Page 43 of A Widow for the Earl
“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 shouldhave 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 Ithought 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—hadneverunderstood—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 toher; she needsyou, 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 itismy 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’ssixthson: no prospects, no fortune, no way of offering Prudence the security she deserved.
