Page 67 of To Dare a Duke

Robert nodded, and then reached out, delaying her before she could move away. “If you find her first, tell her I’m… I can’t say I’m not angry,” he said, shaking his head in frustration. “I’m bloody furious, but… but I can understand if… damn it,” he cursed, low and savage. “Tell her I want to understand, to talk, not to berate her or cause a scene. I’m not a monster. I won’t act like one.”

Minerva smiled and nodded, and they headed into the throng.

***

May 4th. Upper Walpole Street. London.

With a stroke of luck she ill deserved, Prue found a hackney on Hill Street, just moments after escaping Mrs Charlton’s soiree. Giving her aunt’s address on Upper Walpole Street, she stared, unseeing, out at the shadowy streets of the city.

Robert was back there. She could have stayed, tried to explain, but she couldn’t bear it. She wanted to remember the look in his eyes when he’d asked if she wanted to marry him; not if she would, but if she wanted to. There had been such hope, such longing. When she’d told him yes, his expression had been joyous, that boyish smile dawning over his mouth for the briefest moment, until he understood that it changed nothing.

That moment was engraved on her heart and she’d not give it up. She didn’t want to see accusation in those green eyes, to see the hurt and contempt at having been so wrong about her. That he would regret her in the same way he regretted his first wife was a pain in her chest so severe she could hardly breathe.

Prue pressed the heel of her hand against her heart, rubbing slow circles and trying to draw breath, but her lungs refused to co-operate. Tears pricked at her eyes and the urge to let go and sob until she was empty and limp as wet paper was hard to resist. She had to, though. Just a little longer. Once she was gone, once she closed the door on the cottage she had rented, she would be alone. Then she could cry. She could cry and wail for as long as she liked, for there would be no one to comfort her. No one would know where she was.

She’d tell them eventually, of course. It wasn’t fair to disappear when her friends would worry for her. A maid would have to be engaged, too, for practical reasons as much as to give a nod to propriety. So, then she would not be so utterly alone.

The thought did not reassure her.

Once at Upper Walpole Street, she bade the driver wait and hurried inside. As silently as she could, so as not to wake Sally, who was a light sleeper, she crept up to her room. Prue knelt beside her bed and reached underneath, snagging the handle of the bag she’d packed and dragging it out. With one last look about the room to check there was nothing of importance she would miss, she reached inside the bag and removed the letter she had written earlier. Ignoring that her hand trembled, she placed it on her pillow and left the room.

With as much stealth as she’d entered, she padded down the stairs… and then screamed loud enough to wake the dead as a figure broke free of the shadows.

“It’s only me, miss,” Sally said with an impatient tut. “You jumped like you thought the devil had come for his kin. That’s a guilty conscience you’re carrying, if I’m not mistook.”

“Holy God!” Prue said, leaning against the wall for support and covering her heart with one hand in case it tried to escape her ribcage. It felt like it was making a significant effort to do just that.

“Now, now, Miss,” Sally scolded, shaking her head. “I don’t mind if you curse like a sailor, but blasphemy I won’t stand for.”

“Forgive me, Sally,” Prue wheezed, still turning hot and cold in quick succession. “But you scared me half to death.”

“That’s what you get for creeping about like a blasted burglar and trying to run away in the dead of night without so much as a word of goodbye.”

There was an indignant and rather unsteady sniff, and Prue took a better look at Sally now her heart had decided she wasn’t about to be murdered after all.

Sally was dressed, including hat, coat and gloves, and with a capacious bag not unlike Prue’s waiting at her feet.

“What…?” Prue began, a tight sensation closing about her throat.

“I don’t know what you done, nor where you’re off to at this time o’ night, but I’d not sleep sound again if I let you go alone,” Sally said, her voice firm, though her eyes were shining a little too bright. “You can’t so much as boil an egg, you’ll forget to eat at all once you get a pen in your hand, and heaven alone knows what will become of your gloves. You can’t go on without me, so don’t go supposing you can. I’m coming. I made me mind up.”

“B-But Sally….” she protested, so touched she could hardly speak at all. “Aunt Phyllis—”

“I knew something was up and, when I saw some of your stuff missing this morning, I looked about and found that bag. So, I arranged for a friend of mine to come in first thing to take over my duties. She’s a good girl and needs a job. They’ll hardly notice I’m gone. You, though….”

Sally wrestled a large handkerchief out from her sleeve and blew her nose.

“Sally,” Prue began, her voice soft, but Sally held up her hand.

“You can explain later, if you want to, but I don’t need no explanation. I’m as fond of you as if you were my own girl and I’ll not let you go out into the night alone. I’m with you, miss, so you may as well get used to the idea.”

Too emotional, and too grateful, to consider arguing, Prue gave up and threw her arms about Sally, hugging her tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered, fighting the urge to break down as Sally hugged her back. “We’d best go, then. There’s a chance they’ll come looking for me if they discover I’m missing.”

With a nod, Sally let her go and reached down and hefted her bag. Prue did the same, and they hurried out to the waiting carriage.

***