Carola Dunn (18 page)

Chapter 8

 
Act III: Tony Lumpkin promises to help Constance flee with Hastings and even steals her jewels for her from his mother’s bureau.

 “‘My dear cousin!’“ Constance cries fervently.

 To quell the blush that threatened when Rusholme grinned at her, Prudence had to imagine falling through the ice into the frigid water below. He knew how nearly she had succumbed to moonlight and his kiss. If Hastings had not arrived at precisely the wrong moment.... The right moment, she corrected herself.

 But right or wrong, he had arrived. She was on her guard now, aware of her own susceptibility. Unfortunately, that was not going to help her tackle him about the stage direction which had been preying on her mind ever since he had taken Ben’s part.

 She was happier now about the coquetting business. Copying Lady Anne rather than Aimée, she need not fear she would do anything to make him think her unspeakably vulgar.

 Though if he thought her unspeakably vulgar, perhaps he’d lose interest in her, a consummation devoutly to be wished. Was it not?

 Determinedly she turned her attention back to the stage, where Marlow flirted with Kate Hardcastle under the impression that she was a servant. All coy encouragement, Aimée actually remembered most of her lines. On stage she seemed playful, not vulgar, whereas Lady Anne’s attempt to entrap Rusholme into marriage was highly improper. Once more perplexed, Prudence sighed.

 Beside her, Ben Dandridge echoed her sigh. His broken leg stretched before him, he had watched the rehearsal lost in gloom, especially when Tony plagued Mrs. Hardcastle. Impudence came naturally to him and Rusholme’s attempt to counterfeit it pained him more than his broken bones.

 “Tell his lordship I’d like a word with him after,” he said in an undertone to Prudence when she joined him.

 “You will give him some advice?”

 “Gad no! Me advise an earl? That’s a laugh.”

 Rusholme saw them whispering and wondered if Dandridge was pointing out to her how badly his substitute acted. More likely he considered that too obvious to mention and was simply venting his bile. The poor fellow had a right to chagrin, though not to blame Rusholme for his plight. He might well wish for a more adequate replacement.

 The rehearsal ended and Prudence approached Rusholme. Her gazed fixed on his middle waistcoat button, she said, “Can you spare a moment to speak to Ben, my lord?”

 Her return to strict formality surprised him. After the way she had responded to him last night, even though she had drawn back at the last moment, he had expected at least acknowledgement of the attraction between them. Instead, she behaved like a modest, respectable woman afraid of her own impulses.

 She was an actress, he reminded himself. The rôle of a proper young lady came easily to her, witness her Constance Neville. Maybe she was lost in the part, so involved she reacted like Constance on stage and off.

 In which case he wished his father had chosen The Beggars’ Opera, with Prudence as the promiscuous Polly Peachum!

 But he could afford to wait. In any case, despite being sorely tempted last night, he had no intention of proceeding to the actual seduction scene under his parents’ roof. In the meantime, it might prove amusing to treat her as the virtuous damsel she presently felt herself to be.

 “Certainly, Miss Savage,” he said gravely. “After I have spoken to Dandridge, may I beg for a word with you?”

 “Yes.” She glanced quickly up at his face then down again, looking adorably flustered. “I must talk to you about...about Act IV.”

 Aha, the fondling business. A smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Rusholme went to see the injured actor.

 Dandridge reached for his crutches.

 “Don’t stand up, man. What can I do for you?”

 “I just want to thank you, my lord,” Dandridge said gruffly.

 “Thank me?”

 “If they’d had to hire another actor, he’d’ve had to be paid, out of my share. I’d not’ve got a penny.”

 “I see! I can’t claim I realized, still less that my motive was to aid you, but I’m glad it has worked out well for you. Are you getting proper care?”

 “Better’n I’d get anywheres else. I’m told these crutches were your lordship’s.”

 “I thought they looked familiar.” Rusholme laughed. “I’d like to be able to say I came off my horse attempting a daring jump, but the fact is I stumbled going down the stairs in a hurry.”

 Dandridge grinned. “It happens to the best of us, my lord,” he said, gesturing ruefully at his splinted leg.

 Waiting a few paces off, Prudence saw Ben smile. Rusholme had cheered him up when he could so easily have condescended, or even sneered at the ex-acrobat for his clumsiness. The earl was considerate and amusing as well as perilously seductive. How was she to fight him?

 He came over to her. “Before we discuss Act IV, Miss Savage,” he said seriously, “may I request your counsel? I’m all too aware I make a sorry botch of Tony’s scenes with his mother, so I asked Dandridge to advise me. He said he couldn’t possibly. Do you know why?”

 She responded to his seriousness with frankness. “In part it is because you are a nobleman. He would not presume to instruct you. But I believe it’s mostly because he is not conscious of how he does what he does. Since he does not analyse his method, he cannot teach it.”

 “Then I am sunk, since Hardcastle merely tells me I am not rude enough, unless you can help me?”

 “I can only suggest you try to think of yourself as Tony Lumpkin, not as Lord Rusholme playing Tony Lumpkin. That is not very helpful, I fear.”

 He smiled wryly. “I’ll try, but I suspect I am too self-conscious, quite the reverse of Dandridge. Now, what is the difficulty with Act IV?”

 “I expect you can guess.”

 “You don’t care to abuse me to my face?” he teased.

 “Constance is perfectly willing to abuse Tony, I assure you.”

 “But, if I’m not mistaken, Constance is not willing to fondle her dear cousin.”

 “The stage direction reads ‘seem to fondle.’“ Prudence reminded him firmly.

 “Did I not promise on my honour not to force my attentions on you? Tony stands by Rusholme’s word. Come, now, let us see what we can work out which will satisfy Hardcastle and our audience without offending your sensibilities.”

 Her heart swelling with gratitude, Prudence agreed. It wasn’t his fault that his hand at her waist made her quiver inside and her hand on his shoulder burned at the feel of the hard muscle beneath the blue Bath cloth. As he pointed out, they were no closer than a thousand couples waltzing in fashionable ballrooms.

 The Easthavens’ New Year’s Ball was tomorrow. Rusholme would be waltzing with Lady Estella, Miss Wallace, even Lady Anne, not with Prudence.

 The wind changed that night, bringing warm, moist air from the southwest. Before breakfast on New Year’s Eve, Prudence walked down to the lake. The ice was rapidly melting. Soon the spot where Rusholme had nearly kissed her by moonlight would be just another patch of rippling water reflecting the grey overcast.

 The rehearsal of Act IV went well enough for Mr. Hardcastle to declare a holiday on New Year’s Day. Rusholme continued to treat Prudence with absolute courtesy, not once hinting at any desire for an improper relationship. Of course she was glad, but she could not help wondering....

 Was he simply fickle? Had her admittedly equivocal behaviour on the lake convinced him of her respectability? Had his parents somehow learned of his gallantries and forbidden them? Or did discretion, honour, and kindness alike dictate an end to his hopes of an illicit liaison because he had made up his mind to offer for Miss Wallace?

 The last possibility so cast down Prudence’s spirits that Aimée remarked upon it. “Cheer up, Sera,” she said. “Maybe we aren’t invited to the nobs’ ball but you wouldn’t enjoy it anyways with all them high-and-mighty ladies looking down their noses at you.”

 “I know. I don’t want to attend, but I should like to see it.”

 “Then go and peek through the windows,” Aimée suggested.

 So that night Prudence crept downstairs and slipped out through a side door. She made her way around to the terrace outside the ballroom. The weather was so much warmer than it had been that though December was about to become January she was quite comfortable in her woollen gown and green cloak.

 Up the steps, between the stone gryphons standing guard on pedestals at the top. The strains of a country dance floated out into the night air. Silently Prudence flitted from one window to the next until she found one where the crimson velvet curtains did not quite meet. Through the narrow slit she glimpsed a gentleman’s black-clad shoulder, the pretty face of an unknown lady with pearls entwined in her blond hair, and several bobbing heads beyond.

 She wanted to see Lord Rusholme, she confessed to herself. She wanted to know who was his partner, whether he was lavishing attention on Miss Wallace, galloping around the floor with Lady Estella, or under attack again by Lady Anne. The servants said Lady Anne had taken up with Mr. Ffoliot since her mishap on the lake, but he was ineligible. Beautiful as she was, she might hope in her ballroom finery to dazzle Rusholme.

 Prudence moved on to one of the french-window bays. No one would venture out to the terrace at this time of year, she thought. Expecting to find the door locked, she turned the handle.

 The door opened. The noise was suddenly loud: music of strings, spinet, and flute; voices and laughter; the thump of feet on polished parquet. Closing the door behind her, Prudence stole over to the curtains. Here she was, skulking behind the arras again!

 This time she could bolt if anyone approached. Parting the curtains the merest trifle she put her eye to the gap.

 A swirl of colour met her wondering gaze. Beneath chandeliers ablaze with hundreds of wax candles, jewels sparkled, gold gleamed, spangles shimmered. Lady Easthaven crossed just in front of the curtains, glittering with a king’s ransom in diamonds and amethysts—which clashed abominably with her claret-red gown. She stopped no more than a yard off to exchange a word with a gentleman. As he turned his head, Prudence recognized the marquis, his red face beaming.

 “I’m good and ready for my supper, my dear,” he said.

 “Just as soon as this set is finished,” she assured him. “You really must speak to Garth. He keeps dancing with his sisters and his friends’ wives.”

 Lord Easthaven merely chuckled. Prudence at once decided she liked him.

 She could not see Rusholme, peer as she might. Miss Wallace was nearby, partnered by her brother-in-law, Mr. Denham. Lady Anne tripped across Prudence’s field of vision, arm linked with Mr. Ffoliot’s. She was indeed dazzling in a rose silk gown with a white lace overskirt, cut quite as low at the neck as Prudence’s captive-princess dress. But she was not with Rusholme and to judge from Lady Easthaven’s words, he had not danced with her.

 The music came to an end. People began to stream towards the pillared exit to the anteroom, presumably on their way to supper. Prudence sighed—she had seen all she was going to see.

 She was turning away when she heard Lady Anne’s voice, close by. “No, I am not hungry. La! It is too horridly hot in here.”

 A man spoke. “Perhaps a breath of fresh air? The weather is amazingly warm for the season.”

 “Well, just for a moment, if the doors are not locked. I feel quite faint. I am sure Mama could not object to my stepping out just for a moment.”

 Prudence leapt for the door. Closing it behind her with a distinct click, she ducked to her right. As the curtains parted and light flooded forth, she crouched down in the angle where the bay met the wall.

 A moment later, Lady Anne and Mr. Ffoliot stepped out onto the terrace. She was fanning herself vigorously, as if to lend colour to her words. He pulled the door shut, offered his arm, and led her away from the stream of light.

 “It is colder than I thought,” Lady Anne complained. “I believe I shall go in.”

 “Never fear, my dear, I shall keep you warm.” Mr. Ffoliot swept her into his arms.

 “Let me go!” she exclaimed. “You go too far, sir, indeed you do.”

 “I shall let you go,” he assured her, sounding amused, “as soon as we are discovered. I daresay your parents will be glad to accept my suit when you are found out here in my embrace.”

 Prudence stifled a chuckle. Lady Anne was caught in the net she had cast for Rusholme.

 “But I don’t want to marry you!”

 “I’m not eager to tie the knot myself, but you’ve a devilish attractive fortune, my dear. Come, I’ll teach you to love me.” He drew her closer.

 “No!” she cried, beating on his chest as he bent his head to kiss her.

 Deciding matters had gone far enough, Prudence stood up and took off her cloak. She folded it over her arm and approached the couple.

 “My lady, your wrap,” she announced in a loud voice. “You’ll catch your death.”

 Ffoliot jumped back. “What the deuce?”

 Prudence draped her cloak around the sobbing girl and thrust a handkerchief into her hand. “Go on in,” she said gently. “I shan’t tell.”

 Lady Anne fled. Prudence watched to be sure she was safe inside.

 “You’re no abigail,” said Ffoliot. “Who the devil are you?”

 Not deigning to respond, Prudence turned away.

 He seized her arm and pulled her into the light. “The other actress, by all that’s holy! Miss Savage, isn’t it? Well, you’ve savaged my chances with Lady Anne. You can’t compensate me for loss of her fortune, but a little compensation for loss of her person will not come amiss.”

 “You already have Aimée,” Prudence pointed out. “You cannot want two mistresses at once.”

 “You’d be surprised.” He reached for her other arm.

 She wrenched herself free and dashed towards the terrace steps. As she reached the top, he caught her. Grasping her shoulders, he swung her around and backed her against the pedestal. His body crushed her against the stone.

 “Not so fast, little savage. I want compensation and if you won’t give it, I’ll take it.”

 Struggling in vain, Prudence knew the helpless fear Lady Anne must have felt. In saving the girl she had ruined herself.