully married Sir James, I would have lived a life of regret. Since turning him away, I feel I have a life to get on with.” She lowered her lashes and said, “Oh, Pru. You must think I am a silly widgeon.”
Prudence shook her head. “I think no such thing. Not now.” After a pause, she muttered, “Poor Sir James.”
“You cannot feel sorry for him?” Margaret quizzed.
“I do. I cannot help it,” Prudence said in a reproving tone. “You did not see him when he came out of the drawing room afterwards. He appeared disappointed—regardless of what he said to the contrary.”
Meg appeared pensive. “I am sorry for it. He’s a man of the utmost respectability. He has many excellent qualities, which you and Mama tried to point out to me many times.” Then she straightened as though a clever new idea had occurred to her. “He will surely begin to hunt for another suitable bride. Pru, why don’t you put yourself forward as a possible candidate?”
Blushing fiercely, Prudence choked out a response. “I will do no such thing! How could you even suggest it?” Desperate to change the subject, she said, “Am I correct in assuming your mysterious Nonpareil will be in attendance at this evening’s rout?”
“How should I know?” Margaret replied, peevishly. “Lady Brownell did not show me her guest list.”
“I think I know who it might be,” Prudence ventured. When Margaret did not reply, she asked, “May I hazard a guess?”
Again, Margaret shrugged, but Prudence noted how her cousin’s posture stiffened a little.
“It is Harry Paige,” Prudence ventured.
Without flinching or blushing or giving any indication her cousin had guessed correctly or incorrectly, Margaret rose from the dressing table, smoothing the front of her peach-colored gown.
“I wonder why you should think it is Harry?”
“He would be the logical choice,” Prudence replied, stepping aside so Margaret could pass with ease. “He is handsome, gallant and altogether suitable. Besides, you have known him since you were both children.”
Margaret regarded her blankly for a moment before saying, “True.”
Scooping up her shawl, she added, “I am going to see if Mama needs my assistance. I shall meet you downstairs, Pru.”
“But you haven’t answered my question. Is it Harry?” she pressed.
Margaret quirked an eyebrow. “I do not intend to answer your question. It is impertinent.” She drifted out the door into the corridor before Prudence could press her further.
Prudence sighed as she secured the earbobs. If she continued to pry, she might provoke a quarrel with her cousin, which she didn’t want to do. But her curiosity was intense. It must be satisfied somehow. With one final, critical glance in Margaret’s looking glass, Prudence decided she appeared more than a little presentable. She would never be pretty, and she was past her first bloom of youth. Still, her handsome eyes glowed, and she appeared neat and rosy-cheeked. With the help of her aunt’s lady’s maid, she’d styled her hair away from her ears so the earbobs would be noticeable. She only hoped James would indeed notice them.
Later, when she saw him standing next to his mother as they greeted their arriving guests, Prudence experienced a slight rush of joy as embarrassing as it was unexpected. Brownell welcomed Judith and Margaret in a friendly manner, bowing over their hands. He did the same to Prudence, lifting a brow at the sight of the souvenir earbobs. While he made no comment about them, he did reward her with a lazy smile and a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“I am glad to see you this evening, Sir James,” Prudence said, returning his smile with one of her own. “I trust your business in London was concluded successfully?”
Lowering his voice, James replied, “Miss Pentyre, did you fear I had fled Bath with a broken heart?” His blue eyes danced.
“Of course not!” she objected.
“But did you believe me?” He chuckled. “I can see now by the sudden rosy blush upon your cheeks you did not.”
Provoked, Prudence snapped, “I can see my concern is wasted on you.” She hastened away, leaving him to exchange civilities with the next cluster of arriving guests. The man was so annoying! It was truly best he and Margaret were not to marry after all. Her poor cousin would find her temper sorely tried on numerous occasions — too numerous.
Lady Brownell’s rout proved quite a squeeze. Of course it would be, Prudence reasoned. Lady Eliza Brownell was a popular hostess. Her son was popular too. She felt quite exhilarated as she elbowed her way slowly through the crush, following in her aunt’s wake. They frequently stopped to speak to friends and acquaintances. Gilded chairs and settees were grouped in clusters for easy conversation, if one could be heard above the din. Liveried footmen, efficient and unsmiling, circulated through the throng with trays. Flowers and fresh fruit cascaded from an assortment of silver baskets and casks. These were illuminated by a lavish array of candelabras. No expense had been spared, Prudence noted with appreciation. If she subconsciously compared her buoyant feelings this evening with how blue-devilled she’d been at her aunt’s music party, Prudence did not dwell upon the matter long enough to acknowledge the reason for the difference.
“Such a squeeze,” Dorothea Greenwood declared, coming forward through the crowd to greet her. The older woman’s cheeks appeared flushed from the heat. She fluttered her fan vigorously.
“I did not expect otherwise,” Prudence admitted, smiling. She caught a glimpse of Margaret’s back as she followed her mother into another room. No doubt her cousin was looking for Clarissa Paige or perhaps Harry Paige.
Dorothea, leaning closer to peer at the earbobs, exclaimed, “What, pray tell, are those things dangling from your ears?”
“Tiger’s teeth,” Prudence replied with a slow smile.
Her eyes dancing merrily, Dorothea said, “There’s no need to ask where they came from, but I do wonder how you came to have a pair.”
“I borrowed them,” Prudence answered truthfully. “To tease Sir James.”
“They are…” the woman paused, mentally searching her vocabulary for the appropriate word. She settled for “odd.” Tilting her head, Dorothea added, “Odd, but interestingly exotic.”
“I am not sure they are as odd or exotic as you might think,” Prudence replied. As she perused the crowded room, she noted many strange fashion choices. A few of the older guests still wore Frenched hair, all frizzled and powdered. There was a profusion of pearls and gemstones, gleaming buckles, the occasional bits of fur—even in this weather—and a multitude of flowers tucked behind ears and nestled in coils of curls. And then of course, there were the feathers. So many feathers!
“Look at Mrs. Hancock.” Prudence indicated a full bosomed matron sporting an abundance of curling black ostrich feathers upon her head. “Now she appears far more exotic than I do,” she insisted.
Dorothea followed her glance, smiling. “Perhaps you are correct.” She continued to flutter her fan as she softly queried, “How do matters stand between your cousin and Sir James?”
Prudence, noting how both Margaret and Judith had disappeared from view, replied in a similarly low voice, “Margaret has rejected his offer. Aunt Judith is beside herself, as you can well imagine. But she has not the heart to force Margaret into accepting the man as she is not in love with him.”
Dorothea shook her head. “I am sorry to hear it. Sir James is plump in the pocket. He could have settled your uncle’s debts with quick dispatch. Besides, he would make an amiable husband. I have always thought so. What was the girl thinking? It would have been a most advantageous match for Miss Leyes.”
Prudence shrugged. She dared not admit to her friend the gleeful relief she’d experienced when Margaret had rejected the baronet’s offer. She felt an intense embarrassment for her own selfishness. She’d yet to write to her mother about the incident for fear her sensitive parent would be able to read between the lines.
“Pru, do you think perhaps she loves another?” Dorothea probed, fluttering her fan with renewed vigor.
“I know it to be true,” Prudence admitted. “Margaret told us so—me and Aunt Judith. But she did not reveal his name.”
Dorothea’s eyes widened. “Why should she be so secretive? It does not bode well.”
Again, Prudence shrugged. “Margaret assured us he is an unexceptional gentleman, but as he is not aware of her feelings and as she is unaware of his, she prefers not to reveal his identity.”
Dorothea opened her mouth and then closed it again when Margaret approached, flanked by Clarissa Paige and a tall, baby-faced young man with intense blue eyes and a thatch of pale blond hair. Margaret took the opportunity to introduce Mr. Robert Ludlow to both her cousin and Mrs. Greenwood.
“He’s a close friend of Harry’s,” Clarissa threw in, smiling shyly.
While they engaged in polite conversation, and Dorothea asked young Mr. Ludlow his reason for visiting Bath, Prudence pulled Margaret to the side. “Is he the one?” she whispered in her cousin’s ear.
Margaret bristled. “For shame, Prudence! Do not pry. I will not tell you.” Then with a frown, she added, “I cannot believe you insisted upon wearing those frightful baubles. The idea of wearing the teeth of a poor dead creature causes me to shudder.”
Prudence regarded her with a smile and a slow shake of her head. Sir James was right. Margaret had no sense of the ridiculous. “Look about you, Meg. Feathers plucked from birds, flowers snipped from stems, fur ripped from the carcass of some poor dead creature. And the pearls, Meg! Consider them. Do you know where pearls come from?”
“You are not amusing!” Margaret snapped. Then she went rigid. Prudence quickly followed her gaze. She experienced a rush of pleasure when she beheld James coming toward them, bearing two glasses of lemonade. Margaret exclaimed in a
breathless spurt, “I see Amelia Butterworth!” before darting away like a frightened doe.
Mildly flustered, Prudence found herself alone with her host. “Thank you. How did you know I was thirsty?” She quickly took a satisfying sip from the glass he proffered.
Smiling, James said, “In a crush like this, one is always thirsty.” His twinkling eyes briefly followed Margaret’s fleeing figure. “So the chit has not only cast me aside, but my small token as well.” He indicated the earbobs with a flick of a finger.
“Not at all,” Prudence hastened to inform him. “I had to contrive to get Margaret to loan them to me. I believe she only did so to see if I would be brazen enough to wear them tonight. Dear Aunt Judith was scandalized. I think she felt I should not wear them as you had given them to Margaret as a gift.”
“Not a gift, Miss Pentyre. Just a trifling souvenir of my Far East travels.” He took a sip of the lukewarm lemonade and grimaced. “I gave Mrs. Leyes a memento as well: the foot of an elephant, hollowed out and well-preserved. I suggested she might use it as an umbrella stand.”
Prudence chuckled. “I have not seen hide nor hair of such a thing,” she told him.
He gave a short bark of laughter. “Well done, Miss Pentyre!” James nodded his approval. “A Dyak warrior would be entranced not only by the earbobs but by the perfection of the earlobes from which they dangle. Do not be embarrassed about wearing them. I presented a pair to the vicar’s wife as well, you know. She thanked me kindly, but as yet, I’ve not seen her wear them for services on Sunday or at any other time. She does not have your courage.”
Prudence blushed. His grin broadened. Then he asked, “Who is the pretty boy Margaret is talking to? Do you know him?”
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