Page 24 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)
CHAPTER TWENTY
“ W ell?” Vincent said curtly, pacing the rug in front of the fireplace.
Prudence sat beside Beatrice on the chaise-longue that he could not look at, silently scolding himself for getting so close to the latter.
He could not explain what had come over him, reaching for her hand like that, brushing that wavy lock of hair out of her face as if they were intimately acquainted.
It was not who he was; he did not bend the rules of propriety the way she did.
She is a bad influence upon me, and she is a bad influence upon my sister.
“I asked you a question, Prudence,” he urged, leaning against the mantelpiece where a carriage clocked ticked too loudly.
The youngest Wilds sibling shifted uncomfortably on the jacquard, her foot tapping against the floor. She was pale and windswept, as if she had made the journey with the carriage window open, needing the fresh evening air.
“I did not hear a question,” Prudence replied, fidgeting with her skirts.
Beatrice took hold of the younger woman’s hand, smiling. “I think we wish to know what brings you here at such an hour, dearest Pru. Not that your presence is at all unwelcome. You are always welcome here.” She paused. “It is just that the butler said you had arrived in some distress.”
“Distress?” Prudence laughed, though it echoed hollow. “Goodness, there was no distress. He must have mistaken my excitement, for I am so thrilled to be here again with you, Bea, and, of course, with you, Brother.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “ Why are you here?”
“Can a sister not visit her brother on a whim? Especially when said brother is living with one of her good friends?” Prudence protested, with a smile that seemed to strain her face.
The girl was always so open with her feelings, whether they be good or bad, never suppressing anything even when she probably should. So, it was clear as day to her brother that she was hiding something. Her behavior was all wrong, her manner agitated, her eyes shifty and unable to meet his gaze.
Vincent puffed out a breath. “I know you, Prudence, and I know you well. You cannot lie to me.” He took a moment to gather himself. “Have you argued with Mother, is that it?”
“No,” Prudence replied, her knuckles whitening as she held tighter to Beatrice’s hand. “But… she does not know that I am here, and you must not tell her. Please, do not tell her.”
Vincent pushed away from the mantelpiece. “I will have to tell her, Pru, or she will worry about your whereabouts. However, I will tell her not to come here to visit you, as long as you tell me, honestly, what has brought you here.”
Prudence chewed her lower lip, scratching at the muslin of her skirts with her forefinger. She glanced at Beatrice, who gave a small nod of encouragement, before drawing in a deep breath.
“There has… been a scandal, Brother,” she said quietly, her voice shaky.
“I was informed that it would be in the scandal sheets tomorrow, and when I heard… I did not know what else to do. I gathered some belongings, jumped into the carriage, and came right here. Mother will lose her mind. I… could not be in the manor when she reads it.”
The world around Vincent seemed to slow, a chilling wave of dread rising up from his belly.
He had dedicated so many years to ensuring that his sisters were safe and well, instilling in them the virtues and necessities of a good reputation and respectable behavior.
Years that now seemed wasted, for though two of his sisters had emerged unscathed, married and happy, he should have known that the youngest would be the undoing of all that hard work.
“What manner of scandal?” Beatrice asked, while Vincent fought to swallow the tirade that threatened to rush from his mouth. “Perhaps, it is not so bad. Nothing you cannot survive with a few weeks of absence, so that everyone can forget.”
Prudence turned to Beatrice, grasping her other hand. “That is my hope, but… you know what society is like. They are so appallingly cruel, condemning a woman for the slightest transgression.”
“I do know what society is like,” Beatrice replied with a warm smile, “which is how I know that there is very little that cannot be survived. Even before recent events, I did so many naughty things that, by rights, I should have been denounced for. Yet, I attended a ball not a week ago, and all was surprisingly well.”
Prudence nodded slowly, clearly taking courage from Beatrice’s words.
Meanwhile, it took everything Vincent possessed to keep his mouth shut, his fingernails digging into his palms as he clenched his hands into fists.
He could not believe that this was happening; he had done everything to prevent it, had he not?
I warned her. Goodness, how I warned her!
“I was… caught spending time alone with a gentleman,” Prudence confessed haltingly.
“I escaped my chaperone because she was being insufferable. All I wanted to do was walk with… that gentleman for a while. He suggested we pick apples, and I thought that sounded marvelous, but Irene would not allow it. So, I slipped away, into the woods. I did not know we were being observed.”
Vincent took a breath. “What did you do, Prudence?”
“Nothing!” she replied, her voice pitched a note too high.
“All we did was walk and… there was a moment where I stumbled, and he caught hold of my hand to help me. I only held his hand for an instant, but… someone saw. We were not in any compromising situation, I promise you, and nothing at all happened, but I do not think it matters to the gossipmongers. They will annihilate my character anyway.”
Beatrice patted the younger woman’s hand. “Well, that does not sound so?—”
“After everything I have taught you, everything I have lectured you about, everything you have rolled your eyes at, you do this?” Vincent exploded, his heart broken for his youngest sister.
“Have you no sense, Prudence? Was it Mr. Swann? Did you listen to nothing I said to you at Lord Huxtable’s ball? ”
Prudence’s eyes widened and, for an awful moment, it looked like she might cry. She could not understand—had never understood—that Vincent was only strict because he had to be, in order to protect his sisters. To avoid this exact situation.
“Vincent, I do not think anger will help,” Beatrice interjected in an even voice. “Your sister has had a terrible shock. Be kind to her; she needs you , not your temper. She already knows where she made her misstep.”
He turned his fevered gaze toward Beatrice, raising a finger. “You may stay out of this, Beatrice. It is none of your concern.”
“She is my friend, and she is scared,” Beatrice replied. “I am afraid that it is my concern.”
“This is precisely what I was worried about!” Vincent muttered, running a stressed hand through his hair. “I warned you so often, Prudence. I warned you about propriety and reputation and how you must always behave as if you are being observed, even when you are not. How could you be so foolish?”
Prudence bowed her head, still clinging to Beatrice for comfort. “I did not mean any harm. I just… wanted to pick apples without my chaperone breathing down my neck.” Her breath wavered. “I am sorry, Brother.”
Vincent could not recall the last time that his youngest sister had apologized to him, the sound of it stalling him for a moment.
He glanced at Beatrice, who shook her head slowly, mouthing, Be nice.
And when he looked back at Prudence, he found himself filled with such a swell of sudden and hopeless protectiveness. Useless now, for he had failed.
It was so much simpler when she was little. A grazed knee or a torn dress from climbing trees was easy to fix.
“It does not sound so bad,” Beatrice said, putting an arm around Prudence. “By the day after tomorrow, a worse story will be in the scandal sheets and you picking apples alone will be forgotten entirely. Yes, my dear, I daresay you shall survive this perfectly well.”
“Do you truly think so?” Prudence murmured.
Beatrice hugged her into her side. “I have every faith.”
“You will stay here until the rumors, with any luck, die down,” Vincent said, his tone far colder than that of Beatrice. “You will behave, you will make yourself useful, and you will study all of the etiquette you have so clearly forgotten.”
Prudence sniffed, nodding. “Yes, Brother. Thank you.”
Whether or not it was a good idea to allow his youngest sister to remain in the company of a bad influence like Beatrice, Vincent did not know, but as he saw Beatrice keep tight hold of Prudence, he found he did not have the heart to send either away. Not for now.
“Was it Mr. Swann?” he asked flatly, praying against all hope that she had, instead, been seen walking alone with a well-stationed duke with a vast fortune, and a character that could make his youngest sister happy.
Prudence cleared her throat. “It was Peter, yes. We were just… being friends, wandering, and?—”
“That is all I need to hear, at present,” Vincent interrupted, his vain hopes dashed.
Teresa and Isolde were both duchesses, and though they, too, had not exactly found their husbands in the proper way, fate had smiled upon them, turning catastrophe into something wonderful.
But fate was laughing at Prudence now. Laughing at Vincent, too.
If Peter Swann had at least been the heir to a barony, it might have been marginally less awful, but he was the Baron of Waterford’s sixth son: no prospects, no fortune, no way of offering Prudence the security she deserved.
In the coming days, Vincent would have to judge the severity of the scandal.
If it was not the sort of rumor that would go away on its own, there would be only one choice for Prudence: she would have to marry Peter Swann.
And, though it would pain him deeply, Vincent would have to be the one to ensure it happened before Prudence was ruined completely.
And I returned from London in such a good mood, too…
Such a good mood that he had almost done something so very foolish himself, reaching for Beatrice’s hand like that, compelled to be closer to her. Indeed, it was becoming clear to him that, whenever she was near him, he lost the ability to think wisely altogether.