by Regina Darcy
“Actually, I don’t believe I have. You might as well let Benton fill a plate for you. I suppose you’re hungry. If you’re thirsty, he’ll attend to that as well. I have no intention of allowing you to turn any more vessels into weapons.”
Prudence looked to the sideboard where Phoebe was being attended to by the butler. She had intended to address the Earl in no uncertain terms regarding his behaviour last night but it would be rather difficult to deliver a stern upbraiding while Phoebe was eating eggs and toast.
“If there is no need to turn any vessels into weapons, then you need not fear, my lord. You, sir, were the aggressor.”
He decided not to answer this, as both the other Miss Connolly and Benton were both frowning at him from the sideboard. “Benton, please prepare a breakfast plate for the second Miss Connolly.”
“In point of fact,” Prudence said, “I am the first Miss Connolly. I am the eldest. Phoebe is my younger sister.”
“Are not twins born together?”
“Yes, but not at the same moment.”
“But the same day,” he countered.
“Yes of course, but not at the same time. I was born first. Ten minutes before Phoebe.”
“And your name is?”
“Prudence.”
“And I have no doubt that you are indeed as good as your name,” he said drily.
“I should hope so. I have matters of some importance to discuss with you. As I am the elder sister, I am naturally protective of my younger sister and I will not permit you to behave in the manner in which you conducted yourself last night. You, my lord, were boorish, base, unspeakably rude, unforgivably vile, and—my lord, are you attending to my words?”
He was attending to the delectable movement of her red lips, full and red as if she were a fairy creature and her lips had been fashioned out of strawberries shaped to form a mouth.
“What? Oh, yes, I’m a boor. I daresay I was last night, but you see, I didn’t know who you were,” he said winningly.
“Who did you suppose me to be?’
“I thought that one of my friends had procured your services for the night, naturally,” Christopher explained after taking another sip of his coffee. Either the beverage or Miss Connolly’s presence, was igniting his senses back into alertness.
The expression on her face revealed that perhaps he had said the wrong thing. He was sure of it when she picked up the vase of flowers on the table and raised it.
He shot out of his chair and grabbed the vase.
“That will do,” he said. “There’s no call to enter my home and proceed to damage every breakable container under my roof. You, Miss Connolly, have an ungovernable temper.”
“You, Lord Henton, are a lout.”
“You’ve already accused me of being a boor. I should think that sufficient.
“Miss Connolly,” Benton intervened, “your plate.” He placed the food in front of her. “I am sure that you are hungry after your long journey,” he said in soothing tones. “Perhaps a good meal will make you feel more . . .” the pause was barely discernible; Benton knew how to be diplomatic. “at ease.”
“We have matters to discuss,” she said without taking her eyes off her host. The aroma of the breakfast reminded her that their last meal, taken hurriedly at the inn where the driver had stopped for fresh horses.
“So you said,” Christopher sighed. “And so we shall. But you might as well eat first. It will only get cold if you do not and that will displease Mrs Truman when she returns.”
“Who is Mrs Truman?
“My housekeeper. It was she who ordered your rooms made ready for your arrival and set the menu with my cook.”
“Why is she not here now?”
Those lips moved as if they were dancing a very lively set of steps. He lost track of the words as he gazed upon her lips. He had kissed her, he remembered well how warm and –
“Lord Henton! Will you attend to what I say?”
“What do you want to say that is so dashed important that it requires all my attention?” he asked peevishly. He would much rather gaze upon her lips with his eyes than listen with his ears to the words coming forth from them.
“Mrs Truman ought to be here. We are unchaperoned in her absence.”
“Yes, well, she’s not here. Benton will have to serve as a chaperone. He’s quite proper, you know.”
“Commendable for him. However, last night he was wearing a laurel wreath; I do not believe that is customary for a butler.”
“We are a bachelor household,” Christopher said. “Rather, we have been until now. Mrs Truman will arrive this afternoon and you will be chaperoned.”
“Her absence merely confirms my decision. My sister and I shall leave this place and go to a nunnery where we will be safe.”
“A nunnery! Both of you?”
They had been educated in France, so he supposed it was possible that they had adopted the Catholic faith. The one sister, perhaps, he could very easily see her exchanging her mourning garb for holy apparel. But not his berry-lipped enchantress, oh no. She was not meant to be a bride of Christ.
He was not sure that she was meant to be a bride at all; she certainly did not inspire thoughts of marriage, although something in the honeymoon line definitely held possibilities. To undress that beguiling form and strip away the unrelieved black until her body was unveiled to view . . . the lush skin tones of her face made him wonder what the texture of her skin felt like beneath the uncompromising black of her attire.
“You both intend to become nuns?”
“Of course, both of us!” she snapped. “Do you think I would leave my sister here with no defender?”
“I was not proposing that you leave your sister here,” he grumbled. “Benton, more coffee, if you please.”
“Very good, my lord. Miss Connolly?”
“I drink tea,” Prudence declared in chilling tones. “I believe coffee is a drink favoured by the debauched.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow.
“Really?” he inquired. “And upon what do you base this theory? I was given to understand that you were educated in a respectable school for girls of unimpeachable character in the south of France, not that you were conducting research on the drinking habits of the port of Marseilles.”
“I shall bring you tea, Miss Connolly.”
“Don’t leave, Benton, or I shall find myself victimised by Miss Connolly’s impetuousness and the nearest bit of bric a brac at hand.”
“Prue,” Phoebe pleaded, concerned for her sister’s wellbeing and embarrassed by the scene. “Will you not eat? I know you must be hungry and your food will get cold and go to waste and you recall that Madame was always very critical of waste.”
Prudence began to form an objection in her mind, but it could not be denied that the aromas of toasted bread and crisp bacon were particularly evocative for a digestive system which had not had a meal since the day before.
“In the interests of economy,” she murmured and accepted the plate which Benton presented to her.
“Now, then, as to this ridiculous idea that you are intended for a life in a religious order,” Christopher leaned forward. “That is not at all what your father would have wanted for his daughters.”
“Did Papa leave any final instructions as to how we are to go forth under your guardianship?” Prudence asked sweetly, knowing very well that their impetuous father would have done no such thing.
“He entrusted you to me,” Christopher said. “That indicates that he relied upon my judgment.”
“It indicates no such thing!”
“You are a child,” Christopher replied, “and it is not up to you to decide the direction of your lives.”
“And how old are you, pray tell?”
“Old enough to be your guardian.”
“You do not appear to have reached thirty years of age,” Prudence dismissed his maturity. “You are neither married nor a father.”
Something very like amusement tu
gged at the corner of the Earl’s mouth, looking as though his lips, were they given free rein, would indulge in a full smile.
“I find it interesting that you do not regard matrimony and patrimony as necessarily combined.”
“They are not necessarily combined; the orphanages are full of bastards whose fathers wanted nothing to do with them, having enjoyed the favours of the unfortunate mother with neither thought nor care as to the consequences.”
Phoebe gasped. “Prue,” she said, pleading again. “Must you speak so?”
Prudence tossed her head. The sunlight, still overly abundant for Christopher’s tastes, gleamed upon the sleek black locks of her hair, catching light in response even through the black lace that she wore on her head. “For all we know, Phoebe, you and I have relatives unknown to us who are Papa’s by-blows, and we may never meet them.”
“Whether you have or not,” Christopher replied, “I am not their guardian. Benton, will you see to Miss Phoebe Connolly; she looks as if she might faint.”
Phoebe did indeed appear to be about to swoon. Benton swiftly responded with the sal volatile which was kept in the dining room—and indeed in every room, owing to the unpredictability of responses from the Earl’s guests during some of his more exotic entertainments—and was relieved to see Miss Connolly restored to an upright state.
“I’m so very sorry,” she apologised, her green eyes enormous with contrition. “I cannot think what came over me.”
“I can,” the Earl said. “Your sister brought up an indelicate subject and you, showing true ladylike modesty, reacted as one would expect. May I suggest, Miss Connolly,” he said, fixing Prudence with a steely gaze, “that you consider your sister’s sensibilities when next you choose a topic of conversation for the dining table?”
“I shall speak as I please, my lord!”
“Not if you are in a convent, you won’t. I believe it is the practice of the holy orders to observe silence during meals, the better to contemplate one’s spiritual quest for obedience. As I perceive no such trait in your comportment, I predict that you will find yourself banished from the table and sent to the confessional more often than not. It is very fortunate, therefore, that I have absolutely no intention of allowing you to leave Henton House for the purpose of taking your vows. You will stay here, under my roof, under my guardianship, and we shall see if we cannot shape you into something rather more docile and appealing.”
FOUR
“Prue, please,” begged her sister as Prudence, a whirlwind in her mourning black, moved about her bedroom as if she were demon-possessed, restoring the belongings that she had unpacked the night before to the trunk from which they had been taken. “Do not take on so. I am sure that the Earl is not as tyrannical as you think. We have only just arrived here after a very long journey and I for one am weary.”
She certainly appeared so. She had followed her sister into Prudence’s room and fallen onto the chaise as if she had not the strength to walk a single step more. She wanted nothing more than to recline in the room that had been assigned to her for at least a day before she considered the future that Prudence had outlined. Whether they were to escape to a convent or establish a school, she had not the strength to care. She wanted only to rest.
Prudence began to respond but, catching sight of her sister’s pale face, she checked her words. “Poor Phoebe,” she said warmly, “have I stirred up a hornet’s nest again and left you to be stung?”
“No, of course not,” Phoebe declared loyally. “I am not as spirited as you are, that is all. I daresay I am quite dull. I only want—”
“You are not dull!” her sister defended her with ferocity. “You are weary, as you said, and the journey has been a tedious one. We have left the only home that is known to us and ventured to a country which, despite being our birthplace, is entirely foreign to us both. Our arrival in this hellish place could not have been more disappointing; do you know, Phoebe, I believe that we witnessed an orgy last night.”
“A what? What is an orgy?” Phoebe asked.
“It is an affair in which men and women indulge freely in their most base instincts,” Prudence confided, lowering her voice lest anyone overhear, although they were alone in her bedroom. “They perform feats of what I believe are quite carnal in nature, so outrageous that they cannot even be spoken of. There are drawings of these acts which are, of course, quite scandalous—”
“Prudence, how do you know of such matters?” Phoebe wanted to know. “I spent a great deal of time in Madame’s library at school and I assure you that there were no such drawings there.”
“I haven’t actually seen the drawings,” Prudence admitted. “Only heard tell of them. But they are very, very naughty! I am quite certain that an orgy was in progress and, had we not gone to our rooms, we could easily have become participants in it.”
“Surely not!”
“I have told you what happened to me,” Prudence said. “I was alone in the room and the Earl attempted to force himself upon me. If I had not, in attempting to escape, fortuitously found the bottle of brandy to use as a weapon, I am quite sure that I should be ruined even now. That bottle of brandy was providential and I am convinced that it was placed there by God Himself so that I should not be ruined.”
“I do not doubt it,” Phoebe breathed, still astounded at her sister’s narrow escape. “It is so very difficult to comprehend. The Earl does not seem so dreadful as you report.”
“A good blow to the head will chasten even the most rapacious of rogues,” Prudence assured her. “If you ever find yourself alone in a room with him, take care to do sufficient reconnaissance.
“What do you mean?”
“He is a dangerous foe,” Prudence warned, thinking of how he had appeared last night, and how his lips upon hers, although unwelcome, had not been as terrible as she would have expected. And of his kiss, unsought, which had somehow elicited a response from her before she had the wit to remember her virtue and accost him with the brandy bottle.
“He is, like Lucifer, not unpleasant to behold.”
“He reminds me of St. George,” Phoebe retorted.
“St. George!”
“Yes, St. George. He looks like a saint, and yet he is quite handsome. One does not expect saints to be handsome.”
“I am at a loss to see how he reminds you of St. George.”
“I read a romance once, a most enchanting story, about St. George.”
“I am sure that St. George was far too busy fighting dragons to involve himself in romance.”
“Perhaps,” Phoebe said. “But it was a lovely story. Do you think the Earl would allow us to read the books in his library? I am sure he must have one, mustn’t he?”
“Phoebe! I am shocked that, after what I have told you and what you yourself witnessed last night, you would want to read anything from the Earl’s collection of books. They are probably so vile and so filled with depravity that you would be besmirched merely by opening the first page.”
“Surely he must have some books which are not like that. There cannot be that many sinful books in the world.”
“Dear Phoebe, you think that way because you are so good. But the world is not good and the people in it are mostly going to burn in hell. Did not the Rector tell us so during Sunday services? You, of course, will be made welcome by St. Peter for you are so filled with virtue that you could not possibly go elsewhere. I will join you because I have fought against sin where I have found it. The Earl will burn.”
“But not yet,” Phoebe said. “First, we must find out what is to become of us. But in the meantime,” she rose to her feet. “I am going to go to my room and rest. Prue, please do not engage in any rows in the meantime. Promise me?”
“I did not engage in a row,” her sister replied with indignation. “It was forced upon me.”
“Then say nothing,” Phoebe begged. She went to the dressing room door which separated her bedroom from her sister’s chamber. “You ought to rest as well.”<
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“I am going to pack! I will not stay under this roof any longer than is necessary.”
As Phoebe went into her bedroom, she reflected that it might be necessary to stay under the roof for some time to come, as it was unlikely that the Earl would permit the sisters to make use of his carriage and horses to leave, and Phoebe could conceive of no way that she and Prudence would be able to carry their trunks on foot.
But it was something which she did not wish to consider now. She only wished to sleep. Perhaps, when she awoke, Prudence would have been pacified, the Earl would be a gentleman, and they could live in civility in the manor.
It was a very fine house, Phoebe thought, with the sort of furnishings, carpet, and décor which seemed very grand after growing up in the austerity of a girls’ boarding school.
Would it really be so terribly bad to live here? Phoebe wondered. She daren’t say such a thing to Prudence, who was convinced that the Earl’s London home was the English equivalent of one of the Old Testament places smitten by God’s wrath.
As she removed her shoes and lay down upon the bed—which had a marvellously comfortable mattress and pillows which were so very much plumper than the rather flat versions upon which the schoolgirls had slept at Madame’s boarding school—she wondered sleepily where Prudence had learned all the things she had spoken of.
It seemed unlikely that she could have found any books detailing the actions to which Prudence had alluded . . . the library at the school had a number of uplifting tales of morality and Phoebe had read those, though not with the eagerness that she had bestowed upon the love stories which the girls shared in secret when older sisters sent packages from home. . . Madame frowned upon romances which was the reason for all the secrecy. What would Madame have thought if she knew that Prudence was familiar with the subjects that the Rector preached in his thunderous sermons on Sunday . . . she would not be very pleased . . .
On the other side of the dressing room, Prudence had packed the items that she had taken from the trunk the night before. She sat down on the edge of her bed and considered what to do next. It seemed that she ought to see about getting some food to pack in the trunk, Prudence thought. That required returning downstairs, but she could simply say that she was hungry and had not been able to eat to fullness because of the commotion in the dining room.