Candice Hern (9 page)

“He still calls you
miss
,” he said.

“Yes, I know. He has been told we are married. I suppose it is just habit. Madge does the same thing.”

Madge was the “supervisor” of the Crimson Ladies. She had learned to read and had taken on more responsibility. Considering Madge’s streetwise sense of humor, Nick wondered if she deliberately failed to acknowledge Pru’s married state because she knew there had been no consummation of the marriage.

“I am glad you are free,” Pru said. “I need your advice on these book reviews. I am not at all satisfied with them.”

Nick pulled the chair close to the desk and took the sheets Pru passed to him. They spent the next hour discussing the merits of the prose and the opinions of the reviewer, one of their regular contributors, and collaborating on the necessary edits. It was their first entirely comfortable conversation since they’d married.

“It’s a relief to have these done,” she said. “There had been so much else to do, I simply couldn’t find the time to think these over properly. I appreciate your help, Nicholas.”

“Anytime, my dear, though you have such a keen editorial eye, I doubt you really need any assistance. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

She smiled and, for once, did not blush. Perhaps he’d discovered the key to breaking through her modest reserve. Always steer the discussion back to the magazine, where she felt some level of confidence.

“Take care, though,” he said. “If you continue to do such a good job, Edwina may never come back. By the way, did you ever write to her?”

“Yes, I posted a letter two days ago. Had you wanted to add something?”

“Another time, perhaps.” He smiled. “She will be surprised at our news, I daresay.”

“Yes, I suppose she will. And you have written to your father?”

“I have.” He chuckled as he imagined the look on his father’s face when he read the news. “He’ll be astonished to have both his children married within the same year. He will remember you from Edwina’s wedding.”

“Then he is sure to be doubly astonished.” A definite twinkle lit those blue eyes, and Nick realized she was laughing at herself.

“He is sure to think I am a very fortunate man.”

Pru grinned at him, and he felt a tiny cracking of the awkward wall between them.

“You do remember, I hope” she said, “that Arabella’s ball is tomorrow night? I’m sorry to have to drag you along. I know you do not enjoy such things, but I really see no way to avoid it.”

“Of course we shall not avoid it. She is your niece and, I believe, very fond of you. Besides, I’ve always rather enjoyed dancing.”

“Have you? It is a good thing, then, because so many of my cousins will be angling for a dance with you.”

“I was not thinking of your cousins. I look forward to dancing with
you
.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How do you know I won’t trample on your toes?”

“Because I know you will not. I rather imagine
you are a good dancer. You have a musical sort of grace about you.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Do I?”

“Yes, you do. So, we shall dance together and make the entire company jealous with our terpsichorean efforts.”

He actually
was
looking forward to dancing with Pru. Despite that odd moment when he’d caught her lurching about so awkwardly in the office, she really did have a graceful way of moving. More to the point, some of the dances could be quite sensual and provocative. He might be able to use them to accustom Pru to touching and moving together, as a prelude to some later intimacy.

And all the while, he would play the lovestruck bridegroom again, for the sake of her family. Then they would return home to their separate bedchambers, to sleep alone.

What an absurd marriage this was.

“Y
ou look awful pretty, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Lucy.” Pru studied her re?ection in the mirror. “You have done marvels with this unruly mass of curls. I only hope they don’t spring out in all directions before the evening is through.”

“They are well secured by the bandeau. Mrs. Gallagher showed me what to do. But if one or two curls escape, it will still look pretty.”

“Are you certain I should not wear plumes to make me look taller?”

“Mrs. Gallagher says this spray of short feathers is much more fashionable.”

Mrs. Gallagher says. The woman was a spellbinder. Lucy had been in a state of awe ever since Flora had suggested she might lend a hand as Pru’s
dresser. The young girl had already absorbed more of Flora’s advice than Pru. She seemed to have memorized every word. She’d done an excellent job with Pru’s hair, which had never been easily tamed. But Lucy had tucked and braided and twisted the whole curly mess around a stiffened bandeau of gold-embroidered muslin, and Pru was quite pleased with the result. She looked almost passable.

I am worthy of him
.

She stood and shook out her skirts. Madame Lanchester had rushed to create tonight’s dress, complaining that she hadn’t been given enough time to do a proper job. But she had acquiesced in exchange for Flora’s promise to feature several of her designs in the fashion plates of the next few issues of the
Cabinet
.

Pru had not been a model client. She would not agree to the deep neckline Madame had wanted. Instead, she had insisted on an additional row of lace, which Pru thought looked rather pretty, and didn’t leave her feeling quite so naked. Flora had been right about color. The pale green muslin did look better than her usual white. The open robe was embellished all along the edge with gold embroidered flowers, giving an added elegance to the simple line. Madame had suggested a cut slightly less full in the skirt than usual. The style, she had said, was better suited to Pru’s short stature. There had been a muttered remark about pouter pigeons, but Pru let it pass without comment.

“Here are your gloves, ma’am. And your shawl.”

Pru tugged on the gloves and took one last look
in the mirror. She was still no beauty, but she did look a bit less dowdy than usual. Now, there was only Nicholas to worry about.

I am worthy of him
.

She found Nicholas in the drawing room. He looked more handsome than ever, in a dark blue coat, gray satin breeches, and sparkling white linen. He wore a waistcoat of fine silvery brocade with a stand-up collar framing the intricate pleating of his shirtfront. His nearly black hair and dark eyes were set off to perfection by the crisp white folds of his neckcloth.

The old, familiar fluttering began to thrum in her breast, and Flora’s litany seemed suddenly ridiculous.

“Ah, Pru.” His eyes widened slightly, then ever so discreetly scanned her from head to toe. He smiled and said, “How strange that I have never before seen you in evening dress. You look lovely.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. A flush of pure pleasure heated her cheeks. He thought she looked lovely. Or at least he was kind enough to say so. She smiled and walked toward him.

“I was just fortifying myself with a splash of brandy,” he said. “May I pour one for you?”

“A small one, yes. Thank you.”

“That’s a very pretty dress,” he said, talking over his shoulder as he poured. He handed her a glass and studied her as she took a sip. “And your hair is different, too. I like it.”

“Thank you.” Her instinct told her the words were false flattery, mere politeness, but she dis
missed that thought. If she was to carry herself with the positive attitude Flora talked about, she must at least pretend to believe him. “I have discovered Lucy has a talent for hairdressing.”

“She does indeed.” A hint of something—anxiety?—flickered for an instant in his eyes, then vanished as quickly. “Are you thinking you might want Lucy to take on the role of a lady’s maid? We could hire another housemaid if you like.”

Pru shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I certainly do not need a personal maid. I will occasionally need Lucy’s help with…with my hair and such. That is all.” She had almost mentioned corset laces, and blushed at the very idea.

“You’re sure?”

“Quite sure, thank you.”

“Well, then.”

He took a sip of brandy and continued to study her, making Pru exceedingly uneasy. Was he thinking that even dressed in her finest, probably looking as good as she ever would, she still wasn’t remotely desirable?

Again, she dismissed those thoughts and tried to remember all the assets that were supposed to offset her liabilities. Perhaps she should not have insisted on that extra row of lace after all.

Flora had given her another lesson in flirtation, but Pru was a bit nervous about putting any of it into practice tonight. She was not at all confident that she could pull it off. Instead, she would simply try to walk tall—or as tall as she was able—and think about how jealous her cousins would be
when she walked into the ball looking as good as she’d ever looked and with the handsomest man in the room on her arm.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice interrupted her reverie.

She looked up to find him smiling at her.

“You had such a look on your face,” he said. “Your eyes were positively twinkling. What were you thinking?”

“Oh. I was just looking forward to the ball. It will be nice to have a dancing partner. That is, if you still mean to stand up with me.”

“As many times as propriety allows a lovestruck bridegroom to dance with his wife,” he said. “I am looking forward to it, too.”

Ah, yes. Their supposed love match. At least that pretense was easy for her to do. She could wear her heart on her sleeve and he would never know it was not an act.

“I daresay we ought to be leaving. But first”—he held up his glass—“a toast to our first ball, Mrs. Parrish.”

She clinked her glass to his. “Our first ball.” She swallowed the rest of the brandy and allowed its smoldering fire to soothe those few nerves that still prickled along the edges of her composure.

He took her empty glass and set it with his on a sideboard. “We had better be on our way. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She’d been
ready
that whole week, for heaven’s sake.

Nick led his wife onto the dance floor for the opening set. He was relieved to do so. He’d been introduced to even more Armitage family members and been faced with several prominent aristocrats he hadn’t known were related to Pru. He’d been itching to challenge her uncle, Lord Gordon, on his recent harangue in the House of Lords on the Definitive Treaty, and to quiz her cousin Lord Caldecott on his position on the proposed factory bill.

But it was neither the time nor the place for political debate, so he kept his opinions to himself and tried to be charming.

He stood across from Pru in the line and locked eyes with her. They had maintained the fiction of a love match. It would have been impossible to do otherwise, with Arabella mentioning it at every opportunity. Pru, he discovered, was quite good at the game. Too reserved to make a big show of it, she nevertheless acted the part of a besotted bride to perfection. No one would guess that dazzled look in her eye was mere playacting.

His quiet little wife was full of surprises.

Nick watched her as the rest of the couples got into place. His earlier compliment had been meant to bolster her self-confidence before facing another public ordeal, but there had been truth in it, too. She looked surprisingly pretty. Before tonight, she had always seemed to be wrapped up in layers and layers of muslin, with scarves and handkerchiefs and fichus and whatnot draped all about. He could see now that she’d been hiding a nice, petite figure beneath all that swathing. Tonight’s
dress was simple and narrower in the skirt than usual, and—heaven be praised—lower cut in the neckline. Not as low as most of the women lined up beside her. There was a prodigious amount of lace obscuring any real glimpse of bosom, but Nick was intrigued nonetheless.

His gaze drifted to the woman standing to Pru’s left. One of the cousins. Lady Bidwell, if he recalled correctly. She was staring openly at Nick and gave a provocative smile when his eyes met hers. She lifted her brows in question. Nick knew the look well. It was an invitation—and not the first he’d received that evening.

Nick was as susceptible as the next man to such encouragement from an attractive woman. But these were Pru’s relatives, for God’s sake. Did they really think he would abandon her so soon, and for one of her own family?

He ignored Lady Bidwell and glanced again at Pru, who wore a faint smile, rueful and self-mocking, as though she was fully aware of the actions of her female relations. What an odd little creature she was. Did she not care that they showed her such disrespect?

The music began, and they commenced the opening figure of the dance. Nick kept his eyes on Pru—to avoid any more blatant propositions from Lady Bidwell, and to lend credence to the love match fiction.

Pru’s eyes gleamed with delight as she moved through the familiar steps of the triple minor set. She was an excellent dancer, as he’d expected. She
glided through each figure with impeccable grace, and seemed to absorb the music right into her bones so that she moved in perfect synchrony with it. Her taller cousins and aunts all moved with a sort of stately elegance. Pru, on the other hand, was like a tiny fluff of down, softly floating along the floor. Nick was quite charmed as he watched her.

He gave her fingers a squeeze when he took her hand to lead her down the line, and he could feel the weight of his signet ring beneath her glove. A twinge of shame pricked his conscience. He really ought to have bought her another ring, but she had been so adamant that he not do so. She knew his financial situation, and always seemed to be cautious about spending his money. Everyone would see the damned thing when she removed her gloves for supper. Did she really have to flaunt it, so everyone would know he hadn’t bought her a proper ring?

The dance was lengthy and vigorous, and most of the ladies were fanning themselves when it was over. He offered his arm to Pru, who was smiling and flushed pink with exertion, and escorted her from the floor.

“You enjoyed that, Pru?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you so much for leading me out. I’ve always loved to dance but never get many opportunities to do so. Oh, there’s Uncle Randolph. He’s a bit of an odd bird, but I’m quite fond of him. May I introduce you?”

“Of course.”

Pru led him to an older man with a wild mass of grizzled gray hair and equally woolly eyebrows. He was tall, like all the Armitages, but was decidedly more stout. He smiled at Pru’s approach.

“Prudence, my dear girl.” His voice was almost a bellow, and the tiniest bit slurred. “I didn’t see you arrive. Come here and give your old uncle a kiss.”

He bent forward, and Pru rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“How are you, Uncle?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain. But I heard something about you. What was it? Damn me, I can’t remember.”

“Uncle Randolph, you’ve had too many glasses of champagne again, haven’t you?”

He waved his hand as though batting away a pesky insect. “Bah. A man can’t get properly foxed on that fizzy stuff. But what was it I heard about you?”

“Uncle, I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is Nicholas Parrish. My…husband.”

“Husband? Ha! That was it.”

“Nicholas, this is my uncle, Lord Randolph Armitage.”

“How do you do, Lord Randolph?” Nick held out his hand, and the old man grasped it tightly.

“Well, what do you know? You’re Prudence’s young man, then? Now I remember the whole tale. Never more surprised in my life. My wife told me all about it.”

Nick thought the man, who grinned from ear to
ear and whose blue eyes twinkled with glee, would never stop pumping his hand.

“You remember my Aunt Julia?” Pru said to Nick, while deftly ending the handshake by placing her hand on her uncle’s. “Lady Randolph?”

He did indeed remember the woman. She had not flirted with him but had glared at him down the length of her aristocratic nose, disapproval oozing from every pore.

“Something havey-cavey, as I recall,” Lord Randolph said. “Julia said it was some sort of ramshackle business. Henry put a gun to your ribs, eh, my boy? Gun to your ribs?” He guffawed loudly, his belly shaking with laughter. “But I shouldn’t worry. Prudence won’t cause you a moment’s trouble, I daresay. Quiet as a little mouse, that one.” He leaned close to Nick. The smell of wine on his breath was almost overpowering. He lowered his voice to what he must have thought was a whisper, but was no such thing. “She’ll be so glad to have a husband, she’s sure to turn a blind eye to a bit of dalliance here and there. A blind eye.” He winked, and nudged Nick on the arm.

Nick was about to object, to go into his speech about he and Pru being in love, when Lord Randolph spoke up again.

“Parrish? Parrish? Was that the name?”

Nick tugged Pru closer and placed her hand on his arm. If he couldn’t convey the love match tale with words, he would do so with actions. “Yes, my lord. I am Nicholas Parrish.”

“Now, where have I heard that name? Have we met before, my boy?”

“No, my lord, I do not believe so.” He wondered if the man might have read one of his political pamphlets. Or one of the articles written under his own name in the
Morning Chronicle
.

“Well, I never forget a name. Can’t always recall who or what it belongs to, but I never forget. Parrish. Hmm. It’ll come to me. It’ll come to me. Anyway, you got yourself a fine-looking young husband, my girl. You be a good little wife, now, you hear?”

Pru smiled and blushed. “Yes, Uncle, I will.”

“Ah, there’s Walsham. Must have a word. Good to meet you, my boy. Good to meet you.”

Pru was grinning when Nick looked down at her. “I’m afraid he’s a bit of a character,” she said. “He’s very sweet, though, even if he does drink too much and talk too loud.”

“My dear
little wife
, you seem to be the only Armitage who knows how to speak softly.”