To her relief, he did not pry.
“Rum thing, families, but I wish you every success, Miss Bosworth. Although for my part,” he added, looking doubtful, “I don’t think listening to Wagner would put me in a forgiving and amenable state of mind. What is your opinion?”
She made a face, and he threw back his head and laughed. “Wagner not your cup of tea either, I see.”
She liked his laugh. It was deep and rich and made her laugh, too. “I suppose it’s because I can’t understand what they’re saying,” she told him. “I don’t speak German.”
“Do you speak Italian?”
“Alas, no. I do speak French, though. My mother taught me French when I was a little girl.”
“I only ask because I believe you would like Italian opera far better than the German.” He moved a bit closer to her. “This is the closing night of Wagner. Verdi’s Aida, which is sung in Italian, begins two days hence. If you plan to attend, I should be happy to act as your translator.”
Her heart gave a leap of joy. “Thank you. I would—”
“Prudence!”
She almost groaned aloud at the sound of her aunt’s voice. Of all the bad timing.
St. Cyres, however, merely smiled and stepped back to a more proper distance as Aunt Edith and Cousin Millicent bore down upon them.
“What is this?” her aunt demanded. “Is it the fashion for gentlemen in London nowadays to accost women who are unaccompanied, sir? Why, I have never seen—”
“Aunt Edith,” Prudence cut in, “may I present the Duke of St. Cyres? Your Grace, this is my aunt, Mrs. Feathergill, and my first cousin once removed, Lady Ogilvie.”
“Oh…I didn’t…that is…” her aunt stammered, then gave a tinkling, rather awkward little laugh. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with a duke, Prudence, dear. What high circles you’ve been moving in.”
There was a bit of fluttering as she and Millicent dipped deep curtsies. The duke bowed in response, and as he straightened, he gave Prudence a roguish wink. “I first met your niece at a ball, Mrs. Feathergill.”
“Indeed? How lovely. Prudence, where is your uncle? Off smoking that foul pipe of his, I suppose. I cannot believe he left you here alone.”
Prudence wished her other relations would follow that example. “Your Grace,” she said, desperate to return the conversation to their previous topic, “I believe we were discussing Italian opera?”
“Here we are, here we are,” Robert’s voice entered the conversation before the duke could reply. “Refreshments for the ladies.”
Prudence spared an impatient glance at the four brimming glasses of lemonade clasped in his hands and took the one nearest her with a perfunctory smile. “Thank you, Robert.”
“My pleasure, Prudence. Anything for you.” He glanced at the other man and his expression changed, as if he’d just encountered a bad smell. “St. Cyres,” he greeted stiffly with a little bow. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with my cousin.”
“Sir Robert.” He nodded to the glasses still in the other man’s hands. “Watch out, old chap. You’re spilling lemonade on your gloves. Best to hand it ’round before you spill any more.”
“Oh. Right.” Robert turned away, and the duke moved to claim the place at her side, successfully separating her from the others.
“Now,” he murmured, “where were we?”
“Italian opera.”
“Ah, yes. Opera. Fascinating subject.” He leaned down closer to her and the camellia in his buttonhole brushed her bare arm, tickling her skin and sending shivers of excitement through her entire body. Nervous, she took a gulp from the glass in her hand and immediately grimaced.
“Fond of lemonade, are you?” he asked, laughing under his breath.
“I hate it,” she admitted. “Especially when it’s lukewarm like this. I wanted champagne, but my aunt said no. I think she’s afraid I’ll become tipsy and embarrass her.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“You’d like to see my aunt embarrassed?”
“No.” His lashes, thick and golden brown, lowered a fraction, then lifted. “I’d like to see you tipsy.”
The way he said those words was soft and low, strangely illicit. For no reason at all, Prudence blushed.
A gong sounded, signaling that intermission was nearly over. The echo hadn’t even died away before Aunt Edith was stepping around them to her other side. “We had best return to our seats,” she said, and put her arm through Prudence’s as if to lead her away.
Prudence, however, did not move. “We have a bit of time still,” she said, hoping for a few more precious minutes in St. Cyres’s company.
“I don’t think so, dear. Forgive us, Your Grace?”
“Of course.” He gestured to the stairs on the other side of the foyer. “I must find my seat as well, before my friends wonder what’s become of me.”
Prudence felt a stab of disappointment, and she ducked her head to conceal it. “Of course,” she murmured, and lifted her chin, forcing her voice and her expression to a neutrality she was far from feeling. “It was a pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure has been mine, Miss Bosworth.” He bowed. “Lady Ogilvie, Mrs. Feathergill, Sir Robert. Good evening.”
He turned and departed, and after watching him a moment longer, she did the same, reluctantly allowing Aunt Edith to lead her away.
“You see, Prudence? It’s just as I said the other day,” Edith told her as they mounted the stairs. “We only left you alone for a moment, and fortune-hunting scoundrels began swooping down on you.”
“Hardly that!” she countered with spirit. “I know the duke to be a perfect gentleman.”
“Of course you would think so, dear. You are such an innocent. But I am a woman of the world, and I know his type. Out for what he can get.”
“Your aunt is correct,” Robert said behind her. “The man is a rake of the first water. Mama and I met him in Italy a few years ago. Do you remember, Mama?”
“I do,” Millicent replied, panting a little from the effort of getting her stout frame up three flights of stairs. “You wouldn’t believe the stories we heard about him. Drunken parties at his villa, swimming naked in fountains with Russian countesses, all manner of shameless goings-on.”
Prudence supposed that if she were truly good, she would disapprove of such wild behavior, but in truth, she’d swim naked in a fountain, too, if she could get away with it. It sounded delightful.
“And he’s deeply in debt,” Robert went on. “Thousands and thousands of pounds, I hear.”
“A fact which makes him no different from any other peer of the realm,” Prudence countered. “I daresay you have a few debts yourself, Robert.”
Her cousin grimaced and fell silent.
Aunt Edith, however, was not as easily deterred from the subject. “Robert’s situation is hardly the same thing,” she said as they entered their box. “He is family. Ah, Stephen, so this is where you’ve got to,” she added, turning to her husband as he rose from his seat. “What were you about, leaving Prudence alone downstairs?” Before he could answer, she returned her attention to her niece. “Setting aside the financial considerations, there is position to consider. St. Cyres is a duke, and far too high for you. It would be an unsuitable match in every way.”
“What’s this about a duke?” Stephen asked, looking at his wife in bewilderment.
“Ask your niece. She knows him already. Met him at a ball, of all the extraordinary things!”
“I happened to meet the Duke of St. Cyres a few days ago,” Prudence explained as she circled the table to her own chair by the rail and sat down. “He paid his addresses to me downstairs just now.”
Stephen gave a low whistle. “That didn’t take long.”
“Exactly,” Edith said as she took her own seat beside Prudence. “It’s obvious he’s after her money.”
“Of course, his interest in me could not possibly be genuine attraction!” Prudence shot back, stung. “You attribute the lowest possible motives to him, but I choose not to be so quick to judge!”
“Steady on, Prudence,” Uncle Stephen said. “We are your family, and we are only thinking of you. St. Cyres is a thoroughly bad lot, not fit company for a young lady. And as for marrying the fellow, Edith is right. It’s out of the question.”
“I believe it is I who must decide whom to marry!”
“No need to raise your voice, dearest,” Edith said, looking a bit like an abused spaniel. “Our only wish is for your happiness.”
Prudence pressed her fingers to her forehead and reminded herself that June was only twelve weeks away. “Oh, let’s not quarrel. Besides, it’s far too soon to be talking about my marrying anyone.”
Thankfully, everyone let the matter drop, but thoughts of the duke continued to occupy Prudence’s mind. She knew her family was right to take a dim view of any romantic connection between St. Cyres and herself. A duke would hardly choose as his duchess a woman whose parents had never married, a woman who until a few short days ago had been a seamstress in a dressmaker’s showroom. Yet, he had remembered her, he had gone out of his way to speak to her. He didn’t even know about her inheritance. The fact that he had called her Miss Bosworth proved that much. In addition, he had already demonstrated by his actions that he was a thoughtful and gallant man. Her family was prepared to think the worst of him, but she was able to see him in a more balanced light than that.