Prudence (15 page)

She was shown to a place at Mr Rookham’s left hand, and he remained standing until she was seated—just as if she was not merely the governess, but an honoured guest.

He was dressed as she had never seen him, for the evening. Over black breeches he wore a coat of blue cloth, toning with the waistcoat beneath of a silken sheen, and his cravat was tied in a bow. Prue was both flattered and agitated.

He smiled a welcome as he settled into his own chair, and leaned towards her to speak in a lowered tone.

‘I was half afraid you would refuse to come. Thank you!’

Prue knew not how to answer, and could only be thankful that Mr Rookham turned away to speak to Creggan. She had never been more glad of the necessity for servants to remain in the room.

The sensation of intimacy was unavoidable. Never in her life had she sat with a gentleman alone at table. Prue was stricken with a dreadful sense of wrongdoing, and in spite of all her courageous refutations, she found the fell words of Mrs Polmont repeating in her ears.

And they’ll swear themselves blind they don’t want it up until the last…by then it’s too late…

Her pulse jumping, Prue busied herself with her napkin as Mr Rookham’s glance returned to her face.

Julius watched the play of expression in the girl’s features and wondered if he had been a fool. She was undoubtedly nervous. And he must suppose she had deliberately dressed down rather than up! Unless she possessed no more alluring a gown than this? If she had only chosen not to wear that atrocious cap, one might with advantage enjoy the soft brown curls that wisped out secretly from beneath it. And the half-light did her no disservice, setting a glow to her skin.

However, he had not asked her here for adornment! He had issued the invitation on impulse, catching sight of Polmont as he began on his way upstairs towards his bedchamber, where he had subsequently made a much greater alteration than usual in his dress. Or had it been impulse?

Ever since this morning thoughts of Miss Hursley had been hovering at the back of his mind. That ridiculous delusion she had been harbouring had preyed upon him. More affecting had been the memory of the look in her eyes when he had so disastrously rejected it. He had wanted to atone. Was his conscience then to
blame for this situation—which was evidently a source of embarrassment to the girl? He must find a way to ease her.

He waited until both bowls had been filled with a sustaining white soup, and then picked up his spoon.

‘Will you not begin, Miss Hursley?’

Prue started. So intent had she been on avoiding his gaze that she found herself staring at the contents of her bowl in an effort of concentration. As she fumbled for the utensil, the pressure of her own consciousness caused her to lose her guard.

‘Oh, this is absurd! I must surely wake up soon and find that I am dreaming.’

A soft laugh came from her employer. ‘Not unless I am dreaming too.’

Her glance found the steely glint of his eyes, and caution vanished. ‘Why did you invite me here?’

Julius hesitated. Must she choose this moment for one of her disconcertingly direct questions? What was he to answer when he did not know himself? He opted for prevarication.

‘I thought we agreed this morning on…friendship.’

The slight hesitation caused a disturbing hiccup to interrupt Prue’s already unruly pulse. She hurried into speech.

‘Oh, yes. It is kind of you, sir, to take me up.’

He was nettled. ‘Kind? It is nothing of the sort!’ He saw withdrawal in her face, and amended his tone. ‘What I mean is that the invitation is for my pleasure as much as yours.’

Pleasure! Prue dug her spoon into the bowl. If this was his notion of pleasure, then it was not hers. She was acutely uncomfortable, beset as much by recurring doubt as by the impropriety of her situation.

‘How the Duck would frown upon me!’

‘I beg your pardon?’

She had been unaware of speaking aloud. Her eyes shifted again from the soup to his face where puzzlement creased his brow. Driven, she attempted to explain.

‘We called her that—Mrs Duxford. At the Seminary, you know. She was in charge of us all.’

‘Ah, I see. And you feel she would disapprove?’

‘Beyond all doubt!’

‘The governess dining with the master of the house. And all alone, bar the servants. Yes, I suppose it would be thought shocking by a great many of the tabbies.’

Prue blinked at him, for his tone had been musing. ‘Had you not thought of that, sir?’

Julius spooned soup in a meditative way. ‘I had not. Since I am rarely obliged to trouble myself about what others might think, I suppose I have grown out of the way of doing so.’

‘You are fortunate,’ observed Prue, unable to help a feeling of envy. ‘But you are a man. It is all so very different for your sex.’

‘Very true.’

He was both amused and touched by the forlorn note. But she was relaxing a little. He found a way to encourage her.

‘Was she kind to you, this—er—Duck?’

Prue let out an involuntary giggle. ‘How odd to hear you call her so! Kind? No, for she was excessively strict. But she was good to us, and always just, I think.’

‘An admirable quality.’

‘Well, it is important,’ she insisted.

‘I don’t dispute it.’

He laid down his spoon and signed to Creggan to
serve the next course. Reaching out to the bottle, he hesitated before refilling his glass.

‘Will you take wine? Or is that a thought too daring for a governess?’

Another of her smothered gurgles rewarded him. ‘Well, we were allowed a little on a Sunday. Mrs Duxford held to it that we might be called upon to take a glass now and then, and it would not do to draw attention to oneself.’

He paused in the act of pouring the ruby liquid into her glass. ‘What, merely by drinking wine?’

‘Oh, no. But if one was unused to the taste, one might choke or make faces.’

That quiver came at his mouth, and Prue saw it.

‘It’s well to laugh, sir, but it is true that one’s first taste of wine is not at all pleasant. Did you not find it so?’

‘It’s so long ago, I can’t remember.’

Prue eyed him with sudden interest as he finished pouring her wine. In the muted light of the dining parlour, she saw only smoothness in his face, and tried to remember whether she had noticed any lines there previously.

Mr Rookham caught her gaze, and frowned. ‘What?’

‘I was wondering how old you are,’ Prue blurted out. Heat rose up in her face as she realised what she had said. ‘I beg your p-pardon, sir! That was rude of me.’

Impelled by that irresistible look of contrition, Julius leaned towards her. ‘Between friends, there can be no rudeness.’

It was softly uttered, and Prue experienced a resurgence of her earlier disquiet. Why must he speak so intimately? She was relieved to find the butler at her elbow, and turned to examine the dish he was offering.
Nodding at random, she watched as a portion of collops was placed upon her plate. Stewed mushrooms and green beans followed, but they might have been anything for all Prue cared. They offered an excuse to withdraw her attention from her employer, and thus served her present purpose.

But the relief was all too temporary. The butler and his minion having withdrawn a little, Julius began upon the contents of his plate and resumed the discussion.

‘How old do you think I am?’

The grey gaze veered round, filled with consternation.

‘Pray don’t, sir. I should not have asked you.’

‘From the perspective of one and twenty,’ he went on, as if she had not spoken, ‘as I know you to be, Miss Prudence Hursley, I can well imagine that I might seem a trifle advanced in years.’

Prue blinked, diverted from her dismay. ‘Advanced in years? I would not go so far as that, Mr Rookham.’

‘Then how far would you go?’

To his amusement, a grimace appeared in her face. Yet an odd sensation of suspense attacked him as she hesitated. She was going to place him older than his years, he was sure of it. He could not imagine why it should trouble him, but a rise of faint disappointment would not be dismissed.

‘If you must have it,’ she said at length, ‘I must suppose you to be thirty, or a little past it.’

He said nothing for a moment, but the jut of his nose seemed to intensify. Prue eyed his strong features with growing misgiving.

‘I have not guessed aright, have I?’

Julius reached for his wineglass. ‘You are not far off.’ He fortified himself with a sip of wine. ‘In fact, I
am eight and twenty. Until this moment past, I had been contented with an appearance of it. I now perceive that I must consult my mirror more closely.’

Torn between guilt and dismay, Prue defended herself vigorously. ‘Well, you insisted upon my saying it! In the light of day I might not have put it as high.’

‘Worse and worse! Surely you know that candlelight is kinder than daylight.’

‘Well, I am sorry,’ uttered Prue crossly. ‘How was I to know that your vanity would be upset?’

‘Upset? My vanity is crushed!’

‘Then you will have learned a valuable lesson. Vanity is one of the seven deadly sins, I will have you know.’

‘No, you are thinking of pride.’

‘Well, vanity is pride!’

‘Spoken like a true governess!’

Prue burst out laughing. Watching her, and unable to help smiling himself, Julius experienced a glow of warmth at his chest. She truly was delightful! Without thinking, he reached out and lightly clasped her wrist.

‘I promise I will refrain from all pride and vanity, since you so command me, Prudence.’

Her laughter died abruptly. She looked at his hand, where a burning heat seemed to girdle her wrist. The breath was stopped in her throat. Without volition, her gaze rose up and met his own head on. His expression changed.

‘What is it? Are you afraid of me still? Don’t you see that I like you too much to treat you with less than the respect you deserve?’

The word caught at her senses, and she felt suddenly as if she floated.
He liked her.

‘You smile, but it’s true. God knows where it orig
inated, but I feel a kinship with you. A friendship. I say it again, for it is the only way I can describe it.’

Prue had not been aware of smiling. But the abrupt lift of happiness dimmed. Somewhere deep inside she was weeping. Only the cause of it demanded acceptance. She must take the proffered half of the loaf, for the whole could never be hers.

‘Thank you, Mr Rookham. I feel it too.’

She treasured the sudden leaping spark at his eyes. He released her, and took up his wineglass, that engaging quirk upon his lips.

‘Then here’s to defiance of your Duck, and all her ilk!’

Prue raised her own glass, and drank a little of the wine as she watched Mr Rookham toss back the contents of his glass. His long hair fell back, and she allowed her gaze to dwell for an instant on the powerful jutting profile that had become, inexplicably, so haunting a feature of her waking mind.

It was an effort to maintain her calm for the remainder of the meal. Afterwards she could not remember what they talked of—his gardens, perhaps, and had he not asked her more about her life at the Seminary? If so, she had spoken automatically, for the discovery she had made had delivered her up to a painful yearning that was bursting for expression.

What had Mrs Polmont said? If he could not have wine, he would take water. She had been wrong. Mr Rookham did not want water. And it was Prue who craved wine now, with a thirst that could never be quenched.

The expedition to the woods had as its aim the collecting of wildflowers to be pressed for a work of art.
The twins raced ahead, swishing through dead bracken and leaves with hardly a check. Proceeding at a more sober pace, Prue sensibly abandoned any attempt to curb their exuberant spirits, bidding them only to keep within sight. A superfluous request, as it proved; since Prue had had the forethought to provide herself with a basket, the girls returned time and again to canvass her opinion and place each new acquisition into this convenient receptacle.

The moments of solitude placed a severe strain upon Prue’s peace of mind, leaving her thoughts at too much leisure. Against her will—indeed, against her express command!—they strayed into that impossible world of her wayward imagination. A place where words were spoken that could never be uttered; where things were done in visions that made her ashamed.

It was all the fault of the housekeeper! Had she not pressed the matter in a fashion that must cause an idiot to understand her veiled references, Prue would never have dared upon such thoughts. Indeed, it would not have occurred to her to do so—particularly with reference to Mr Rookham. He was so far above her that she ought more appropriately to have yearned after the footman!

But, oh, those fanciful dreams! Ever since that fatal dinner all too short a time ago. Four days? No, five, for it was Wednesday. Six weeks since she came here—a time impossibly short. Yet it had proved long enough to hurl Prue into a lost sea of merging days and hideously troubled nights.

Where had the dreams come from? It was as if Kitty’s vivid thinking had invaded her own head. For had it not ever been Kitty who had mooned over the
thought of being held in a man’s embrace, of being
kissed
?

A wash of heat coursed through her veins, engulfing her in guilty warmth. Fiercely she lashed herself. Prudence Hursley, you are wicked! What would her reverend father have to say to her, could he see inside her foolish head from beyond the grave? Mama she barely recalled. But often and often had she been struck with a remembrance of a stern eye she knew to be Papa’s when the Duck had bent upon her one of her more serious frowns.

The thought of Mrs Duxford caused her to blank off the hazy image that haunted her mind. How many times had she given warning? ‘Make no mistake. You will be tempted.’ And Prue had foolishly thought herself immune.

Heaven knows she wished she had been! It was not as if Mr Rookham was handsome. Kitty would have dismissed him from her mind without a second thought. But Prue was guiltily aware that his attraction had drawn her from the very first. Why, she could not tell. One could not admire the lean rangy figure or the jutting nose. And there was nothing remarkable to recommend him in his dress, which was plain and serviceable. His manner, too, was so apt to be changeable that one could never rely upon receiving the same treatment from him. Indeed, now she thought about it, there was no reason in the world why she should have formed so foolish a
tendre
for the man!