Page 50 of Her Cursed Duke
Agnes stared at her. “Art supplies,” she echoed.
Prudence nodded nervously.“I was thinking… of picking it up again. Painting. Lately, I’ve begun to miss it again—much deeper than I used to. Most of the time, it’s just fleeting notions through my mind, little pieces of our daily lives that remind me that I used to paint. But recently, it’s gotten stronger. The urge to hold a brush, to mix colors on a palette and smear them across canvas. And… I don’t want to ignore it anymore.”
Their mother was an artist before she passed. After she died, many of her art supplies were left in her studio, just as she had left them. It was Prudence who had given the room no one really went into more than a second glance while they had been growing up. She started off admiring pieces of art her mother had created before her passing and then began to yearn to make her own.
For a while, she did paint, and it was an activity she had loved wholeheartedly. She had found peace in her mother’s studio, the air filled with the smell of oil paints and acrylics, her fingers andskin stained with vibrant colors. Prudence had felt so content and free during those moments. Then, her father fell ill and she was unable to sort out her thoughts during that time, the cluttered state of her mind rendering her unable to adequately imagine scenes and color mixtures that she could capture on canvas.
Painting had helped her grow greatly and had given her a means of expressing herself—a feat that never came easily to her. However, she realized that lately, she had begun to be more vocal about her feelings and thoughts. Months ago, she would never have thought of clarifying her intentions to Aiden the way she had earlier that day.
Something within her was changing, and her mind was gradually filling up with thoughts she needed to sort through. And this time, rather than run from it, she fully intended to make use of the creativity she had clearly gotten from her mother to overcome this obstacle.
“Oh, darling, of course. I would love to accompany you right away.” Agnes smiled, sure and kind, making Prudence feel wholly safe.
She would sort this out, one way or another.
Chapter Nineteen
“For the love of—no, Silas. You’re supposed to control your swings!”
Prudence fiddled with her mallet as she watched her brother-in-law take a moment to breathe in deeply, noting that his slow exhale had done nothing to ease the tension between his eyebrows.
“You assured me that you had played this game before,” Agnes stated, narrowing her eyes at her husband in suspicion.
“I have,” came his curt reply.
“I am starting to doubt you, dear. Your skills are very nearly abhorrent.”
“Perhaps if you would stop your constant nagging, I might have enough peace of mind to play better.”
“I beg your pardon?!”
Aiden gently tapped his mallet against Prudence’s, nodding in the direction of the arguing couple. “What are the odds that this game is going to end in a divorce?”
Prudence thought for a moment and then said, “I would have said those odds are quite low because no horses are involved. But somehow, I fear that the danger of separation still looms, regardless.”
“Ah.” Aiden nodded, smiling a little bit. “I think Silas is going to concede very soon, though.”
“Because he wisely does not wish to engage in a fight with my sister?”
Aiden shook his head, his eyes trained on the couple as a light smile flickering across his lips. “Because he loves her too much not to give in to her.”
His response sounded plausible, but Prudence was not so sure it was as cut and dry as he thought.
“True, but it is still uncertain if that love can weather this storm. I love my sister to pieces on a normal day, but whenever she brings up this game, it makes me want to put her on a ship and wave her off from the docks, uncaring about where she is going or when she shall return.”
Aiden whistled lowly. “That bad?”
“She made our father weep once. We had gathered to play as a family, and it took a little while for things to go downhill. Agnes and Imogen are quite competitive and overzealous, and they got stuck arguing if a move should count as a roquet. It should have, but Imogen insisted otherwise. And so they engaged in verbal combat. Our poor father merely wished to continue the game, but they clung to him, begging him to pick a side. It was a rather overwhelming occasion, from what I recall.”
“I can only imagine, you poor thing.” Aiden tutted, winking at her cheekily, coaxing a laugh out of her.
“My grandmother has more control over her aim than you do, love,” Agnes said, her tone so saccharine sweet that it made Prudence’s gums itch.
“You should have partnered up with her, then, sweetheart,” Silas replied in the same tone.
“Next time, I will, dearest.”
“Well, I’m not on the lawn now, so there’s no point discussing that now!” Martha snapped from her spot on the balcony that overlooked the lawn, indulging in refreshments with the Dowager Marchioness of Foresthill. “Just hit the bloody balls already, Agnes!”
