Compromising Prudence (4 page)

Stop telling the girl what’s in it for you, mutton-head
.

“You’ll like the estate. It’s very beautiful in Kent. Strayfield — that’s the village — is very nice. I doubt they care a whit for London gossip. I won’t make any demands. I couldn’t care less about an heir. All you have to do is pacify my father and stay out of my way.”

“And do what? I don’t embroider and I don’t paint.”

“Do whatever you like. Spend my money. Buy dresses or horses or whatever strikes your fancy. Entertain my sister and teach her how a lady behaves. You can even travel if you like. Frances might like that. She’s always after me to take her traveling, but I can never find the time. You’ll like Frances. Everyone likes Frances, though she is a bit cork-brained.”

“What a mad notion,” Miss Wemberly said quietly. “You’re mad. Completely and utterly mad.”

“They do call us
The Mad Hatterlys
. I thought perhaps you knew that.”

“A few more questions.” That was better than a
no
, but he’d thought she would be more eager. “All right.”

“You mentioned the Zoological Society.”

“I’m an ornithologist.”

She stared at him blankly.

“I study birds.”

“Yes, I know what the word means. I was not aware that gentleman could choose an avocation.”

“Birds are my passion, most particularly birds native to England. I want to do my research and papers in peace, not to be dragged around to balls and garden parties. I’m not a dullard, mind you; I have friends. I don’t mind entertaining occasionally, if you want to do that sort of thing, but I detest the London Season.”

“I rather like London.” She crossed her arms, her pretty mouth set in a stubborn line. “How many brothers do you possess?”

“Four. Only one still lives at home. The house isn’t crowded. Father is still in America. He won’t return until sometime next year, before Frances’ debut.”

She was so still that he held his breath. The speculative gleam in her eyes worried him.

“I’ll do it,” she said finally and held her hand out to him like a gentleman making a wager. “You have yourself a wife, Mr. Hatterly.”

Chapter Four

I
N
S
PITE
O
F
H
ER
best efforts, Prudence was forced to ring for assistance in dressing. She had detangled her hair herself, plaited and twisted it neatly into a thick coil, but fastening her stays proved impossible. Lizzy did her best but clearly wasn’t skilled in properly lacing a long corset.

“How does Miss Hatterly manage when she’s in residence?” Prudence wondered aloud. His sister must bring her own abigail when she traveled.

“Dresses herself,” Lizzy forced out, puffing from exertion. “Almost have it, miss. Course she don’t come here often. Been over a year since she was last here.” That explained the petite size of the gown and robe.

“How old is she?” Prudence braced herself with both hands on the bed post as Lizzy closed the middle stays.

“Two and twenty, I believe.”

“Two and twenty and not yet made her debut?” Prudence gaped over her shoulder in astonishment.

Pru’s task might be more demanding than she’d thought. Frances was older than she was. How in the world would she guide an older girl? No wonder Mr. Hatterly was worried. If his sister failed to make a match quickly she’d been on the shelf. Yet if Miss Hatterly was half so comely as her brother, attracting a suitor would not prove difficult. All Miss Hatterly needed to do was keep her mouth closed and be beautiful and rich.

And not get caught in a compromising position. Must not forget that one.

It helped if one’s Papa were not so intimidating and overly censorious — and if one didn’t ruin oneself with unscrupulous men.

“There.” Lizzy said with evident satisfaction. She stepped back, hands on hips and looked Prudence up and down. “You look right nice, miss.”

Prudence needed to go shopping. Mr. Hatterly had said she could spend his money and she meant to hold him to it. She’d only brought a few modest gowns with her, all she could fit in the small portmanteau. She smoothed the front of her rose pink walking gown. The color was nice. The en coeur neckline was hardly what she would choose for her wedding eve, but she’d never thought she would be married in a little chapel instead of properly churched. Mr. Hatterly had a friend in the employ of a bishop who would help him get the necessary special license and then perform the ceremony.

By this time tomorrow, Prudence would be a married woman, beyond the reach of her father and the scurrilous gossips.

This wedding was hardly the fairy tale of her young girl’s fantasies, gliding down a petal strewn church aisle to her handsome prince who waited to sweep her away to his castle in the clouds. No, for her it would be a quick ceremony with an American-born bird-watcher who was taking her to Kent. Pru sighed.

Mr. Hatterly was waiting for her by the door, checking his pocket watch and fretting. Her heart caught at the sight of his hawkish profile. No Prince Charming could look more handsome or more perturbed. Surely with a sister he was accustomed to waiting. He couldn’t expect miracles when she had only a few crumpled gowns and a kitchen maid for assistance. He had promised her a trip to her modiste today after applying for the license and goodness knows she would need it.

When Hatterly spotted her standing at the top of the stairs he went very still except for blinking like an owl. The he smiled and his face lit from within, easing the tension around her heart. She almost tripped in her eagerness to take the hand he held out to her.

Mrs. Forbes, the housekeeper, produced her bonnet which had been carefully cleaned and pressed until it was no longer a ruined brown lump. She squinted at her reflection in the Cheval looking glass — the bonnet was different.

She took the bonnet off, turning it in her hands.

“Whatever is the matter?” Hatterly checked his watch.

“Patience.” She touched the small bird nestled among the cherries. “This is new.”

“Yes, well.” He coughed into his glove. “The flower that graced your bonnet was ruined so I replaced it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? It’s beautiful.” She stroked the tiny bird with her finger. “And so soft. What is it?”

“A wren. Common enough, but pretty, delicate.”

“From your collection?” She looked up in wonderment.

His complexion, already a healthy pink, darkened most agreeably. He hooked his elbow at her. “Are we ready now? We have an appointment to apply for a license.”

Hatterly didn’t lead her out the door. No, first he drew her off to one side, his face so serious Pru feared he had changed his mind.

Clearly he’s sobered up or come to his senses or…

“I have decided that it would be best if we sent your father a message.”

Her heart constricted until her fingertips were numb and possibly blue as well. “Have you?” She swallowed, which did nothing to alleviate the lump in her throat.

“Come here.” He took her elbow, leading her to a sitting room with a small writing desk.

No.

She would
not
slink home only to be cast aside again. She had left on her own terms and it would remain that way. No more apologizing. No more humbling herself when she wasn’t really and truly sorry for her actions. She’d spent her life answering to others. First there was Nurse and then a series of governesses and always — always — there had been Papa blustering and ordering her about. Aunt Hetty. Two older sisters. Yes, she had been bossed enough for two lifetimes.

Begging for forgiveness would be the final blow.

“No.” She said the word quietly, but firmly.

“Miss Wemberly…”

“You have no idea what you are asking.”

“I can’t believe you would be so cruel to your father.”

“Cruel? I am the wronged party in this! Papa meant to throw me into the street.”

“Miss Wemberly, even the most hard-hearted man would be in a terrible state to find his daughter has run away. He must be so worried.”

“I won’t go back to him,” she said and crossed her arms.

“I didn’t say you should.” Hatterly looked puzzled. “You don’t have to tell Sir Algernon where you are, just that you are unharmed. I was not suggesting you return and throw yourself on his mercy.” He retook her hand after coaxing her crossed arms open. “I’m not ready to give up my future wife yet. But do set his mind at ease. It’s likely he’s scouring the city for you. I don’t envy being arrested as a kidnapper.”

“Yet he hasn’t raised a hue and cry, has he?”

She felt like a petulant child. Another minute and she would stamp her foot and demand a pony. It didn’t help that Hatterly was right. Papa would be sick with worry.
Good
, thought a nasty little part of her. She’d felt nothing but sick for two weeks now. Let Papa have a taste of fear for a change. She would not budge on this. Hatterly couldn’t force her to. He made every effort, but Prudence remained resolute.

She would not write to her father.

True to his word, Hatterly’s friend had matters well arranged. He seemed more than simply pleased to be helping his friend with a hasty marriage. He seemed amused.

“Tell me again how you met,” Mr. Parson said with a sparkle in his eye.

“Didn’t I say in my message?” Hatterly said. “Private party of a friend.”

“Anyone I know?”

“I doubt it.”

Mr. Parson leaned on his desk, chin in hand. “Remarkable.”

“Yes, it is. Look, can we get on with it?”

“I never thought I would see the day. What have you done to him?” Mr. Parson turned his twinkling eyes on Prudence.

“We’ve reached a satisfactory arrangement,” she said.

“Apparently. I had no idea Hatterly would ever find a young lady who shared his interests. Are you mad for birds as well?” She shook her head. “Some other creature perhaps? Botany?” She shook her head again. “Do you even garden?” With each shake of her head he looked more perplexed. “Your father is a member of the Royal Society then? Maybe the new Zoological Society?”

“I’ve never been to the zoo,” she confessed.

Hatterly made a strangled noise in his throat.

“Yes, well…” Mr. Parson shuffled the papers in front of him. “I assume you are both of sound mind and all that. If you’re ready?”

The paperwork was not onerous and soon they were ready to leave. Mr. Hatterly was due in Hanover Square to deliver his lecture and she needed to visit her modiste.

Pru was anxious about the visit to Madame Roquefort, but Madame had replied to her message with a promise of a private fitting. Since Madame was undoubtedly English, her word was good. Madame Marie-Evangeline Roquefort — née Miss Mary Elizabeth Rollins — was a tiny, round woman whose exuberant hair was barely contained by a cap and whose French accent was known to slip at times of great stress. But it was
de rigueur
for modistes to be French and the woman
had
been trained in Paris, so the
ton
conspired to ignore her slips.

Pru slipped inside the shop as quickly as possible. The last thing she wanted was to be noticed. Shopping without her abigail and a footman was a new experience. She really would need to engage an abigail. Surely even in Strayfield women were not expected to function without assistance.

It was not Madame who greeted Pru, but Madame’s draper, Antoinette, who guided Pru into the back room. Madam sailed through the door behind them, arms flung wide as she proclaimed theatrically, “
Ma chérie
! I had not expected to see you again so soon. What a rare treat and for such an occasion.” She clasped her hands to her bosom. “Oh Antoinette, it is a bridal gown for
ma petite
. But,
chérie
,” she lowered her voice confidingly, “I was shocked that you requested a display of ready-made garments. A bridal gown must be made for that bride alone. Antoinette!” She clapped her plump hands. “Bring the fabrics. You see, I have been in the fabrics and I know just the thing for your delicate complexion,
chérie
. Fabric first and then the pattern books.”

“Oh, no, Madame. Please, I wish you had not troubled yourself. It must be from your ready-made dresses. Time is of the essence.”

“I assure you,
chérie
, that there are none faster at the sewing than my girls. Time is no bother.”

“But it is, Madame.”

Madame Roquefort drew herself up to her full five feet. “And I tell you, Mademoiselle Wemberly, that it is not.”

“But the wedding…”

“Your dress will be ready.”

“…is tomorrow.”

Madame froze. “What?”

The accent was missing.

Pru smiled to soften the words. “I am to be wed tomorrow, Madame.”

“That is not possible.”

“You see my dilemma now.”

“Tomorrow?
Sacré bleu!
” Madame remembered she was French. “I do understand these matters,
chérie
, but surely Petworth’s family is not in such a bother. I cannot imagine your father to allow such a thing. Such a hasty marriage implies…” She caught herself. “It is not done. There is not even time for a notice in the paper.”