Candice Hern (12 page)

But was he staying here? In the same house with her and Nicholas?

Of course he was. It was his house, after all. But it was not a large house, so he would know…he would know…

Pru had to force her legs to carry her up the stairs. How thoroughly mortifying for Mr. Parrish to know the true state of their marriage. For they could not hide it. All the bedrooms were on the same floor. He would know they slept separately.

She stifled a groan. And they would continue to sleep separately as long as he stayed, for Pru would rather die than have him know…to have him hear…Dear God, she hoped he did not plan to stay long.

They entered the drawing room, where Lucy had laid out wine and cakes.

“I cannot believe you came all the way to London,” Nicholas said. “I know how you hate it here.”

“You must wish me to the devil for barging in on your privacy, but I promise I will not intrude for too long. I confess I wanted to get to know my new daughter-in-law. Now, let us have a toast.”

He poured three glasses of claret and handed one to each of them. “Here’s to you both. May you have a long and happy life together.”

They clinked glasses, and Pru downed her wine in a single gulp. She gave a little hiccup and a sheepish giggle when she realized what she’d done. “I beg your pardon.”

Nicholas stared at her. Mr. Parrish refilled her glass. She would take it slower this time, though she was sorely tempted to get thoroughly foxed.

“Come and sit down,” Mr. Parrish said. “I have something for you.”

Pru sat on the settee and Nicholas sat beside her. “Mr. Parrish,” Pru said, “I am sorry we were not here to welcome you. Has Lucy taken care of settling you in properly?”

“She has indeed. But please, you must call me Bartholomew.” He walked to the other side of the room. “This is new,” he said, and ran his fingers along the smooth finish of the pianoforte. “It must be yours, Prudence.”

“It was a wedding present from my cousin,” she said.

“Ah. And I have brought you a small present,
too, my dear.” He reached for something propped against the wall, and Pru could see it was a painting, though its front was turned away from her. He hoisted it with some difficulty, and Nicholas rose to help him.

“One of Mother’s?” he asked.

“Yes, I thought Prudence might like it.”

They dragged it to the center of the room and turned it around.

“Oh, I say!” Nicholas beamed with pleasure.

“Yes, I thought it fitting for a marriage gift,” Bartolomew said. “I know your mother would have approved.”

Prudence stood and stared at the huge picture, beautifully painted in a classical style. She was dumbstruck. Even if she had been able to form the words, she had no idea what she would say.

It was a painting of Mars and Venus caught in the act of making love in full naked splendor.

“A
nd so, it really was all my own fault, you see.”

Nick poured himself another cup of coffee and took a long swallow. His father frowned as he stirred his own coffee. Over breakfast, after Pru had excused herself to work downstairs, Nick had told him the full details of the situation that had led to his marriage, everything he had judiciously left out of the letter he’d sent. He had not, however, told him anything of the unconsummated state of the marriage. His father would guess enough, living under the same roof.

“It is good of you to take responsibility, Nick, and I am pleased you did right by Prudence. You behaved just as a gentleman ought.”

“Then, what is troubling you, Father?”

“I like Prudence.”

“So do I.”

“She is a sweet little thing.”

“Yes, she is.”

His father looked up from his coffee, his brow creased with concern. “I would not like to see you break her heart, my boy.”

Nick shook his head and buttered another slice of toast. “You may rest easy on that score, Father. Her heart is no more engaged in this marriage than is mine. She did not want it any more than I did. In fact, she has been saddled with the worst part of the bargain. She has left a fine Mayfair home and an aristocratic family to live here with me, in considerably less splendor. She has forfeited whatever other options she may have entertained. No, if Pru’s heart is broken it is because of what she had to give up.”

“Are you quite sure? There is a certain air about her. A bit demure. Bashful, even. She seems like a blushing bride to me.”

“It is only her natural shyness you are seeing. She would seem that way to you even if we were not married. She is not a tongue-tied, lovesick girl, I assure you. Do you not remember her from Edwina’s wedding?”

“I remember she was quiet, and a bit nervous. But I confess I was not paying much attention to Prudence that day.”

“No one has ever paid her much attention, I’m afraid. Including me, I am ashamed to admit. That shyness has made it all too easy for her to blend into the background, and all too easy for everyone
else to ignore her. You should see the way her family treats her, Father. It makes my blood boil.”

“It goes against your grain to be connected to such a highborn family. I believe you would find them irritating under any circumstances.”

“Most likely. But their blue blood does not excuse them for so thoroughly disregarding one of their own, just because she is small and quiet. There is so much about her that should make them proud.”

His father smiled at last. “She is lucky, then, to have found a husband who appreciates her.”

“Anyone with half a brain would appreciate her. You should hear her play the pianoforte, Father. She is quite brilliant.”

“Indeed? And she writes very good essays for the
Cabinet
, I understand.”

“She is an excellent writer. And a smashing good editor. Edwina could not have left the magazine in better hands.”

“And she is pretty.”

Nick stared at his father and tried to determine if he was merely being indulged. He did not completely trust that smile. “She is, isn’t she? I admit I had never noticed before, but she does have the most remarkable blue eyes and such lovely skin. When she isn’t blushing.”

His father nodded as though he was in complete agreement, as though those eyes and that skin were not a revelation.

“And her hair is quite unusual. Your mother would have loved to paint it. It is the color of—”

“Apricots,” Nick said. “Yes, I know. And all those curls. It is quite unique among her family. It should make her stand out among them, if only she weren’t so tiny. They are all Vikings, you know. Great tall, hulking things, every one of them.”

“Well, then.” His father leaned back in his chair, chuckled softly, and looked altogether well pleased, as though he savored some sort of private joke. “It seems I am worrying over nothing,” he said. “I can see you are not likely to break the girl’s heart, after all. I am sure you will make the best of this marriage, despite its inauspicious beginnings.”

“That is certainly my intention. Yes, it put a crimp in my plans for the Derby project, and no, Pru would not have been my choice of bride. But what’s done is done.”

“Indeed.”

“And I will do what I can to make a comfortable life for Pru. None of this is her fault, after all.”

“She is comfortable here?”

Nick considered the question. There were many kinds of comfortable. “It’s an effort for her, I think, to adjust. Even though her father claims not to be a rich man, Pru is used to a grander style of life. And there is…”

“What?”

Nick shrugged. How to explain it? A once relaxed and comfortable friendship turned awkward and self-conscious? But was that really true? Had there ever really been much of a friendship between him and Pru? How could he have been
her friend and not known so many basic aspects of her life? He hadn’t known she was highborn. He hadn’t known she had a large family. He hadn’t known she played the pianoforte like an angel. All he’d really known was that she shared many of his views on politics and social reform. And he knew that much from her writings more than from actual conversations.

He hadn’t really known Pru at all.

As for relaxed and comfortable, Nick was no longer so sure about that, either. When he thought back, he realized he could not state with any certainty that Pru had ever been entirely relaxed in his company. With Edwina, yes. But not with him. Not really. He recollected the words of her cousin Joanna, about Pru’s general uneasiness with men. Well, Nick was a man, so she could never have been completely at ease with him. She had always been a bit bashful, always blushing.

Since their marriage, though, she had seemed even more self-conscious. Well, of course she had. There was, after all, a new level of relationship to endure. Even though she had not yet been forced to endure the physical aspect of it, there was a constant awareness of it between them.

And that damned painting of Mars and Venus had only added emphasis to the uneasiness of the situation.

His father’s eyebrows lifted in question, awaiting Nick’s response. “There is what?” he prompted.

Nick sighed. “An awkwardness between us. She is…ill-at-ease. She is not…not yet comfort
able with…living under the same roof with me. Being married to me. She is embarrassed by it all. It has been a bigger change for her than for me, you know.”

“Ah. I suspected as much.”

He would, of course. There was no hiding the sleeping arrangements in such a small house.

“And my presence,” his father said, “is not helping matters is it? Well, I promise to stay out of your way as much as possible. I have a few friends here in Town I wish to spend some time with.”

“You do? I had wondered what brought you back to Town again so soon.”

“Your marriage brought me back, of course. I wanted to get to know my new daughter-in-law. I suppose it was rude of me to barge in so soon after the wedding, but I was anxious to…to see how things went on.”

“Well, you did surprise me, Father. When you came for Edwina’s wedding, it was the first time you’d been to London in years. I know you hate it here. I am sorry you felt the need to return again so soon.”

“Nothing to feel sorry about, my boy. I wanted to come. I enjoyed my last visit. I’d quite forgotten what delights London has to offer. I am looking forward to…enjoying them once again.”

“You are?”

How extraordinary. Was this his country squire, bookish father speaking, the one who’d spent most of Nick’s life railing against the frivolities, and expense, of life in London? There was a dis
tinct gleam in his father’s eye, though, and his mouth twitched up at the corners.

“Enough about me,” his father said. “You mentioned the Derby project. Tell me how those latest investments of yours are doing.”

“Has he noticed?”

Pru stifled a groan. Flora was not only ready to give an endless stream of advice on how Pru could captivate her husband, but she wanted to know every detail of the campaign as well.

“I haven’t given him much to notice,” she said.

Flora pulled a face and leaned over the desk. “And why not? Do not tell me you have never worn any of the new dresses you had made up.”

“Oh, I have worn some of them. But…”

“But?”

“Well, you must remember, Flora, that I am not outgoing like you. I really cannot bear to be stared at.”

“What have you done, my girl?”

“I, um, added more lace to fill in the necklines.”

Pru shrank back as Flora looked ready to lunge across the desk and throttle her. “You didn’t!”

“I am afraid I did. I couldn’t help it, Flora. I felt so…exposed.”

“But that is the whole idea, you silly goose. How do you expect to catch your husband’s eye if you hide all the best attractions? And those dresses were designed with specific necklines. You no doubt ruined the line completely.”

“I really do not think so. Actually, I thought
they looked rather nice. Nicholas complimented me. So did my cousin Joanna.”

“Did they? Well, that is something, I suppose. But I’d be willing to bet it was the color and cut that drew the praise. Neither of them would be so rude as to tell you that your bosom was overflowing with too much lace. Tell me, exactly how much lace did you add?”

“Only an extra row. Or two.”

Flora shook her head and groaned. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“I am a lost cause.”

This time Flora did reach across the desk, but instead of throttling Pru, she took Pru’s chin in her hand and gently raised it. “Never say that, Prudence. It is not true. Remember what I told you.”

“I know. I am worthy of him.”

Flora smiled. “You are indeed. And don’t ever forget it. You
are
making progress. Just at a slower pace than I would like.”

She gave Pru’s cheek a pat and then sank back into the chair opposite the desk. “Suppose we approach this…transformation in small steps. Lucy is dressing your hair?”

“When we go out in the evenings. She is quite talented.”

“Yes, I thought she might be. Have you thought of having her dress your hair every day?”

“Every day?” Pru reached up to find the inevitable curls that had fallen loose. “Why? I spend most days here at my desk. Who’s going to see me?”

“Your husband, silly.”

“Oh.”

“You have lovely hair, Prudence, but it does tend to fly about somewhat. Why don’t you ask Lucy to come up with something neat and tidy and easy for every day? Perhaps you could make more use of combs.”

“All right. I’ll ask her.”

“And now, let’s consider how you dress during the day.”

“I do not wish to invest in a whole new wardrobe, Flora.”

“There is no need to do so. Your muslins and cambrics are good quality and well maintained. As are your accessories. There are simply too many of them.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean that one lightweight fichu or handkerchief will do the job. There is no need to wear so many of them at once.”

“Oh.” Her mother had always wrapped herself in layers of scarves and lace and such, and Pru had thought she looked marvelous. She supposed she had unconsciously tried to emulate her mother’s flair.

“And when you wear a habit shirt, my dear, there is no need for a fichu at all. When you over-drape yourself, there is a perception of plumpness, especially in one of your small stature.”

Pru remembered Madame Lanchester’s comment about pouter pigeons. Was that what she’d meant?

“Besides,” Flora continued, “all that complicated layering is…well, to be quite blunt, my dear, it is somewhat outré. Those styles were fashionable several years back, but styles are simpler now. As you would know if you paid more attention to the content of my fashion reports, instead of only grammar and word counts.”

“I don’t wish to be unfashionable.” Especially now that people paid her more attention—at least they did whenever she had Nicholas on her arm. And she did not want to embarrass him with her lack of modishness. “What do you suggest? Within reason, of course.”

“Come over here and let’s have a look.”

Pru rose, walked around the desk, and stood in front of Flora. She remembered the last time she had done so, and kept her distance. Nicholas was still at breakfast, after all. He might come downstairs at any moment.

“I think we can dispense with the handkerchief, pretty though it is.”

Pru carefully unpinned the folded square of figured muslin and removed it.

“You see?” Flora said. “Better already. Now that nice little habit shirt with its dainty pleating is shown to its best advantage. And you are quite covered up enough, what with all those little buttons up to your throat. The handkerchief was a bit excessive. Now, pin that little brooch up under the collar, and voilà. A whole new look. Very pretty. Let’s make a new rule.”

“What rule?”

“From now on, whenever you come downstairs each morning, remove one item. I guarantee it will not be missed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me, Pru. I know what I’m talking about. Was I not hired as the
Cabinet
’s fashion editor? Now, let’s have a little chat with Lucy about your hair, shall we? Someone is coming down the stairs. Perhaps it is Lucy.”

Pru went to the doorway. “No, I believe it is Nicholas and his father.”

A sharp intake of breath behind her caused Pru to turn around. Flora had risen to her feet and wore a strange expression on her face—a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.

“Bartholomew Parrish is here?”

“Yes. He arrived last night. Shall I introduce you?”

“Oh, we’ve already met,” Flora said, and a smile tugged at her lips. “At Edwina’s wedding.”

“Yes, of course. I’d forgotten.”

Pru stepped into the hallway and waylaid her husband and father-in-law. “Mr. Parrish…that is, Bartholomew, would you step into the office for a moment. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course, my dear. Nick has been speaking highly of your work on the magazine. I should be pleased to have a look.” He followed her through the doorway, but came to a halt when he saw Flora. His eyes widened.