She’d accompanied Brent and Emmeline, which was helpful to the two of them, since she could serve as ade factochaperone. The three of them also visited an afternoon tea at the Wallingfords, an older couple who had started a new school several years before. They were also charming and Prudence was especially struck by their forward-thinking views. They had no problem in including girls in some of their classes.
“The mind of a girl should be no different to the mind of a boy,” said Mr. Wallingford in response to Pru’s question. “My wife and I find it quite absurd to exclude them from the process of learning.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Prudence took a bite of fresh gingerbread.
“Young ladies are poorly educated at best, Lady Eldridge. It is sad that these will be the mothers of the next generation, and so few of them are proficient at reading or simple mathematical calculations.”
“I confess to a deficiency in the area of mathematics myself, but I compensated for it by devouring whatever books I could get my hands on.”
Wallingford grinned. “So just think how much you could have learned if you had had the chance to attend a real school.”
“Indeed. It boggles the mind.”
This visit was followed by an impromptu skating party—Pru held Emmeline’s boots and warmed her hands by the small bonfire next to the pond while the newly-engaged pair took to the ice. She didn’t fancy taking a risk and skidding over the cold stuff, only to land in an ungainly heap of skirts, cloak and possibly very cold water.
After that, there was a winter hayride provided by several local farmers, and so the three of them bundled themselves into extra woolen scarves, taking a seat on the hay bales and joining in the loud—and mostly off-key—rendition of some favorite Christmas songs.
She ate too much, did things she’d vaguely heard about but never experienced, like tasting wassail which was hot and fragrant with spices, and managed to immerse herself in the Christmas season, as celebrated by a small village.
And all the time, regardless of where she was or what she was doing, a part of her thoughts remained with Reid.
It was agony to think of leaving him. Of never knowing the kind of life she was glimpsing…one where people became not just neighbors but family, and developed a history that was passed from one generation to the next.
But even worse agony was the thought that because of her, these people might suffer. If the Chillendale ale business was damaged by rumors and innuendos. So many villagers she met were either brewery workers or farmers who grew the barley that went into the ale. It was a delicate web of interdependency that she would not willingly damage in any way.
It seemed that every direction her thoughts turned led to unhappiness for her. And that was nothing if not depressing.
The nights were the worst. During the day, Brent and Emmeline distracted her enough to ease the worries. But alone, tucked into her bed at the Inn, those worries grew and grew until they threatened to suffocate her.
She slept poorly, ate little and castigated herself for acting like a moonstruck young girl. But still the nights crawled by, riddled with snatched moments of sleep and dreams that were no better than her waking thoughts.
It was a period of unpleasant introspection the likes of which Prudence could not recall. Never had she loved someone the way she loved Reid. And it was the power of that love that made her choices so frustratingly difficult.
Either way would tear them both apart. Either now, if she left, or later should the world prove unforgiving.
She felt damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. And it was utterly horrid being unable to arrive at any kind of compromise.
On the day before the ball, Brent took her by the arm after breakfast. “Let’s talk, my dear. Emmeline will be arriving in an hour or so. But I need words with you.” His face and his tone were both somber.
She sighed. “Very well.” How much worse could it be?
They found the snug empty and made themselves comfortable. “Now,” said Brent. “Supposing you tell me what is the matter with you?”
She looked at him. “Brent, I love you dearly. But this is personal.”
“Nonsense. We’ve known each other since childhood. There isn’t anything we cannot share, Pru. And you are looking like…well death warmed over isn’t an exaggeration. So tell me what’s the matter?”
She paused for a moment, then decided she had nothing to lose. “Reid and I…well, it is there, Brent. I cannot deny my feelings for him, nor he for me.”
“That’s wonderful.” He beamed at her. “I’m so happy. I’d hoped for something like this because I always felt you two would suit so well.”
“Wait.” She held up her hand. “There is a major problem, though.”
“Uh oh.”
So Prudence told him of her circumstances surrounding her birth. “Did you not know?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Never had any idea at all. M’mother never mentioned a word, so she might not have known. And as for my father…well, you know how ill he was for so long. If I recall correctly, his memory began to fade after his accident. And that was…oh…the year after we met? Something like that.”
Pru nodded, knowing that the previous Viscount Rowdean had suffered a serious head injury while out riding and had never fully recovered. Brent had assumed the reins of the Rowdean estate at a young age.
“Well, be that as it may, I am—for all intents and purposes—illegitimate, Brent. And that is a big stumbling block when it comes to marrying a Chillendale.”
Brent’s chest rose and fell on a sigh. He needed no explanation—he understood. “Bollocks.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
