She bent over the paper and began to make out her list, putting Angelo’s Fencing Academy at the top. It would be the easiest of her goals to pursue, as Mr. Angelo was perfectly willing to instruct ladies in the art of fencing. Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Academy was next door to Angelo’s, and while she didn’t have much interest in learning to box, she’d quite like to have a peek inside, just to see what all the fuss was.
Underneath Jackson’s, she wrote Joseph Manton’s Shooting Gallery. Now that one was going to prove more difficult, as ladies were not welcome at Manton’s. They were forbidden outright at Tattersalls, but she wrote it underneath Manton’s all the same. It merely required a bit of creativity to find her way around the rules. Perhaps Colonel Kingston would be willing to help her in her endeavors.
It was excessively trying that she would be reduced to subterfuge at all. Aside from Angelo’s, nearly every venue was forbidden to her, no matter if she was more than proficient enough to hold her own among the gentlemen. It seemed fashionable ladies of thetonwere meant to occupy themselves primarily with gossip and shopping—
Ah, but that reminded her! At the bottom of her list, she scratched out the name Madame Laurent, and beside it, Bond Street. Madame Laurent was Franny’s modiste. Franny couldn’t sing Madame’s praises highly enough, and she assured Prue that Madame Laurent would be thrilled to have another duchess on her client list, regardless of whether or not that duchess might have asingulartaste in fashion.
There! She laid her pen aside and reread her list.
Yes, it would do for a start. As she grew more accustomed to London, she was certain to find other things she’d like to try.
Oh, if only she’d allowed her father to accompany her to London, as he’d wished! How he would have loved to join her on her adventures! But she needed to find her own way first, so she’d begged him to return to Wiltshire for now, with promises to call him to London soon.
Until then, perhaps she could persuade Franny to—
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
Prue jerked around in her chair, surprised to find that Mrs. Stritch, her new lady’s maid, had entered the bedchamber while she’d been busy with her list. “I don’t believe I rang the bell.”
“No, Your Grace.” Mrs. Stritch gave her a thin smile. “But I came to see if you required anything from me. It looks as if it will be a fine day, and I was certain you wouldn’t want to waste it lying about in your bedchamber.”
Well, how . . . helpful, if a bit curious, given last night was her wedding night. If ever a lady deserved a bit of a lie-about, it was then. Still, she’d never had a lady’s maid before. Perhaps this was how they went on.
She let it go and gave Mrs. Stritch a sunny smile. “There is one thing you can do for me, Mrs. Stritch. Have you seen His Grace this morning? I need a brief word with him before he leaves.”
Mrs. Stritch was gathering up the discarded coverlet Prue had left on the floor. “His Grace left the house an hour ago, Your Grace.”
“What, he’s gonealready?” He’d left without saying a single word to her, after he’d promised he’d bid her good-bye? It must be a terribly important engagement, for him to leave in such a hurry.
Or perhaps he didn’t have an engagement at all, and simply wanted to be out of the house and away from her. Perhaps he’d gone off to White’s, where all the aristocratic gentlemen who wished to escape their wives went. “Did he leave a message for me?”
“Not that I’m aware, Your Grace. Mr. Loftus, his valet . . .” Mrs. Stritch paused for an instant with the coverlet bundled in her arms, her gaze lingering on the bed, but then she returned her attention to Prue. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. As I was saying, Mr. Loftus, His Grace’s valet, said only that His Grace had an appointment this afternoon, and would be away from the house for most of the day.”
“I see.” But she didn’t see, not at all. Or perhaps shedid, all too clearly.
“I’ve ordered a bath for you, Your Grace. Shall I see to your clothing for the day while we wait for the servants to bring it up?”
“Certainly, though I’m afraid there aren’t many clothes to choose from yet. I haven’t had time to see the modiste, but there’s a gray day gown in the wardrobe that should do for today.” It was one Franny had given her, to hold her over until she could have some clothing made up. It was a bit simple for a duchess, but it was a lovely, soft heather gray, and Prue adored it.
Mrs. Stritch ventured into the wardrobe, but a moment later there was a muffled gasp, and she emerged looking positively scandalized, the gray gown in her hand. “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace, but surely you can’t meanthis?”
Prue raised an eyebrow. Mrs. Stritch was holding the neck of the gown between her thumb and forefinger, looking for all the world as if she were holding a feral raccoon in her hand instead of a perfectly acceptable day gown. “Yes, that’s it.”
“Oh, but Your Grace, this won’t do at all! Why, I don’t like to think what the other fashionable ladies in Bond Street will think if they see the Duchess of Montford appear amongst them wearingthis!” Stritch shook the gown, outraged.
Prue didn’t care one whit what the fashionable ladies thought of her, but she pasted a careful smile over her gritted teeth. “That’s quite alright, Mrs. Stritch, as I have no plans to shop today.”
Stritch cast another venomous look at the gray gown, her lips tightening, then said, “Perhaps if Your Grace would be so good as to tell me your plans for today, we might find an appropriate gown for you to wear.”
“Very well. I do intend to go to Bond Street, but not to shop. I thought I’d call in at Angelo’s Fencing Academy, to see if I might arrange to take fencing lessons with the master. I’ve always wanted to learn to fence, you see. I might just peek in at Gentleman Jackson’s, as well.”
“Gentleman Jackson’s,” Stritch repeated faintly, clutching her throat as if she were about to swoon. “Angelo’s Fencing Academy?”
“Yes. Is there something amiss, Mrs. Stritch?” Prue eyed the woman steadily, waiting. Odd, but she had the strangest inkling Mrs. Stritch might not do as her lady’s maid, after all.
Mrs. Stritch drew herself up and placed a bony hand on her even bonier breast. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but as you’re new to London, I fear it would be remiss of me not to justhintthat there are certain behaviors considered highly inappropriate for young ladies, and most certainly for young duchesses—”
“That will be all, Stritch.”
