“The weather has cleared up. I’ll take a hack to the hotel and be out of your hair.” Prudence stood, drank the rest of the coffee, and left the room. Leo stared at her untouched plate of food. He felt as if an explosive had been set off in the room, and he sat there dumbfounded, ears ringing.
He was still sitting there when he heard the front door slam. She’d left. How had everything gone so horribly, horribly wrong? She had seemed so happy last night, dazzled by the holiday décor, by the friendly chatter of his parents. It was the sight of Granson that changed her. Reminded her of the perceived injustice, for honestly, who in their right mind would leave a woman alone in the countryside to be discovered by undesirables? He certainly would not do so.
But he had said he would, and why would she not believe him?
It was too early for scotch. Besides, he found that he liked the sweet molasses taste of Kentucky bourbon.
*
WHENPRUDENCE ARRIVEDat the hotel, she discovered they’d rented out her suite. She knew this was a possibility, and all of her extra trunks were packed and stowed in the basement of the hotel. She was, after all, planning to be gone for at least a month.
According to Mr. Brown, the red-cheeked manager with brown hair and red whiskers on his face, a minor German aristocrat arrived and needed a place befitting their rank. They were perhaps related to Prince Albert? Or had met him once? Or perhaps they were to be the new ambassadors? Mr. Brown was unclear and wheezing, making it very difficult to follow the very long and apologetic explanation. This same aristocrat had likewise filled the rest of the rooms with his extensive entourage, and there was no place for Prudence to stay there.
Still, she collected her mail that had not yet been forwarded to the countryside and left.
With no room at the inn, which Prudence tried to find humor in during this holiday time, she was at a loss of where to go. She most decidedly did not want to return to Berringbone’s estatewhere there were games planned and jolly times to be had. She needed a place to hole up and lick her wounds, like a stray cat. She went the only place she could think of: the in-town home of Ophelia’s family.
A year ago, if someone told Prudence that she would be imposing upon a viscount during the month of December, she would have been appalled. But their friendships had grown deeper, and she knew the staff wouldn’t turn her away. She stopped and sent a note to Lord Rascomb regarding her hopes to stay until her hotel suite became available, and after a nibble at the café where she’d met with Mr. Morgan, she went to the Rascomb townhome, weary and in need of solace.
The housekeeper, the solid Mrs. Murty, knew to expect her arrival, and while Lord Rascomb had gone out, and would be gone until late, Prudence was welcome to stay and avail herself of anything he had to offer, including access to his private cellar. Prudence was grateful for the hospitality, almost bursting into tears to have access to the indoor plumbing of the residence, and the cold cheese and fruit tray with excellent Madeira port.
Under normal circumstances, Prudence would not be someone to drink to excess. But tonight, after her hot bath that left her pale skin red like a lobster, it seemed not only a good idea, but the best possible one. She paced in her room, drinking from her glass, railing against Leo. She redrew her words from earlier that morning, making them more elegant, more pointed, more biting.
And then she went into the other things that he’d done to hurt her. About how he didn’t win her at the ball. About how he kept himself so apart from her with the exception of when they were in bed together.
She drank until she started to laugh. Then she finished off the plate of hard, salty cheese and fell asleep.
The next morning came without remorse. Days did not have any compunction when dealing with the brokenhearted. Her body felt stiff and her eyes felt dry, but she felt calmer than she had the day before. Having no plan for the day, and no company—not that she would be fit for it anyway—Prudence spent longer brushing her hair and massaging lotion into her dry hands.
Without prompting, Mrs. Murty brought up a tea tray in the midafternoon, noting no doubt that Prudence had not eaten yet, nor come out of her rooms.
“I wanted to make you aware that you will be having company this evening, and that dinner has been ordered,” the housekeeper said as she placed the tray on the table near the fireplace.
Prudence felt her cheeks heat. Had her one-sided argument grown too loud last night? Had they noted how much wine she’d drunk? Embarrassment flooded her. “Thank you, Mrs. Murty.”
“Mr. Sellers has sent over for your trunks at the hotel. Perhaps there is a gown from there we can ready for you?”
It was then that Prudence realized she had left her day dress out and had managed to spill wine on it last night in her pacing. Mrs. Murty had no doubt noticed that. And noted her lack of luggage.
“Thank you. Yes, if you have someone to spare for me, I would be very grateful.”
“Of course. I shall send a maid up once the trunk arrives.” Mrs. Murty left, perfunctory and thorough, as a housekeeper must be.
It made Prudence think of Mrs. Moon, and her background as a housekeeper. The thought of Mrs. Moon was the first pierce of that day’s armor, and it wasn’t long until Prudence was back in the bed, wishing she could sleep through the fact that her chest felt as if it might cave in. She should have wondered what company was coming, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered.
She must have slept, because the scratching at the door woke her. In crept a maid with one of Prudence’s dinner gowns in her arms. And not far behind her was Justine, followed by Eleanor, and then Ophelia running down the hallway to keep up.
“You’re here!” Justine crowed.
“And awake!” Eleanor added. Eleanor was wearing house slippers and shucked them off and climbed into Prudence’s bed.
Ophelia flounced onto the end of the bed. “How did it go?”
Prudence sat up, and they all saw her face.
“Oh,” Justine said, the response they all seemed to have as one. “That bad?”
Prudence flopped back down. “I can’t.”
