Sally James (7 page)

'Who in the world would want to marry Emma?' Netta demanded, scandalised. 'Apart from being the daughter of a cook, and goodness knows who her father was, she's not even pretty, and she must be at least five and twenty! And so far as we know she has no fortune either.'

'She might catch a widower as mean as Charlotte's father,' Prudence suggested with a faint laugh. 'Now I must try to finish this gown, for I have to help Charlotte with hers, she cannot take it home to work on.'

'What will her stepmother say when she doesn't wear that other terrible one?' Netta asked, picking up the garment and beginning to work on it.

'There isn't much she can say at the time,' Prudence replied hopefully, but without real conviction. She was determined to carry out her plan, as was Charlotte, but she had little confidence that Lady Mottesford would not make a fuss, probably in public, when she discovered the change.

'How is Lord Mottesford behaving?' Netta asked a few minutes later. 'He has only a couple of days left before the month is up.'

'Does he?' Prudence asked, startled. She had not kept track of the days. 'I don't think he can claim to have won,' she replied thoughtfully, torn between satisfaction at having foiled him, and a bleak feeling there would soon be no reason for him to seek her company.

She could not find an excuse for not wearing her latest ball gown, in shimmering pale-blue silk, with a gauzy floating overskirt of silver net. She was wary, however, when Lord Mottesford sought her out at the ball, and solicited her hand both for the first cotillion, then the supper dance, a waltz.

The cotillion gave them little chance for conversation, and Prudence relaxed. When she saw Edward leading Charlotte into another set, smiling fondly down at her, she smiled herself. It seemed that he was interested, and if Sarah had managed to tell him of Hubert's offer he must act soon.

'There is to be a balloon ascent in the Park tomorrow,' Lord Mottesford told her as he escorted her back to where Lady Frome sat with a group of friends. 'Will you come with me to see it?'

'Oh, I have never seen a balloon,' Prudence said, her eyes lighting up eagerly. 'Yes, indeed, I would love to!' she accepted, before she realised she had not intended to be more than icily polite.

'Good, then I will arrange it. Farewell until the waltz,' he added in a low tone.

Prudence bit her lip in annoyance. She had given him encouragement at just the wrong moment. She would betray herself if he showed too much admiration, and the waltz was not the sort of dance she would have wished to partner him in, it was far too disturbing with a man's arm holding one so daringly.

She need not have been concerned. He was not in the least amorous as he guided her round the ballroom, holding her impersonally and chatting about innocuous topics so that she gradually gave herself up to the swaying rhythm of the music, and the thrills of spinning round so gracefully.

'You dance excellently,' he complimented her after they had settled themselves at a small table in the supper room. 'I hope I can look forward to many more waltzes with you.'

She paused, about to bite into a lobster patty, and regarded him with a slight frown. Was he being honest, did he intend to seek her out once the month of the wager was up, or was this just one more ploy during the last few days by which he hoped to win it?

It was impossible to tell, and she found herself restless and unable to sleep that night, counting off the days since they had met and reliving the occasions when, despite it all, she had been so happy in his company. She finally fell asleep with the realisation that there were two days to go. Two more days when she dared not reveal how she felt towards him, both because she was determined he would not win the wager, and to safeguard herself against hurt when it became plain he cared nothing for her.

The following day he was as imperturbable as ever, while Prudence's mood veered between cool determination to snub him, and uncontrollable excitement at this, her first sight of a balloon ascent.

'Where will they take it?' she asked as they drove with a throng of other carriages towards the enclosure where the men were getting the balloon ready.

'That depends on the wind. It's quite fresh today, from the south west, so they will be blown towards Essex, probably to the east of Barnet.'

'So far?'

'It could be much farther. I am no expert, but I believe it depends on how high they can get at first.'

'How does it work?'

'The balloon is filled with a gas such as hydrogen which is much lighter than air, and so it rises. They have ballast in the basket, and throw it out to help the balloon rise.'

'And to come down? Can they control it? It must be terribly dangerous!'

'I'm not certain how they do that, but it is possible, probably by letting the gas escape. Some flights are made with hot air, which is lighter than cold air, and when they let out the fire beneath the air inside the balloon cools down.'

'But they have to go where the wind takes them. Netta says it is a fashion which people will soon lose interest in, for it has no possible use. Oh, look, there it is!'

Lord Mottesford was able to find a place for his phaeton in the front row of vehicles, filled with excited spectators, and for an hour Prudence forgot all her problems as, fascinated, she watched the preparations in the enclosure about the balloon, and finally, to the cheers of the spectators, the ascent itself.

They turned to watch the balloon, with the two intrepid men in the small basket below it, float away in a north easterly direction, and Prudence sighed with immense satisfaction.

'I'd like to go up in one,' she said dreamily. 'Just imagine what it must be like to see the houses and fields and woods spread out miles beneath. Much better than looking down from a hillside. Have you ever been up a really high mountain?' she asked suddenly, turning to Lord Mottesford.

'Yes, in Spain. And I plan to visit Italy when we have defeated Napoleon, which should be within a year, at most. I shall go by way of Switzerland and the Alps.'

Prudence sighed slightly. 'I envy you,' she said slowly. 'I've always longed to travel, but Aunt Lavinia hates it, and we rarely go anywhere except between Horton Grange and London.'

He did not reply, and glancing up at him she saw he was looking intently across the enclosure to where the carriages on the far side were now visible.

'I did not know Edward planned to be here,' he said after a slight pause.

Prudence could now see Edward, who was mounted on a large bay horse. He was beside a barouche which contained Lady Mottesford, Emma, Charlotte and Hubert. Even at this distance Prudence could sense Hubert's antagonism towards Edward, while she could see the timid glances Charlotte cast up at him. She was very much afraid the determined smile on Lady Mottesford's face concealed a mood of fury, and wondered what had happened to cause it.

'He seems much taken with your cousin,' Prudence ventured, and he looked down at her in amusement.

'Matchmaking?' he asked teasingly, and she flushed.

'It would be better for her than that worm Hubert!' she snapped. 'Even with no money Mr Gregory would be fortunate to win so sweet and gentle a creature!'

'Instead of a termagant,' he said softly, but before she could respond he had seen a gap in the crowd and unerringly guided his phaeton into it. By the time he had cleared it Prudence had recalled the inadvisability of engaging in word battles with him, and she replied in monosyllables during the short drive back to Grosvenor Square.

'Thank you for taking me to see the ascent,' she said, holding out her hand as she prepared to descend from the phaeton, but to her surprise he gave the reins to his groom, perched up behind them, and the man drove off as he escorted her up the steps.

Tanner appeared to expect him, and Prudence, puzzled, heard the butler say Sir Dudley was waiting for him in the library. She escaped to her bedroom, and after taking off her bonnet sat down thoughtfully, wondering what business he could possibly have with her uncle. So far as she knew they were not on especially friendly terms, for her uncle was at least fifteen years older than Lord Mottesford.

She concluded, since they were both interested in politics it must be something to do with that, and picked up the Roman toga, which was almost finished, to make a start on the hem.

Five minutes later there was a tap on the door and Biddy appeared.

'If you please, Miss Prudence, Sir Dudley wishes to see you in the library,' the maid told her, and with a puzzled frown Prudence set aside her sewing and followed the maid downstairs.

Sir Dudley called to her to enter when she tapped on the door of the room he regarded as his own sanctum, but instead of finding him seated in one of the deep leather armchairs beside the fireplace, her uncle was standing in the middle of the room.

'Come in, my dear,' he said with a smile, and then, with a muttered excuse she did not catch, walked past her and out of the door.

'Uncle – ' she began, and stopped in surprise.

'He is being tactful, my dear,' a deep amused voice came from behind her and she spun round, startled. She had not seen Lord Mottesford, standing in shadow beside the heavily curtained windows.

'What are you doing here? What do you mean?' she demanded, her heart beginning to beat rapidly.

'Come and sit down,' he replied, and when she did not move walked across to her.

She was too bewildered to resist as he took her hand in his and drew her across to sit in one of the armchairs. He retained her hand and smiled down at her, and her unpredictable heart seemed about to perform acrobatic feats, leaving her breathless and in some indefinable way, afraid.

'Prudence, my dear, I have your uncle's permission, indeed his blessing, for what I have to say. I do not think it will come as any surprise to you, after my loss of control some nights ago at Vauxhall. I know I offended you greatly then, but I can only plead that I love you so much I was lost to all sense of propriety. Prudence, I love you very dearly, and hope you can return my regard. Will you agree to become my wife?'

She stared at him, utterly astonished. This was not at all what she had expected. Her heart pounded in her breast and threatened to choke her. For a moment she glimpsed paradise, and knew this was what above all else she wanted. Then she recalled the reality and was consumed with a bitter, deep anger which hurt more than anything else she had ever experienced.

'How dare you!' she gasped in the end. 'How dare you make such game with me?'

'Game?' he asked, his brows drawn together in a single straight line. 'I don't understand.'

'You can pretend,' Prudence raged at him, her breath now fully restored, 'pretend to love me, when all the while you are concerned with a stupid wager!'

'Wager? What is this, my love,' he demanded, dropping to both knees and attempting to seize her hands in his.

With a frantic sob Prudence evaded him and struggled to her feet, backing away from him across the room.

'Keep away from me!' she exclaimed as he rose and took a step after her. 'Yes, my lord, your wager with Mr Gregory! Oh, don't pretend you had forgotten it. This is a trick to win, is it not? The month is up today, and having failed to twist me round your little finger, or whatever it was you said you would do, you hope to win by this despicable trick! A hundred pounds! A paltry, miserable hundred pounds! How did you plan to escape once the bet was paid, my lord? Or does winning a disgraceful wager such as you made mean more to you than love? Would you have found some excuse to repudiate the betrothal, or would you have gone through with it, allowing me to believe your lies?'

As he tried to catch her hands in his she twisted away, and with her eyes filled with tears ran towards the door. Oblivious of the astounded Tanner who was walking through the hall, and her aunt who stood at the door of the drawing room on the first floor, she sped upstairs to her own room, taking a moment to lock the door behind her before she threw herself on to the bed and gave way to tearing, racking sobs.

Chapter 7

For two days Prudence kept to her room. In truth she was suffering from an incapacitating headache, but it had been brought on by the storm of weeping she had indulged in after Lord Mottesford's proposal.

She had, with some reluctance, opened the door to her aunt, and then had poured out into that astonished lady's ears the account of the wager Netta had overheard.

'He said he would bring me to heel!' she said furiously. 'Just because I prevented him from beating poor little Harry!'

'When was this?' Lady Frome asked in surprise, and too late Prudence recalled she and Netta had carefully concealed from her aunt the episode of the broken window.

'It was a month ago,' she explained slowly. 'We did not want to worry you. The boys were playing cricket in the square, and the ball broke Mr Kennedy's window. He was quite amused, the following day,' she added hurriedly. 'He said it was a capital shot. But then Harry ran across in front of that man's horses and he caught him and tried to whip him. He's a despicable brute!'

Lady Frome disentangled this speech, and sighed.

'The boys feel so cooped up in town, but Harry must be taught to treat horses with proper care, or he could be hurt.'

'Of course he was to blame, but he's still a baby! There was no need to be so – so vicious about it. And no need at all to treat me as though I were a – a thing for men to make sport of! I'll not be used so!'

'But my dear,' Lady Frome protested, astonished at her vehemence, 'no man would go so far as to offer marriage simply to win such a stupid wager!'

'He would!' Prudence said through gritted teeth. 'He cannot bear to be wrong, or to lose anything!'

'He has asked to see you again,' Lady Frome said mildly, but Prudence shook her head angrily.

'No! What purpose would it serve? This was his last chance, the last day, and it was plain I was not besotted with him as he had hoped.'

'But if it is as you say, and after today he would lose the wager, what point would there be in pressing the offer?' her aunt asked. 'He must be sincere.'