The Scoundrel and the Debutante (24 page)

That was two days. It felt as if the room was moving beneath Prudence's feet. So many thoughts and emotions were spinning in her, relief for Roan, despair for them both. Her heart, cracking and shattering in her chest, her lungs, shriveling up, incapable of proper breathing.

“Finnegan!” George shouted, “Where are you, Finnegan?”

The butler appeared a moment later. “We'll have two guests for supper. They ought to be along by eight o'clock.”

“Yes, sir,” Finnegan said, and disappeared again.

An invigorated George Easton looked at the four Cabot sisters and tossed back his whiskey. “I believe I'll have another. I think I've earned it.”

“I'll have one, too,” Prudence said as Honor stood up to pour her husband another whiskey.

No one said a word about that.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
HE
END
OF
the young lovers' flight to Gretna Green was a spectacular moment in Oxford. As many onlookers standing with mouths agape, Roan marched his sister to a coach bound in the opposite direction of Scotland and surrendered his horse to Mr. Villeroy so that he might lead his red-faced, verbally combative son home.

Aurora Matheson accompanied her brother without complaint.

The moment they were situated in the coach that would carry them back to London, Aurora turned her big brown eyes to Roan and said tearfully, “I'm
so
glad you came.”

Roan had been prepared to blister her with words, to upbraid her up one side and down the other for her foolishness, her recklessness, but her pitiful look and earnest words effectively collapsed his roaring anger. He sighed, took her hand in his. “What in hevean were you thinking, Aurora? You had to have known we'd not approve. And what of Mr. Gunderson? I thought you held some esteem for him!”

“I did! I do!” she said. “I don't know why I said yes to Albert. I never truly believed he'd go through with it—he's rather meek, really. But he kissed me and said, ‘let's go,'
and I was lost, Roan. It was so romantic.”

“Romantic,” Roan scoffed. “You were going to marry a man because you found elopement romantic?”

She sighed. “It's inexplicable, I know. But I believed I loved him.”

“You loved
him?” he asked incredulously, forgetting, for a moment, that he had found love on a sunny afternoon in England. “Why didn't you come home with Aunt Mary and Uncle Robert? You knew Gunderson was waiting. Surely you weren't in love with Villeroy then!”

“No! I'm a fool, Roan,” she said, morosely. “Albert Villeroy speaks with such a flourish. He convinced me that there was much yet to see and do in England, and that he'd be traveling with his parents, and they'd be calling on friends at great estates, and I lost my head! I wrote to Mr. Gunderson, did Aunt Mary tell you? I explained to him I'd sail home by the end of summer.”

“But you didn't tell him why, Aurora, and he is a clever young man, as you know.”

She sighed and looked down at her lap.

“I understand the desire to experience life before you marry,” he said. “But the Villeroy fellow doesn't seem the type—”

“I know, I
know
,” she said. “But he was so earnest in his esteem, and in the past few weeks, I began to believe that I really did love him,” she said. “I don't expect you to understand it, but I know what I felt, and I felt love for him. And yet, when I saw you, I was overcome with...relief
.
I realized I wouldn't have to go through with it. I realized I could go home and I almost wept with joy.”

Roan thought of Prudence and wondered...had she been overcome with relief when she'd seen her family? Had she made her impassioned plea for his sake, as Aurora had done in Oxford for Villeroy? No, no, he would know if Prudence's feelings were as frivolous as his sister's feelings. He would know if she'd felt relief at seeing her family.

Aurora sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “I suppose I've ruined everything.”

“With Gunderson?” he asked, and shifted her so that he could put his arm around her. “Probably so.”

She sighed again. “Do you know the strangest thing? I miss him.”

“You have a questionable way of demonstrating that.”

“Oh, I know I've made a mess. I'm so ashamed.”

“Then why did you do it?” he asked helplessly, unable to understand how her head worked.

She sniffed, wiped her gloved fingers beneath her eyes. “Don't scold me anymore. I know how awful I've been.”

“Very,” he agreed.

She whimpered. “At least I haven't ruined everything,” she said petulantly.

“What do you mean?”

Aurora blinked up at him. “I mean that at least
your
engagement is still intact. You would never go back on your word, not like me. I'm awful, Roan! I realize now how irresponsible and unfeeling I've been. Father will never forgive me.”

Roan gave her a pat on her shoulder. “He'll forgive you. He always does. Funny that he's never been so quick to forgive me.”

“You! You've never done anything to displease him. And besides, you're a man. Men can do whatever they please.”

“That is not entirely true,” he said. “I may have more freedom than you, but I still have a responsibility to our family.” He was painfully aware that Aurora was right; he always honored his word. What was a man without his word, really?

But wasn't there some honor to following his heart, too? To keep his word now...well, the stakes felt too high. He could no more imagine himself with Susannah Pratt by his side for the rest of his life than he could imagine himself singing and dancing on a stage. It was impossible. Especially now, especially now that he knew what love was.

“Perhaps,” Aurora said. “But at least when you marry Susannah Pratt, you may continue to do as you please. When I marry Sam Gunderson—
if
I marry Sam, I'll have to do as he wants.”

Roan didn't say anything to that.

“Where are we going?” Aurora asked. “Do we sail tonight? I should like the chance to say goodbye to my friends.”

“I am hardly inclined to allow a social swath through London after what you've done,” he said gruffly. “Tonight, we will be the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Easton. We'll see about your farewells tomorrow.”

“Easton,” she repeated. “Who are they, friends of Auntie Mary?”

“Of mine,” Roan said. He didn't say more than that, not trusting himself to speak about Prudence without a torrent of emotion spilling out. He wasn't ready to tell Aurora what had happened to him here. He needed to think how to broach it. Everything had happened so fast that he hadn't yet considered how, exactly, he would break the news to his family.

“Of yours?” She looked at him curiously. “How do you
know anyone in London? Have you been here long?”

“A few days,” he said.

Aurora cocked her head. “There is something you're not telling me, Roan.”

He couldn't very well hide it, so Roan told Aurora about Prudence. About the coach, the trip across the English countryside. About falling in love.

Aurora took it all in without a word, listening intently. When he'd finished, she considered all he'd said for a very long while. “What of Miss Pratt?” she asked.

“I never proposed to her.”

“But everyone expects—”

“I will tell her as soon as we arrive in New York.”

Aurora pressed her lips together and nodded. “What will Father say?”

Roan gave her a squeeze of her shoulders. “I suspect he will be gravely unhappy with us both.”

Aurora turned her head and looked out the window. She said nothing more about it.

* * *

M
ERRYTON
AND
HIS
children joined the sisters before supper. Grace had obviously told her husband some of what had happened, because it seemed to Prudence that he could scarcely look at her.

“My lord?” she said.

He glanced at her briefly and said, “I am relieved you are safe, Pru. But I think it best if we speak of...this,” he said, as if he couldn't think of a word to describe what she'd done, “at a more opportune time.” He turned away from her and went to the sideboard.

Merryton had always been a man of few words, but Prudence could feel his displeasure radiating from him.

“He's here!” Mercy cried, bursting into the green salon.

“Mercy, you gave me a fright,” Honor said. “Who is here?”

“The
American
,” Mercy said, and hurried ahead of Prudence and Honor to have a look at the man who had prompted Prudence to take that fateful ride on the stagecoach.

Roan had removed his coat and hat by the time Prudence reached the top of the stairs. He looked up and smiled at her, his gaze warm. She could see the fatigue and relief in his face, and she smiled, too. But her heart was breaking.

It took Prudence a moment to notice his sister. She was handing her cloak to a footman. “Thank you,” she said, her voice sweet, her accent flat like Roan's. She turned and looked up to where Honor, Mercy and Prudence, and now Grace, having decided against waiting patiently to meet them, had gathered at the top of the stairs.

Miss Aurora Matheson was quite pretty, with auburn hair and vivid brown eyes. She resembled Roan—they had the same nose, the same cheekbones. She looked both surprised and delighted as the four sisters made their way down the stairs, Prudence in front. When they reached the bottom of the stairs she sank into a curtsy. “Mrs. Easton, how do you do,” she said to Prudence. “I beg your pardon for the terribly late intrusion.”

“I beg your pardon, I'm not Mrs. Easton,” Prudence said, and held out her hand to Aurora. “I am Miss Prudence Cabot.”

“May I present my sister, Miss Aurora Matheson,” Roan said, his gaze on Prudence as he made the introductions.

When he was done, Honor poked Prudence in the back, prompting her to speak. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Matheson,” Prudence said. “I've...I've heard quite a lot about you.”

Aurora smiled. “I hope it hasn't all been wretched! I beg you forgive us arriving so late and disheveled. I told my brother there is a lovely hotel right around the corner, but he insisted on coming here.”

“He was right to insist,” Honor said graciously.

“I would never dream of imposing,” Aurora continued. “I hope you haven't heard
that
about me.” She smiled, seemingly not the least intimidated by the unusual situation that had brought her here.

Honor exchanged a look with Prudence. “It's no imposition, Miss Matheson—”

“Oh, you must call me Aurora,” she said brightly.

Honor paused. “You must be famished,” she said, changing tracks. “Won't you come up and have some wine? Supper will be served in a half hour.”

“Thank you. I am
very
hungry. I suppose you've heard about my escapades,” she said, giving her brother another look. “We've scarcely had a bite all day.”

Mercy giggled with surprise, her bright blue eyes moving between her sisters, looking for the sign that they were as surprised by Aurora Matheson's forthright manner as she was.

“Shall we go up?” Honor asked, and put her hand on Aurora's elbow and guided her to the stairs. Mercy was right behind them, fascinated with the American bird, and Grace behind her.

Prudence looked at Roan. He touched her hand, his fingers twining in hers for a moment before he lifted her hand to his arm to escort her up.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

“I'm fine. It's been a taxing day. You?”

“It's been a taxing day,” she agreed.

“I want to talk to you,” he said. “But I dare not leave Aurora alone with your family for as much as a minute.” He smiled wearily and led her up.

He was right to be cautious. In the first quarter hour after their arrival, after the Mathesons were introduced to Easton and Merryton, Prudence scarcely said a word. Aurora was bent on apologizing for her appearance at their home without proper invitation, but seemed blithely unaware or uncaring of the trouble, of the situation she and her brother had caused in this foreign land. She somehow seamlessly turned the conversation around to acquaintances that she and Honor might have in common. It was remarkable, really, how easily this girl entered their home and was welcomed. She was strangely forthright, but bubbly, and quite easy to like. She had a zest about her that made one forget she had almost eloped with a Frenchman this morning.

Prudence wished she had a bit of that zest. “The roads were bad, were they?” she asked Roan quietly as Aurora continued to speak with great enthusiasm about a ball she had attended in the spring.

“They seemed much worse to me without my companion to natter on about them,” he said, and smiled at her fondly.

Prudence blushed a little. “I would have liked to have gone, if only to see your face when you found her.”

“Red with fury, I'm sure,” he said. “It was all I could do not to throttle her then and there.” He glanced across the room to his sister. Prudence could see the affection for her in his expression. “I pity the poor man who marries that girl.”

When supper was served, Prudence marveled that Aurora could be so gay and relaxed. It was as if the Eastons had invited them for supper. It was as if they'd all long been friends, instead of the troubled truth between them all. Aurora even laughed when George made a remark about their chase to Oxford.

“It was more of a crawl, wasn't it? Quite tedious! I apologize for any inconvenience, Mr. Easton. I didn't mean to cause such a stir.”

“You didn't mean...” Roan started, and sighed heavenward. “A
stir
is the least you have caused.”

“Oh all right,” Aurora said cheerfully. “I can see that you haven't forgiven me yet.” She fixed her sparkling gaze on Prudence. “Miss Cabot, I understand you have seen the Howston Hall! Isn't it magnificent?”

“Yes,” Prudence said uncertainly.

“I was quite enchanted by the swans and peacocks. What do you think, Roan, shouldn't we have swans and peacocks at home?”

Aurora continued on in that vein. She was excited and chatty and didn't seem the least bit upset that her elopement had been foiled. Prudence was devastated by what had happened to her. She was worried about who she'd hurt and inconvenienced by it. How could Aurora be so indifferent? She looked at her family, all of them staring at Aurora as if they were watching a rare creature. Merryton kept his hand in a fist, lightly tapping it against the table. George leaned back, in his chair, transfixed. And Mercy kept giggling as if she found Aurora quite entertaining.