“Where is Dorothea?” Prudence asked, settling herself and adjusting her bonnet. Disappointment began to seep through her veins. She told herself firmly it had nothing to do with the absence of Sir James. “Was she not planning to come with us today?”
“Yes, she had planned to do so, but she received unexpected callers this morning—old and dear friends from London,” Eleanor explained. “She said she knew you would understand and begged you might visit with her tomorrow at your leisure.”
“Lady Brownell cried off at the last minute too,” Clarissa said, anticipating Prudence’s next question.
“And Sir James as well?” Prudence asked, keeping her voice cool and indifferent.
Eleanor received this question with a broad smile. “They will join us, certainly. Arthur and Sir James rode out of town as soon as they were mounted. I think they were both eager for a break-neck gallop. Bath is not conducive to horseback riding, with all its narrow cobblestone streets. At least, that’s what Arthur says. They will meet us at the foot of the Hill.”
“Harry and Mr. Ludlow offered to serve as our escorts,” Clarissa added.
Prudence thought the girl seemed particularly lovely this morning in a peach colored gown with a ruffled flounce. Glancing across at her cousin, who was seated next to Clarissa, Prudence could not help but wonder if Margaret, her attention now fixed out the window, ever felt jealous of her pretty friend? It would only be natural if she did, Prudence supposed. Margaret was plain, as she was herself, and she was never more aware of it than when in company with more attractive females.
“Miss Leyes, I suppose you could not convince your mother to join us after all?” Eleanor asked politely. Her merry brown eyes twinkled as though she already anticipated a humorous answer to her question.
Prudence and Margaret exchanged amused glances. “Mama believes it is far too dangerous to venture out to Little Solsbury Hill today or any other day,” Margaret replied gaily.
“Dangerous?” Clarissa queried, arching her eyebrows. “Little Solsbury Hill?”
“Yes, most certainly,” Prudence said with a mock frown. “Stinging bees, rabid foxes, biting ants, attacking badgers.”
“Not to mention the damp, the rain, and the chill wind,” Margaret threw in.
Clarissa and Eleanor laughed. The topic of conversation then shifted to a new play, which had recently opened, and Thursday night’s upcoming dance at the Assembly Rooms.
Uninterested in either event, Prudence leaned forward to peer out the carriage window. She smothered a sigh as she caught a glimpse of Robert Ludlow, with his shaggy thatch of pale hair and lean, straight back. He did indeed look well on horseback. She wished she been afforded the opportunity to ride as well. At home, she rode nearly every day—often executing errands for her mother or father throughout the parish. More often, she rode for pleasure. She had her own saddle horse named Buttercup. How she missed her!
Her aunt, Prudence understood, was hardly in a position to equip her with a mount while she visited in Bath. And besides, as Eleanor had already noted, the city was not a place where one could enjoy a long, leisurely ride, not with all the steep, cobblestone streets. Sitting back against the cushions, Prudence made up her mind that nothing should spoil this day—even her longing for dear old Buttercup. The sky appeared intensely blue today. The light breeze felt pleasant upon her face. There was no appearance whatsoever of threatening rain clouds Aunt Judith had insisted might ruin the outing.
As Eleanor had promised, James and Arthur were waiting for them when they arrived at the foot of Little Solsbury Hill. The men had already dismounted and were laughing over some private joke or amusing incident. Prudence happily noted how both of them looked healthy and fit. The color had returned to Arthur’s face. He appeared fully recovered from his debilitating bout with influenza. James was not limping as he had been when she first met him, although she guessed his injury would affect him now and then when he was tired or perhaps when the weather turned particularly cold. But Prudence knew a man like James would hardly let it bother him one way or the other.
He no longer wore the romantic but disreputable eye patch either, she noted. The scar appeared to be healing and no longer seemed as raw and tender as it did on the day they went to Lady Richmond’s school for girls. Prudence thought Sir James’s face an honest one and ruggedly handsome, particularly when he smiled, as he did so now.
The smile lit his eyes too as he helped her out of the carriage. “Good morning, Miss Pentyre,” James greeted her. “Are you looking forward to our trek up the Hill?”
“Indeed, I am,” she replied. “I believe we will be afforded an impressive panoramic view when we reach the top, or so I am told. I only hope we do not encounter any of the many dangers my aunt warned us about.” When he gave her a puzzled frown, she blithely repeated the list, from stinging bees to deadly chills. “As you might imagine, Aunt Judith refused to accompany us, preferring the safety of her couch,” she added, her lips twitching.
“I believe Margaret will be much like her mother one day,” James replied in a quiet aside, leading her away from the carriage.
Mildly disapproving, Prudence said, “How can you say so?” She glanced over her shoulder, watching Harry as he assisted first his sister and then Margaret to climb down from the carriage.
“Do you doubt it?” James challenged. “I have noticed how young females often become like their mothers as they grow older.”
“Then you are well out of it, are you not?” Prudence snapped in a low but peevish tone. “You would not want a sickly wife always hovering on the brink of collapse as your wedded rani.”
James lowered his head and shook it slowly. Prudence thought he might be fighting laughter, but did not know why he should do so. There was nothing amusing in the least about his unfair assessment of her cousin’s personality. “Indeed, I do not want a sickly wife,” he replied in a quiet, controlled voice. “I am more grateful than I can say that Margaret so resolutely rejected my offer, and so I’ve told myself on any number of occasions since that day.”
Upon hearing this, Prudence found herself experiencing a conflict of emotions. She was both amused and indignant by the man’s careless dismissal of his rejected marriage proposal. She found she was also a little hopeful. Did she dare to permit herself to even consider that perspective? When Prudence recalled what Lady Brownell had told her about her son’s loneliness, she silently prayed James was not secretly nursing a broken heart. It still touched a tender part of her own whenever she considered the possibility. She knew all to well what it was like to be lonely. She had always hastened to brush aside such feelings, however, reminding herself there were worse things one could suffer from. Being blind or crippled, for instance. Or being all alone in the world without loving parents and siblings.
With a slight bow, James turned away from her then to chastise Arthur for trying to lift down the picnic hamper by himself. “Arthur, you escort your wife up the Hill. Harry and I will manage the hamper between us, won’t we, Harry?”
The younger man nodded, hurrying forward to lend a hand. Prudence was pleasantly surprised when Robert Ludlow approached her with shy deference, offering his arm to her. “It is a bit of a climb, Miss Pentyre. I hope you will not find it too strenuous. But I can assure you the view from the top is well worth the effort.”
Torn between amusement and dismay, Prudence could only surmise that Mr. Ludlow had guessed her age to be far more considerable than it was. Realizing, however, she was in fact the eldest female in the picnic party, she bared her teeth at him, saying in a tight voice, “I shall manage, Mr. Ludlow.” Nonetheless, she accepted his arm with dutiful politeness.
“They say King Arthur once did battle here against the Saxons,” Ludlow said and proceeded to share his knowledge on the subject with her.
While James and Harry hauled the hamper up the Hill, Clarissa and Margaret scampered after them like two lively young colts. The Greenwoods, their arms linked, followed at a more leisure
ly pace. Prudence, bringing up the rear with young Ludlow, soon found herself enjoying walking in his company, particularly when she discovered they shared a common outrage in the East India Company’s refusal to grant licenses to missionaries hoping to bring the gospel to India.
“Miss Pentyre, please believe me when I say I am not a cultural imperialist, but someone must put an end to those wretched pagan practices, such as burning widows upon their husbands’ funeral pyres. Some of those poor condemned widows are little more than girls!” Ludlow’s face flushed with righteous indignation.
“I could not agree more,” Prudence replied warmly. She had deplored the practice of suttee from the first moment she learned of it from one of her father’s military acquaintances. “Perhaps with Mr. Wilberforce’s support, we can convince the government to allow the introduction of Christian missionaries to India in the near future.”
The two continued their animated conversation until they reached the top of the hill. Once there Prudence, admittedly breathless, enjoyed the impressive views of Bath and the Avon River. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh summer air. It was such an achingly lovely day. She longed to preserve the perfection in a jar, rather like peach jam, to open and enjoy on some dismal winter day in the not-so-distant future. She nurtured only a slight concern Margaret might appear standoffish around James or that Arthur Greenwood might easily exhaust himself from the exertion of marching up and down the hill. But neither of these niggling concerns came to fruition, for which Prudence felt immensely thankful.
As she helped Eleanor unpack the hamper, Prudence realized how much she’d come to come to enjoy the easy companionship of the Greenwoods. She would miss the couple sorely when they left Bath, particularly Eleanor. “Now, what of your surprise, Eleanor? Is it time to reveal all?” she asked her friend. “You hinted at Lady Brownell’s rout you and Mr. Greenwood have exciting news to share. Are we to anticipate the birth of another Baby Greenwood in the near future, perhaps?”
Eleanor blushed prettily. Her eyes sparkled. “No, but I think you will be pleased.” Ducking her head, she proceeded to retrieve a box of hard-boiled eggs from the hamper, giving no indication that she was ready to share confidences yet.
Sighing, Prudence guessed the Greenwoods would reveal their news in time and decided to find an opportunity to have a private word with Clarissa. She was unable to contrive how this might be accomplished with so many other people around. Prudence was eager to ask Clarissa if she’d discovered anything regarding Harry’s feelings for Margaret—or lack thereof. Had Clarissa even had time to discuss the matter with her brother? Or the possibility Margaret might be in love with him?
During the sumptuous al fresco meal, Prudence could not help noting how friendly her cousin’s manner was toward Mr. Ludlow. The young man seemed earnest and personable. His attempts at gallantry were a bit awkward but endearing. Margaret beamed with happiness as she sat next to him, chatting easily. Studying the pair from under her lashes, Prudence wondered if it was perhaps Robert Ludlow after all who had captured her cousin’s heart and not Harry Paige.
Prudence soon discovered she was not the only one watching the tête-à-tête between Margaret and Robert. James plopped himself down beside her and reached for the last ham sandwich. “I saw you talking to young Ludlow earlier when we were marching up the hill. He’s a good-looking young whelp.”
Relishing his nearness, Prudence felt her heart soar. They were alone on the blanket, just the two of them, having been abandoned momentarily by the other members of the party. Eleanor and Arthur were instructing Margaret and Clarissa on how to best use the butterfly nets, which the Greenwoods had thoughtfully provided for the outing. Harry and his friend Robert stood on the sidelines, pointing out suitable specimens for capture and laughing at the young women’s unsuccessful efforts.
“Mr. Ludlow is attractive and intelligent too,” Prudence replied. She took a fortifying breath and went on to recap her earlier conversation with Robert Ludlow about the deplorable lack of missionaries in India.
“I believe he is the one Margaret threw me over for,” James whispered in her ear. Prudence could feel his warm breath upon her flushed cheek. “Do you agree, Miss Pentyre, or is it nothing more than a ridiculous fancy of mine?”
“I cannot say,” Prudence answered truthfully. “But I don’t believe so.” Swallowing hard, she stared down at the remaining slice of cold chicken upon her plate, thinking back to the conversation she had had weeks earlier with Dorothea Greenwood. Her good friend had not noticed Margaret singling out any particular young man with her attentions. There was no gossip linking Margaret’s name with that of any young gentleman either. Gossip was as much a social activity as attending the theater or going to the dances at the Assembly Rooms. Surely, if Margaret had shown a preference toward Robert Ludlow, the tattle mongers would have said something?
If Robert Ludlow was indeed the man Margaret secretly loved, she had been discreet. But then, Margaret had mentioned at Lady Brownell’s rout that Mr. Ludlow did not live in Bath. He had come only to visit his grandmother. As he did not live here, it would perhaps be a simple task to keep others from learning of her affection for the young man.
“Perhaps I am mistaken after all,” James said, pulling back. He glanced over at the other couples. “Margaret doesn’t seem overly attentive to him, as far as I can tell. She seems to fairly divide her time and attention between both Harry and Ludlow.”
Prudence experienced an unexpected pang of jealousy. “Does it matter which gentleman my cousin prefers?” She couldn’t help hearing the acid note in her tone. She guessed Sir James would note it too. How she wished she’d learn to control her wretched tongue!
“It matters not in the least,” James replied lightly. He helped himself to an apricot, took a bite and then blotted his lips with a linen napkin.
Watching him, Prudence noticed he frequently squinted or blinked his injured eye. “Is your eye troubling you?” she asked gently.
“No, Miss Pentyre, does it trouble you?”
“Only in as much as it causes you pain or discomfort,” she replied briskly.
“It does not hurt, but I find it is occasionally sensitive to sunlight. This appears to be one of those occasions,” he said with a rueful smile.
With a slight nod, Prudence replied, “You must be relieved the injury did not result in the loss of the eye altogether.”
“I am most grateful for both the Lord’s favor and the quick medical attention I received at the time,” James told her. Then chuckling, he added, “But had I not been so fortunate, I would have followed the example of my friend Norwich—Lord Norwich,” he amended.
“I am not acquainted with the gentleman,” Prudence admitted. “Did he lose an eye?”
“Yes, in India. But rather than wear a patch, he acquired a glass eye in Bombay. Upon his return to London, Norwich chanced to pass a taxidermist shop, where he noticed a fine collection of glass eyes on display in the window—the eyes of tigers, leopards, bears and other exotic beasts. Norwich purchased a dozen or more and wore one whenever it struck his fancy. When he returned to resume his duties in India, he took his exotic collection with him.” James gave another light laugh. “I am told the natives quiver with fear whenever they behold his beastly eye. Good old Norwich! He’ll use that exotic collection to his advantage.”
Laughing, Prudence closed her eyes to savor this moment. She tried to imagine the whimsical Lord Norwich with the eye of a leopard staring out from his face. She tipped her head back so she might feel the rays of the afternoon sun upon her own face then. Summer was her favorite season of the year. She loved the warmth of the sun, and since she rarely freckled, she dared to risk a slight exposure. Vowing silently to keep her emotions in check, she smiled upon her companion, and said in a lighthearted manner, “Sir James, I think you had better seek a bride in London. Perhaps you will find one suitably displayed in a shop window.” She chuckled throatily, pleased with her own weak
joke.
Shrugging, he replied, “I went to London briefly during the Season, but did not have much opportunity to acquaint myself with eligible females there as my mother was quite insistent I come to Bath to recover my health. However, I’m not sure Bath is such a healthful place after all. The city is teeming with invalids.” He chuckled.
Prudence chuckled too. Then she quickly sobered. It was hardly proper to be speaking to the man about brides or marriage or any other intimate topic. Chiding herself for her careless impropriety, she fixed her attention upon her cousin once more. Margaret and Clarissa were giggling and chatting, paying little attention to Arthur Greenwood’s demonstration of the correct way to wield a butterfly net.
James, following her glance, declared, “Little prattle boxes!”
“You do not approve of chatty females?” Prudence asked, turning to face him.
“I do if they have something worthwhile to chat about,” James replied with a wry smile.
Eager to change the topic before her unruly tongue might get the best of her once more, Prudence said, “On the evening you showed us your butterfly collection and the pressed flowers you brought with you from Borneo, you did not show us your sketch books.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Who told you about the sketchbooks?”
“Mr. Hunter,” she informed him.
“Ah.” James nodded.
“And do not tell me you thought I would not be interested in such a trifle,” Prudence warned him. “You said the same when I pointed out you had failed to tell me about your recent and unusual title, Rajah of Sarawak.”
“Did I say so?” he asked, amused. With a shrug, he added, “Most people do not wish to be bored with such things as one’s private sketchbooks.”
Prudence Pursued Page 16