Candice Hern (10 page)

She hid her face behind her fan and giggled.

Pru’s cousin, Mrs. Shelbourne, strolled up to them. “Mr. Parrish, I do believe you promised me a dance.”

There was no polite way to get out of it, so Nick led her onto the floor. While the set formed, he tried to keep his eye on Pru, hoping someone would ask her to dance.

“Watching out for the blushing bride?” Mrs. Shelbourne asked, a sarcastic edge to her voice.
“Don’t worry about Prudence. She is quite accustomed to holding up the walls. I actually think she prefers it.”

“I think you must be mistaken, Mrs. Shelbourne. My wife is a wonderful dancer, and she enjoys it immensely.”

“My, my, what a loyal champion you are for our little mouse. I suppose that legacy of Aunt Elizabeth’s makes it all worthwhile.”

So, they
did
think him a fortune hunter. Damn and blast!

The music began before he could reply. Nick begrudgingly bowed to his partner and stepped into the figure. He noted that Pru had taken her place at the bottom of the line with her father. Thank God for that. He really did not like to think of her as a wallflower. And he rather enjoyed watching her dance.

When the set ended, Nick made his way to Pru’s side, with Mrs. Shelbourne in tow. He was making small talk with Lord Henry when Lord Randolph burst upon them.

“It finally came to me,” he said, addressing Nick in a thunderous voice. “I know where I heard the name Parrish. Took me a while to remember, but I ain’t as sharp as I used to be, eh, Henry? Not as sharp.”

“You’re as sharp as you ever were, Randy,” Lord Henry said, with a twinkle in his eye. “What is it you remembered?”

“I recognized the name Parrish. Couldn’t place
it though. Couldn’t place it. But I remember now. It was a painter.”

“A painter?” Lord Henry said.

“Yes. Saw an exhibition years ago. Liked it. Very good paintings. Classical stuff and all that. Decided to buy one. But here’s what I’d forgotten. The artist was a woman, name of Parrish. Helena Parrish.”

Nick smiled. “She was my mother.”

“You don’t say?” Lord Randolph clapped Nick soundly on the back and laughed. “Your mother, eh? Well, what do you know about that.”

Lord Henry turned to Nick. “I didn’t know Helena Parrish was your mother. She was a very fine artist. I believe my brother, the duke, has a few of her paintings. And she did some decorative work at Beaufoy, his country seat. You remember, Randy? Those classical roundels in the new drawing room?”

“Quite so. And I have the one painting,” Lord Randolph said. “
The Judgment of Paris
. Even Julia likes it, and you know what a high stickler she is.”

Mrs. Shelbourne turned to Nick. “Well, Mr. Parrish, it seems you have a bit of cachet after all. Helena Parrish enjoyed a very elite patronage. She was quite successful, I believe.”

“Yes, she was,” Nick said, biting back the retort he would like to have delivered. “It is a pity she died so young.”

Pru gave his arm a squeeze, and he patted her hand.

“I am very pleased to know you have the
Judg
ment
, Lord Randolph,” he said. “I remember it well.”

“Look who I found.” Pru’s brother William stepped up to join them with a pretty young woman at his side. She was tall and blond and blue-eyed—definitely an Armitage.

“Joanna!”

Pru released Nick’s arm and moved to stand before the woman, taking both her hands and beaming with pleasure. Her face changed when she was excited. It took on a sort of radiance so that she was almost pretty. No, that was unfair. She
was
pretty, in a sweet, soft, delicate way he had never really found appealing. Until now.

“You’re back,” Pru said to the other young woman. “I am
so
pleased. I have missed you.”

“And I have missed you, too. But my dearest Pru, I understand there is big news.” She looked up at Nick and smiled. “Is this the handsome bridegroom I’ve heard so much about?”

Pru released the woman’s hands and tugged Nick forward. “This is Nicholas Parrish. My husband.” She still managed to flush every time she said the word. “And Nicholas, this is my cousin Joanna, Mrs. Draycott. She is the daughter of my uncle, Lord Arthur, whom you met earlier.”

Nick took the offered hand and bent over it. “Mrs. Draycott. It is a pleasure.”

“I am very pleased to meet you, sir,” she said. “I hope you know what a very lucky man you are.”

There was a bark of laughter from William, quickly stifled by a poke in the ribs from his fa
ther, and a delicate snort from Mrs. Shelbourne.

Nick took Pru’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I am very much aware of my good fortune, Mrs. Draycott.”

She raised her brows, glanced at Pru—who blushed, of course—and then looked back at Nick. “Well, then. I am very happy for you both.”

“I say, Parrish,” Lord Randolph said, “I don’t suppose you have any more of your mother’s paintings lying around gathering dust?”

“Paintings?” Mrs. Draycott looked at Pru.

“Come,” Pru said, “let us go find some champagne and I will tell you all about it.”

She took her cousin by the arm and led her away. Nick suspected there was a lot more to be said between them than a discussion of his mother’s pictures. He turned to Lord Randolph.

“Not gathering dust,” he said, “but we still have quite a few paintings. My father has most of them up in Derbyshire.”

“Dear God, Pru, he’s gorgeous!”

Pru grinned. “I know.”

“In all the times I’ve heard you talk of him,” Joanna said, “you never once mentioned that minor detail.”

Pru shrugged. “It never seemed important.”

“Bosh. Well, I can see how you would become besotted with him.”

“Shush, please, Joanna!”

“And it appears that he is equally besotted. The man is obviously in love with you, Pru.”

“No, he is not.”

“But—”

“Shush. Wait until we can be private and I’ll explain.”

Pru dragged her cousin faster along the perimeter of the ballroom toward a footman with a tray of glasses. They each grabbed one and walked out onto the terrace. Pru led the way to an empty stone bench farthest away from the few others who lingered outside in the cool night air.

They sat down, and Pru told her everything. Joanna was the only person in the world to whom Pru had ever admitted her infatuation with Nicholas. And only after her cousin had guessed. Pru had spoken so often of him and in such terms that Joanna had not been fooled. She, more than anyone, would understand the excruciating awkwardness of their marriage.

But she did not.

“My dear Pru, you are living a dream come true. Don’t invent obstacles for yourself. My God, girl, you are married to the man you love. You should not be feeling sorry for yourself. You should be making the best of it.”

“But he—”

“Now don’t start up again about how he could never love you. Of course he can. You are very lovable.”

Pru had to laugh at that. “Lovable?”

“Worthy of love.”

I am worthy of him
. It seemed all her friends were determined to encourage that litany.

“I don’t mean to sound so self-deprecating, Joanna. I know I am not completely worthless as a human being. But he is everything I am not. We are dreadfully mismatched.”

“Are you going to make me shake you, Pru? Heavens, just because a man is extraordinarily good-looking does not make him perfect. I am certain the man has flaws. I’ll bet you can name one right now.”

“A flaw?”

“Yes. Something about him that’s less than perfect. You’ve been living with him for a week now. Surely there is something.”

“Well…he is a bit stubborn about certain things.”

“Aha. Like what?”

“Money, mostly. He is too proud to touch my inheritance, even though I know he could use it. He won’t refuse me any household expense, even though I know he can ill afford it.”

“There. You see? He sounds as pig-headed as my Oliver. Don’t make him out to be a god. He is human, just as you are. And he will grow to love you in truth, I am sure.”

Pru sighed. “I hope you are right, Joanna. Discounting everything else, it is still awkward to be so unevenly matched in affection. Love on one side only is almost worse than no love at all.”

“Nonsense. He will love you in time. He
will
, Pru.”

“I have a friend who…who is trying to help me.”

“Help you how?”

“To be more attractive to him. To make him d-desire me.” Pru could hardly believe she said such a thing aloud, even to Joanna. How thoroughly embarrassing.

“Well, she has done a good job. You look quite smashing in that dress. And your hair is lovely. I am sure Nicholas noticed, and others as well. Come, let’s go back inside. There are gentlemen simply dying to dance with us.”

As they walked back in, they practically collided with Nicholas. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I wondered if you would like me to fetch your shawl, Pru. These April nights can be chilling.”

How very thoughtful he was. A gentleman to his fingertips. How could she not love him? “Thank you, Nicholas. But as you see, we have decided to come back inside.”

“Pru has been telling me about how your marriage came about,” Joanna said.

Pru gave a little gasp.
Be quiet, Joanna,
she wanted to say.

“I must congratulate you, sir, for doing the honorable thing. And for handling the situation so beautifully.”

He took Pru’s hand and tucked it into the now-familiar crook of his arm. She loved it when he did that.

“Pru has long been my friend. I could never have allowed her to be dishonored among her family. Despite—if you’ll forgive me for saying so—the wretched way so many of them treat her.”

“Yes, we Armitages can be exceedingly stupid at times.”

“I was not, of course, referring to you, Mrs. Draycott. I can see that you are a true friend to Pru.”

“I am. In fact, I suspect I am one of the few who realizes what she’s been up to all these years, working on
The Ladies’ Fashionable Cabinet
. Which means I am aware of your politics as well, sir. What a dreadful burden this rowdy, noble clan must be for you.”

Nicholas smiled. “I am getting used to it.”

“Good. For I fear you will be called upon to attend quite a few Armitage functions this Season, what with Arabella’s come-out and all. In fact, I was rather hoping to coax you into coming to a little musical evening I will be hosting next week. And hoping to coax Pru into playing.”

Nicholas gave Pru a quizzical look. “Playing?”

“I’m afraid I’m out of practice, Joanna. I’m sure you can find someone else.”

Joanna’s eyes narrowed. “How is it that you are out of practice? Oh, please do not tell me you have no pianoforte?”

Pru shrugged. It was not a subject she wished to discuss. One of the most painful aspects of moving out of her father’s house had been leaving behind the pianoforte. She missed it dreadfully. It did not help matters to have Broadwood & Son, makers of the finest pianofortes in England, located just behind Golden Square on Great Pulteney Street. She could see the back of their premises each time she looked out her bed chamber window. It gave her
such a pang of longing, though, that she had stopped looking out the window altogether.

She could have bought a pianoforte, of course. But she thought it might have ruffled her husband’s proud feathers for her to make such an expensive purchase with her own money. And she certainly did not wish to make him feel obliged to buy one for her.

“There is no pianoforte in your house, Mr. Parrish?” Joanna asked.

“I am afraid not, ma’am. My sister never played, and I confess I had no idea Pru did.”

“She not only plays, sir, but plays beautifully.”

“Pru?” Nicholas gazed at her with sharp interest. “Why did you never tell me?”

She gave another shrug. “It never seemed important.”

“And that is the biggest lie you have ever told,” Joanna said. “I know you cannot be happy without your music. Well.” She patted Pru’s hand. “We shall just have to see what we can do about that. In the meantime, please do come to my little musicale. I’ll send round a card. Oh dear, here comes Uncle Caldecott to claim his dance. Please excuse me.”

When she’d gone, Nick looked down at her and said, “Pru? Have I just discovered one of those important things I didn’t know about you? Music?”

“I play a little. That is all. So do thousands of other women. Most of the women in this room, I daresay.”

“Only a little, Pru? Damn, I wish we had an instrument, but—”

“Do not worry about it, Nicholas. Joanna exaggerates. It is not all that important. Really. Oh, here is Lionel.”

Joanna’s brother approached, wearing a friendly smile.

“Cousin Prudence? Would you care to join me in the next set?”

No doubt his sister had sent him to make sure she did not sit out another dance. Frankly, she was glad he’d asked. She really did not want to talk about pianofortes anymore. “I would indeed, Lionel. Thank you.”

As she walked onto the dance floor, she turned back to see Nicholas wearing a puzzled frown.

“C
or lumme, would yer look at dat?”

The Crimson Ladies spilled out of the dining room and into the hall to watch the workmen maneuvering the new pianoforte up the stairs.

“Ooh, now ain’t that a purty-lookin’ t’ing?”

“Can yer play one o’ them, Miz Nick?”

Pru watched the proceedings anxiously, terri?ed the workmen would damage the beautiful instrument. She was tempted to shout out, “Careful!” every few minutes, but the men from Broadwood & Son seemed to know what they were doing.

“Yes, Ginny, I can play the pianoforte. And I can hardly wait to play this one.”

“Did Mr. Nick buy it fer yer, then?”

“No, it is a gift from my cousin. A wedding
present.” An exceedingly generous one, too. She ought to have known Joanna would do something so extravagant. Pru had been tempted to send the workmen packing, to refuse to accept such a gift, until she read Joanna’s note.

Pru had blinked away tears after reading the note. Emotion was soon overcome, though, by pure childish excitement at the idea of having a brand new Broadwood five-and-a-half octave pianoforte of her very own. Joanna had chosen the instrument wisely. She had somehow known a grand would be too big for the small town house. But it was a beautiful large-sized square model in a satinwood case with boxwood and ebony stringing, and Pru’s fingers were itching to play it.

“That’s a right nice weddin’ present,” Ginny said. “I bet Mr. Nick’ll be surprised.”

No doubt about that. Pru only hoped he would not be angry to have a large pianoforte moved into the drawing room. And would not mind her playing now and then. She was more likely, though, to play when she was alone. She’d always preferred to play in private, to learn new pieces, to struggle and make mistakes without anyone else hearing.

“Watch yer step there, boyo,” Bess shouted, “or ye’ll be bouncing down them stairs on yer purty little arse.”

The Ladies shrieked with laughter, and Pru began to worry that they might be too much of a distraction to the workmen.

“Perhaps we should leave the men to their work,” she said, “and return to the dining room. How are those fashion plates coming along?”

She managed to herd the Ladies through the dining room door, though they made known their reluctance to do so. Pru had worked with them long enough not to be offended by any of their off-color remarks.

“Let me have a look at the plates,” Pru said. The painted fashion plates were spread across the dining room table to dry. As always, every plate was slightly different as each Crimson Lady felt obliged to introduce her own notion of color. Flora always provided a master copy, colored to her specifications. The Ladies had finally been convinced to adhere to the main design, but would not be deterred from adding a bit of their own flair in the details. Shoes and fans and hats and scarves and shawls were inevitably brightened by the
Ladies’ bold palette. Edwina had been wise enough to realize the unique plates would set the
Cabinet
apart from other similar publications, and had never discouraged the Ladies from adding their own bit of dash to the prints.

Ginny was partial to stripes. Madge could not resist a tiny splash of cherry red here and there. Bess, showing her Irish roots, loved bright greens. Daisy—who preferred to be called Marguerite—had a fondness for pattern and had become extraordinarily adept at painting paisley and floral designs on robe hems and shawls. Sadie liked any color, so long as it was bright, and had a penchant for unusual combinations, such as purple and orange.

And finally there was Polly. Rail thin and sickly, she had blossomed as a Crimson Lady, and Pru had hopes that she was no longer working the streets at night. She was the face painter, a very specialized and delicate job for which the girl had shown a special talent from the beginning. There was nothing bold about her work. Polly’s faces were delicate, pink-cheeked, and utterly charming.

A huge stack of uncolored plates stood on the sideboard. They had just begun on the next issue’s engravings, and there was still much to be done.

Pru picked up one of the finished plates. It was an afternoon dress of a particularly pleasing style. She looked at Flora’s description. A short white gauze robe (painted pink) with vandyke lace trimming, wrapped at the waist with gold cord
and tassels (painted sea green) over a white Cyprus petticoat. Yellow shoes (painted with pink stripes) and yellow gloves (actually painted yellow). The neckline dipped into a deep V and the cut of the robe across the shoulders and hips was especially flattering. Flora’s description stated it was “invented by Mrs. Phillips of New Bond Street,” one of the
Cabinet
’s frequent advertisers. Pru wondered—

“Miss?” Madge had come up behind Pru and peered over her shoulder. “Is there summink wrong wif the paintin’?”

Pru turned and smiled. “No, not at all, Madge. I was simply admiring the dress.”

“Aye, i’nt it loverly? It’d look real nice on yer, miss. That is, missus. Cor lumme, I can’t git used ter it. Yer bein’ Missus Nick, I mean.”

Pru laughed. “I can’t quite get used to it myself.” She replaced the print on the table and eyed the pile on the sideboard. “These are fine, Madge, but there are lots more to paint. I need them done by Wednesday. Can you manage it?”

“’Course we can, miss. Missus. Ma’am. Oh, crikey!”

Pru left them to their work and hurried up the stairs to see if the Broadwood had made it safely to the drawing room. The workmen had apparently just deposited it inside the doorway. They were all bent over and huffing like steam engines. She told them where to place it, then sat down and tested the tone. After some minor adjustments, it was perfect.

When the workmen had gone, Pru dashed to her bedchamber, fell to her knees, and crawled under the bed where she had stored her box of music. She really ought to go downstairs and work on the page proofs for the next issue. She really should.

But the Broadwood beckoned.

She had no idea how long she sat there playing all her favorite pieces. It was as though she had been dying in a desert and suddenly came upon an oasis. She had not realized how thirsty for music she’d been, and she drank her fill. Nothing difficult. Nothing new. But all her best pieces, the ones her fingers knew practically by heart. She played and played and played.

With the last note of a Mazzinghi air, she dropped her head onto the smooth satinwood, exhausted.

“That was beautiful, Pru.”

She sat up with a start to find Nicholas seated on a chair across the room. Dear heaven, she’d been so lost to the music she had not even noticed he’d come in.

“How long have you been there?” she asked.

“For the last three pieces. My God, Pru, you had me completely spellbound. I’m no expert, but you really are good, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “Passable. But I enjoy it.”

“I can see that. You were in another world, my dear.”

“Nicholas, isn’t it wonderful? Joanna sent the pianoforte as a wedding present.”

“It’s quite wonderful. That was very kind of her. Madge told me all about it when I came home.”

“Madge? Oh dear, I forgot all about the Ladies. Are they—”

“They are gone for the day. Madge was just straightening up when I came in. They’d been enjoying your playing.”

“Oh, but I have wasted the entire afternoon. Only look, it is dark out already. I had no idea.”

“You were lost in the music.”

“I suppose so. You do not mind, do you, Nicholas? About the pianoforte, I mean. I didn’t know where else to put it, and—”

“Of course I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here, and I can see now that your cousin was right about music being necessary to your happiness. It was very kind of her to send it. I am glad to know that
someone
in your family appreciates you. Come and sit down, Pru.”

He gestured toward the settee adjacent to where he sat. Pru stood, shook out her skirts, and arched her aching back. How long
had
she been playing?

When she was seated comfortably on the settee, Nicholas said, “Do you mind if I ask you about your family?”

“No, of course I don’t mind. What would you like to know?”

“If you’ll forgive me for asking, I’d like to know how you can bear the way most of them overlook you so completely. I listen to you play, Pru, and I
am in awe of your talent. And yet your own family seems to dismiss you out of hand. They tease you about your shyness and your small stature, or they ignore you altogether. And you seem to take it all in stride. How on earth have you managed to live with them and not turn into a quivering, craven mass of nerves?”

“It’s not been as bad as all that,” she said.

“I don’t know how you do it, Pru. I know that you’re shy and quiet, but you’re not spineless. You have a self-possession I would never expect from the treatment of you I’ve witnessed. I’m sorry to speak so disparagingly of your family. But it makes me angry to think they don’t recognize how special you are.”

Special? He thinks I’m special?

“Tell me how you have survived, Pru. It’s another one of those important things I want to learn about you.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.” Especially with her mind preoccupied by the notion that he thought her special. But appreciating her playing was not the same as finding her desirable, or falling in love with her. It was perhaps foolish of her to wish for more than admiration or respect. She knew many marriages were not blessed with even as much as that. She ought to be content.

“I’ve never found it all that difficult,” she continued. “I’ve always known I was different, of course. I was the only one who took after my mother. She was small like me, and yet she was a
bit of a spitfire. I suppose I had her as an example. But I was always quiet. I could never be as outspoken as she was. Yet she taught me to accept who I am.”

“I wish I’d known her.”

Pru smiled wistfully. “You would have liked her, Nicholas. She was a true bluestocking. She probably would have dashed off to France, like you did, to be a part of the Revolution, if she had lived long enough.”

“Ah, so you get your republican sensibilities from your mother?”

“Certainly not from my father. Or my brothers.” She chuckled. “Tories to the tips of their toes.”

Nicholas got up and moved to sit at the other end of the settee. “And she also taught you how to survive among the Viking hordes?”

Pru gave a crack of unladylike laughter, then covered her mouth in embarrassment. “The Viking hordes? Is that how they appear to you? Oh, I like that. It’s a perfect image. But yes, I suppose I did learn from her how to survive as the least Viking-like of them all. I’ve always known I would never be as tall or as beautiful or as gregarious or as witty as the rest of them. But I never felt envious.”

He watched her with such an intense expression in those dark eyes, she had to wonder what he was thinking. Did he not believe her? And was she indeed being completely truthful? Hadn’t she been wishing she was beautiful like a true Ar
mitage so she wouldn’t feel such a dowd beside Nicholas?

I am worthy of him. I am worthy of him.

“Actually,” she said, “I…I am not the most self-confident person who ever lived. Being the runt of such a grand litter does take its toll. But I must confess that my work for the
Cabinet
has given me more confidence than anything I’ve ever done.”

His eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Oh, yes.”

“More than music?”

“Yes. Music is just for me, you see. An indulgence, really. But the
Cabinet
is something of real value. Working with Edwina, and for this short time on my own, has been the greatest pleasure of my life. I feel like I have really and truly accomplished something.”

“And yet you must have felt some confidence before you joined the
Cabinet
. When you submitted your first essay, for example. You had to have believed in yourself.”

“Yes, you’re right. I was prepared for it to be rejected, but I was exceedingly proud of it.” She smiled as she remembered the exaltation she’d felt when the essay had been accepted, the thrill of knowing her words would be printed for anyone to read. It had been a heady moment. “I may be small and plain and quiet—a mouse among a family of lions—but I have always known I had a brain, and a few talents, and that has been enough.”

Nicholas reached out and touched her cheek, ever so lightly. “Small and quiet, or petite and soft-spoken. But never plain.”

He did not think her plain? Her pulse rushed, and she trembled beneath his touch. Was he just being kind once again?

He held his hand against her cheek and smiled into her eyes. “Never plain,” he repeated.

Oh, how she wanted to believe him. If she had moved up a notch from plain, was she inching closer to desirable?

Flora’s lessons began to race through her mind. If ever there was a time to flirt, to entice, it was now. Perhaps she should try one of the eye tricks.
One must not flutter one’s lashes rapidly as though assailed by gnats, but slowly and seductively like the wings of a butterfly.

Pru tried it. Close. Open. Close. Open. Again and again.

He dropped his hand from her cheek, leaving her bereft. She fluttered more urgently.

“My dear, do you have something in your eye?”

She closed her eyes and stifled a groan.

“Pru?”

“No, no, I am fine. There is nothing in my eye.” How mortifying.

“You know, my dear,” he said, “you should not be afraid to wear your spectacles if you feel the need.”

Spectacles? Dear God, what a hopeless excuse for a flirt she was. She could not even flutter her
lashes properly without him thinking she had a squint. Flora would be ashamed of her.