by Regina Darcy
He was soiled by his own indulgence. He raked his hand through his hair.
Prudence Connolly could only regard him as an unleashed beast who was so lost to his vices that he had more than once sought to ruin her.
He was her guardian and upon him was assigned the duty of finding her a husband. He had not expected, upon being named guardian to the sisters by their father, a man he only knew from the shared pleasures of the ton, to want to be that husband.
He had greeted the unwelcome news of his guardianship with dismay. How was he to know that he would be bewitched by the petite, dark-haired, green-eyed warrior of virtue who was as firm in her resolve as Joan of Arc and as alluring in her nature as Helen of Troy? Here was a woman who had sworn allegiance to the Ten Commandments from her childhood and he had attempted to entice her to follow the ways of Bacchus.
There was a discreet knock on the door. It was likely Benton, who knew when to obey his master’s injunctions and when they could be disavowed.
“Come in,” he said.
“My lord,” Benton said, his expression almost sympathetic as if he knew of the Earl’s quandary.
But of course he could not know.
Even if the tale had spread from the ball that the Earl of Henton was so intent on maintaining the virtue of his charges that he had dressed down the Viscount who had dared to seek a second dance with one of his wards, there was no possible way that Benton could know how his master felt inside. No possible way.
“Yes?”
“You have been in your study for some time with no nourishment, my lord. Mrs Truman is concerned.”
“Please thank Mrs Truman for her concern and assure her that I am well. Have the sisters breakfasted?”
“She sent trays up to their rooms, my lord.”
“Did they eat?”
“Miss Phoebe did, but Miss Prudence did not.”
“I see.”
“But that is not why I have interrupted you, my lord. Mr Skeller is here.”
“Gavin? I did not know that he was back from Brighton.”
“Shall I admit him?”
“Yes, certainly.” Gavin Skeller, his longtime friend, was a sound-minded, reasonable man not prone to impassioned acts of madness.
Not for him the kissing of an innocent debutante or foolish accusations born out of jealousy. He was sober and proper, a lawyer who was engaged to the daughter of a judge.
She was charming, witty, attractive and in love with Gavin, who was equally enamoured of his betrothed. Their courtship was conducted with all the respect and decorum due to a professional man and the well-bred daughter of a judge.
Why was it so easy for Gavin and so impossible for him, Christopher wondered as Benton left to bring the caller, to achieve that pleasant balance of love and order which matrimony ought to invoke?
But Gavin had never been prey to his own desires, nor had he allowed himself to indulge in the searing quests for physical satisfaction which were by their very nature indiscreet and unbridled.
“Christopher,” Gavin entered, exuding an air of competence and balance.
“Gavin,” the Earl returned. “It’s pleasant to welcome you back from you assignment. I trust your business was safely and satisfactorily concluded?”
“Indeed yes, thank you. I regret that I could not be here when your wards arrived. They have settled in satisfactorily?”
“They had their first ball,” Christopher said. “They were quite a success. No end of dance partners.”
“Splendid. You must be very pleased.”
“Must I be? Yes, I suppose I must be.”
“As I recall,” Gavin said, his forehead furrowed in puzzlement at his friend’s response, “it was your intention to rid yourself of the onus of their guardianship as soon as possible by finding husbands for them without delay. I am assuming that the plan is proceeding as you wished, if they were sought after for dances at their very first ball.”
“Yes, just as I hoped,” Christopher said, with no inflexion in his voice.
“Excellent,” Gavin said, but there was no conviction in his words. Something was amiss, he could tell, having been friends with the Earl since their childhood. “As I recall, you wanted to draw up papers providing the Connolly’s with a modest dowry for when they are married. Is that still your intention?”
“Yes,” Christopher said flatly. “Their father was impoverished when he died but they don’t know that, although they may suspect that he had a change of circumstance. I wish to settle a sum on each girl so that she goes to her husband with a dowry. I should not wish for anyone to offer for them with expectations of an inheritance, but a woman should not go penniless into marriage.”
“No, certainly not, although not all guardians would be so generous. The Baron . . . he sounds a rather feckless creature.”
“I barely knew him and it is still a mystery to me why he named me guardian. He had debts, and I was one of his debtors. But that alone scarcely accounts for his conduct.”
“Unless he felt that he was paying off a debt with a daughter. Hardly the act of a loving father, that.”
“No . . . I don’t believe he was particularly paternal toward his daughters. Their mother, his wife, died when the twins were but five and he sent them abroad to school. The on dit is that he could not bear to look upon their faces because they so resembled their dead mother.”
“I suppose that is possible, although one would credit him more had he chosen to keep his daughters close to honour his dead wife.”
“I have no idea. As I said, I barely knew the man. But yes, draw up the papers for me to sign. I wish to have them ready for when . . . when the offers come asking for their hands in marriage.”
“Not feeling any reluctance, are you?’
“No,” the Earl said. “In fact, the more I think of it, the sooner the better. I am not cut out to be a guardian, Gavin. I’m far better off living the life of a reprobate, however disreputable it may seem. I am not meant to be in the company of schoolgirls.”
NINE
Although Phoebe was aghast at the Earl’s conduct at the ball, she thought, and said to her sister, that perhaps he was being especially protective of Prudence’s reputation in case people should automatically assume that she and the Viscount were ready to make an announcement before any such arrangement had been agreed upon.
Prudence knew that it was her sister’s way to look for a solution to a dilemma that did not invoke confrontation or accusations. She said nothing about the kiss that the Earl had responded with when she confronted him the day after the ball, but not because she wished to shield him from blame. It was because she had returned his kiss with such abandon; had, in fact, expected the kiss if she had not sought it, and had allowed that hidden self within her to direct her actions as she kissed him back.
Instead, she took to avoiding the Earl, taking her meals in her room or, when the Earl was out, with Phoebe. She began to explore the neighbourhood on long, solitary strolls where she could be alone with her thoughts. In the mornings, she availed herself of the stables and rode through town before anyone was up and about, finding in busy, bustling London a peace that the city lacked when it was populated by the awakened servants, tradesmen, merchants, shopkeepers, and aristocrats. She knew how to saddle her own horse and Madame, that remarkable woman, had been of the opinion that riding sidesaddle was unhealthy for les femmes; therefore, their riding outfits were sewn as loose trousers that looked like skirts. Freed from the constriction of a female riding wardrobe, Prudence was able to straddle her horse and gallop without fear of falling from the saddle.
Benton often saw her returning to the manor after such a ride, but she knew instinctively that he would not give her away. He nodded at her return and asked her if she would like breakfast in her room. It was a week before she realised that the butler deliberately timed his presence to coincide with her return from her morning ride, so that he could be sure that she had not met with a mishap. He never, by word or deed
, indicated that such a concern had entered his thoughts, but it became obvious to her that Benton and Mrs Truman between them looked out for all members of the household, from the Earl at the very top tier to the lowliest kitchen-maid. She wondered what inspired such loyalty, for she could see nothing in the Earl’s attitude to have nurtured it.
It seemed that they were accepted as part of the household now, she supposed. But she had not abandoned her plan that, should the situation become untenable, she would leave and find refuge in the convent. She realised, sadly, that if that were to happen, she would go alone, for Phoebe was finding a place in the household and in the social environment as well, happily accepting invitations to outings, picnics and visits to London sites where such occasions were permissible. Prudence was invited as well and she went along, but more as an obligation than as a leisure activity.
Phoebe had not yet met the tempted one. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps that aspect of character had not taken root in her and she would never know the dark temptations that could only be appeased by the rapacious kiss of a man.
Prudence had never known this part of herself until the Earl had exposed it, just as the serpent in the Garden had revealed Eve’s true nature to her. It was a mystery, deeper than theology or salvation, for it proved that there was a place where prayers could not reach and sermons did not defend, she made a sign of the cross at her blasphemy.
Man was born to sin, and woman, for having been the first transgressor, was the gateway to sin. The Rector had been correct in his denunciation of hell and damnation.
Prudence knew herself to be among the fallen, for if the opportunity arose again, she could not swear that she would be able to resist the Earl’s advances. So it was that she must avoid him.
However, avoidance would not be possible forever. They would be escorted by their guardian to the ball given by Lady Delafield, one of society’s mavens whose approval was sought almost as eagerly as that of the Patronesses of Almack’s. Her Ladyship had extended the invitation to the Earl and his wards, having noticed them at the Summersby ball and remarked to an acquaintance that the twins were a refreshing change from the trite crop of debutantes currently seeking mates. The Earl would have declined the invitation if such a thing were possible, but to incur Lady Delafield’s wrath would do his wards no favour.
Phoebe was excited about the ball and her anticipation livened the atmosphere within the carriage. T
he Earl was so silent as to be morose and Prudence, although she was not displeased with the way that she looked in her pale blush silk gown, worn with her late mother’s diamond tiara, had little interest in the affair.
She and the Earl refrained from meeting one another’s eyes. Phoebe observed the tension between them and hoped that it would not ruin her sister’s opportunities for the evening. She wondered if the Viscount would be there to resume his acquaintance with Prudence or if he would avoid her after the episode with the Earl at the Summersby ball. And then she wondered, with a quickening of her heartbeat and a swift pat of her hair to make sure that she would look her best in her chignon and her ivory beaded dress, if Sir Archibald would be at the ball.
She would make certain to dance only one dance with him in order to avoid any unpleasantness with the Earl, but there were other ways to enjoy a gentleman’s company at a ball, she had learned.
There were conversations over lemonade, for one, and Sir Archibald had been most solicitous in procuring refreshments for her at the Summersby ball. Innocent Phoebe did not realise that she was quickly learning the methods by which the belles of London practised the rites of courtship even before an engagement was announced.
Of course, it was far too premature to even think of engagement. It was enough to know that she enjoyed the company of the Baron of Warmen’s eldest son and that, so far as she was aware, the Earl need have no objection to him.
She was soon snapped out of her musings as they arrived at their destination. Their appearance stirred a rush of dancing partners in their direction, putting the noses of the established society debutantes somewhat out of joint.
The Earl did not bother to lecture his wards, disappearing into the room where gambling was taking place as soon as they arrived and the Duchess of Summersby appeared to take charge of the sisters.
The Duke looked with envy at the exiting Earl. Although he was not inclined to gambling, it was preferable to the tedium of a ball. But his wife had taken him to task for leaving her for such extended spans of time during the ball that they had hosted and he was resigned to being at her side for the duration of this one.
“It’s odd, don’t you think, Henton taking off like that?” he commented after the twins had been chosen for the first dance of the night by eminently suitable potential husbands.
“Why?”
“He’d given up cards, or so I understood.”
“I suppose he finds himself tied down these days as a guardian and he is eager to escape female company.”
James snorted. “Never knew Henton to want to avoid female company.”
“You know very well what I mean,” his wife said. “Female company that comes with responsibilities, such as those he now observes as the guardian to the Misses Connolly.”
“Oh, yes, well that, no doubt. It is, to be sure, a most uncomfortable thing, I should think, to find one’s self at the age of seven-and-twenty in the role of pater familias.”
“Seven-and twenty? He ought to be thinking of marriage himself.”
The subject of marriage was not foremost in Prudence’s mind as she danced with her partner, the youngest son of a baronet who cheerfully admitted that he had no prospects and was planning to enter the military. He did, however, aim to do heroic things, he assured her, and he hoped that she would think of him when he was away on the battlefield, risking his life for king and country.
She assured him that she would do so, but throughout the dance, she continued to glance over his shoulder to see if she could spot the Earl among the crowd. Where had he gone? There was no sign of him anywhere among the throng of guests along the sides of the dancing area or among the dancers.
When the young man returned her to the Duchess and asked for a second dance, she explained that her guardian only allowed her a single dance with any gentleman.
Disappointed, the young man asked if she was thirsty. She said that she was and watched with relief as he disappeared in the direction of the punch bowl.
Phoebe, newly returned after her dance, was aglow. “Is it not a lovely evening?” she exclaimed. “Where is the Duchess?”
“I believe I saw her dancing. Where is the Earl?”
“I have not seen him. But truly, Prudence, I do not think he will be difficult so long as you do not dance more than one dance with any gentleman,” Phoebe answered, thinking that her sister was fearful of the Earl’s temper lest she transgress with the number of dances she allotted to the men who sought her as a partner. “You will enjoy yourself, will you not?”
Prudence did not have time to answer because Phoebe’s next partner had appeared to claim her. When the Duchess returned, she informed Prudence that the twins would return home in the Summersby carriage.
“Where is the Earl?”
“He has gone home.”
“Already? The evening has barely begun.”
Georgette smiled tolerantly. “The Earl is unused to shepherding young girls to dances and he knows that the Duke and I will look after you. He was insistent, however, that you and your sister must enjoy tonight to the fullest.” She leaned forward, “I believe,” she said in a lowered voice, “that you may dance two dances with a partner and have no fear of a scolding, now that he has taken himself away. He was being overly strict at the ball and I can assume that he knows as much. He is trying very hard to be a responsible guardian, but he is still a young man and such a charge does not come easily to him. I do not see the Viscount here,” Georgette said as she scanned the crowd with an alert eye. “I hope that he has not been fright
ened off. Ah, here is another gentleman to take you for the dance.”
Despite the Duchess’ encouragement, Prudence did not dance more than one dance with any of the gentleman. Such obedience earned her, although she did not know it, an approving assessment from the demanding Lady Delafield, who did not agree with the Earl’s conduct at the Summersby ball but was a firm believer in the docility of young girls.
After the supper concluded, Lady Delafield maundered her way to Prudence’s side. She had noticed with approval that both of the twins ate their meals with the refinement of royalty—not, Lady Delafield thought acerbically, that one could ascribe refinement to the Hanovers—and conversed politely with the person seated on their left and on their right, devoting just the right amount of attention to each while still keeping up with the pace of the courses as they were served.
“Miss Connolly,” she said, “I wanted to thank you again for coming to my ball.” For of course, the girls had thanked her for the invitation as soon as they entered her home.
“It is very kind of you to have invited us, Your Ladyship.”
“I must commend your education. I believe you were brought up in France?” Lady Delafield’s tone left no doubt of her opinions of the French.
“In the South of France, ma’am. In a small, rural region, very far removed from Paris.”
“That is fortunate,” said Lady Delafield, who approved of country habits over city extravagances. “I myself have not returned to Paris since that dreadful Robespierre took over the city.”
“Fortunately, Lady Delafield, he is no more and the Revolution has long since been put under control, albeit by Napoleon.”
“The French,” Lady Delafield shrugged. “Our armies will soon take care of the matter. I hope that your school will thrive, however. I have a great-niece for whom I am seeking a school. You must tell me more about the academy where you studied. I would be very pleased if Annabel turns out as well as you and your sister have done.”