The Perfect Rake (32 page)

“I never thought any of us would marry. Grandpapa said our blood was inferior and we should not spread the mongrel taint.”

Gideon stiffened, but before he could say anything, she held up her hand and continued, “It’s all right. We know we are not mongrels. He hated our mother, you see, and considers her blood tainted, but there was
nothing
at all wrong with her,” she added in an impassioned voice. “She was beautiful and loving and—” She broke off and took a deep breath. “Mama’s family was not gently born. Her grandfather began as a butcher and his son, our grandfather, was also in the butchery trade, so they were what Grandpapa calls cits, though immensely rich ones. We do not care, of course, but because of his prejudices, Grandpapa would not allow us to go about or to attend any of the local functions—except for church, and even then we had services in our private chapel when possible. But the point of all this is that we girls grew up not knowing many people.

“Phillip’s parents owned the property next to Grandpapa’s. We did not know him, for he and his older brother were away at school, but we did know Mrs. Otterbury from church, so we knew of him. Anyway, one day while we were out walking, we met him. His horse had gone lame and Phillip was leading it home, taking a shortcut through the Court—that’s Dereham Court, where we lived—to spare the horse, so of course, we started talking and, oh! You have no idea how wonderful it was to talk to someone other than my sisters, someone of my own age!” Her eyes shone with a soft, reminiscent glow. “That day I walked with him to the edge of the property and we just talked and talked—about everything and nothing.”

“How old were you?” Gideon interjected, feeling ridiculously envious of that glow.

“Oh, about fifteen, I think,” she said. “And from then on, we met often, in secret, of course. His mother used to visit occasionally, which was unexceptional, since she did not bring Phillip. And though Grandpapa did not like her coming and was shockingly uncivil to her, there was no actual reason for him to forbid her visits.” She smiled reminiscently. “She is very kind, Mrs. Otterbury, and put up with all sorts of rudeness in order to visit us.”

It occurred to Gideon that Mrs. Otterbury recognized an opportunity for her younger son when she saw it. Each of the Merridew girls were reputed to be handsomely dowered; an ambitious mother would certainly brave more than incivility to secure a fortune for a son otherwise unprovided for. His Prudence was too unworldly to see a more mercenary motive in her neighbor’s sudden friendliness.

Prudence continued, unaware of his cynical thoughts, “The little ones, particularly, loved her visits, as they have few memories of Mama, and Mrs. Otterbury was so warm and kind and…and
motherly.
You know, she even cuddled them sometimes, and it was so wonderful—little girls need to be cuddled frequently, you know.”

“So do big ones,” he said softly and held out his hand to her.

She shook her head, but her color heightened. “You think there are only a few shared childhood memories binding me to Phillip, don’t you, apart from the promise and the ring? There is more. I did not plan to tell you…but perhaps if I do, you will understand and cease this…this…”

“Courtship,” prompted Gideon.

She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “Just let me explain.”

“Very well.” Gideon leaned back and folded his arms and prepared to listen.

“Phillip’s departure for India was very sudden. I had no idea he was going anywhere until just a day or two beforehand.”

Young men just didn’t up and leave on the spur of the moment to take up a position in India, thought Gideon. It wasn’t like taking the stagecoach to London; the trip to India took months. There were all sorts of arrangements to be made: passages to book, clothes to be fitted, special supplies to be purchased, such as remedies against tropical diseases; the list was long. He’d wager Phillip had been busy preparing for his journey for some time; he simply hadn’t chosen to inform Prudence.

“It was very distressing,” Prudence said. “I didn’t know if I would ever see him again—it’s terribly dangerous in India.”

“So Miss Grace informs me,” Gideon murmured.

“Yes. Phillip wanted me to marry him and go, too, but of course I was too young to be able to wed without permission, and in any case, Grandpapa was growing more…” She hesitated. “I suppose you would call it…harsh. So I couldn’t leave the children with him, and Phillip said India was too dangerous for the younger girls.”

“Not too dangerous for a sixteen-year-old?”

“Oh no, for I am not at all frail or helpless. Besides, Phillip said he could protect me from danger.”

Gideon managed not to snort. He was hardly in a position to criticize, after all.

“But it was not practical for all five of us to go, even with the assistance of my dowry—Papa’s will leaves us money even if we marry without permission, you see—for that is what he and Mama did.”

Gideon nodded. He did indeed see. Otterbury tried to persuade a lonely sixteen-year-old to wed him on the sly, knowing she came with a handsome dowry.

“Phillip proposed to me at The Cairn—that’s what we call Mama and Papa’s grave—and don’t look like that, it isn’t really their grave, but we girls made a pile of stones in a corner of the Merridew family burial yard. It is next to the Dereham private chapel, so nobody goes there except family and the gardener who keeps it tidy. We planted flowers around The Cairn and when we were lonely or unhappy, we used to go and talk to Mama or Papa. It was a comfort, you see. We’d tell them things, just small items only of importance to family—like girlish secrets and Grace’s teeth.”

Gideon frowned. “Her teeth?”

Prudence smiled, “Every one of her baby teeth was added to The Cairn with great ceremony. Teeth falling out are exciting for a child, and no one else at Dereham was interested, but Mama and Papa were always listening. That’s what we thought, anyway.” She smiled to herself, a little misty-eyed.

“So that’s where Otterclogs proposed?” Gideon said.
Cunning bastard,
he thought.

“Yes, he asked their permission first and then—” She broke off at the sound of a soft knock on the door.

“How is our wounded hero?” a low, feminine voice called. Gideon swore under his breath.

“It is Charity!” she explained, clearly flustered by the interruption. “I—er, I didn’t tell them it was I who shot you! They think it was the robber!”

Gideon nodded. “Your bloodthirsty tendencies are safe with me, Miss Imp.” Dammit, she’d been about to explain the hold that blasted Otterbury had on her. He was in no mood to entertain visitors, but he could see she’d snatched at the interruption like a drowning man snatches at a straw.

She jumped up and opened the door. Charity entered on tiptoe, carrying a covered tray. “Is he awake?” she whispered.

“I’m awake, Miss Charity,” Gideon responded.

“He’s awake!” A cluster of golden heads peered around the door and in seconds his bed was surrounded by sisters and his cousin.

Prudence, suddenly recalling his chest was naked but for the bandage, quickly whisked the sheet up around his chin and tucked it in firmly, watched by four pairs of curious female eyes.

“How do you feel, Coz?” asked Edward. Gideon winked, and Edward relaxed.

“Oh, you poor, brave man, thank heavens you’re recovering. I’ve brought you some nice, hot gruel.” Charity set the tray on a nearby chest and lifted the cloth to reveal a spouted invalid bowl, containing an ominously gray liquid.

Gideon pulled a face. He had no intention of drinking gruel.

“Oh look, he’s in pain,” exclaimed Faith. “You’re very brave, sir.”

“Is it very painful?” asked Hope.

“Of course it is,” said Grace scornfully. “He bled everywhere, all over the landlady’s best sofa. It’s absolutely ruined!” she pronounced with relish. “Did you kill any of the villains, Lord Carradice? Prudence wouldn’t discuss it.”

“That’s quite enough, Grace, dear,” interrupted Prudence hastily. “We don’t want to exhaust Lord Carradice, do we?”

“Oh, Lord Carradice wouldn’t mind,” the invalid murmured. “A little exhaustion, in a good cause…”

Prudence blushed and seized the invalid bowl. “This gruel will help you get your strength back, sir.”

“No, I thank you, some beef and burgun—”

The spout was deftly inserted between his teeth. Gideon spluttered and tried to object, but the vile stuff was poured gently but ruthlessly down his throat.

His visitors stayed and chatted for some few minutes, and pleasant though it was, Gideon soon found that he was indeed exhausted.

Prudence picked up on it instantly. “I think our invalid needs to sleep now,” she declared. When the visitors had left the room, she came back to his bedside, gently smoothed his pillows, and tucked him in. Like a babe, he thought in disgust.

“Sleep now,” she whispered, passing a hand across his brow.

He caught it and held her hand against his cheek. “I still don’t know what your terrible secret is, my dear, but there is nothing you could tell me that would make a difference. You have led a sheltered life—” He held up a weary hand. “No, don’t argue with me. I have no doubt that what you think scandalous and unforgivable would not be so very dreadful to a man such as myself. I shall wait. It will make no difference to me.”

He subsided, and Prudence turned to leave. His words stopped her in her tracks. “I shall wait for you until I am old and gray if I must. But I’ll have you in the end, my Prudence. And you’ll come to me with a whole heart, you’ll see.”

Prudence was stunned. He would wait for her until he was old and gray? The look in his eyes caused her heart to pound. She put out a shaking hand as if to hold him off, though he wasn’t touching her, and hadn’t made a move toward her. “But you are a rake,” she whispered.

He gazed into her eyes for a long, long moment. “Yes. And when a rake finally falls, he falls forever.” He let her digest that for a moment and then added solemnly, “Besides, you should not scorn my rakishness. Having a rake about the place will come in extremely useful.”

She frowned in puzzlement. “Useful?” It was an odd word to use. “What do you mean? What possible use would I have for a rake?”

“I could tidy up all your fallen leaves each autumn.”

It took her a moment to perceive the jest. Laughter and tears trembled on her lips at the same time. Oh, what to do with him? How could anyone love such a wicked, funny, foolish man?

How could they not?

Prudence left the room.

Chapter Fifteen

“But having done whate’er she could devise
And emptied all her Magazine of lies
The time approached…”

J
OHN
D
RYDEN

T
HE CITY OF
B
ATH ROSE FROM A GREEN AND VERDANT VALLEY, THE
afternoon sun seeming to gild the rows and rows of terraced houses rising in serried ranks like the steps of an amphitheater.

“I had no notion Bath was so beautiful, so very splendid!” exclaimed Prudence.

Hope and Faith peered out from the coach windows on one side, while Prudence and Grace peered from those on the other. Lord Carradice observed the young ladies indulgently, pointing out various sights along the way, lounging on his seat, his coat slung around his shoulder in a careless style that disguised the bandaging.

“No, indeed!” agreed Grace. “I was quite misled by the name. Bath!” she pronounced in mild disgust. “Who would expect such a dull name to be given to such an interesting looking place.”

“Ah, but the name has a romance of its own, Miss Grace,” explained Lord Carradice. “You see, since ancient times people have traveled for miles to drink from and bathe in the mineral springs here. Even the ancient Romans valued it and built a fine city here. Can you imagine brave Roman centurions bathing here, Miss Grace, after a battle with the wild barbarians of the north?”

“Oh, yes. Washing away the blood of battle!” Grace nodded, shivering deliciously.

Lord Carradice chuckled. “Bloodthirsty little wench! I suspect they washed that off long before they got to Bath!”

“It is almost as if the Romans are still here, so grand and beautiful some of the buildings are,” said Faith. And indeed, there was so much classically inspired architecture in evidence, the town did boast a decided Roman character.

Once Lord Carradice was well enough to travel, they’d completed the journey in easy stages, stopping a night in Hungerford before continuing on to Bath in the morning. Prudence and Lord Carradice rode in the duke’s carriage with the girls, while the Duke drove Lord Carradice’s phaeton, Charity seated beside him. Lily and James sat atop the carriage, enjoying the sights in the mild weather.

It had been an unexpectedly merry journey—more like a picnic excursion than an illicit flight from their legal guardian. There had been no further accidents, and no highwaymen or injuries. Lord Carradice, who seemed unfazed by his wound, had proved to be a most entertaining companion, telling ridiculous tales, which had Prudence and her sisters in fits of laughter, teaching the younger girls to make up scurrilous rhymes about the various acquaintances they’d made along the way—the waiter who sneezed on the tureen of broth and then wondered why it came back untouched, forsoth! Lord Carradice had argued strenuously on behalf of that
forsoth
rhyme, claiming that when he was a boy, everyone pronounced it so!

Howled down, he then demanded the girls soothe his bruised pride with music, and then when he discovered how few songs they actually knew, he set himself to teaching them. So they’d arrived in Bath a happy, laughing, singing throng.

Prudence could have hugged him. Not since their parents had died had her sisters laughed and sung and giggled with such riotous glee. More than anything, it quelled her anxiety about whether she was doing the right thing. Even if it all ended in disaster, at least they’d had this.

The carriage wended its slow way through the steep streets of Bath. The girls stared, entranced at the sights to be seen at this still-fashionable watering place. Charity and the duke were ahead of them by some hours, having left earlier in the faster, lighter phaeton.