Her fingers caressed his cheek. “If you don’t want to go—”
“No.” He took a deep breath and lifted his head. It had been twenty years since he’d been to any of the estates. Surely that was long enough. Perhaps Prudence’s presence could wash it all away. Perhaps he could finally lay the ghosts to rest for good.
Rhys looked at her and pasted on a reassuring smile. “You’re right, of course. We’ll have a quick tour of the lands and the houses, then we’ll return to London for the wedding. We’ll go on our honeymoon, and all the work can be done while we’re gone. Does that make you happy?”
“Yes.” She smiled back at him, her face shining with such pleasure, Rhys felt as if he were sliding sideways. “You realize my aunt and uncle will have to go as well?”
“On our honeymoon?” he quipped, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his guts.
She laughed. “No, silly, to tour your estates! I can’t go unchaperoned, so they must accompany us.”
He groaned. “Lord, we wouldn’t want anything to be easy, would we? I’m not yet acquainted with your uncle, but your aunt despises me.”
She gave him an apologetic look. “She doesn’t despise you. It’s just that she and my uncle wanted me to marry Robert.”
With Sir Robert’s milquetoast temperament, Rhys was not surprised. If Robert had control of her money legally, Mr. and Mrs. Feathergill would have had control of her money in reality. “You are past the age of consent. Do the stipulations of your inheritance demand your uncle’s permission for you to wed?”
“No, but the trustees have to approve, and my family could influence them against you.”
“Let them try.” He lifted one hand to gently caress her cheek. “I was forged in the fires of hell, my darling. If anyone tries to prevent our marriage, I’ll burn them alive.”
When Rhys departed to search for her uncle, Prudence watched him from the window of the parlor, peeking from behind bobbin lace curtains as he left the lodging house and walked to his carriage. As always, her heart gave a leap of pleasure at the sight of his handsome profile, tall frame, and tawny hair. She was to be his wife, his duchess. He wanted her and no other.
With a dreamy sigh she turned away from the window, smiling. Never in her life had she been this happy. Now she understood why poets wrote sonnets about love and why people said it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
“Well?”
She turned to the parlor doorway, where Maria was standing. The other girl-bachelors, Mrs. Morris, and Mrs. Inkberry were gathered behind her, all of them looking at Prudence with anxious faces.
“The duke proposed,” she told them, and with those words, she began to laugh in amazement, still not quite believing it. “He proposed to me.”
Exclamations of delight greeted this news, and the other women gathered around her at once to offer their congratulations.
“He said I was the one he wanted all the time, but that he felt obligated to marry Lady Alberta,” she went on, her voice muffled as she hugged her friends.
Lucy, always shrewd, was the first to comprehend. “To clear his debts?”
“Yes. Does that make him sound terrible?”
“Not at all,” Miranda said stoutly. “All the peers have to marry girls with dowries, especially nowadays. Look how many are having to marry American girls because our English girls don’t have a dowry to offer.”
“So true,” Mrs. Inkberry agreed. “Why, without a dowry, a girl can’t expect to marry a man of any position at all. That was the way of things even in my courting days.”
“It’s more true now than ever,” Lucy said dryly. “What with the agricultural depression, most peers are broke. And an heiress like Prudence has to marry a peer.”
“Do I?” Prudence said with a chuckle. “Then it’s fortunate I fell in love with a duke, not a bank clerk or a land agent!”
“And being a duke, he could have his pick, couldn’t he?” Daisy said. “He could have had any heiress he wanted. But he’s marrying our Pru. Well,” she added, giving Prudence a hug, “Maria said it was plain how much he wanted you from the very start.”
“So all’s well that ends well.” Mrs. Morris gave Prudence a kiss on the cheek. “We must celebrate. A bit of my damson gin, I think, to toast the engagement.”
Wry glances were exchanged by the others, but they all sat down again as the landlady brought out tiny crystal goblets and a bottle of her plum liqueur from the corner cupboard.
“This is so exciting,” she said as she began to pour damson gin into the glasses. “First Emma marries a viscount, and now Prudence is to marry a duke. Why, I don’t think we’ve ever had this much to celebrate at Little Russell Street in all the years I’ve owned this lodging house. I can’t help wondering what’s next.”
“A duke,” Miranda repeated dreamily, falling back in her chair. “Think of it. Our Pru a duchess.”
“A very rich duchess,” Daisy reminded them, making everyone laugh. Everyone except Maria.
Prudence cast a sideways glance at the woman beside her on the horsehair settee. Her friend hadn’t spoken, and her pensive profile reminded Prudence of their conversation just one week ago.
“There’s something I want to discuss with all of you,” she said, raising her voice a bit to be heard above the laughter. When her friends turned to give her their full attention, she continued, “Once I marry, I will receive my inheritance, and I want each of you to have a share.”
Silence followed this announcement, and she hastened on, “I realize it’s a bit awkward, but I’m going to be so rich, and have so much, and I want to share my good fortune with my friends.”
There was another long pause as the other women in the room exchanged glances.
Lucy pushed back a lock of her auburn hair and cleared her throat. “Pru, we don’t need your money,” she said, echoing Maria’s words from the week before. “You’ll be needing it, surely, to help the duke. All those estates need to be supported. And there are charities to which you’ll want to contribute, people you’ll want to help…”
Her voice trailed off, leaving the room silent once again. Prudence looked around at the proud faces of all her dear friends with a sinking feeling. They weren’t going to accept her help, even though they lived just a hair’s breadth from destitution and she was to receive millions. They thought it charity, even though they were her dearest friends and wouldn’t hesitate to do the same for her. Prudence knew she had to find a way to help them without hurting their pride. “We can talk about it again some other time.”
“After you’re married,” Mrs. Inkberry said, and leaned over from her chair to give Prudence’s knee an affectionate pat. “Then we’ll see. Abigail,” she added, raising her voice and looking at Mrs. Morris, “aren’t we supposed to be having a celebration toast? How slow you’re being.”
Prudence couldn’t help noticing the relief of the others as the subject of the money was dropped, but as far as she was concerned, the matter was far from over.
“I’m just coming, Josephine,” Mrs. Morris said, answering Mrs. Inkberry’s question. She began to hand the glasses of ruby-colored liqueur around, and when each of them had one of the tiny crystal goblets in hand, she took her own seat and raised her glass.
“To our Prudence,” she said, smiling. “Who fell in love with a duke. And to His Grace, who had the good sense to fall in love with her.”
Prudence laughed and lifted her glass along with the others. When she took a sip, she knew love was indeed a wonderful thing, for it could make even Mrs. Morris’s damson gin taste good.
Chapter 11
Will the trustees of the Abernathy estate accept the Duke of St. Cyres? Or will the duke’s wicked past prevent the match? We can only wait and see.
—Talk of the Town, 1894
Rhys went home to meet with Fane, who proceeded to outline in detail all that he had learned of Mr. Feathergill during the past week. Upon hearing just what fascinating tidbits his valet had uncovered, he gave a low whistle. “Well done, Fane. Very well done. When I’m wed to Miss Abernathy, I’m tripling your wages.”
Fane, who had finally been paid his back wages due to Rhys’s meeting with the bankers and his subsequent loan, looked at him with gratitude at the promise of such a large increase in pay. “Thank you, sir.”
“Where is Feathergill this afternoon?”
The valet confirmed that the squire was spending the afternoon at White’s, but etiquette forbade even speaking to the other man without a formal introduction. Rhys dismissed Fane and left the house to call on Lord Weston for the purpose of enlisting his aid. Wes had some lands in Sussex and was already acquainted with Squire Feathergill, he had danced with Prudence at the ball the previous evening, and he was also a member of White’s.
In Rhys’s opinion, White’s was a hoary old chestnut and boring as hell, but he was glad Uncle Evelyn had kept the dues current. Damned awkward for a duke to be told at the door he couldn’t come in without paying up.