She shook her head, eyes cast down again. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
He brightened his tone, not willing to be morose when he had such a surprise for her. “I’ve arranged something for us. A reprieve from London.”
Her champagne glass stopped in midair. “A reprieve?”
“A cottage in the North, where it’s a bit cooler. A place for just the two of us. No servants, no staff, just us. What do you think?”
She bit her lip, which was not the reaction he’d anticipated. He’d envisioned her being overjoyed, coming and sitting in his lap while he told her the details. “But I have my training regime to follow.”
“And you can. Just, in a different location.”
“I’m not sure Ophelia—”
“Ophelia isn’t coming,” Leo said firmly. “Let’s do something we can rarely afford to do here in London. Wake up together.”
Finally Prudence’s ever-present smile emerged. He reached forward and pulled a pin from her coiffure, and a tendril escaped.
“I want to see your hair in the morning sun.”
“Better now than later, I suppose.” Prudence sipped her champagne, the mood of the evening turning.
“Precisely,” he said, grateful that the evening turned the way he’d hoped. He pulled her into his lap, poured her more champagne, kissing her throat as she drank it down. One of his hands held her firmly in place, while the other hunted the rest of her hair pins. Honeyed curls fell around his wrist, the most exquisite binding he’d ever seen.
“I fear you make me think poorly,” she said.
“I fear you make me cease thinking at all,” he said, his hand now attempting to undo the small pearl buttons on the back of her day dress. His other hand roved up to her breast as his mouth found her earlobe. She melted in his arms, and any troubles he might have had about their conversation were left at the dining table.
*
THE REST OFthe Society was not happy about Prudence’s week-long London defection, but the more Leo talked about the seven days of country living, the more Prudence wanted to go. She could have her time of no maids, no servants, no noise. She could have Leo all night, waking up in the morning intertwined, instead of rushing him out the door in a purpled dawn panic.
“But the ball—” Eleanor had protested.
“Isn’t for another four weeks,” Prudence said. All the orders were in. Seamstresses were embroidering the banners, orders were in for extra ice to be delivered. Even the wines had already been accounted for.
Ophelia had been the only one to support her sojourn. “Prudence will return to us refreshed and ready. She has been hard at work, and doubtless needs a break from London.”
Justine folded her arms and stared Prudence down. Had the girl any more experience with men, Prudence believed Justine could have seen right through her. As it was, Prudence excused herself and went back to her hotel to pack.
“And what am I to do?” Georgie asked her from the sofa.
Prudence’s trunk was packed. It was a relief to not have to pack her gowns and silk shoes and retrieve jewels from the Strawbridge Hotel’s safe. The trunk was barely half full of light dresses, comfortable shoes, and a parasol. She didn’t so much freckle as other ladies did, but rather turned the color of a Maine lobster.
“You can do whatever you like,” Prudence said, her own cheeks coloring. She couldn’t bear telling Georgie what she was really up to, for this was somehow worse than asking for privacy—hiding away with a lover for a week-long orgasmic love cuddle—so she’d told her she was taking a watercolor course in the country. Prudence. Watercolors. It was absurd.
“Perhaps I’d like to sign up for some watercolors,” Georgie suggested, her face not betraying anything.
“You can’t,” Prudence said quickly. “The class is already full. Very exclusive.”
Georgie stood up slowly—because she had only one speed, and that was that of a tortoise—and said, “Mrs. Cabot, I would not hear an unkind word said against you. And you are my employer. Please do not lie to me.”
Prudence trembled. She was horrific at lying. She couldn’t abide deceit, and it had been ingrained in her that deceit was the worst sin—far worse than fornication, for example—so that even her lies of omission to her friends made her ache. To lie straight to Georgie, who had laced her into gowns, helped her with her hair, made travel arrangements, and stood by her side on boats, on trains, and even in unfriendly ballrooms, it was like lying to her own mother.
Whom she also had not written to about Leo. Or her sisters. Or her brothers. Because what would she say?I’m overcome? For a man with whom I cannot consider a future?
Prudence felt the shame coursing through her. “You are right, Georgie. I apologize.”
Georgie opened her mouth, as if she were about to say something, but then closed it. Prudence had plenty of time to watch her change her mind.
