Page 70 of To Dare a Duke

Sally nodded and took both of her hands.

“All right, my lamb. Don’t get into such a taking over it. Perhaps you need time to feel strong again. I’ll not keep on at you, but I hate to think you might lose an opportunity to be with the man you love.”

Prue flushed and stammered, but Sally rolled her eyes.

“Oh, stop it,” she said with a huff. “I’m half in love with him myself after what you’ve told me, and a woman of my age should know better. Now, run along and write something, and stop cluttering up my kitchen. I have work to do.”

Prue did as Sally bade her, too unsettled by her words to stay. Heaven alone knew what she’d say next. Writing seemed unlikely, though. Her mind couldn’t settle, too full of shame and guilt, and a healthy dose of self-pity.

Instead, she wandered about the cottage, which didn’t take long as it was tiny. It was also charming and everything she’d dreamed of, and yet she could take no pleasure in it.

She was self-sufficient, an independent woman who earned her own keep, and lived her own life, despite the restrictions of society, and she could find no satisfaction in that… because of a man.

The irony did not escape her.

Damn it, Prue, pull yourself together, she scolded, staring out of the window to a pretty patch of garden, currently lashed by a heavy downpour of rain. She shivered and got to her knees by the fireplace, intending to light it and chase the gloom away. A blazing fire would be cheerful company and make her feel better. Besides, she reasoned, she wasn’t miserable because of a man, she was miserable because she had mistreated and abused a man who did not deserve it, and that was a different thing entirely.

A little mollified, she concentrated on coaxing a fire to light, and did her best to put Robert out of her mind.

***

29th May. Otford. Kent. 1814

“Anything?” Charles asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes as Robert strode into his study.

“If there was any sign of her, I’d hardly be back here alone, would I?” Robert snapped, and immediately regretted it. His uncle had been marvellous, doing everything he could to help him track down Prue, but they were getting nowhere. “Forgive me,” he said, closing his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to—”

Charles tutted and got to his feet, waving the apology away. “Never mind, never mind. I can see you’re out of your wits worrying about her, and I feel the same way. I feel so bloody useless. If I were a younger man—”

“You’ve done everything you can, Uncle. More than I would ever have expected. We must simply hope she gets in touch with her friends soon, and that one of them lets me know where she is.”

“But if she’s run away, they will think she’s hiding from you, that she doesn’t want to see you.”

Robert snorted. “Well, that rather seems to be the case.”

Charles sighed and shook his head. “I had a thought. That magazine she works for—”

“I already tried,” he said, a darker look entering his eyes. “I spoke to Mr Richardson, the proprietor. He swore he didn’t know her new address and then told me he’d not give it if he had it. A lady’s address is her own to give out,” he mimicked, capturing the man’s London accent.

“Well, can’t say I can fault him,” Charles said, shrugging.

“No,” Robert agreed, rubbing a weary hand over his face. “I wouldn’t, if the circumstances were different.”

“Anyway,” Charles continued, picking up where he’d left off. “That wasn’t what I meant. I thought perhaps a private advert in the paper.”

Robert snorted. “What? Like, ‘duke seeks young woman, blonde hair, hazel eyes, slender….’ My god, I’d be inundated.”

His uncle returned a reproachful expression and shrugged. “It was just an idea,” he said, sighing.

Robert smiled a little, knowing he was trying his best. He opened his mouth to apologise, and then closed it again as an idea occurred to him.

“What?” Charles sat forward in his seat. “What is it? You’ve had an idea, haven’t you?”

“I….” Robert began, and then smiled, the first proper, genuine smile he’d given since before Prue had disappeared from his life, since before he’d discovered what she’d done. “I have,” he said, laughing a little. “Yes, I really think I have.”

***

30th May. Premises of The Lady’s Weekly Review. Drury Lane. London. 1814