The Courteous Cad (12 page)

Still quivering with shock and confusion, Prudence lifted her skirts and ascended the steps to the door. She could hardly believe such undercurrents of mutiny existed everywhere— even within the family’s household. Whether or not she liked William Sherbourne, she at least must warn him of the danger.

But when she stepped into the sunlit foyer, Prudence was met not by a liveried butler, but by Olivia Sherbourne herself.

“Lady Thorne,” Prudence exclaimed. “How good of you to greet me in this way.”

“Dear Miss Watson, I would not have you take another step until I had alerted you to some distressing news.”

“What has happened?” Prudence blurted out. “Is he harmed?”

“Do you mean William?” Olivia shrank back a little in surprise. “Harmed? No, my husband’s brother is in perfect health. But the steward of our estate has just arrived from London, and both men are compelled to meet with him on a matter of great financial import.”

“I see. But of course.” Stunned at this change of plan, Prudence tried to steady her breath. No matter what sort of engagement required William’s participation, she could not rest until she had alerted him to the imminent danger in his path.

The silence in the foyer became awkward, and Olivia spoke up. “You will stay for tea, I hope, Miss Watson. We shall take it in the music room. It is far from the library and will not disturb the men. I should so much like to know more about your family. Did you say your sister has a home in Cranleigh Crescent?”

“Yes,” Prudence managed as she accompanied Olivia down a carpeted corridor.

“And does your sister enjoy the city?”

“Very much. Sarah and Charles live but an easy walk from our family home, Trenton House.”

“This is pleasant news indeed,” Olivia observed as they entered a small, sunlit room. A pianoforte, violin, flute, and several other instruments had been set out, together with stacks of sheet music.

“And your sister’s husband is in the tea trade?” Olivia continued.

“Recently. He and his father formed a partnership with Lord Delacroix and several other men. They import tea from China.”

“How very nice. Will you sit?” Olivia motioned to a tufted damask chair.

Prudence all but collapsed into it. “Am I not to see Mr. Sherbourne at all, Lady Thorne?”

“I think not, for he is much occupied. Do you prefer cake with your tea? Or shall I ring for crumpets?”

“Cake is lovely, please.” As she spoke the words, she recalled Mr. Walker telling her that the mill’s children subsisted on water porridge.

“I am fond of hot crumpets,” Olivia was saying as she rang for tea. “But I find that cake satisfies me more. I believe we shall have currant cake, for I ordered one yesterday.”

She spoke briefly to the maid before returning to Prudence. “And how does Mrs. Heathhill fare this morning? I must tell you that her turn at the pianoforte last night delighted everyone. My husband declared he has rarely heard anything that pleased him more.”

“My sister is well, but am I not to go riding? not at all?”

“Perhaps another time. Though I understand you do not plan to stay much longer in Yorkshire. Is that so?”

“We . . . we . . . Truly I must speak to Mr. Sherbourne, madam. It is a subject of much consequence, and I fear it cannot be delayed even one more hour.”

“Oh?” Olivia’s brown eyes darkened. “Well . . . if you will excuse me a moment . . . I shall just go and speak to my husband.”

Prudence nodded. “Thank you very much.”

Lady Thorne left the sitting room as the tea was being brought in. Envisioning mutinous schemes among Thorne Lodge’s household staff, Prudence studied the expression of the kitchenmaid who set the tray on a table before her. The young woman’s face was composed, her attention consumed by cutting slices of currant cake and pouring out cups of tea.

But just as Prudence relaxed into her chair, she heard the woman mumble something. Sitting up, she touched the maid’s arm. “Excuse me? Did you say something?”

Blue eyes flashed in her direction for an instant. “Thank you, Miss Watson,” she whispered. “My three little brothers are piecers and my sister is a scavenger at the mill. We are most grateful for what you done for ’em. You are the bravest lady I ever met.”

Prudence opened her mouth to respond, but Olivia reentered the sitting room followed by her husband. William was just behind them.

“Ah, Miss Watson,” Lord Thorne greeted her, bowing as she stood to curtsy. “Delighted to see you again so soon. You are looking very well today.”

“Thank you, sir.” She looked at William, her mouth suddenly dry. “Mr. Sherbourne, are we not to go riding this morning? I very much wished to go riding.”

One dark eyebrow arched. “I understand, of course . . . but my brother’s steward—”

“He has come from London, yes, but you promised to take me out. I am very eager to ride, sir. Terribly eager.”

“You are?” He looked at Randolph before facing her again. “But you see, Miss Watson, I have not completed the task you assigned.”

“Task?”

“I was to read the Gospel of St. John.”

With dismay she recalled the duty she had teasingly dispensed. “Indeed, but the most important part is in chapter three. Surely you read that far.”

“I fear not. I was otherwise engaged last night.”

“You were? After I left?” She studied the man, trying without success to read his expression. Was he angry? disinterested? troubled? She had always been good at discerning people’s thoughts, but William was as inscrutable as ever.

“‘For God so loved the world,’” Olivia spoke up, “‘that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ John 3:16.”

“How well you recite Scripture, my dear,” Randolph told her warmly. “Did you know, Miss Watson, that my wife and I first met inside Otley’s little church?”

“Indeed, they are very religious. Both of them.” William awarded his brother a smirk. “One cannot even think of wine, women, or cards in Randolph’s presence. He sniffs out every hint of sin, compelling the offender to fall to his knees in repentance.”

“And of all sinners, William, you are chief,” Randolph retorted. “Miss Watson, be very grateful my steward’s arrival spared you the misery of my brother’s company this morning.”

“But I must speak to him privately. About the mill. About the labor.” She divulged her mission with such frankness that even she was startled. William and his family absorbed the news with consternation.

“Miss Watson, you may say whatever you wish about the mill in the presence of my family,” William assured her. “My brother constructed the building, and I established the worsted trade.”

“Indeed,” Olivia concurred, “and the better part of the mill stands on my family’s ancestral land. The stream that powers the great waterwheel flows across our estate. There is nothing you have to say, Miss Watson, that should be kept secret from any of us.”

“But my message has no bearing on you or your husband. Rather I seek privacy because I must protect the source of my information.”

“Of course you must,” William agreed.

Prudence looked for a sign of condescension, but his expression remained stoic. The thought that William’s life might be in danger compelled her to persist.

“Then you will be pleased to take me riding, as you promised?” she asked.

The brothers eyed each other, sending unspoken messages. At last, Randolph spoke.

“Do as you wish, William. The steward has concluded any glad tidings about our affairs and is eager to launch into the gloomy forecasts of which he is so fond. Your day will be brighter in Miss Watson’s company.”

“Suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune without me, then,” William said. “Though I suspect Miss Watson may have a few darts up her sleeve as well.”

“William, do be kind!” Olivia admonished with a laugh. “Miss Watson is our guest.”

“And a lovely one at that.” He held out an arm. “Shall we?”

Seven

The young woman in a yellow gown and matching bonnet gave William the surprise of his life. Prudence Watson, with her countless curls, pink lips, and sparkling green eyes, rode like a boy. Like a daring, reckless boy.

The moment they left the stable and set out across the moor, she urged her chestnut mare into a canter and then into a gallop that left her escort far behind. Despite the sidesaddle that encumbered her, she leaned into the horse and became a streak of gold across the horizon.

William held his breath as the mare leapt across a stream and made for a low rock wall. His own pace was impeded by a large wicker basket containing hot tea, cake, and a porcelain tea set—a burden insisted upon by Olivia, who would not hear of their missing tea—and he rode at too great a distance to avert disaster. Yet under Prudence’s controlling hand, the mare effortlessly surmounted the wall. Continuing on the other side, she thundered up a rocky outcrop and disappeared into a thicket of oak trees, her rider a yellow blur.

Stunned at the display of horsemanship, William pondered the woman as he followed her toward the grove. Perhaps Prudence Watson truly had wanted nothing more than an outing on horseback. She had told Randolph she liked riding. It was possible that her mention of secret information was a ruse to lure William away from the meeting in the library.

As he entered the copse, William spotted Prudence seated on a large, flat rock near a gurgling pool. She had removed her bonnet, placed it beside her, and lifted her face to the sunlight. The mare grazed along the water’s edge.

“Aha, Miss Watson,” William called out. He dismounted and unbuckled the tea basket, then led his horse toward her through the trees. “You wished to escape me, but I have tracked you down at last.”

“Escape you?” She turned her head, and he saw that her glossy curls had come loose from their pins and now cascaded down her back. “How can you say such a thing? I am waiting for you that we may discuss in private a most dire circumstance.”

William had to bite his tongue to prevent an inappropriate comment about Prudence’s fondness for secret têteà- têtes. Surely she had to know how such clandestine encounters would be perceived by a suitor. Yet she appeared quite unaware. Did the woman have no idea how her appearance—such breathless, flushed beauty—might affect a man?

Pools of innocence, her green eyes followed William as he stepped onto the slab of granite and sat beside her. She opened the basket, poured two cups of steaming tea, added milk and sugar, and placed slices of cake on two small china plates. Setting out the little picnic, she seemed as artless as a child, disarrayed from riding, eager to tell him her news, and utterly ignorant of the havoc she played in his heart.

“What is this dire circumstance?” he asked, removing his tall hat and leather gloves and setting them near her ostrich-plumed bonnet.

Her information had come from the blacksmith, of course. William thought again of the passionate exchange he had witnessed, a surreptitious tryst that had ended with Prudence kissing Walker’s hand. She might appear naïve, but she had the wiles of a skilled seductress.

“I have had news about the mill,” she announced as she offered a teacup and cake. “It is most important that you listen carefully to what I say, Mr. Sherbourne. I beg you to heed my advice and take action at once.”

“Then speak, madam. I am ready ‘to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.’”

“Do not tease me, sir. I know my Shakespeare, and you are no Hamlet.”

He laughed at this. “How can you say such a thing? You may know your Shakespeare, Miss Watson, but you hardly know me. I assure you I have endured several tragedies worthy of Ophelia’s tears.”

“But I am not Ophelia. No man could make me weep or go mad. I can assure you without hesitation that lovelorn hysterics will never lead me to throw myself into a rushing stream and drown.”

“No? What about your blacksmith? I daresay you would do anything for him.”

Her eyes sparked. “Do not mention Mr. Walker to me again. He is a good man—indeed, he is the very best of men. You know nothing about the friendship between us. It was innocent and pure.”

“Innocent?” William pictured again the ardent scene he had witnessed from the shadows. “Walker is well-intentioned, I suppose. But you? Perhaps you are not the angel you would have us all believe.”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes fastened on him. After a sip of tea, she spoke again. “You are quite right, Mr. Sherbourne. You see me more clearly than most men do. My appearance is something I have learned to use to my advantage.”

“Trapping us in our own folly. I confess, I succumbed as swiftly as any of your suitors.”

“More swiftly than most.”

Again, he laughed—this time in spite of himself. “So, you have toppled me, Miss Watson. I am your humble, groveling servant and will do anything you command.”

“I am happy to hear that,” she replied, “for I am asking you to improve the working conditions at your mill—at once. The children must labor no more than ten hours a day. You will engage the services of a teacher to ensure that every boy
and
every girl learns to read and write. You will feed them good warm meat and fresh bread every day. And cake . . . you must give them cake.”

“Cake! School! A ten-hour day! Good heavens, dear lady, you will ruin me before the year is out.”

“You have enough money to hire a teacher,” she argued, setting her teacup aside. She held out her slice of uneaten currant cake. “You have more than enough to eat. An extra cake now and then cannot ruin you.”

“My dear Miss Watson, you know nothing of my finances.” He took the cake and set it aside with their teacups. “And as for your ten-hour day—if I release the children early, I must send the adults home too. Without scavengers and pickers, my looms will produce nothing but rags.”

“But the children can scarcely hobble home after a day’s work at your mill. They are crippled not only by your cruel machines but also by the beating of your wicked overlookers!”

“I employ the most efficient overlookers in England,” he shot back.