He smiled. “It is an old family tradition from my mother’s family. The cake is yours to share as much or as little as you would like.”
To his surprise, she blinked back tears. “I do not believe I have ever had a cake that is just for me.” Then she took in the room full of people. “But I could never eat so much and would not want others to go without.”
Instinctively, he glanced at Grace, Miss Prudence’s statement reminding him of her generosity. She smiled back at him and hereturned his attention to Miss Prudence. He’d underestimated the girl, thinking her far too frivolous and impulsive to think of others. Her statement proved her to be more like her sister than he’d realized.
Mrs. Gibbons came forward with a knife. “You may cut as big of a piece as you like, miss.”
Thatcher set the cake in front of her. With careful precision, she cut out a perfect one-inch triangle piece and slid it onto her plate, the long thin piece taking up nearly the whole of the small plate. Then she held up the slice for everyone to see. The room erupted into applause.
“Let us all eat cake,” she said with a laugh, then set her plate down with a thunk.
Unfortunately, it hit the edge of the knife that still sat on the cake plate, sending the utensil flying end over end behind her and toward the assembled servants. The others gasped as footmen and maids scattered to the left and right, allowing the sharp instrument to land harmlessly on the floor.
Miss Prudence stared in horror, her mouth covered with her hand. Alan leaned forward to look at the knife, then realized he’d not overreacted. His lungs expanded and he let out a satisfied breath.
Then Mr. Lenning chuckled, relieving the tension. “Leave it to Pru to make every moment far more exciting than anyone expected. But next time, try not to kill the very messengers that brought your treat.”
Miss Prudence picked up her fork and pointed it at her brother. “Careful, Bradley. Lord Gladsby said the cake is mine to share with whomever I wish. If you are not on your best behavior, I might eat your slice as well.” Then she jabbed it into the spongy yellow cake, broke off a piece, and popped the bite into her mouth with a smile.
Mr. Lenning laughed, not at all intimidated by his sister’s threat.
“Take it from me, young man,” Mr. Clayton said. “It is safer not to upset the birthday girl. She might smash a piece of cake onto your trousers.”
Emma’s mouth fell open. “I was five and you pretended to take my slice.”
The vicar smiled at her. “As I said, proceed with caution.”
They all chuckled.
Once everyone finished their cake, Alan declared the gentlemen would forgo port for the night so they could stay together with the ladies. Mr. Clayton excused himself, claiming he was too old for late nights and the rest of the party withdrew.
In the drawing room, Mr. Lenning explained their own family tradition of telling stories about the person whose birth they were celebrating and so began a round of stories. Some were sweet remembrances of Miss Prudence as a little girl, but far more were comical. Like the time she tried her hand at fishing, only to catch a duck with her hook. The creature was so frightened it pulled her waist deep into the muddy water before her father jumped in to save her.
Grace leaned over the edge of her seat and whispered, “Poor Pru. Misfortune seems to follow her wherever she goes.”
“I heard that,” Miss Prudence said, eyeing them both and raising a dark brow.
Alan ducked his head to hide his smile and peeked over at Grace.
She bit her lip, her eyes dancing with mirth as she tried to restrain herself. Finally, she said, “Sorry, Pru.”
“No you’re not.”
Grace let out a snort, unable to control her laughter. A snicker escaped Alan.
Miss Prudence battled back a smile as long as she could, then said, “I do get myself into a fair amount of scrapes, don’t I?”
Mrs. Lenning spoke up. “We will never be bored with you around. But there is more to you than your misadventures. You have wit and charm in droves. Why, at fifteen you had more conversational skills than I had at twenty. Enough so that even Mr. Tate complimented your abilities.”
Miss Prudence’s smile faltered, and she took to examining her gloved hands.
He leaned over to Grace and asked, “Who is Mr. Tate?”
Grace glanced at her sister, concern creasing her brow and pulling at her lips.
Mrs. Lenning answered for her. “He is an old suitor of mine. A fine fellow. The only son of Colonel Tate and his second wife.”
With the mention of the gentleman, Miss Prudence seemed to sink further into her seat. He’d never seen her less than exuberant, but Mr. Tate’s name dimmed her spirits considerably. What was the gentleman to her?
