Heather and Velvet (15 page)

A piping voice floated up through the hayloft. “Fish, you’ve gone quite insane. I do believe you drank the whisky yourself.”

Prudence met Sebastian’s eyes, horror-struck. “Good Lord, it’s Auntie Tricia.”

O
ld Fish’s whine was borne on the morning wind. “You insult me, Countess. I never indulge in spirits. You should have seen the girl. It was scandalous. Creeping about in her nightclothes. Why, she wasn’t even wearing a nightcap!” Indignation trembled in his voice. He might as well have pronounced Prudence naked. “She snatched the whisky and went skipping across the lawn like some sort of wanton—” The rest of his speech was mercifully muffled.

“I never dreamed the old lech had such a vivid imagination,” Sebastian whispered.

They stared at each other, paralyzed by the approaching voices.

Jamie popped up the ladder like a wild-eyed jack-in-the-box. He captured Prudence’s arm and started back down, jerking to a halt when he realized the rest of her wasn’t following.

“Get down there, ye silly chit. Do ye want them to come up here?”

“No, of course not. But what shall I tell her?”

Jamie didn’t give Prudence time to ponder. He shoved
her across the loft and stuffed her down the ladder. She missed the last three rungs, scraping her shins and landing in the hay as Tricia and Old Fish entered the musty stable.

Prudence stumbled around to face them, disheveled and wide-eyed with guilt. Untidy wisps of hair escaped her braid. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Sebastian’s cool confession was still thundering through her brain.
The sort of man I am wishes he had taken you that night in the crofter’s hut. He wishes he had put his child in you …
Her hand flew to her abdomen. Why couldn’t she be the sort of girl who fainted?

She would have thought it impossible, but as she stared at her aunt and Old Fish, the butler’s eyes bugged out farther. Another half inch and they would surely pop out and roll across the hay. Prudence realized too late the reason for his shock.

Jamie swung off the ladder, landing on the balls of his feet like a cat. “Where’d ye go, luv? The fun was just beginnin’.”

He laid his wiry arm across her shoulders. Old Fish cleared his throat. Jamie looked up as if seeing them for the first time.

“Shame on ye, pet. Ye didn’t tell me we had guests.”

His copper hair was ruffled, as if he had run his fingers through it. His chest was bare, and the first three buttons of his breeches were unfastened. A mortified heat swept up Prudence’s throat, and she seriously reconsidered swooning.

Jamie swaggered forward, sloshing whisky over the rim of the decanter. His gaze traveled boldly over Tricia’s jade green negligee. She closed it at the throat with a demure hand, blushing prettily. Prudence gaped, so amazed at Jamie’s transformation that she forgot her own embarrassment. Ugly or not, he exuded a smug sexuality that was almost palpable.

Tricia’s eyes were all for Jamie. Prudence felt invisible. She wondered if anyone would notice if she dropped to her stomach and buried herself in the hay.

“You realize,” Tricia said, fluttering her lashes, “I shall
have to speak to your master about this little … indiscretion.”

To Prudence’s amazement, Jamie dropped to one knee at Tricia’s feet and brought her hand to his lips. “I’m a poor lad, me lady. I ain’t got no other post. Would ye have my lord send me away penniless”—Prudence would have sworn his tongue flicked out to touch Tricia’s hand—“and hungry? I am humbly sorry.” He looked about as remorseful as a freckled Lucifer.

Tricia gave a breathless cluck. The bows on her towering satin mob-cap trembled becomingly. Prudence had always suspected she slept in her wig. “We shall have to give it some thought, won’t we? Perhaps I can persuade Lord Kerr to be merciful when he decides your fate.”

A muffled snort from the loft reminded Prudence that Lord Kerr was already deciding Jamie’s fate. She blushed anew.

Tricia swept across the stable like a regal queen and stopped in front of Prudence. Prudence stared at the flounces of lace on her aunt’s bosom, unable to meet her eyes. Shame flooded her as she realized for the first time that she was guilty of a crime far worse than dallying with Jamie. She was in love with her aunt’s fiancé. In another month, even God would have a name for a woman like her—adulteress.

She waited for Tricia to scream at her or box her ears or send her packing. She was acutely aware of Jamie leaning against a splintered post, arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk on his thin lips. He was enjoying her discomfiture almost as much as Old Fish. The loft above held its waiting silence.

Tricia gently cupped Prudence’s chin, tilting her face upward. Her soft, tinkling laugh filled the stable. “Why, you cunning little creature! Who would have thought it? My Prudence and the coachman!”

Tricia’s eyes danced with warmth and delight. She pulled Prudence into her arms. Prudence hung limply in her aunt’s embrace, her eyes wide circles of shock. Jamie lifted his hands in a baffled shrug. Old Fish opened and closed his mouth like a beached herring.

There was no mistaking the bemused pride in Tricia’s voice as she led Prudence toward the door. “Come, you naughty child, we have much to discuss. You should have come to your aunt sooner. I thought all you were interested in were those dusty old books of yours.” As they ambled into the awakening morning, Tricia cast Jamie a coquettish look over her shoulder. “Men can teach you what pleases men, but it takes a woman to teach you what will please you.”

Prudence dared a glance back. Sebastian was leaning out of the hayloft, listening with interest.

“Don’t think I’m judging you, darling,” Tricia went on. “Most of the women I know cut their proverbial teeth on groomsmen and houseboys. But you should learn to protect yourself from mishaps. It would be exceedingly awkward to explain away—”

As Prudence’s cheeks flamed bright red, Tricia mercifully became aware of Old Fish following behind them, ears perked to their conversation.

She gave the butler an airy wave. “Bring a tray of chocolate to my chamber, Fish.” Prudence cringed as Tricia gave her a motherly squeeze. “It’s just as well my Sebastian is in Edinburgh. I shall have time to prepare him for this. He’s quite protective of you, you know. I believe he thinks of you as far more than a niece.”

A cold shiver raked Prudence’s spine. Tricia knew, she thought. Oh, dear sweet Lord, she knew.

A frown furrowed her aunt’s brow. “I do believe he thinks of you as a daughter.”

Behind them a pained yelp was muffled to a strangled cough. Tricia spun around as the door of the hayloft swung shut with a bang.

Prudence was reading in her room two nights later when a knock came on her door. It was followed by an aristocratic sniff. “Lord Kerr wishes your presence in the study.”

“Very well, Fish.”

Prudence smoothed the skirt of her pale green watered silk gown and slipped on her spectacles. She studied her
reflection in the mirror, then dropped the spectacles back in her pocket. Tugging two strands of hair free from her tight chignon, she fluffed them around her face, then sighed. Her nose was still too pointy, her eyes too big.

“ ‘Vanity of vanities; all is vanity,’ ” she murmured to her reflection.

She waited at the door for Old Fish’s doddering steps to recede before slipping into the hall. As she approached the study, the door opened and her aunt emerged. Tricia hastily shut the door behind her.

She captured Prudence’s hands and brought them to her rouged lips. “Courage, my child,” she whispered. “I begged him to go gently with you.”

Then Tricia was gone in a cloud of musky gardenia and Prudence was left to face the heavy door alone. Sebastian’s gentleness was the last thing she needed. She pushed open the door.

Nothing was visible of Sebastian but a thatch of sandy hair, a cloud of smoke, and a pair of polished top boots resting on the windowsill. She cleared her throat.

He scraped the chair around and jerked the thin cheroot out of his mouth. “Good evening, Miss Walker.”

She bobbed a curtsy. “Good evening, Uncle Sebastian.”

His lips twitched. He took a long drag of the cigar, and a thin wisp of blue smoke wafted out the window. He indicated the leather chair in front of the desk. Prudence sat.

Sebastian thumbed through a sheaf of papers, his heavy brows drawn together in a stern line. “Miss Walker, your aunt has asked me to speak to you about a certain breach of propriety that occurred at Lindentree during my recent absence.”

“What might that be, sir?”

He kept his gaze on the papers. “I am referring to a pilfered decanter of Scotch whisky. In the future, if you care to supply either yourself or your male companions with spirits, you are to come to me and I will dole it out to you.” He looked up at her then, and his eyes were sparkling. He seemed to have difficulty catching his breath. “Your aunt is deeply concerned about a moral decline which has led you to become a thief in your own home.”

Sebastian’s attempt at sternness failed as he blew a cloud of cigar smoke up his nose and collapsed in a wheezing, sputtering heap. His muscular shoulders heaved. He threw back his head, mopping tears of laughter from his eyes as Prudence flew out of her chair in an indignant fury.

“Isn’t that just like her! She chastises me for stealing the whisky, but not for dallying with the coachman!”

She paced the study in long, swishing strides. “That’s the first time Tricia has ever looked at me with anything resembling pride.” Sebastian hiccuped. Prudence turned on him, planting both hands on the desk. “Go ahead and laugh. It’s not your reputation in shreds. You don’t have Old Fish looking down his nose at you as if you were Jezebel and the whore of Babylon rolled into one.”

Sebastian clapped a hand over his mouth in mock dismay. “Miss Walker, your language. You shock me!”

“After a morning of Tricia’s tutelage, I could shock you even more.”

He sat up with interest. “Was it bad?”

“Horrid. Not even Papa’s
Icones Anatomicae
prepared me for
that.”
She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “She taught me things that would make your toes curl.”

He fanned himself with the papers. “You don’t say? Do go on. You know, you should get angry more often. It’s enchanting. Your eyes snap, your cheeks pinken. Quite an amazing transformation from my meek little niece.”

Prudence dared to sit on the edge of the desk. “Niece? You wound me. Tricia swore you thought of me—”

They shouted in unison, “—more as a daughter!”

Prudence snatched the papers from Sebastian and beat him about the head as her own fury dissolved in mirth.

“Careful, careful,” he said. “Take pity on a wounded man, won’t you?” He raised a hand, too weak with laughter to defend himself.

She dropped the papers. “I forgot. How is your shoulder?”

“Much better. The butter and eggs did the trick. I’d be fine if Boris didn’t think me a scone. He keeps sniffing me and licking his chops. Of course, after three days of Jamie’s company, even Boris has his charms.”

One of the papers had slid off the desk. Prudence stooped to pick it up.

Her smile faded as she glanced at it. “A masked ball prior to your wedding.” She handed him the invitation. “How quaint.”

He smoothed the creamy vellum. “And original. How did Tricia ever think of it? Perhaps the ten masked balls we attended last month inspired her.”

Prudence drew her spectacles from her pocket and put them on. “You should enjoy it, my lord,” she said, her voice as cool as the steel frames against her skin. “You have such an affinity for masks.”

She turned to go.

“As do you, Miss Walker.”

Prudence paused, but did not turn around. She knew he was no longer smiling. She managed to keep her back straight and her hands steady until she had left the study and pulled the door shut behind her.

She leaned against the door, welcoming the dig of the oak paneling into her spine. There was no sound from within the study. Tears scalded her eyes, and she realized with a shock that they were not tears of guilt, but tears of anger. The rage felt good, cleansing her of the melancholy that threatened to buffet her. She jerked off her spectacles. Damn Tricia anyway!

Tricia. It had always been Tricia. Bright, tinkling, gay Tricia. Prudence would simply have to understand that Tricia needed the money more than they. Tricia was an orphan. Tricia had no one. Prudence and Papa must be content with their books and each other. Prudence would understand. Prudence was such a good girl.

She dashed the tears from her eyes with a clenched fist. She was tired of understanding. She was tired of being a good girl. Being a good girl meant giving up Sebastian and his lovely mouth forever.

A bust of Plato sneered down at her from a velvet draped pedestal. Prudence shoved her spectacles on his marble nose and started for her room, jerking out hairpins as she walked.

•  •  •

Prudence sought out Jamie the next day. As she neared the holding pen, his amorphous form solidified into angular sinew and muscle. Sunlight sharpened his hair to carrot orange, and she shielded her eyes from its brilliance. He was straining against a blob of russet—the mare Tricia had presented to Sebastian as an early wedding gift. Early and premature, Prudence dared to hope.