Page 26 of Her Notorious Rake
“Does this perhaps…have to do with Lord Blakemore?” Prudence whispered.
Gemma’s throat closed and she stared down into her lap. “No, no,” she lied. “I hardly even know the gentleman.”
Prudence eyed her, as if disbelieving Gemma’s response.
“He is a notable rake, is he not?”
“Perhaps. Well, at least he was.” Prudence leaned closer, to whisper in Gemma’s ear, “As I told you, many think he possesses a heart of ice. He seems to avoid any sort of attachment to any young woman. I am inclined to believe that he shies from marriage to pursue…” she shook her head, her curls bouncing about her rosy cheeks. “Well, I shan’t say it. ‘It is not for us to speak of such things.”
“He frequents the gentlemen’s clubs?” Gemma blurted, unable to contain her curiosity anymore.
“So it has been said.”
Gemma nodded, lowering her gaze to the floor, tracing her eyes over the floor. The lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. She gave her head a shake, sighing. She needed to change the subject. “What am I to do about my aunt’s determined scheming? To see Lord Neville and myself become betrothed?”
Prudence smiled sympathetically. “My mother and father did not marry for love, and yet, they care for each other very much.”
“That is just it,” Gemma sighed. “I cannot abide the thought of being content with…amicable indifference, or even tolerance.”
“Some can abide it, but if you cannot, then you must notforce yourself to endure.”
“If I refuse…” Gemma closed her eyes. She had yearned to return to London, as much as she loved the cottage in Willow Grove. But she had evidently fled one unpleasant arrangement and traded it for another. But there was no telling how Aunt Philippa and Mama would respond should she flatly resist.
Her legs shook, stomach tossing, until at last the panic subsided and she took in another mouthful of air.
“Do you intend to wed for love?”
“Oh, I would wish to. But not everyone can rebuff a proposal. My parents count on me to marry well. And that may very well mean I will not marry he who has won my affection, but he who is the most eligible match.”
“How should we bear it? To be trapped in a marriage without tenderness, passion…warmth?” Gemma shuddered.
Prudence shrugged. “A great many have born it well. Although, I would not be astonished should you decide to let your heart guide you.”
“My heart,” Gemma patted her chest. “My heart is my north star.”
Prudence frowned at that, confused. But before she could reply, Aunt Philippa swept in, stopping short at the sight of Gemma sitting beside Prudence on the settee.
“Good day, Miss Harcourt,” she nodded to Prudence. She sailed forth, and lowered herself onto the settee across from them. “Gemma.”
“Lady Kenway,” Prudence smiled politely.
“How do you fare, Gemma?”
“Better than this morning. Thank you, for permitting me to remain here.”
“But of course,” Aunt Philippa nodded, mouth tightening. “Your colour has returned,” she added, holding up a monocle to her eye, examining Gemma through it.
“How was the exhibit?” Gemma hurried to divert the subject.
“Wondrous, in a word. ‘It was everything I’d hoped. Though, of course, Lord Neville was disappointed by your absence.”
Gemma resisted the urge to shoot Prudence a look. Instead, she bit her lip, nodding. “What sort of paintings did you see?”
Aunt Philippa waved her hand. “I’ll tell all in a moment. Now, Prudence, do you have any prospective suitors?”
Prudence’s shoulders sagged. “I am afraid not.”
“Why ever not?” Aunt Philippa cried. “You inherited your mother’s complexion and eyes. Your father’s hair. A delightful combination. Before long, you will have a dozen suitors falling at your feet, eager for your attention.”
