And now she hadtwofathers, one real and dead, the other a pretense and alive. Quite a change from having no father at all. She also had their names. Both names. Jack Rowdean and Isabel Southwick. Her parents.
And that took her thoughts back to Reid. Would he want her now that he knew the truth of her parentage? He was certainly fond of Brent—but would that extend to having a Rowdean in the family? Even an illegitimate one?
Of course, Southwick’s pronouncement had cleared away any public taint of that from her heritage. But she knew the truth and so did Reid, and Brent, and probably Reid’s parents. Would it suffice?
Before she could answer her own question, the door opened and Reid came back into the room, bearing a small tray with—she was pleased to see—two glasses of brandy on it along with a small dish and a spoon.
“Oh, how wonderful. I really do need this.” She took a glass and lifted it, indulging in a healthy swallow of the warm liquor. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. And you’re not the only one.” Reid took a gulp and swallowed it. “I don’t think I can stand too many more shocks today.”
She grinned at him, the brandy easing some of her tension. “So now instead of having no father, I have two, along with a pair of step-siblings. And yet I’m still illegitimate. I think that might be some kind of record.”
“Hah,” snorted Reid. “How about we discuss that after you have some Christmas pudding. Prepared especially for you by my mother, apparently. She does like to get her hand in when it comes to the puddings. Very particular when it comes to the ingredients, I understand.”
Prudence looked at the little dish he was holding out toward her. “It doesn’t look like the puddings I’m used to.” She took the spoon.
“It’s the Chillendale version. The best you’ll ever eat.”
“Well then, here goes…” and she dug the spoon in, blinking as it clunked on something hard. “Er…did your mother remember to shell the nuts?”
“Oh, you must have the lucky sixpenny piece…” Reid leaned forward. “Can you dig it out?”
She did…and gasped. “Reid.”
A ring lay on the spoon, gold sparking beneath raisins and sultanas, and an emerald winking in the firelight.
“Reid…” she said again.
“That’s my name, yes.” He took the ring and wiped it off with the napkin from the tray. “And this is the Chillendale ring, given to each Chillendale bride. It’s originally my grandmother’s, then my mother’s, but she never wears it, so I asked if I could give it to you and she said yes.” He grinned. “I had no idea she’d put it in the pudding, but you have to give her credit for her ingenuity. And it’s better than sixpence.” He peered at her. “Isn’t it?”
She lifted her head and looked at him. “Reid,” she repeated once more, and felt the tears trickle over her cheeks. “I love you so much. I didn’t want to have to give you up.” She launched herself into his arms, reaching for every bit of him she could hug. “It would have killed me.”
“Me too, darling. Me too.” He returned her embrace, pulling them both back onto the couch. “So will you marry me, Lady Prudence? Will you give up the title and become plain Mrs. Chillendale?” He held out the ring, whisking away the last bit of raisin. Clean and brilliant, it dazzled her.
“Yes please.” She held out her hand. “I want to be Mrs. Chillendale more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
“In that case,” he slid the ring onto her finger where it fit perfectly, “I am very happy to grant your wish.” He kissed her, gently but thoroughly. “And I’m looking forward to a lifetime of you granting mine.”
“We have to go back to the ball,” she sighed. “It will be expected of us and I’m going to be horribly missish and tell you that I want everyone to admire my ring.” She held out her hand and watched the emerald sparkle in the firelight. “But can we return here afterward?”
His eyes roamed her face. “Of course.”
“I cannot stay the night.”
“I know.”
“But I’m sure Brent will give us an hour or two.” She grinned.
“Especially if I let him and Emmeline have some privacy in the parlor.”
“You are so brilliant,” beamed Prudence. “I will have not only the most handsome man in the county as my husband, but also the most clever.”
“Please,” Reid feigned modesty. “No more. You’ll turn my head.”
“Yes,” she said, stretching out both her hands and clasping his cheeks. “I will.”
She drew close, turned his head a little, and kissed him, a lingering of lips and tongues that brought heat and desire in its wake. “Oh Reid.”
