The Wicked Ways of a Duke(45)
A chaffinch began to sing in one of the elms over his head. Rhys straightened, listening to that promise of home, and the sound was like another crack in his protective shell.
He stood up and began to walk. He climbed the hill, wanting only to get away from that sound, but as he reached the top of the tor and looked down at St. Cyres Castle, the place he and Prudence had decided would be their home, he felt another crack, another fissure of fear and despair that threatened to break him apart.
What would he do now? The past few days here with her had been the happiest of his life. But now she was gone, and he felt more lost and empty than ever before. He couldn’t go back to the life he’d had before he met her, and he didn’t know how to go forward into any future without her.
The sun lifted above the horizon and hit the stones of St. Cyres Castle, gilding them with light and warmth and the promise of home. He’d been yearning to find home ever since he’d lost it, but it had always been here, waiting for him and he would not lose it again. This was home, for him and for Prudence, the place they would live and raise their children, the place they would grow old together. He knew, as surely as he knew anything, that this was the life he wanted, and he was going to fight for it with everything he had. Prudence was the woman he wanted, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to get her back. But this time he could use no wiles, no tricks, and no lies. To regain Prudence’s love, her trust, and her respect, he knew he would have to earn them.
Staying awake on a night train gave a woman with a broken heart plenty of opportunity to think, and by the time her train pulled into Victoria Station, Prudence had made her own plans for her own life.
The platform was crowded when they arrived, but there were plenty of porters waiting to assist them. Rich people with private trains evidently received more attention than ordinary folk traveling the rails.
“Yes, yes, all of them go to the Savoy,” Edith assured the big, burly Cockney who’d won the honor of taking charge of their things. “All of these,” she went on, pointing to the various trunks and cases stacked on the platform. “And these, too.”
“No, Aunt.” Prudence stepped forward and pulled one black valise from the pile of luggage. “Not this one. This comes with me.”
“What do you mean?” Edith glanced at Stephen, then returned her gaze to Prudence. “You’re coming to the Savoy with us.”
“No, I’m not.” She pointed to four of the trunks. “Porter, I want these delivered to 32 Little Russell Street. Prudence Bosworth. Can you do that?” When he nodded, she pulled her money purse from her handbag and, ignoring her aunt and uncle’s protests, counted out the porter’s fee, including a generous tip. “That should take care of transporting my luggage to Holborn, I think,” she said as she put the coins in the man’s hand. “And when my trunks arrive, there will be a fiver waiting for you.”
“Very good, miss,” he agreed with a happy smile and began separating her trunks from the others.
“What do you mean you’re returning to Little Russell Street?” Edith demanded. “Prudence, what are you doing?”
“I’m going home.”
“Home? But your home is with us now. Until you marry, at least.”
“I’m not getting married, remember?”
“But you’ve eight months left before the terms of the will are voided. Surely before then you will find some suitable young man. Robert—”
“I’m not marrying Robert, Aunt Edith,” she interrupted. “I will never marry Robert. Perhaps when April fifteenth comes you will accept that fact. And once the expiration date passes,” she added with a cynicism that was new to her, “I’m sure Robert’s affection for me will disappear, too, as quickly as it came.”
“No one’s demanding that you marry Robert, Prudence,” her uncle said in a conciliatory voice, and she didn’t miss the warning glance he gave his wife. “After all, the duke is the one you really love. It’s clear you’re still hurt by his…er…unorthodox methods of courtship, but he’ll redeem himself, I daresay, if you give him the opportunity. He’s—”
“I’m not marrying the duke either, Uncle, and you will have to accept that.”
“But Prudence, you have to marry somebody!” Edith cried. “And you won’t ever meet anyone of the right sort if you go back to living in that lodging house.”
“Then I won’t marry anyone, and the money will be forfeit. I don’t much care.”
“Let all that money go?” Stephen cried. “You can’t! You’re obviously upset, but once you’ve thought things over—”
“I have been thinking things over,” she interrupted, and faced her aunt and uncle. She took a deep breath. “I have been thinking things over all night, and I’ve made some decisions. First, I am meeting with Mr. Whitfield this afternoon, and I shall make it clear to him that from this point forward, my allowance comes directly to me.”
She allowed them no opportunity for argument. “The allowance of fifty pounds per month is mine to do with as I like from now until April fifteenth,” she said incisively. “And I see no reason to spend it on lavish hotels. The two of you may stay at the Savoy until the weekend. If you decide to stay beyond Friday, you will pay for it yourselves. I am returning to Little Russell Street, as I said, and I should advise the two of you to return to Sussex. London is so expensive nowadays.”
Prudence turned to Woddell, whose pretty, freckled face showed that she, too, had cried through the night. “I won’t be needing a lady’s maid anymore, Miss Woddell,” she said as she once again opened her money purse. “But if you wish to accompany me,” she went on as she counted out the amount of wages she owed the girl, “I’m certain my landlady at Little Russell Street could find a place for you until you get your bearings and decide what to do.”
“Thank you, miss,” the maid said as she took her wages and put them in her pocket, “but I’ve a sister in Clapham. I’ll stay with her for a bit, until I find a new situation. If you could just see your way to writing me a recommendation, I’d be appreciating that very much.”
“Of course. Come to my lodgings in Little Russell Street tomorrow. If I’m not in, I shall leave the letter with my landlady. Will that do?”
“Yes, miss. Thank you.”
Prudence held out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Woddell.”
The girl looked at her gloved hand a bit doubtfully, as if uncomfortable with the sudden transition from servant to acquaintance. She curtsied. “Good luck to you, miss.”
Prudence let her hand fall. “And you as well. Good-bye.”
Nancy Woddell walked away in search of the platform for trains to Clapham, and Prudence turned the other way, but she’d only taken one step toward the exit at the opposite end of the platform when Uncle Stephen put a hand on her arm.
“Prudence, be reasonable,” he pleaded.
“I have been reasonable for far too long,” she said, and pulled free of his grasp, “and I’m tired of it. From now on I’m going to do what I want, and I don’t care a jot if it’s reasonable.”
“What on earth has gotten into you?” Edith asked in bewilderment. “After all we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us? Tossing us aside and throwing away all that money without even trying to find a husband?” She began to cry. “Oh, Prudence, I don’t understand you anymore.”
“That’s your problem, Aunt Edith,” Prudence said as she walked away. “You never have understood me. I doubt you ever will.”
Number 32 Little Russell Street looked just the same as always, but though it had only been a month since she’d last been here, it felt like a lifetime. Prudence paused on the sidewalk, eyeing the familiar red brick building, dark green shutters, and potted geraniums with affection. It was good to be home, she decided as she opened the door and went inside.
“Hullo,” she called, pausing in the foyer and setting down her black valise. “Is anyone about?”
Feminine voices answered back in the affirmative, and moments later Mrs. Morris came through the doorway, followed by someone Prudence had not expected to see.
“Emma!” she cried, crossing the foyer toward the slender redhead. She opened her arms and gave her friend a warm hug. “How wonderful to see you. When did you return from Italy?”
“We docked at Dover three days ago. It’s wonderful to see you, too. I was so pleased when I heard of your good fortune. Congratulations, Pru. You deserve it.”
“But the London papers said you were in Derbyshire,” Mrs. Morris put in, “gadding about the countryside, visiting the duke’s estates, being the grand lady. Not supposed to be back until just before the wedding, we read. Of course, you can’t believe all you read in the papers, I know, but—why, my dear, what’s wrong?”
Prudence shook her head, shoving down a momentary pang of heartache. “Nothing. It’s just—” She took a deep breath. “I’ve broken my engagement.”