“But what if you meet your one love after you are married?”
“If that happens, Prudence, I will worry about the situation then. For now, all is arranged and I will put my hand in his with every hope for a happy future.”
Her sister considered her. “You are not wedding him just because he is rich and handsome, are you?”
Patience shook her head. “On the contrary, I think we will suit each other well.”
“Then I hope you are right,” Prudence said and gave her a hug. “And I hope you watch for a handsome and wealthy rogue for me.” She dropped her voice again. “I must say that everyone believed you would be the one to care for Papa in his dotage, perhaps even Papa himself. Now the task falls to me, which no one could have anticipated or is likely to welcome.”
“You could make a good match…”
“Love, Patience. Only love will do.” Prudence sighed. “Without love, I would be more content to mend Papa’s slippers and remain unwed forever.”
Her sister, Patience could only conclude, placed an unreasonably high value upon such tender feelings.
But then, she had never been fond of mending slippers.
* * *
Arthur Beckham found himself uneasy.
This, too, was a novelty and he told himself to savor it.
He failed.
He sat before the one potential obstacle to his plans, and in truth, Arthur could not have blamed the man before him for refusing his own request. Would he have willingly promised a beloved and sensible daughter to a notorious rake, no matter that man’s supposed wealth?
Would the truth—that the rake was an imposter—weigh the scales in that man’s favor? Arthur doubted that Mr. Edward Carruthers would think highly of such a deception. To spend most of one’s life pretending to be another man was not a choice readily excused.
Who would wed a beloved daughter to a man on the brink of losing his position and wealth? Arthur could not imagine any father would do as much, but in a way, that only increased his newfound impatience with his life and its illusions.
A part of him could not help but wonder what would result from the revelation of the truth.
Another part of him, the larger portion, was indebted to Miss Carruthers’ objective and how it granted him a plan. He had spent the night gambling and winning, building a fund for the venture while he could, yet granting every appearance of continuing to be a wastrel and ne’er do well.
The odds were long, but he thought they might make the venture work.
He sat in Mr. Edward Carruthers’ office at Carruthers & Carruthers. The office had windows, which meant the printing shop was visible as was the bookshop itself. It also meant that Arthur was visible to everyone within the establishment but that didn’t trouble him.
The gentleman had requested Arthur’s indulgence while he completed a notation, one that seemed to take an uncommon measure of time. Arthur took the chance to study the father of his intended. Edward Carruthers was perhaps fifty-five years of age, though he possessed a liveliness reminiscent of a younger man. He was purposeful and apparently ambitious, having built the publishing business to pre-eminence in some twenty years alongside his brother. They were not without competitors, to be sure. Mr. Carruthers’ hair was dark, though it had turned to silver at his temples, and his gaze was incisive when he glanced at Arthur.
Arthur saw where Miss Carruthers inherited the hue of her eyes, though in his view, the lady’s were considerably more attractive.
He suspected the pair were each as perceptive as the other and hoped the father did not see more than would be ideal in this interview.
Mr. Carruthers put aside his quill, adjusted his spectacles and granted Arthur a polite smile. “I do apologize, Mr. Beckham. That one last detail had to be put in order lest I forget it. Now, how may I be of assistance to you on this day?”
“I have come, sir, to offer for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
The older man frowned. “Prudence?”
“Miss Patience Carruthers, sir.”
His companion looked to be astonished, though he strove to disguise his reaction. “And you are, as I understand it, Mr. Arthur Beckham?”
“I am, sir.”
“Does my daughter know of your inclination?”
