A Countess of Convenience (2 page)

"Can't the man be persuaded to do the right thing?"

"Hardly. He's already married."

Malvern gasped. That fresh-faced little innocent involved with a married man—he never would have guessed. “Too bad, but what does she expect from you?"

Weathersby hung his head. “She wants me to help her find a protector,” he muttered.

"My God!” The nerve of the chit to ask her brother, well, half-brother, to do something like that. “What are you going to do?"

"I don't know,” Weathersby replied in an anguished voice. “I brought her to London thinking I could talk her out of it. In the park, when I saw how eager she was to meet my friends, I panicked. I mean, what if she'd tried to lure one of you into a liaison? I'd have been mortified."

Malvern formed a steeple with his fingers and stared into the distance as he recalled his brief glimpse of Prudence Crump. He hadn't seen much, golden curls peeking from under her bonnet, a straight back, a long, slender neck. Her smile had impressed him the most. It had seemed genuine, as though she thoroughly enjoyed the simple pleasure of riding in the park on a sunny day. No artifice, no pretension. She had looked like an honest, English country lass. So different from the women he was accustomed to.

He cleared his throat and brought his gaze back to Weathersby's face. “Perhaps you
should
turn to your friends with this problem."

Weathersby's head jerked back in surprise. “You can't be serious. Unlike you, I'm eager to marry. If it's even rumored I'm arranging an illicit alliance for my own sister, I'll be as ruined as poor Prudence."

"But if you don't help her, and she sets out on her own, there's no telling what mischief she might get into in a city like London."

Weathersby's brow twisted with concern. “You're right. She might end up in...” He chewed his lower lip. “What should I do?"

Malvern paused, asking himself if he were about to make a foolish misstep. What could go wrong? He needed a new mistress and was fed up with greedy sophisticates. Even if she had strayed from the straight and narrow, Prudence Crump was obviously a long way from being world-weary. She'd be thrilled a man like himself even noticed her. And it would be nice to have a woman show him a little gratitude for a change.

"A friend, who found your sister to his liking, would take proper care of her,” Malvern said.

Now Weathersby looked shocked. “I can't allow her to become the mistress of one of my friends. Wouldn't a gossip like Harry Cartland delight in telling that story in every parlor in Mayfair?"

"I mean a friend who would handle the situation discretely, perhaps buy your sister a little place of her own where she could build up a nest egg and secure her future."

Weathersby studied him for a long moment. “Who do you have in mind, Malvern?"

"Well, I'm in the market since Monique left me."

"You? Why, Pruddy's spent most of her life in a country cottage in Lancashire. This is her first visit to London. She wouldn't hold your interest for an hour."

Malvern smiled wearily. “After the way that French bitch lied and stole from me, I'm re-thinking my taste in women. I'd find one who still has a few things to learn about life quite refreshing."

Weathersby stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. “I don't know. I still feel it would be wrong to arrange such a thing for a sister—even a half-sister."

"She seems to have taken a very sensible approach to her situation. Why don't you?"

"Well,” Weathersby paused and took a deep breath, “I could introduce you. Most likely you two will not suit."

"Absolutely,” Malvern replied. “How about the theater tomorrow night? I'll get a box and reserve a private dining room for a late supper."

Weathersby looked at Malvern as though truly shocked. “I can't just hand her over to you."

"Of course not; you'll have to come along in case we do not suit. If I like her, and she likes me, you can excuse yourself during dinner. I assure you, I'll do nothing without her full consent."

Weathersby drained his glass. “How will I know if you like her?"

"Why, I'll give you a signal. Say something about hunting in Hamptonshire."

"Hunting in Hamptonshire?"

"You don't like that?"

Weathersby sighed in resignation. “It will do."

Prudence finished brushing Neil's coat and hung it back in the armoire. She picked up the items that needed mending and went to her room. Good thing she'd brought her sewing basket. Although Neil's clothes were, as always, fashionable, she had found loose buttons and frayed seams. Perhaps he had let his valet go because of the man's slovenly service.

Still, there could be no doubt Neil was short of funds. The neighborhood he lived in and the sparse furnishings of his rooms clearly pointed to it. So why had he insisted she visit him at this time? She could keep his rooms in order, even cook for him, but her presence surely added to his expenses. He'd even rented a carriage to take her for a ride in the park. What a silly extravagance.

But that was Neil—determined to keep up the appearances of his rank. Sometimes she considered herself lucky to be a tradesman's daughter. Of course, if her father had been a nobleman, he might have taken better care of his daughter's welfare. But she wouldn't fret about that.

She heard a key in the lock, and then Neil called, “Pruddy? Where are you?"

"In my room."

He stopped at her open doorway.

She looked up. “Good heavens? What do you have there?"

He dropped a large, paper-covered bundle on her bed. “I had a stroke of luck today. Passed a little shop that sells slightly used clothing. Saw a perfect dress for you in the window."

"Oh, Neil! You know I'm in mourning. I must wear black."

"This dress is black. But it's much nicer than those drab things you wear."

"Aunt Agatha had these dresses made for me. Black bombazine is what everyone wears.” Prudence snipped the string around the package with her scissors. Yards of lustrous black silk erupted as she pulled the paper back.

She found the bodice beneath the skirt and held it up. “Goodness!” Her eyes widened as she saw the revealing neckline trimmed with jet beads. “But this gown is much too fancy for mourning. Where would I ever wear it?"

Neil extended his arms as though about to make a grand announcement. “Tonight. When we attend the theater as the guests of my friend, the Earl of Malvern!"

"Are you jesting? The theater? I can't go. Mother's only been dead for—"

"Don't start on that. I didn't rescue you from the mausoleum our aunt calls a home to imprison you in my cramped rooms. This is London. Things are different here. You'll still wear black, just as I'll continue to wear my armband, but no one expects us to make ourselves miserable for a whole year."

Prudence shook her head. “We must honor our mother's passing."

He plucked the bodice from her, threw it on the bed, and caught her hands in his. “You faithfully took care of Mother throughout her illness. You deserve a little gaiety in your life. Let me give it to you, Pruddy.” He tipped his head to one side and assumed a pleading expression. “Please."

She felt a smile pulling at her lips. She'd never been able to say “no” to her big brother, a fact that had gotten her into trouble when she'd served as his accomplice in childhood pranks.

This visit to London would probably be her only chance to have any adventure in her life. After seeing the state of Neil's affairs, she knew she must either return to Aunt Agatha or accept Uncle Oscar's offer to live with his family in Manchester. She had no idea what life there would be like, so she'd better enjoy herself while she could.

"I'll go,” she said, “on one condition. You mustn't use that horrid nickname while we are with your important friends."

He chuckled. “But Prudence is such a stern name. Not at all like my sweet little sister."

"Well, I'd rather sound stern than like a fat puppy. Now let me try on this dress. It will undoubtedly need alterations, and you'll have to pin it for me."

He drew back in mock horror. “I'm a gentleman of rank. I can't serve as a lady's maid."

She placed her hands on her hips. “Well, someone must do it."

"All right,” he said with reluctance, “but you must promise never to mention this to any of my friends."

"I won't, as long as you don't call me Pruddy."

He struck the bargain by ceremoniously shaking her hand.

Prudence stared into the oval looking glass at a woman she did not know. After her hurried alterations, the bodice of the black dress minimized her waist and maximized her bosom, while the silk ruffles of her skirt billowed around her like dark smoke. Seeing Neil's smiling face over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you sure this dress is proper?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Would I let you wear it if it weren't?"

"If I could just add the fichu—"

"Absolutely not!” He pulled the lace trimmed neck scarf from her fingers and dropped it on his bed with a grimace. “It spoils the style of the dress. And stop pulling at the neckline. You're in London and the ladies of society all show decolletage in the evening."

"I can't help being nervous. I'm going to the theater for the first time and meeting an earl. How do I address him?"

"Say ‘Lord Malvern’ or ‘my lord’ unless he suggests you call him something less formal. He's had his title for so long all of his friends call him Malvern."

"Is he elderly then?"

"Of course, not. I don't think he's thirty yet."

"So he came into his title as a child?"

"Yes."

"And what do I call his wife?"

He shook his head. “He doesn't have a wife."

She gasped in alarm. “Do you mean I'll be the only woman in the party?"

"I'll be there. A brother can serve as a chaperone."

"But if I'm the only woman present, I'll have to converse with the earl. What on earth will I say to him?"

Neil grimaced with impatience. “Stop being a silly goose, Pru. Remember your mother was a duke's niece. At least half of your blood is as blue as Malvern's. Hold your head up, look him in the eye and don't be afraid to speak your mind."

She sighed. No matter the color of her blood, having lived quietly in the country since she was twelve years old had not prepared her to hobnob with nobility.

The bell on Neil's front door trilled. “There he is. I'll get the door. You stay in here for a few minutes. Then join us in the parlor.” He hurried from the room.

Obviously, Neil was embarrassed by her lack of polish. Then why had he agreed to this evening? Perhaps he had to accept the invitation or risk offending his friend.

She looked into the mirror and pinched her cheeks to redden them. No need to be nervous. In all probability, the earl would pay scant notice to a woman so far beneath his rank. But noting her image in the new black dress, she couldn't help but hope someone would notice her. Surely in a city the size of London, there was a man who could overlook the fact she was a tradesman's daughter without a dowry and make her one dream, a home of her own, come true.

Remembering she had to greet her host for the evening, Prudence squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and called on her mother's blood to get her through the ordeal.

As she entered the parlor, the two men standing in the middle of the room turned toward her. Prudence stared agape at the tall, handsome, perfectly dressed man who smiled at her with brilliantly white teeth. He might be an earl, but to her he looked like a prince straight out of a fairy tale.

Neil said something. She had no idea what.

The earl's lips moved. “...Miss Crump."

Speak. Say something
. “Ah—pleased to meet you, Mis—ah—Lord Malvern."

Neil frowned at her, but the glorious Earl of Malvern continued to smile as if stuttering were perfectly normal. Neil dropped her shawl around her shoulders, and she gratefully lapped it over her partially exposed bosom, wishing she could pull it over her head as well.

"Shall we go?” The earl extended his elbow. Prudence felt a bit faint, but managed to lay her hand on his forearm with barely a tremble.

The coach that awaited them had a crest on the door and a footman to carefully hand her inside. She sat on the forward moving seat and the two men faced her. Rather than converse with Neil as she wished he would, the earl looked at her and said, “And how do you like London, Miss Crump?"

"I've only been here a few days, but it seems quite...large."

He nodded and continued smiling warmly. “I believe your brother said you are from Lancashire?"

"Yes, in the countryside near Huffington. But I no longer live there."

"Yes, may I extend my sincerest condolences on your mother's passing?"

"Thank you."

"Are you planning to live in London now?"

Prudence fingered her shawl's fringe. “I'm not sure. I have an aunt in Northamptonshire and an uncle in Manchester. I'll live with one of them."

Undeterred by her halting replies, the earl pressed on. “Did you like living in Lancashire?"

She looked up from the fringe. “Oh, yes. We had a lovely cottage and a large garden, and there were woods nearby."

Neil sighed and she smiled at him. “Of course, Neil hated it. But he was away at school much of the time. Then he took up residence in London."

"I can see why Weathersby wouldn't have liked it. He craves the city's excitement. Didn't you find the bucolic life dull?"

"There were always things to do and neighbors to visit. And I could go about with far more freedom than I can in a city."

The earl's eyes narrowed and the hazel color seemed to deepen. “How did living in the country give you more freedom?"

"I had my own pony cart and could drive myself to the village or to neighbors’ houses. A woman wouldn't dare do that in a city like London."

"Certainly not a lady,” the earl agreed with a half smile.

Was he implying something with his smile? She stared at him in perplexity, but he resumed asking questions about her life in the country until she forgot her shyness. When she mentioned raising partridges, he seemed genuinely interested. He even chuckled when she told about the brick-like scones she had baked when she had used the tiny partridge eggs.