Compromising Prudence (9 page)

The ceremony took only minutes. They calmly recited their vows in Parson’s office with Graham and Henry attending. Charles found himself understandably anxious. A man didn’t get riveted every day, even if the marriage were a matter of convenience. It was rapidly becoming a happy convenience. Unfortunately, both he and Prudence had forgotten the matter of a ring and so he slid his Cambridge signet ring on her slim finger. The ring was ridiculously large, but she held it on with her thumb.

After Richard Parson pronounced them Mr. and Mrs. Hatterly, he cupped her face with one hand and kissed her so sweetly that no one watching would ever guess theirs was a hasty bargain.

Graham and Henry thumped his back so enthusiastically he feared for his ribs. He tolerated the thumping with his usual good nature, but drew the line at Graham’s professed intent to kiss the bride. Not that he was so possessive, Charles reasoned, but merely that he couldn’t trust his angelic new wife not to seduce the man with her kiss.

She had that sort of effect.

Before they left, Parson drew him aside. “Are you sure about this, Hatterly? Do you really know what…?”

Charles stopped him with a small gesture. “I’m aware that Miss Wemberly is the subject of gossip.”

Parson’s shoulders relaxed. “You know who her father is?”

“Of course I know. Your concern is appreciated, but I have found my mate. She’ll enjoy rattling about the house and making friends in Strayfield.”

“Until the first time you come tromping though her parlour with muddy boots and a couple dozen eggs, I wager. You really think a London miss will be content to rusticate in Kent? Nothing is final until I file the paperwork. What say I hold the certificate for a couple of days? Then if you — if either one of you — says the word, I’ll burn the papers and no one is the wiser. Your brothers wouldn’t say anything. Well, long as you remind them not to.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Charles said and went out to offer his arm to his wife who waited in an alcove.

“Now then, Miss Wemberly, where to? It’s our wedding day and while I cannot offer you a proper trip just yet, we should take in the sights.”

Her soft lips curved. “It isn’t Miss Wemberly any longer, is it, Mr. Hatterly?”

He grinned. “I stand corrected,
Mrs
. Hatterly — although I suppose we should be Prudence and Charles now.”

“My sisters call me Pru.” He found it difficult to take his eyes off her lips, so full and moist. He’d enjoyed their brief kiss earlier.

“I don’t know.” He covered her hand with his. “I’ve become quite fond of Prudence which has a certain quality. But Pru it is.”

He leaned in, his eyes very serious. Why shouldn’t he kiss her? She was his wife, was she not? His mouth covered hers, coaxing her lips apart. With a sweet sigh she leaned into him. His arm slid around her waist.

He was quickly lost in her heat and the delicate scent of the meadows in spring after the first rains, too lost to even appreciate that his brilliant mind had been reduced to poetry.

Chapter Seven

T
HE
G
ASPS
O
F
A P
AIR
of women brought Charles back to reality. They broke apart and he tipped his hat to the startled women. “My wife,” he said, as if that explained the public nature of their embrace. “For all of five minutes.”

The women shook their heads indulgently.

“Being a newlywed gains one quite a bit of latitude in public,” Pru murmured.

She was flushed, bewitchingly so. Her bonnet was askew and her lips were still tempting. She didn’t appear displeased at all. Charles worried again that ignoring one another might prove impossible. He doubted he could hold his end of that bargain.

He slipped his arm back around her waist, drawing her to his side. “You’ve never been to the zoo? How is that even possible? Surely your father knows a member or two.”

The Zoological Gardens were closed to nonmembers, but vouchers flowed freely. Anyone of note could easily obtain the necessary paper which would allow admission.

“Papa didn’t approve.”

“How could anyone possibly disapprove of the zoo?”

“He is of the opinion that young ladies should spend their time engaged in edifying experiences.”

“But the zoo is edifying,” Charles protested. With such an overprotective parent, he was a mystified how she had fallen into the hands of a scoundrel such as Petworth.

“I’ve seen the buildings from Regent’s Park. Once, when I was just a little girl, I visited Lord Wray’s personal collection, the one he donated to the zoo. My mama took me.”

“Oh good, then you aren’t a complete savage.” He smiled to soften the remark and she grinned back in return. Holding her so closely, he could see the smattering of freckles across her nose. No wonder she was so protective of her bonnets. The sun would draw those shy marks out into mottled glory.

“I was very young. I remember a hippo showered us with cold water. Mama was vexed that my dress was wet. She had to sneak me back into the house and change my clothes so Papa wouldn’t catch us. The visit was our secret.”

“The zoo possesses the offspring of that hippo. He knows the same trick. That tears it, Mrs. Hatterly. To Regents Park we go.”

He separated from her just enough to take her hand. Instead of brushing the knuckles with his lips, he turned her hand over kissing the bit of exposed wrist between glove and sleeve.

They strolled through the park to the northeast corner and down the carriage sweep together, sidestepping barking dogs and little boys with hoops. At the gate, Mr. Hatterly — Charles — tipped his hat to a man who grinned in recognition and allowed them entrance to a terraced walk, wide enough to allow patrons to easily stroll six or eight abreast without crowding. The smooth path was shaded by mature trees and beautifully landscaped. The shade trees gave way to a long walk. To her left was the waterfowl lawn with small ponds and a fountain. To the other side, round cages dotted a green expanse.

“Where first, Pru?” His face was as eager as a child at Christmas.

“Perhaps you had better choose.”

“No, it’s bad form for the husband to arrange the bridal trip.”

“Ah, but this is more of a guided tour. I want to see everything.”

“That you shall.”

Strolling along the waterfowl lawn, Charles was only too happy to point out the dizzying array of birds: cranes, gannets, gulls, cormorants, herons and ducks. They all blurred together after a while, but to him each one was special and unique.

“The Mandarins haven’t bred nearly as well as we hoped. They would probably nest better out of exhibition, but people are so fond of them. There is the black swan they call Brutus.” As she passed, Brutus stretched out his neck and hissed like the geese on her Aunt Veronique’s farm.

“Et tu, Brute?”
she muttered.

They progressed down the long walk to the Russian bear pen. Vendors offered cakes, nuts and fruits to feed the animals. Charles bought her a small cake and fruit to toss the bear. The sight of its jaws dripping with fruit unnerved her and she saved the cake to feed a more appealing creature. She’d had no idea of the scale of the animals. Pictures did not do justice to their magnificent sizes, or to their ripe odors.

They stopped before a monkey on a pole. Slender and brown with a creamy belly and cheeky face, he climbed down far enough to swing from the pole arm by his legs. His black button eyes were innocent as a kitten’s.

“Oh, what a darling thing!” The monkey held out its hand and she stepped closer with the little cakes.

“Wait!” Charles caught her and deftly removed her bonnet.

“What are you doing?”

“I like you without all the fruit and birds on your head, if you must know.”

“Well, not in the sun please. I feel quite naked.”

“Have I mentioned that I find your freckles fetching?”

“You aren’t supposed to mention them at all, odious wretch. A gentleman isn’t supposed to notice such things and a lady is not supposed to freckle.”

“You’ll lose that battle in the country. They are hard to miss, but only if one studies them closely.” He made a great show of examining her face and then kissed the end of her nose.

“Charles!” she admonished.

“Next you’ll insist a gentleman doesn’t kiss his wife.”

“Not in public.” He really was incorrigible. Irresistible too. She tried to remain severe, but her lips twitched with the urge to smile at him

Another couple drew near the monkey. The man gave his wife one of the little cakes. The woman approached the monkey which held out a black hand, making grabbing motions. She stretched a bit closer until the monkey slid down to the end of the pole arm and snatched her bonnet. She squealed as the ribbon caught on her chin, but the cheeky little creature hung on, chattering madly. With nimble hands he slipped his prize free from her head and scampered to the top of the pole. The husband roared his disapproval and leapt for his wife’s hat in vain.

When a keeper came running to rescue the hat, Charles drew Prudence away.

“You knew,” she murmured.

“That is Mambo’s favorite trick. If you had gone to him without a hat, he would have taken the cake just as nice as could be, but woe betide the woman in a bonnet who draws near.”

“Does he indulge in the same naughtiness with gentlemen?”

“I believe he prefers bonnets to beavers.”

With her bonnet safely replaced, they made their way to an open air aviary behind the llama and camel houses. There were moveable pens of parrots and a magnificently ugly King Vulture which Charles swore they had named George.

Prudence paused outside a cage containing a white bird with a yellow plume on its head. Charles whistled and the bird became very agitated, bobbing her head up and down like a steam piston.

“Who is the handsomest man alive?” Charles unlatched the cage and took their remaining seed cake.

“Charles is handsome,” the bird said in a muted voice and whistled a small scale. “Charles is handsome.”

The bird fluttered to his arm. He stroked its head and broke off bits of seed cake to feed her. “And who’s a pretty girl?”

“Phoebe is pretty. Pretty girl. Charles is handsome. Charles is handsome.” She whistled again and bobbed her head. “Phoebe is handsome.”

Prudence hid her smile behind her glove. “At last, I meet the other woman in your life. So this is how you treat your lady friends. Cages and cakes is it?”

“Prudence, meet Phoebe. Phoebe is a sulfur-crested cockatoo. Phoebe darling, this is Pru. Pru is a wife.”

Phoebe eyed Prudence speculatively. “Phoebe is pretty,” the bird muttered and showed Pru her back.

“Possessive thing, isn’t she?”

“As far as she’s concerned, I belong to her. I raised her from an egg, but ended up donating her to the zoo here. She’s quite the hoyden. Savagely bites anyone who displeases her.”

“Which is everyone but you?”

“Of course.”

“You there! What are you doing?” An elderly crane of a man in a dark suit charged across the lawn at them, all flapping limbs and bushy white eyebrows. He held his umbrella aloft as if to joust, but abruptly stopped. “Oh, Hatterly. Should have known. Never mind then.” He lowered his lance.

“Misselbrook, come and meet my wife.”

The bushy brows disappeared into his hairline. “Wife? Great heavens. I had no idea you were married, Hatterly.”

“I wasn’t. Just married this morning.” Charles let himself out of the cage. Phoebe whistled her disappointment. “Say hello, Mrs. Hatterly. Misselbrook here is the head keeper of the aviaries.”

“So nice to meet you, Mr. Misselbrook.”

Misselbrook murmured a few polite phrases and then stalked off muttering about Mad Hatterly.

They continued on, but Pru soon tired. This had been quite a day and she hoped it would be quite a night as well. She thought of the lovely rose negligee and smiled. She was having a lovely time strolling through the park on the arm of her husband — until a silky laugh made her stumble in shock.

Surely not.

Not here.

Not now.

Not on her perfect day.

But the lazy drawl that came with the laugh said, “Why as I live and breathe, it’s Prudence Wemberly. Here I’d heard some tangle about you going to Scotland to stay with an aunt, but I see that was all a hum.”

“Petworth,” Charles said from between clenched teeth.

“Hullo, Hatterly. Miss Wemberly.” He tipped his hat politely enough, but there was nothing polite about the gleam in his eye. In fact, Tommy gleamed from his golden head to his polished Hessians. He was devilishly handsome, but that couldn’t account for her infatuation with him, for infatuation it had been. How had she imagined herself in love with that devious peacock?

What a waste of a handsome countenance he was, a waste of perfectly good boots and a hat. Pru straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She wouldn’t cower.

Tittering from a distance Pru saw the Misses Kellment, both heiresses. The elder had the face of a horse and the younger had the appetite of one. Pru felt deliciously catty at the thought.

“Yours now, is she?” Tommy said to Charles. “Quick work there, cousin, but I thought you were after a wife, not a bird of paradise. Always birds with you, eh?” Tommy gave Charles a knowing wink. “Nice bit of muslin I give you, cousin, but missish for my tastes. Still to each his…”

That was as far as he went before Charles landed him a facer. Petworth stumbled backwards off the path onto the wet grass. An indignant pair of geese honked and moved farther away.

“Never let me hear you speak of my wife that way again, Petworth or I’ll break more than your beak.”

Was there any sight more breathtaking, more glorious than one’s husband enraged on one’s behalf? The bloody handkerchief pressed to Tommy’s nose was heartening, but the look on Charles’ face made her pride swell and her chin lift.

“By dose,” Tommy howled. “Oo broke it.”

“You’re lucky that’s all I did.” Charles leaned over him, his hand still clenched in a fist. “By the way, you owe me a monkey.”

Without another word he took Pru’s arm and led her away. For an uneasy moment she feared that some of his wrath was directed at her, but she caught the sparkle in his eye as he handed her into a hack.

“Think he’ll call me out?” Charles asked, swinging cheerfully up next to her. “Not that I’m afraid. The last time Petworth fought a duel he fainted at the moment his opponent fired the pistol and was damn lucky the man had deloped. I probably wouldn’t have shot him either. Pitiful to shoot a man blubbering on the ground.” He tucked her hand in his arm. “You all right, love?”

She nodded. “That was the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Oh, wouldn’t go that far, darling.”

“I would.”

No one had ever stood up for her before. She was the foolish sister, the awkward niece, an embarrassment to her own father. No one had ever said boo on her behalf, much less started a mill in Regent’s Park.

“You were wonderful,” she said simply.