Page 56 of To Dare a Duke

“I think you’ll love her,” he said, knowing it was true. “And if you can make her love me….”

He shrugged and gave her a crooked grin.

“Robert,” she said, giving him a stern look as she straightened. “If I know you, the poor girl is already besotted, so what on earth have you done to frighten her off?”

“I don’t know, I swear it!” He threw up his hands in frustration. “One minute I’m certain she’s at least halfway in love with me and there’s no way she’ll refuse my proposal, and the next… well, the next she does!”

She gave him a doubtful look. “How many times have you proposed?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward at the admission. “Once, officially, but I’ve repeated the offer several times in less… formal circumstances.”

“And she keeps saying no?” Helena said, his ego somewhat mollified by her astonishment.

He nodded.

“She’s got something holding her back.”

“Her father was a brute,” he said, his voice low and angry. “He beat her mother and certainly terrified Prue. She says she’ll never be any man’s property.”

“And you’ve explained that you’d never… ever—”

“Of course!” he said impatiently. “And I think she believed me. I thought she’d begun to trust me, and that hurdle had been overcome but… apparently not.”

He watched his sister as she pursed her lips and felt a swell of tenderness for her. He hoped to god there was a good man out there for her. She so deserved it. Never had she reproached him for Lavinia, even though his wife had not been the kindest sister-in-law at times.

“Or,” she said, tapping one elegant finger against her chin. “There’s something else, something you don’t know about.”

Robert nodded, looking into his sister’s eyes and finding them filled with curiosity and energy. “Yes.”

She smiled at him and sat back down again, replacing her napkin and reaching for another slice of toast. “Let me see what I can do,” she said, her voice firm. “What is the lady’s name?”

“Prunella Chuffington-Smythe.”

Helena’s knife clattered to the table. “Oh, dear me,” she exclaimed. “The poor girl.”

Robert snorted and gave her a rueful smile. “She told me once that the only reason she might ever be induced to marry was to rid herself of her name.”

“Well,” Helena said thoughtfully as she concentrated on piling marmalade onto her toast. “That’s something to work with, I suppose.”

***

27th April. The Dowager Countess St Clair’s Spring Art Exhibition. London. 1814

Prue sighed and stared at an uninspiring portrait of a plump lady in an unlikely hat, as Aunt Phyllis chattered with one of her cronies. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was here. The invitations for them all to attend a private exhibition had come out of the blue that very morning from the Earl of St Clair’s mother. The dowager countess was a notable art lover, and her spring exhibition was quite a select event. Prue had no notion what they were doing here.

Aunt Phyllis had, of course, been beside herself with glee, and had almost forgotten to spend a large part of the morning reprimanding Prue for her appalling behaviour at the Cavendish ball. The only way to face scandal, in Aunt Phyllis’ opinion, was to meet it head on and act as though nothing had happened. So, far from being given the chance to languish in her room and mope, Prue had been hustled out of the door and into a carriage.

Minerva looked about as pleased as she was to be here, and stared with an air of fatalistic gloom at a still life of flowers in a large crystal vase.

Prue stared at her cousin, wondering what was troubling her, and was about to walk over and engage her in conversation, when a small, neat figure barrelled into her, forcing her sideways.

“Oh!” the young woman exclaimed, dropping her exhibition booklet and her reticule in a flurry. “Oh, how dreadfully clumsy I am. I do beg your pardon. Are you hurt?”

Prue sank to her knees to help the girl retrieve the booklet and a small container of smelling salts that had rolled across the floor as the reticule spilled its contents.

“No, not in the least. Please, don’t worry.” Prue got up and smiled, holding out the smelling salts and the booklet and then froze.

The young woman stilled, eyebrows rising. “Is something the matter?” she enquired.