Page 68 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
Roan was in no such hurry, but Prudence slipped away from him and walked to the door of the yellow house. She lifted the brass knocker and rapped three times. Several moments later, the door was suddenly pulled open and the light of a candle spilled out onto the street. Behind it, Roan could see the shadow of a man. He moved the candle so that he might peer out and squinted at Roan and Prudence. He was slender, with dark hair and darker eyes. He was handsome, Roan thought, and wondered if he was Mr. Easton.
The man looked first at Prudence, then at Roan, who stood behind her. One brow rose above the other. “Well,” he said. “This ought to make for an interesting evening. Miss Prudence, do come in. Miss Prudence’s companion, you are welcome.” He stepped back and bowed.
“Thank you, Finnegan. May I introduce Mr. Matheson?” She glanced nervously over her shoulder at Roan. “This is Finnegan, Mr. Easton’s butler.”
“And valet,” Finnegan said with a smile for Roan. “Do come in.”
Prudence stepped inside. Roan reluctantly followed, removing his hat as he stepped inside the foyer.
The Finnegan fellow looked him up and down, which Roan thought was a bold thing for a butler to do, and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Easton will no doubt be overjoyed that you’ve not met yet with your demise, Miss Prudence.”
“Are they at supper? Shall we wait?” she asked.
“They’ve finished their evening meal and have put their children to bed. They are now at repose in the green salon. Follow me.” Finnegan’s gaze flicked over Roan once more before he turned and walked up the stairs, holding the candle aloft to lead the way.
It was an immaculate home, Roan noticed. There were portraits hanging on the walls above the wainscoting, polished wooden handrails on the stairs. He couldn’t see the carpets very well by the light of a single candle, but he could feel the thickness of them beneath his feet.
When they reached the first floor landing, Finnegan said, “May I say, Miss Prudence, I am very glad to see you have not been kidnapped by pirates and taken off to India, as Miss Mercy has put forth. And quite adamantly, I might add.”
“She would very much like to have that tale to chew on, wouldn’t she? But how do you know what she thinks, Finnegan? Have you seen her?” Prudence asked.
“Of course,” he said. “The entire family has come to London to confab over your disappearance.”
Prudence glanced uneasily over her shoulder at Roan.
Finnegan walked briskly ahead to a pair of polished mahogany doors. He threw one open without knocking.
“What the devil, Finnegan?” a male voice complained.
“If I may, sir, madam,” Finnegan said, “someone has come whom I think you will very much want to see.”
“I won’t,” the man within said. “I’ve had enough guests for one day. And I will thank you not to allow Lady Chatham into this house again. The woman is unconscionably long-winded.”
“George,”a woman’s voice said, softly reproving.
Prudence looked at Roan and tried once again to muster a smile. She squared her shoulders and stepped into the room behind Finnegan. Roan heard the gasp of shock and the woman shrieked, “Prudence!Oh dear God, where have you been? We’ve been sick with worry!”
Roan followed her in; Prudence was already in the embrace of a woman who he assumed was her sister. A fire blazed cheerfully at the hearth. A basket of needlework had been turned upside down and there were papers scattered on the floor and at the feet of a large man who stood eye level with Roan, his gaze as hard as Roan’s would have been, were he in the man’s shoes.
“Who the bloody hell areyou?” he demanded of Roan. “Prudence, for God’s sake, where did you get off to? Don’t you know how we’ve agonized? Explain yourself at once!”
“At least kiss her and welcome her back, George,” the woman said. She had black hair, quite different from Prudence’s gold. She was wiping tears of relief from her cheeks with the tips of her fingers below bright blue eyes.
The man, George Easton apparently, grabbed Prudence roughly and kissed her cheek, then held her another moment before setting her back and glaring down at her. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“I left a note in Ashton Down—”
“A note!” her sister said. “That you had gone off with an acquaintance! An acquaintance that no one else knew!” She suddenly gasped and gaped at Roan. “Ishethe acquaintance?”
Roan meant to answer that question, but before he could utter the words, he was blindsided by a fist to his jaw. He staggered backward, stunned, and gingerly touched his fingers to the place the man had hit him.
“George, no!” Prudence shrieked, and threw herself in front of her brother-in-law. “It wasn’thisdoing—it was mine! I owe him a debt of gratitude—he helped me!”
George yanked on his waistcoat and glared at Roan.
Roan moved his jaw around to assure himself it wasn’t broken, then glared back at Easton. He understood the man’s anger, but he would not stand for that.
“Please...this is Mr. Roan Matheson,” Prudence said with her hand on Roan’s arm. “And these two,” she said to Roan, “are quite obviously my sister Mrs. Honor Easton, and my brother-in-law Mr. George Easton.” She had a withering look for the latter. “May we just...may we sit?” she pleaded. “There is so much to tell you.”
