As her and Gramma’s walk took them toward Rotten Row, a group of riders appeared, trotting their horses. Three men accompanied two stylishly dressed ladies. Lord Hereford! He glanced over at them, spoke to his companions, and turned his horse, riding across thegrass to greet them. At the sight of him, Prue’s heart beat faster.
“Lord Hereford.” She tried not to sound so pleased and hopeful of news. “I see you are enjoying the fine day.”
“It is pleasant, indeed, after the rain, Lady Prudence.” He removed his hat and bowed in the saddle. “Lady Aldridge, it is good to see you again. Are you in the city for the day?”
“How do you do, Lord Hereford?” Gramma gazed up at him. “At present, we reside in Mayfair at number ten, Chelmsford Place. But for only a few days. Should you wish to call on us, we are available to callers in the afternoons.”
Gramma was outrageous. While appreciative of the invitation, Prue felt her cheeks burn.
“I should be delighted to call on you.” His gaze rested on her. “And will certainly do so when I return from a sojourn into the country.”
Was it to consult the magistrate? Might he discover something there? Hope warmed her as she waited for the right opportunity to ask him.
While he and Gramma indulged in polite conversation, Prue’s gaze was caught by his immaculate riding clothes, the rifle green riding coat, buff waistcoat and breeches molded to his muscular thighs. The glossy top boots made his legs seem even longer. Her gaze flicked quickly upward to his face. His dark hair had been disordered when he’d removed his hat. It made him appear less stern and most appealing. His gaze settled on her, affording her the same scrutiny she’d given him. “I hope the distress of losing your father is easing a little, Lady Prudence.”
She flushed, wondering if he had been aware she’d been studying him. “Thank you. I will feel better when I find out who shot my father and the reason why. Have you heard anything more, Lord Hereford?”
“Not yet. But if I do, I will let you know.”
“You promise?”
He smiled. “You can be sure of it, Lady Prudence.”
He ran a long-fingered hand encased in a leather glove through his dark locks, replaced his hat, and wished them good day, riding away to join his companions, who waited, chatting, in the Row. Prue risked another casual glance at his two lady companions. One lady had dark hair; the other was fair. They were both exceptionally pretty and appeared very much at ease with their gentlemen companions. It made Prue feel like a country bumpkin.
She took herself to task. Why should it matter to her? Surely, she wasn’t jealous. She chewed her lip, aware it would be foolish to care about him when she meant nothing to him, beyond his offer to find the information she sought. If he had been interested in pursuing her for even a light-hearted flirtation when he’d kissed her, he must have decided against it, having discovered who she was. Could Gramma be right? Was he a rake? Was she not worthy of a rake’s attention?
How would it be if she were married to him and socializing with these people? She wasn’t sure she’d be at ease with them. Prue’s first Season had been a disappointment. She had danced with gentlemen she had not admired. Dandies, or insufferably conceited fellows who thought themselves God’s gift to women. Yet from her Bible readings, she was certain God meant men and women to be equal, and her father had conferred with her and treated her as a person of value. She could bear nothing less. Her chest tightened as she faced the bald fact that her father’s love and protection was no longer. Lost, and incredibly lonely, despite Gramma’s soothing presence, she shivered.
“Are you cold, my dear?”
“No, Gramma.”
“That wind is quite fresh. We’ll go home for a hot cup of tea.”
They turned to retrace their steps through the park to the gates.
Gramma gazed at her sympathetically, as if she guessed Prue’s thoughts. “Or shall we indulge in coffee and cake at Gunter’s Tea Shop in Berkeley Square?”
“Oh, yes, let’s.” Prue smiled, trying not to appear too sad. Grammawas dealing with her own deep sense of loss. Prue turned back for one last glimpse of Lord Hereford. He was riding away down the Row with his companions.
Gramma turned too. “Has a good seat on a horse, does he not?”
Prue couldn’t help laughing. “Gramma, you are outrageous!”
“I’ve heard the gossip. A rake, of course. Perfect for a dalliance, but not to marry. And he won’t do you a bit of good, my girl. You’re far too young for dalliances. You need a good, malleable husband.”
Prue sighed. Hadn’t she come to that realization herself? “Oh, Gramma. Can’t I marry for love?”
“Yes, my dear. I pray you will. But not a rogue, Prudence. He would break your heart.”
*
Jack’s good friend,Damian Beaufort, Earl of Ballantine, had observed the two women walking away down the path. His quizzical brown eyes looked at Jack. “Lady Aldridge. She’s quite a character.”
“And who was the stunning young woman with her?” Damian’s wife, Diana, Countess of Ballantine, asked. “I didn’t see her during the Season. Do you know her, Lucy?”
“I’ve never met her. I’m sure I’d remember. She is quite striking.” Lucy Fairburn, Countess of Dorchester, tugged the reins as her mount grew restive at the delay.
