The Courteous Cad (3 page)

“Miss Watson, you are as lovely as my brother reported,” Randolph said. “His accounts are so often exaggerated that I give them little notice. But in your case, he perhaps did not do you justice.”

“I believe I called her an angel, Randolph. There can be no superlative more flattering. Yet I confess I did struggle to give an adequate account of Miss Watson’s charms.”

“Please, gentlemen,” Prudence spoke up at last. She had heard too much already. These brothers were men like all the rest, stumbling over themselves to impress and flatter. “My tea awaits, and I must hasten to thank your footman for retrieving my reticule.”

“But of course,” William agreed. “Harris, do relate to Miss Watson your adventures of the afternoon.”

The footman bowed. “I pursued this boy down an alley and over a fence, madam. In short order, I captured him and retrieved your bag.”

“Thank you, Harris.” Prudence favored him with a smile. “I am most grateful.”

“What shall we do with the vile offender?” William asked her. “I have considered the gallows, but his neck is too thin to serve that purpose. The rack might be useful, but he has already surrendered your reticule, and we need no further information from him. Gaol, do you think? Or should we feed him to wild hogs?”

Prudence pursed her lips to keep her expression stern. “I favor bears,” she declared. “They are larger than hogs and make quick work of their prey.”

The boy let out a strangled squawk. “Please, ma’am, I’m sorry for what I done. I’ll never do it again, I swear.”

She bent to study his face and noted freckles beneath the dirt. “What is your name, young man? And how old are you?”

“I’m ten,” he said. “My name is Tom Smith.”

“Tom Smith,” she repeated. “Does your father own a smithy?”

“No, ma’am. My father be dead these three years together.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Tell me, Tom, do you believe your father would be pleased that you have taken to stealing?”

“He would know why I done it, for he would see Davy’s sufferin’ and wish to ease it—same as all of us.”

“And who is Davy?” she asked.

“My brother. We’re piecers, ma’am. And all our sisters be scavengers. Davy was crippled in the mill.” Tom’s large gray eyes fastened on William Sherbourne as he pointed a thin finger. “
His
mill.”

“Impossible,” William said. “My family built our mill, in fact, with the express purpose of providing honest and humane labor for the villagers of Otley.”

“Take this, Tom.” Prudence pressed a coin into the boy’s grimy hand. “Please use it for your brother’s care.”

“A shillin’?” He gaped at her.

“Yes. But you must promise to turn from crime and always be a good boy.”

“I promise, ma’am. With all my heart.”

“Run along, then.” She smiled as he pushed the shilling deep into the pocket of his trousers.

“You
are
an angel,” Tom said. “Truly, you are.”

With a final look back at her, he slipped out of the footman’s grasp and flew through the doorway and down the street.

“Now that is an interesting approach to deterring misbehavior,” William addressed his brother. “Catch a thief, then pay him. What do you think, Randolph? Shall you recommend it to Parliament on your next appointment in the House of Lords? Perhaps it might be made a law.”

Prudence bristled. “I gave the shilling to aid Tom Smith’s injured brother. Perhaps you should recommend
that
to Parliament. I have heard much about the abhorrent treatment of children who work in the mills.”

Randolph Sherbourne spoke up. “My family’s worsted mill, Miss Watson, is nothing like those factories of ill repute.”

“I believe young Davy Smith might argue the point. His brother blames your mill for the injury.”

“Do you take the word of a pickpocket over that of a gentleman?” William asked her.

“I see you call yourself a gentleman when the situation requires one, Mr. Sherbourne. Only moments ago, you were a rogue.”

“I fear William’s first account of his character was accurate,” Randolph told her. “We have done our best to redeem him, but alas, our efforts always come to naught. He is bad through and through, a villain with a black heart and no soul whatever.”

“As wicked as that, is he?” Prudence suddenly found it difficult to fan her flame of moral outrage. “Then I am glad our acquaintance will be of short duration. My sister and I soon end our tour of the north country. Perhaps as early as tomorrow morning we shall set off for London.”

“But I have hardly begun to abuse William,” Randolph protested. “My brother deserves much worse, and you must know the whole truth about him. My wife and I should enjoy the honor of your company at dinner today. You and your sister are welcome at Thorne Lodge.”

“You will never persuade Miss Watson to linger in Yorkshire,” William assured his brother. “Her heart hastens her toward a gentleman who has been so fortunate as to win the love of an angel.”

“Ah, you are engaged, Miss Watson,” Randolph said. “I should very much like to congratulate the man who prevailed over all other suitors.”

“His name is Walker,” William informed him. “With a single red rose, he secured his triumph.”

“You assume too much, sir. I am not engaged.” Prudence looked away, afraid the men might see her distress and mock it. “Marriage is not the object of my heart’s desire.”

“Yet your pain upon losing Mr. Walker’s rose was great indeed,” William observed. “What can have parted you from him?”

“Upon my honor, Mr. Sherbourne,” Prudence snapped, “I think you very rude to intrude on my privacy with such a question.”

“Yes, but rudeness is the hallmark of my character. I give offense wherever I go.”

“Indeed,” Randolph agreed. “William is always impolite and discourteous. I should urge you to ignore him, Miss Watson. But in this case, I am as curious as he. How dare anyone object to a gentleman of whom you approve so heartily?”

“Mr. Walker is an American,” she told the brothers. “He is a blacksmith. And poor. With so many disadvantages, society decreed a match between us unconscionable. We were parted, and I do not know where he has gone.”

“An American, did you say?” William asked. “Is he an older man? rather tall with a stocky build? black hair?”

“Mr. Walker’s ancestors were native to America,” Prudence said. “Of the Osage tribe. He is more than twice my age. Sir, do you know him?”

“I hired the man three months ago. He is the blacksmith at my mill.”

Prudence gasped. “Mr. Walker is here? in Otley?”

“Perhaps she will not be leaving Yorkshire quite so soon,” Randolph commented. “I believe Miss Watson has found a reason to stay.”

“She may find reason to go when she learns that Mr. Walker is soon to be married.” William’s brown eyes softened. “I am sorry to bear unhappy tidings. Dear lady, you look quite pale. May I bring you a chair?”

“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “I am unmoved by your news. It is right and proper that Mr. Walker has found a wife. I am very happy for him. And now if you will both excuse me, my sister has long been wishing for my company.”

After giving the briefest of curtsies, she turned away and made for the fire as swiftly as her feet would fly. She would not cry. She would not reveal the slightest emotion. No one must guess she felt anything but contentment and perfect ease.

“Whatever is the matter with you?” Mary asked as Prudence sank into her chair. “You look as if you might faint dead away!”

“Mr. Walker is here,” Prudence choked out. “In Yorkshire. In this very town. And he is engaged to be married.”

Mary offered her handkerchief. “Shocking,” she whispered. “Shocking and sad. But dry your eyes before you make a scene, Pru, for I have just had the most wonderful news from the lady at the next table. Do you not wish to hear it?”

Prudence could barely form words. “No, Mary. I am quite undone.”

“You must hear it anyway, for this news concerns you.” Mary leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Mr. William Sherbourne, who rescued you from the puddle and has paid you such extraordinary attention, is a proper gentleman with excellent connections. His eldest brother is a baron and owns a great estate in Yorkshire. His second brother is a clergyman who lives in India. He himself is a most distinguished officer in the Royal Navy, and he has just returned from sea after many months fighting the Americans . . . or was it the French? I can never recall.”

“Nor can I,” Prudence murmured.

“Never mind, because he has quit the Navy and is now settled in Otley for good. He owns a large worsted mill and is worth five thousand pounds a year. Think of it—five thousand a year! And best of all—he is unmarried. Quite unattached. How wonderful for you!”

Prudence swallowed against the growing lump in her throat. “I do not care if he is worth ten thousand a year and owns five worsted mills, Mary. I do not want him. I do not want him at all.”

“Quick, dry your eyes, Pru, for here he comes. And his brother. You may win his heart yet, and what happiness awaits you then. Oh, heavens, why did I not wear my good bonnet?”

Two

“Mrs. Heathhill, forgive me. I have been thoughtless indeed.” William kept his focus on the elder of the two sisters. She was pretty enough—bright eyes, lustrous brown hair, sweet smile. But Mary Heathhill could hardly compare to the beauty he had lifted from a mud puddle that afternoon.

“Thoughtless?” Mary echoed. “Dear sir, you rescued my sister and returned her stolen reticule. How can I think you anything but chivalrous?”

“Easily done, once you know him better.” Randolph stepped up to the ladies’ tea table. “I fear William is the black sheep among us.”

“Among three brothers,” William clarified. “Mrs. Heathhill, I should like you to meet the eldest, Randolph Sherbourne, Lord Thorne. Randolph, I am pleased to present Mrs. John Heathhill.”

She rose from her chair and gave the most elegant curtsy William had seen in a very long time. Certainly better than her sister’s had been. While Mary and Randolph made polite conversation, he ventured a glance at Prudence. Reddened cheeks and a handkerchief knotted in her hand told him she had been weeping.

How in the name of all things right and proper had a common blacksmith won the heart of Miss Prudence Watson? Walker never spoke, and he rarely ventured beyond his cottage near the mill. The man had nothing to recommend him save his skill with a bellows and forge, while Prudence surely was the ripest, juiciest plum in the pudding of London society.

Perhaps she had neither money nor title, but how could such trivialities detract from the mounds of golden hair coiled high above a creamy neck and soft shoulders? Her figure alone—sumptuously curved in all the right places— would garner droves of admirers.

But Prudence had more than beauty in her favor. She had proved herself both intelligent and witty in their short conversation. William had enjoyed the spark of indignation that lit her green eyes when he chided her about rewarding the little thief who had taken her bag. More intriguing, she had declared herself untouchable. No man could steal her heart, for she intended to remain unwed forever. Exactly the sort of challenge he found irresistible.

“My wife is calling at the linen draper’s across from the inn,” Randolph was saying. “She must have a new ball gown with sleeves, she informs me, for we anticipate a large party of friends from London, and the women will all wear sleeves.”

“A lady cannot be happy at a ball unless she is well dressed.” Mary turned her attention to her sister. “Is that not so, Prudence? Indeed it is, for my sisters and I are very partial to balls. Prudence takes particular delight in filling her dance card. Do you not, Prudence?”

Mary touched her sister’s shoulder, and the younger woman looked up from the fire in surprise. “What is it, Mary?”

“Lord Thorne and I have just been discussing sleeves, Prudence, for he and his wife are to host a ball in two weeks. Sleeves, as you well know, are indispensable these days.”

Without responding, Prudence lifted her teacup and took a sip.

Mary gave a nervous laugh. “We are out of sorts today, you see,” she explained. “My poor sister met with a great calamity in the street. Your brother’s kind assistance was most welcome, I assure you.”

“I am glad William came to your aid today. But do excuse me, Mrs. Heathhill, for I see that my wife has just entered the inn.”

As always, William felt a mixture of envy and admiration in the presence of Olivia Sherbourne. Randolph had somehow managed to capture the heart of the woman most forbidden to him. The peace they shared radiated through the room even now. Their love shone as they came together, her deep brown eyes meeting Randolph’s blue eyes. Olivia whispered to her husband before turning to the tea table for introductions. Randolph saw that they were quickly made.

“Miss Watson,” Olivia said as Prudence attempted to rise. “I am pleased to meet the lady who is all the talk of Otley. Your misadventure in the street has turned wagging tongues from speculation about my choice of silks at the linen draper’s, trimmings at the haberdasher’s, and designs at the dressmaker. How can I thank you enough? But of course! You and your sister must join us at dinner this very evening. Please say yes, for I cannot bear to think of your dining alone.”

When Prudence said nothing, her sister was quick to speak up. “How kind, Lady Thorne. We should be delighted to accept your invitation. I can think of nothing more enjoyable.”

“Very good. And, Miss Watson, if you are willing, I am eager to hear a true account of today’s events. That William plays the hero in the drama is most astonishing. He has been termed a cad—albeit a charming one.”

“I may have been a cad yesterday, dear Olivia,” William spoke up. “But perhaps this morning I turned over a new leaf and am now eager to redeem my character. My actions in the street may have been the beginning of a pristine chapter in my life.”

Olivia chuckled as she spoke to Mary. “My husband and I hold high hopes for William’s reformation, for he is very amiable.”

“As we can attest.” Mary beamed at him. “Make yourself easy, Mr. Sherbourne. Prudence and I shall delay our judgment of your temperament until we know you better.”