Page 61 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
“Is it possible to find musicians at this late hour?” Prudence asked, trying to derail the plans for dancing.
“You can’t object. It’s been decided,” Mrs. Barton trilled as the harried butler reached his mistress’s side.
There was a lively conversation between Lady Penfors and Cyril after which Cyril scurried away, gesturing for a footman, and Lady Penfors began to clap her hands as if she were trying to gain the attention of a group of children. “Attention! Attention everyone! Supper is served. Find your partners, please, and prepare to promenade!”
As the guests began to find their partners, Roan made his way to Prudence’s side. “You must promise to come at once and save me if Vanderbeck comes in my direction,” he muttered. “Shoot to kill if you must.”
“Did you find her?” Prudence whispered.
Roan shook his head. “I haven’t seen her. I tried to ascertain if all the guests were down for the evening, but the question invited more talk from Vanderbeck.”
There was no opportunity to say more—Mr. Fitzhugh sidled next to Prudence and remarked that they’d gone without rain for far too long now, and didn’t she think the south lawn looked a bit brown?
In the dining room, Prudence was relieved to see that she and Roan were seated across from each other and at the opposite end of the long table from Stanhope. Not that it dampened his interest in her; Prudence could feel his gaze on her, making the hair on the back of her neck stand. Mrs. Gastineau sat to her right, and an elderly gentleman, Lord Mount, sat on her left. He was quite old and quite deaf, which Prudence thought might have something to do with the amount of hair growing in his ears.
No one around her seemed curious as to her presence. No one looked askance at her or Roan as if they suspected a deception. Roan was right—she had only to make the best of it, and it would be over soon. She began to relax as the meal was served. She glanced around at the people gathered. It was a strange collection of guests, and she was not acquainted with any of them, save Stanhope. Moreover, Howston Hall was so removed that she could now agree with Roan—the chances of her seeing any of these people again seemed very small.
The supper was actually quite pleasant. They dined on soup and pheasant, they drank wine, and the conversation centered around the planned shoot on the morrow. It was after the plates had been cleared and ices were being brought in that Roan found the opportunity to inquire of Penfors if his sister had come to Howston Hall. “She would have come within the last fortnight or so,” he said.
“Miss Matheson!” Lord Penfors said loudly, startling Prudence and several others. She glanced around her and noticed that down the table, Stanhope was watching her. She looked away.
“Aurora Matheson,” Roan said. “In her last letter she wrote that she was staying with friends who intended to travel here to call upon you.”
“Me?” Penfors said, looking confused.
Roan looked slightly concerned. “She’s young,” he said. “She has auburn hair and brown eyes.”
“Ah, yes, the American girl,” Penfors said suddenly. “Such a delight she was. Very witty, that one, and quite good on the hunt.”
“The hunt?” Roan repeated uncertainly, as if he suspected Penfors had the wrong Aurora.
“That’sit!” Penfors suddenly declared, shoving his forefinger high in the air. “That’s where I’ve heard your manner of speech! I thought it Eton, but no sir, you speak in the way that you do because you’re a Yankee!”
Roan glanced at Prudence. “Yes,” he said curtly.
“AYankee,” Mr. Gastineau said. “My grandfather was there, you know, in the colonies, in seventy-seven. Harsh winter. Lost two toes.”
“The winters can be brutal,” Roan agreed, and turning back to Penfors he asked, “I beg your pardon, my lord, do you mean to say that Aurora has come and gone from Howston Hall?”
“Oh my, yes, she’s gone,” Penfors said. “When was that, Mother?” he called, rapping loudly on the table to gain his wife’s attention. He succeeded in gaining everyone’s attention.
“Eh, what?” Lady Penfors responded irritably. “What do you bang on the table?”
“The American girl! When was she here?”
“Oh, theAmericangirl! Cute as a button, wasn’t she?” Lady Penfors said, suddenly smiling. “Quite good at the hunt.”
Roan looked at Prudence with a look of pure confusion.
“Yes, yes, but when was shehere?” Penfors asked, rapping the table again with his knuckles.
“Here?”
“Yes, here!”he shouted.
“Well, you needn’t shout, Penfors, we all hear you very well indeed,” Lady Penfors said crossly. “I can’t recall when she was here, precisely. When the Villeroys were here. She returned to London with Mr. and Mrs. Villeroy, you will recall. Cyril! When were the Villeroys here?”
“They’ve been gone a fortnight, madam,” the butler said.
