The Perfect Rake (4 page)

She felt Great-uncle Oswald’s bright blue eyes dwell on her Merridew nose and saw his mouth purse in an even tighter line. He had the same nose, she thought defiantly, and hers was a lot smaller than his, though it probably looked better on a man, she had to admit.

There were very few looking glasses at Dereham Court, because vanity was a terrible sin. And since they almost never had visitors, and were not allowed out, and since Phillip had been gone for some years, Prudence had never given much thought to her looks.

To tell the truth, it was a bit of a shock to read in the eyes of her doting great-uncle that she was the plain one in a flock of beauties. But there were more important things to worry about, Prudence told herself firmly.

“If you truly believe one of my sisters could be happily married by the end of the season—oh, that would be so wonderful, Great-uncle Oswald. It is—” Prudence looked around at her sisters in relief, “It is exactly what we had hoped for!”

So excited was she at the prospect of the success of her bold plan that she quite forgot herself, jumped out of her chair, and hugged him. “Oh, thank you,
thank you,
dear Uncle Oswald! You are so very kind, so very generous.” Her voice choked a little. “I cannot tell you how happy you have made us.” She kissed his cheek.

He’d blushed and beamed and pooh-poohed her nonsense about generosity and kindness, and said they’d made a lonely old man very happy! What were uncles for, after all?

Her sisters, having recovered from their astonishment at Great-uncle Oswald not only allowing Prudence to hug and kiss him without retaliation, but even seeming to welcome such shocking forwardness, also crowded forward to hug the old gentleman and plant shy kisses on his cheek and balding dome.

But when the girls resumed their seats and addressed themselves tentatively to the herbal tea and seed cakes Great-uncle Oswald had ordered for their refreshment, he’d regarded Prudence for a long moment, frowning.

Prudence, foolish female that she was, hadn’t realized that
she
was the fly in the ointment.

It was the mantua maker who put it most succinctly. Measuring her sisters for their new apparel, the elegant Frenchwoman had gushed, “Such beautiful figures
ze mademoiselles
have, so graceful, of an elegance, like young gazelles, veritably!” And then her eyes had fallen on Prudence and her mouth got that familiar pursed look. She frowned for a moment and then said with brutal Gallic frankness, “You,
mademoiselle
, will be a leetle more
difficile
. You are no gazelle; you are more of ze leetle pony. But I do not despair, I do not despair. Me, I can make anyone elegant!”

Prudence was inclined to be indignant. She ate as much as her sisters—in fact, generally a lot less than the twins—so it really wasn’t fair that they should all be slender and sylphlike and she should be…a round, little pony.

Vanity was a sin, Prudence told herself firmly at the end of the day as she climbed into bed feeling crushed and clumsy. It was shallow to think her looks mattered. What mattered was that one of her sisters would soon find a husband and then they would all, especially Grace, be safe from Grandpapa.

But her looks mattered more than she realized.

The fourth morning at breakfast, Great-uncle Oswald made the fatal announcement. He brought Grandpapa’s supposed letter to the breakfast table and read one part aloud:

“I have other plans for Prudence, the eldest, so there is no need for her to make her coming-out. She can chaperone her sisters and take care of most matters, so that the girls’ Female Chatter will not bother you unduly.”

He’d glanced at Prudence across the table and asked, “You know what your grandpapa intends, don’t you? Always was a selfish one, my brother. Just like him to keep you back to care for him in his old age.” He snorted and put the letter aside. “I’ve watched you with your sisters, missy. You take excellent care of ’em, don’t you?”

Prudence had blinked at the unexpected praise. She could not remember when anyone had said anything so kind to her.

Great-uncle Oswald nodded emphatically. “Yes, you’re a good, sweet girl, Prudence Merridew, and—dash it all!—you
shall
have your chance! You may lack your sisters’ dazzlin’ looks, but I’m confident we can fire you off well enough. There are plenty of sensible fellows who look for more than beauty in a wife. We’ll find a husband for you yet, little missy, don’t you fret! You’ll not waste your life away runnin’ around after other people and lookin’ after selfish old men.”

“Oh but she alrea—” began Charity, and then stopped, flustered, at Prudence’s urgent look.

“It is all right, Great-uncle Oswald,” Prudence assured him hastily. “Please don’t worry about me. I am very happy as it is. I very much look forward to being my sisters’ chaperone and going about with them. It will be such fun.”

Great-uncle Oswald smiled at her gently, and with pity. “Dear, noble little creature. You lack your sisters’ looks, but you have a truly beautiful soul.”

Prudence gritted her teeth and forced herself to smile. His next pronouncement wiped the smile off her face.

“I’ll fire you off first, without your sisters. Once the ton claps eyes on that bevy of beauties, you won’t stand a chance.” He nodded and beheaded a boiled egg with gusto. “Then, once you’re safely buckled, we can let loose these diamonds to dazzle the world.” He beamed around the table at her sisters, and before Prudence could think of some way to change his mind, the carriage arrived to take them shopping.

But now, after a week in London, it was very clear that Great-uncle Oswald meant exactly what he had said. He wasn’t going to allow Charity, Hope, or Faith to be presented to the ton until Prudence was married! And nothing Prudence could say or do would budge him from that position.

“I am sorry,” she explained to her sisters in a despairing voice one night in the upstairs parlor, “but though Great-uncle Oswald is so very kind and generous, in his own way he is
just
as stubborn and impervious to reason as Grandpapa is!”

“You
have
to tell him about Phillip,” Hope said. “It is the only thing. Once he realizes you are already betrothed, there is no reason to keep the rest of us in seclusion.”

“I
cannot
tell him about Phillip,” explained Prudence wearily. “I
promised
Phillip that I would not announce anything until he gave me permission, and you know I never break my promises.”

“Could we not explain Phillip to Great-uncle Oswald?” asked Faith.

Prudence bit her lip. “I daren’t risk it. He might defy Grandpapa in small matters, such as dancing and parties, but marriage is a different thing altogether. Besides, he would probably think Phillip unsuitable, too—a younger son of undistinguished family and no fortune!” She sighed. “And since the Otterburys live so close to Dereham Court, he might contact Grandpapa about it…” She shook her head. “We would all be in the suds then. And for harboring us, Grandpapa would probably cut Great-uncle Oswald off without a penny—you know how he complains incessantly of his extravagance.”

“I
love
Great-uncle Oswald’s extravagance!” Hope declared, twirling around in her pretty new dress.

Charity nodded. “Yes, but let us hope he doesn’t send Grandpapa the bills from the mantua maker. He would know then that something was amiss. But, Prue dearest, Great-uncle Oswald seems very romantical. Would he not rejoice that you have found a man to marry you?”

Prudence pulled a wry face. “Perhaps, but he is also ambitious and something of a snob—recall those dukes you diamonds are to dazzle! In any case, even aside from my promise, have you forgotten that Phillip works for Grandpapa’s Oriental Trade Company, and that Great-uncle Oswald is also connected with it? Do you really think he’d be delighted by the news that an employee of his, a penniless younger son currently residing in India, contracted a secret betrothal more than four years ago to his eldest great-niece? I think not!”

The sisters sighed gloomily.

“Exactly! Phillip would lose his position and be unable to afford a wife, I would be in disgrace, and we should all be sent back to live with Grandpapa again.”

“Yes, but Great-uncle Oswald is not mean-spirited and nasty, like Grandpapa. Surely he would—” began Hope.

“No, Hope.” Prudence shook her head. “I’m sorry, but the risks are too great. Great-uncle Oswald is a dear, sweet man, but we cannot expect him to put our welfare before his own. You know what it took to convince even Dr. Gibson, and he’s seen the bruises! But I promise you, I shall think of something. And soon.”

Hope sniffed. “You always make these promises.”

“And I keep them,” responded Prudence quietly.

“Should you object if I try to talk the old gentleman around? Because I will
die
rather than be returned to the Court,” declared Hope passionately.

“Of course not, Hope darling. As long as you respect my secret, I am more than happy for you to try.” Prudence rolled her eyes comically. “The more I argue in favor of letting you make your coming-out, the more noble he tells me I am.”

“No! I’ve said it once, and I don’t intend to waste my breath on repetitions!” Great-uncle Oswald glared at the exquisite matching female faces turned imploringly to him.

“But we are only allowed to stay in London for this one season,” argued Hope. “Grandpapa will surely not allow us to stay any longer. He has given us only a handful of weeks in which to find husbands. And Prudence is already almost on the shelf—”

“She is almost one and twenty, you know,” interpolated her twin.

“—and so is not likely to attract a husband at this late stage—even with her
very
beautiful soul,” Hope added hastily, aware of the narrow look Prudence was casting her. “If we are forced to wait much longer, we are all likely to remain on the shelf.”

“Fustian!” Great-uncle Oswald snapped from behind his paper. “Beauties like you two will be snapped up the moment you make your bow to society. Don’t be selfish. Give your sister her moment of glory.”

“But if we all came out—”

“No! Not until your sister has found herself a husband. Our Prudence is a dear, good girl, and one day a man will come along and take one look at her and snap her up—but not if the rest of you are there dazzlin’ the poor fellow instead!”

“I, for one, do not care if Prudence never gets a husband,” announced Grace loyally. “I doubt I shall ever marry. I shall be like Great-aunt Hermione—a sad and lonely spinster, jilted by my one true love. I shall keep cats and live off my memories.”

Great-uncle Oswald snorted. “You’ll marry, my girl, and I’ll hear no more of such nonsense from you. Keepin’ cats indeed! Hermione was always peculiar!”

There was a short silence while each of the girls contemplated a bleak future.

“Does Prudence actually have to
marry
before Charity can make her coming-out?” asked Hope suddenly.

Great-uncle Oswald plonked down his newspaper in an irritated gesture. “I told you, missy—”

“I mean what if she were
betrothed?
” Hope explained hurriedly. “And, and what if her betrothed wished to wait for some time until they were wed. If Prudence were betrothed, then could the rest of us, Charity and Faith and me, make our debuts?”

Great-uncle Oswald shrugged. “If Prudence were betrothed, I see no reason why not, but Prudence ain’t betrothed, missy, so cease plaguing me until she is.”

Hope shot a look of triumph at Prudence. “See! We
could
make our come out. Tell him, Prue,” Hope said fiercely.

If looks could kill, Hope would have been fried where she sat, but Prudence said not a word. How could she when her betrothed’s reputation, livelihood, and future prospects depended on her silence? And besides, she had promised to keep it secret from all except her sisters.

Great-uncle Oswald frowned in sudden suspicion. “Somethin’ you ought to be tellin’ me, girlie?”

“No, Uncle, nothing at all.” Prudence threaded a length of scarlet silk with shaking hands.

“If you do not tell him, I shall,” Hope said vehemently. “It is not fair that we should all be at risk simply because Phil—”

“Be quiet, Hope!” Prudence jumped to her feet. “You have no right—”

“Silence!” Great-uncle Oswald roared. He glared at his great-nieces, his face suffused with anger. “So, deceit and deception under my own roof, is there? You two—out!” He stabbed a finger at Faith and Grace. “Now!” he bellowed. They fled.

Prudence tried to think. Any moment now Hope or Charity would be made to confess that Prudence had entered into a clandestine betrothal, and then he would demand to know the name of her betrothed. And Prudence, knowing the damage it could bring him, had sworn never to reveal it without Phillip’s permission. She had to do something. But what?

“Well, gels?” Great-uncle Oswald stared at each of them in turn. They said nothing. He addressed Hope. “Come, Miss Hope, out with it! Has your sister secretly promised herself?”

Hope nodded and burst into noisy tears. Charity joined her.

“God deliver me! Must females always cry?” grumbled Great-uncle Oswald. “Stop that dratted caterwaulin’, will you?” He waited until the worst of the sobbing had died down, then turned to Prudence. “Now, missy, you have some explaining to do. Who is this blackguard who has cozened you into deceiving your legal guardian?”

Prudence thought frantically. She could not tell him the truth. She had promised Phillip she would protect his position. “Er, he is a perfectly respectable gentleman, I promise you, sir.”

Great-uncle Oswald sniffed. “Perfectly respectable gentlemen don’t enter into havey-cavey betrothals behind people’s backs.”

“Oh, but he is a very private gentleman, er, and does not enjoy the fuss and botheration of a public celebration.”

Great-uncle Oswald snorted. “There’s a big difference between a private arrangement and a clandestine one. Now stop beatin’ around the bush, gel; name the blackguard at once!”

Prudence’s mind raced. “It is…it is…” She could not betray Phillip. She could not!