“How did you even come up with this, Prudence?” Justine asked. “It’s brilliant, but I just wouldn’t have thought of it.”
Prudence wondered if she should reveal her source as Mrs. Moon. It would strengthen her tie to Leo, which she wasn’t sure she could afford. But well, why not? Theoretically, her visits with Mrs. Moon would excuse her excessive time in his company.
“It was Mrs. Moon’s idea, actually.”
The normally placid and even-tempered Ophelia made a dreadful face. “Mr. Moon’s mother?”
“Yes, I quite like her,” Prudence said. “And she certainly knows her way around a penny.”
“But she’s wretched,” Justine said. “The only things I have ever heard her say have been mortifying insults.”
Prudence shrugged. “We get along. Maybe it’s because we’re both widows.”
Eleanor’s posture noticeably softened. As a newlywed, the idea of losing her husband was unthinkable. But Prudence’s life with Gregory bore no resemblance to the bliss Eleanor had with Tristan. Prudence put her hand over Eleanor’s and squeezed it, an acknowledgment of her friend’s sympathy.
“If we are interested, I also got quotes from a shop where we could have snowflakes embroidered on the cloth banners in silver thread.”
Justine gasped. “That would be gorgeous!”
“Especially if we use candlelight,” Ophelia said, her eyes distant. No doubt calculating costs and returns on her investments. “How wide are these banners you are proposing?”
“Four feet wide,” Prudence said, double-checking her notes. Her notes, scrawled in Leo’s hand.
She had imperiously picked up both him and his mother and taken them both on her trip to Bond Street. His mother had plenty of opinions of which shops were worthy of their business, but often stayed in the carriage, complaining of pain in her knees.
It had been a thrilling outing, not looking at Leo as she remembered his kisses, his mouth suckling her pearl, his palms covering each breast. She had to keep cold and aloof, as did he.
She thought she’d done a fair job, as Mrs. Moon neither commented nor shot her warning looks. After all, their very first conversation was all about how Mrs. Moon wouldn’t allow Prudence anywhere near her son.
As an aspiring American hussy, Prudence had vowed to stay away. But, well, things happened. She had been trying very hard to be furious with him, as a matter of fact. It was merely that the chemistry between them had been too obvious, too heady for her to resist. No doubt that would soon fade, and when it did, their time would be over. Which was what they both wanted and agreed upon.
“Prudence?” Ophelia asked.
“Pru?” Justine prodded.
She shook her head and smiled at her friends. “Sorry. Head in the clouds.” Even Eleanor looked at her strangely. “The run tired me out.”
Eleanor kept examining her, a situation she didn’t care for. Eleanor could be quite observant when she wanted to be. As the group’s slowest athlete, Eleanor should be the one complaining, not Prudence.
Ophelia produced a sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. She flipped open to a page they’d examined last time. She held it up so they could all get a good look. “This was our last thought. But now...”
Ophelia turned the page and sketched her parents’ ballroom again, this time with the cloth banners.
“Would we alternate the colors?” asked Eleanor.
“And how many colors are we choosing?” asked Prudence.
Justine frowned at the swatches, and then arranged them in order, from light to dark. “What if we did this?” She pointed at the one so light blue it was almost white. “When you first enter the ballroom, it is like the top of the ice, and then the deeper you go, the darker it gets.”
“Like falling into a crevasse?” Eleanor asked.
Ophelia pulled a face.
“Exactly!” Justine said.
“Sounds like courting bad luck,” Prudence said, glancing over at Ophelia.
“Nonsense,” Justine said, “it’s just a party. It’ll be fun.”
