Page 26 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I t was so late that the birds would soon start singing their dawn chorus, as Vincent made the ride back to Wycliffe. Weary to his bones, the brandy long having lost its effect, he breathed a sigh of relief as he passed through the gates of Wycliffe Manor.
He brought his horse to a standstill on the gravel driveway, taking a moment to gaze at the house in the inky light. It had charm, he could not deny that, but his heart ached for the majesty of Grayling.
But Beatrice is not at Grayling… In truth, he could have followed Edmund’s suggestion and returned to his primary seat when all of this began, sending messengers back and forth from the lawyers.
He could have ridden back to Grayling after his sojourn in London, and even tonight, yet he kept taking this road instead: the road back to the most insufferable, fascinating, infuriating, unlucky, beautiful woman he had ever known.
Just then, his tired reverie sharpened into a jabbing shard of frustration. There were lights aglow in the drawing room, the amber hue of it sneaking out into the semi-dark through, presumably, a gap in the drapes.
I told them to go to bed!
Muttering under his breath, he spurred his horse onward, wondering if he would ever have a moment’s peace again.
He strode through the entrance hall, already in a dark mood, when he heard it: raucous laughter, so loud and giddy it was a wonder it did not wake the rest of the household.
He knew Prudence’s laugh immediately, for it rather had the essence of a braying donkey, but he almost stopped as Beatrice’s laugh tickled his ears.
Sweet and bright and hearty, he did not know if he had ever heard a more infectious sound.
But they were given instructions, and they have defied them. They are as bad as each other and, together, they are worse!
He shook off the fleeting charm, determined not to be enchanted by Beatrice again, and stormed onward to the drawing room.
He could not have prepared himself for the scene: the two women were lying on the floor, a half-empty bottle of good port between them, dressed in their nightgowns.
As if they had retired to bed, following his command, and then had decided in unison that they would not obey after all.
Around them were platters of fruits and cheeses and bread, mostly devoured, crumbs everywhere, suggesting they had also bothered the staff for their private party.
Oblivious to his entrance, the two women appeared to be playing some manner of game, where they took turns to make up limericks. And he had just walked in on one designed for him, his entire being immediately prickling with embarrassment.
“There was a strict earl called Vince,” Beatrice began, “who acted quite like a spoiled prince. He’d rant and he’d rave, my reputation to save… Goodness, not much rhymes with Vince, does it? Since? Mince?”
Prudence stifled a snort. “Vincent is harder. Vinny, perhaps?”
“ What do you think you are doing?” Vincent interrupted, while his foolish mind tried to think of a suitable rhyme.
The two women glanced up at him… and immediately burst out laughing, so overcome with hilarity that neither seemed capable of breathing.
Their faces turned pink, their eyes streaming with giddy tears, while the small port glasses in their hands signaled the culprit.
The wild pair were merry. More than merry.
“Did you like my rhyme?” Beatrice wheezed, clumsily sitting up. “It is not finished, but I shall endeavor to find the words to end my masterpiece. I know the right words are in here somewhere.”
She tapped the side of her head, mumbling a soft “ow.”
Clearly, scolding them while they were in such a condition would not be helpful at all. They would only laugh again, and he was too tired to bear the brunt of their silly amusement. Worse, they might begin to conjure more limericks about him.
“Prudence, up!” Vincent said, marching over to his younger sister.
He hauled her to her feet by the arm, grimacing as she wobbled beside him.
After the generosity he had shown in allowing her to stay here, safe behind his walls, he could not believe she would repay him with such…
carelessness. She was the one who had feared for her reputation, and now she was inebriated in the drawing room?
He did not know whether to sigh or scream.
“To bed with you,” he muttered, dragging her across the drawing room.
He paused on the threshold, looking back at Beatrice who was crawling toward the chaise-longue. “Do not move,” he warned. “I am not done with you.”
Chuckling to herself, Beatrice froze where she was, one arm extended, one leg slightly lifted. Doing exactly what he had asked.
Despite himself, he nearly smiled, the sight of her so ridiculous, so amusing, that it was almost impossible to remain stern.
Almost. Fortunately, Vincent had spent a lot of his life honing his ability to be strict in any and all situations, so he just about managed to keep any amusement off his face as he continued to lead Prudence out into the hallway.
Reaching the stairs, it became obvious that it would take an hour to get Prudence to bed if he allowed her to stagger up them by herself. So, with a grumble of annoyance, Vincent picked his sister up and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her toward her bedchamber.
“I am sorry for being so silly,” she mumbled as he wielded her upward. “I am sorry for the scandal. I just wanted to pick apples. Truly, I did.”
He huffed out a breath. “We can discuss this tomorrow, when you are not slurring your words.”
“Oh no, but I must say them now,” she insisted. “I did not mean to misbehave. I never mean to misbehave. But Irene is so boring. She is always stuck to me like a barnacle. She smells like one, too.”
“Prudence!” Vincent snapped. “That is unkind. Your chaperone is just trying to do her duty, and if you had allowed her to, you would not be in this situation.”
Prudence sighed, absently pinching the hairs on the back of his neck. “I know, Brother. I am so very sorry. I just… felt so suffocated. I wanted a moment’s freedom, and… oh, I am so sorry, Brother. I have made a terrible mess of this.”
“You have, but we shall remedy it,” he replied more softly, feeling sorry for his youngest sister.
Things had been easier when Teresa and Isolde were still at Grayling to keep her busy, the three sisters always wandering the grounds together or venturing into town together or occupying themselves as a trio.
Then, Isolde had married Edmund and left Grayling, but Teresa had still been there as a constant companion to Prudence.
Then, of course, Teresa married Cyrus, leaving Prudence quite alone, with no one but her mother for company.
And Julianna Wilds could be rather tyrannical as a companion, without the other two girls to temper their mother’s intensity.
There was Rebecca, Lionel’s sister, to provide occasional friendship, but Rebecca was not the sort of girl who came to call upon acquaintances.
Rather, she waited for people to call upon her, and did not seem to mind if they did not.
And, due to Lionel’s grandmother’s declining health, Rebecca had been too busy to spend much time with Prudence, even if she had wanted to.
And I could never fill the void of your sisters…
When he was at Grayling, he spent the majority of his day in his study, refusing any and all interruptions. On the occasions that Prudence knocked to speak with him, he invariably sent her away, claiming he had too much to do to be distracted by his youngest sister.
I could have done more, so you did not feel so isolated.
“I am sorry to be such a burden,” Prudence continued, sniffling. “You have done so much for our family, Brother, and I have just… made such a mess. I wish I could undo it. The apples were sour, anyway.”
He patted her back gently, carrying her the rest of the way to her bedchamber. “It is all right, Pru. You made a mistake, but it will be all right. I will help you.” He held her a little tighter. “I will not allow any harm to come to you.”
“I am such a goose,” she mumbled, making him smile.
“You are, but you are my responsibility,” he replied, taking her into the guest bedchamber.
There, he set her down on the bed and tucked her in beneath the covers, wondering why he had never done so before.
He thought back, reasoning that their mother or one of their sisters must have been the one to tuck her in at night.
He had likely been elsewhere, learning how to become an earl instead of being an actual part of the family.
“I am sorry for being a goose,” she murmured, her eyes closing. “I will try to be less of a goose in future.”
He patted her hand awkwardly. “One should not make promises they are unlikely to keep.”
“Hmm?” she said sleepily.
“Nothing.”
He waited a moment at her bedside, his heart heavy with the weight of a guilt he had never contemplated before.
Circumstances had demanded that he play the part of earl and substitute patriarch from the moment their father died, when he was barely more than a boy.
Now, he wondered what he had lost out on by dedicating everything to the earldom instead of his sisters.
How much had he missed? How much of Prudence’s misbehavior was he inadvertently to blame for?
I should have noticed you were unsettled. I should have known you would not cope well with the departure of your sisters.
“I am sorry,” he whispered, a lump in his throat as he took his leave, closing the door gently behind him.
It was not until he was halfway down the stairs that he remembered he had another wayward woman to contend with, who would not be the least bit apologetic.
He had never encountered her while merry before, and suspected it could go one of two ways: she would be too silly to reason with, or the port would turn her toward even greater conflict.
In truth, he was not sure which he would prefer.
I wonder if she is still frozen like that. He instantly forced down the laughter that tried to bubble up, for now was not the time for amusement.