Page 38 of A Dark and Stormy Knight
But in reality, they’d been laughing at her. Poor Prudence. She’d be stuck at home while her husband spent her fortune on other women. He’d gamble everything away and she’d nothing to say about it.
But at least her child would have a name.
The irony of it all was, being a wife and mother was all Pru had ever desired. She’d no great need to be an accomplished and influential noble matron, nor a modern single woman with progressive sensibilities. She left that to women possessed of better and bolder minds than she.
Her hours were happily spent enjoying simple pleasures. Riding fine horses on beautiful days and reading fine books on dreary ones. Shopping with her sisters. Paying calls on friends. Attending interesting lectures, diverting theater productions, and breathtaking musical venues.
She didn’t dream of an important life, just a happy one. One with a handsome man who loved her, and healthy children to do them credit and fill their lives with joy.
And now, it seemed, one mistake in a fairy garden precipitated a lifetime of misery, scandal, and, at least for the moment, immediate imprisonment in her husband’s home until everything was decided by men who knew better.
It was enough to crush her.
“Did you hear me, Prudence?” Baroness Charlotte Goode’s shrill question broke her of trying to stare through a solid door.
Pru put her fingers to her aching temples, suddenly overcome by exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Mother, what were you saying?”
Pursing her lips, Lady Goode clutched a dazzling shawl around her diminutive shoulders and shivered. “I was wondering at the dark fireplace, dear. One would worry if your new husband can afford to warm the house.”
Considering the sum Morley had paid for her freedom without blinking, Pru very much doubted the man had trouble keeping the household. Though, there did seem to be an alarming lack of staff for such a grand, sizeable home.
“It’s still warm, Mother,” she said with a droll breath, doing her best not to roll her eyes.
“He likely didn’t want us overheating, Mama,” Felicity defended from where she perched on a delicate couch overlooking the lovely cobbled street. Even in the dim gaslights of the late evening, her coiffure glinted like spun gold.
Mercy, never one to sit still for long, handed her mother a glass. “Drink this sherry, it’ll warm you.”
The Baroness took the drink, her shrewd dark eyes touched everything from the golden sconces to the muted sage and cream furniture of the sparsely decorated parlor. “You’ll have to engage my decorator, of course. You can’t be expected to live in such barren conditions. The house is nearly empty and old enough to be decrepit. I mean, look at the panes in the windows, they’re positively melting. And only three courses for your wedding meal? It’s as if—”
“It’s as if I were released from prison for murder only this morning to be saved by a man who would give me the protection of his position,” Prudence said sharply, her voice elevating in octaves and decibels with each word. “It’s as if he had scant hours to plot the entire affair and endless things to consider, the least of which are the courses of afarcicalcelebration.”
Her mother gave an indignant gasp. “I thought we all agreednotto mention—”
“Oh, don’t let’s antagonize her, Mama.” Mercy moved to Pru’s side at once and sank next to her. She gathered up both her hands and kissed them. “Poor Pru, it’s been an upsetting couple of days.”
Prudence attempted to summon a wan smile for her younger sister and wasn’t up to the task. Her nerves felt like they’d been stretched on the rack and were screaming for release.
Upsetting… the word couldn’t touch a description for the last forty-eight hours.
“I rather like Sir Morley,” Felicity remarked, daring a glass of sherry of her own. “He’s so…well he’s such a…” Her wide eyes narrowed as she searched for the right word, tapping her chin with a burgundy-gloved finger. “Well so many men are either elegant, or handsome, or extremely masculine, but the Chief Inspector somehow manages all three.”
Pru blinked at her sister. Leave it to ever-romantic Felicity to describe her husband perfectly.
It was what had attracted her to him that night. He’d been a savage in a bespoke suit. A beast burdened by sartorial elegance. The dichotomy never ceased to fascinate her.
Mercy patted her hand. “And your new home is lovely, Pru. Everything is so fine and well-preserved.”
“Indeed, our rooms in town look like closets in comparison,” Felicity added encouragingly.
Mercy nodded. “People are paying large sums on the market for these spacious grand old places. I’ll bet that chandelier is imported and at least a hundred years old.”
“How many times do I have to tell younotto discuss money in public, Mercy?” their mother lamented. “And our rooms in town might not be so large, but they’ve a fashionable address.”
“This is Mayfair, Mama, every address is fashionable,” Felicity said with a droll sigh.
The twins shared a wince with Pru, who returned Mercy’s fond squeeze.
She’d always admired young Mercy’s enterprising wit and busy mind. It was as though her trains of thought were numerous and confounding as those running through Trafalgar station, and branched in just as many directions.
