The Perfect Rake (5 page)

“Spit it out, gel!”

“It is—” From the ether, Prudence plucked a name. The previous evening she’d overheard two ladies discussing a man who was a famous recluse, an unmarried man who apparently never came to London. “He is the Duke of Dinstable!”

There was a short, stunned silence in the room. Hope and Charity regarded her through astonished, drenched, beautiful eyes.

“The Duke of Dinstable?”
repeated Great-uncle Oswald, stunned. “You’ve entered into a secret betrothal to the
Duke of Dinstable?”

“Yes.” Prudence attempted a bright smile, desperately attempting to recall everything she’d heard the ladies say about him.

“That fellow they call Hermit Ned?”

She nodded.

“Dinstable? Fellow who hates cities? Hasn’t been seen in London for years? Lives in some godforsaken corner of Scotland?”

Prudence nodded again. She was starting to feeling quite pleased with herself. The Duke of Dinstable. It was positively inspirational. The Duke of Dinstable might be odd, even peculiar, but he was reputed to be extremely rich. And if he never came to London, Great-uncle Oswald couldn’t ask him to explain a secret betrothal. Of course he could always write, but letters took a long time and perhaps the reclusive duke would not answer. It was a reprieve, if only a temporary one.

“The Duke of
Dinstable?
” Great-uncle Oswald repeated, shaking his head in amazement.

Prudence, tired of nodding, inclined her head.

“How did you meet him, this Dinstable fellow, if he never comes to London? Imagine not liking London!”

“He may not come to London, but there is no reason why he would not come to Norfolk,” she said, careful not to compound her sins by uttering any more actual lies.

Her great-uncle frowned. “How old were you when you agreed to this demmed irregular arrangement?”

“Nearly seventeen,” Prudence said. It wasn’t a lie either, not precisely. Not that she had even met the Duke of Dinstable, but she
had
become betrothed at sixteen—to Phillip Otterbury, whom she had known all her life. Phillip, who had sworn her to secrecy and gone away to India, promising to return a nabob.

“You were only sixteen?” Great-uncle Oswald exploded wrathfully. “And you have waited more than
four years
for this blasted duke to come to the point and wed you?”

Prudence nodded. Was it really that long?

“No wonder your sisters have been chafin’ at the bit! Can’t blame ’em, now I come to think of it. Dashed casual attitude to take to m’great-niece. Four years! Why the devil didn’t you tell me?”

Prudence didn’t reply. She could hardly meet his eye as it was, he’d been so kind and generous. But as soon as they were safe, she would confess it all. And she vowed she would make it up to him.

“Dinstable, eh?” Great-uncle Oswald walked over to the fireplace, frowning. “Dukes, even rackety hermitish dukes, don’t just up and propose to chits of sixteen. You didn’t let him do anything to you, did you? Anything you shouldn’t have let him do.” He peered at her shrewdly. “You know what I mean, missy?”

Prudence flushed rosily. “He never touched me,” she declared with complete truth

“Hmm. And it was four years ago.” He frowned thoughtfully. “And why so secretive, eh? Not as if he were the younger son of a farmer, after all.”

Prudence flushed. It was a perfect description of Phillip. “Grandpapa wouldn’t allow us any visitors at all, let alone suitors.”

Great-uncle Oswald snorted. “Always was short-sighted in matters of business, Theodore. I don’t suppose this duke put anything in writing?”

Prudence shook her head. “Grandpapa would never allow us any correspondence.”

“Not even clandestine letters? Never knew the gel yet who didn’t manage a bit of illicit correspondence in matters of the heart.”

She flushed and glanced at the fire.

“Ah. Burned ’em, did you? Pity. Letters might have clinched the deal. I don’t suppose he gave you any love token? Nothing with a crest or anything?”

Prudence hesitated, then pulled Phillip’s grandmother’s ring from her bodice. She’d worn it on a chain for four years.

“Aha!” Great-uncle Oswald leaped forward and examined it. “A trumpery thing and no ducal crest to nail him down, but it’s old. Probably some family thing. It might do the trick.” He nodded resolutely. “Not so bad as I thought then, if he’s given you a ring. Might be draggin’ his feet, but dash it, if the fellow didn’t wish to become a tenant-for-life, he should never have handed over the evidence. Now don’t you fret any longer, m’dear, I’ll fix it, make it all legal. Hah! Thirty thousand a year, I’m told.”

Prudence nodded dazedly, hoping that the weather on the roads to Scotland would be foul and the mail delayed for weeks, preferably swept away in a flood.

Hope, recovering from her bout of guilt with remarkable speed, asked tentatively. “So may Charity and Faith and I make our coming-outs?”

“Eh? What’s that? Charity and you twins, eh? Well, if your sister’s betrothed—even in such a dashed, hole-in-the-corner fashion—I see no reason why the Merridew diamonds may not begin to dazzle society.” Hope uttered a squeak of excitement, so he added witheringly, “Startin’ with Miss Charity. We shall see about you and your twin after that. Mistress Prudence, you’ll wait not a month longer. You may begin preparations for your bridal at once. I’ll call on the fellow first thing in the morning and make the arrangements.”

Prudence felt the pit of her stomach drop in horrid anticipation of disaster. “Wh-what did you say, Great-uncle Oswald? Call on whom, first thing in the morning?”

“Dinstable, of course,” Great-uncle Oswald replied. “Make the arrangements for the weddin’—St. George’s, Hanover Square, I think. And all the usual fuss and nonsense you ladies enjoy. Fellow may have botched the betrothal, but we’ll fire you off in style, m’dear, don’t you worry.”

Prudence, Hope, and Charity stared. Prudence gathered her wits first. “But the Duke of Dinstable resides in the far north of Scotland, Uncle. How on earth can you make a morning call on him?”

Great-uncle Oswald grinned and patted the side of his nose knowingly. “Hah! You didn’t know, did you, missy? No doubt I’ve spoiled the fellow’s romantical surprise. But this probably explains why he’s broken his rule after all these years. All the tabbies have been buzzing about him, wondering what’s brought about his unexpected arrival in the metropolis. And even if he didn’t intend a romantical surprise, I’ll give him one! He’ll not out-jockey Sir Oswald Merridew!” He rubbed his hands in glee. “Won’t the matchmaking mamas be green when they hear! My plain little Prudence—a duchess, eh! We might yet snag a brace o’ dukes yet, stap me if we don’t!” He left the room, chuckling with pleased anticipation.

The three girls stared at each other in shocked silence.

“Whatever made you say such a thing, Prue?” Charity shook her head. “Now we are more than ever in the suds.”

Prudence subsided onto a chair and shook her head. “I don’t know. I was clutching at straws. I didn’t want Phillip to lose his position and when Great-uncle Oswald was roaring at us, so very like Grandpapa, the name came to me and just popped out.”

“Can he really be going to call on the Duke of Dinstable tomorrow?” said Charity at last.

Prudence shook her head in despair. “But people the other night said the duke of Dinstable
never
comes to London—that’s why I picked him. They said that he hasn’t been here for
years.
”

“I must say, Prue, it was frightfully clever of you—” began Hope.

“Don’t you
dare
say a word, you horrid little snake in the grass!” snapped her loving older sister. “If it hadn’t been for you—”

“Yes, and I’m sorry, but I was desperate, Prue. I so want to go to balls and parties. I want to dance the waltz with a handsome man and fall madly in love. I would rather
die
than go back to live with Grandpapa. But Phillip’s tardiness has ruined things for all of us—I don’t blame you—I would have grabbed at him, too, if it was the only chance I was likely to get—”

“I did not
grab at
Phillip!” interrupted Prudence indignantly. “Nor was it the only chance I was likely to get! It was the most romantic moment of my life—”

“It was the only romantic moment of your life,” Hope interrupted crushingly. “And it was more than four years ago.”

“I still do not understand how Great-uncle Oswald can call on the Duke of Dinstable first thing in the morning if he lives in the North of Scotland,” Charity said plaintively, ignoring the sisterly squabbling.

Prudence and Hope, reminded of the disaster that faced them, instantly forgot their differences.

“When he said the duke might be planning a romantical surprise, he glanced at the newspaper,” Prudence said slowly. “Perhaps…” The sisters fell on the newspaper, divided it between them, and began to scan the sheets avidly.

“Here it is!” Charity announced after a few moments. In a hollow voice she read,

“This metropolis has been graced by the rare presence of the D—of D—, who has left his Northern Hermitage and come to Town. Rumor has it that the D—is considering Matrimony.”

She stared at Prudence in dismay and passed her the dreaded passage.

“The Duke of Dinstable in town? He hasn’t been to London in more than ten years!” Prudence stared in disbelief at the paper and crushed it slowly in her hands. “Oh, how wretchedly inconvenient! He has been perfectly happy in the wilds of Scotland for years. Why come to town now?”

She considered the disaster for a moment and with a groan added, “And whatever will he think when Great-uncle Oswald calls on him and tries to force him to marry me?”

There was a long silence in the room.

“What are you going to do, Prue?”

Prudence considered the problem from all angles. “No matter how I look at it, I can see no alternative…”

Charity nodded. “I know. Oh dear, oh dear.” Tears began to roll down her damask cheeks.

Hope, too, began to sob. “He’ll send us all back to Grandpapa, now. Oh, Prue, I am so sorry I said anything, now. I did not think.” She snuffled and groped for her handkerchief.

Prudence sat up and regarded her sisters with astonishment. “Whatever are you carrying on about? We are
not
going back to Dereham Court!”

Charity blinked through her tears. “But when you confess to Great-uncle Oswald, he—”

“Confess to Great-uncle Oswald?” Prudence exclaimed. “I have no intention of confessing to Great-uncle Oswald. “

“But what else can you do?”

“I’ll speak to the Duke of Dinstable, of course. There’s no other solution.”

After an astonished pause, her sisters finally found their tongues. “But where—how will you meet him? And when? Great-uncle Oswald plans to call on him tomorrow morning!”

Prudence smiled grimly. “Well then, Prudence Merridew will just have to call on the duke a little bit earlier, won’t she?”

Charity was horrified. “Call on a man! In his own home! Unannounced and without a proper introduction? Prudence, you cannot!”

Prudence squared her shoulders. “Just watch me!”

Chapter Three

“A girl, no virgin either, I should guess—a baggage
Thrust on me like a cargo on a ship
To wreck my peace of mind.”

S
OPHOCLES

“M
ISS
M
ERRIDEW TO SEE
H
IS
G
RACE, THE
D
UKE OF
D
INSTABLE.
”

A butler looked down his nose at her in faint, superior disapproval. Prudence drew herself up to her full height and stared him straight in the livery, attempting to look assured and unconcerned, as if she called on strange gentlemen at their homes every day. Strange ducal gentlemen. Strange ducal hermits.

The butler’s gaze shifted to Prudence’s nervous maidservant, Lily, who blushed and stared at the white steps of the London mansion of the Duke of Dinstable. The butler returned his attention to Prudence.

“And is His Grace expecting you, miss?” said the butler in a tremendously bored voice.

Prudence attempted to look tremendously bored in return. It was a difficult task when her pulse was rattling along like Herr Maelzel’s metronome, but necessary; boredom, she had learned since coming to London, was a sophisticated acquirement. The more bored she looked, the more sophisticated she would seem and she could tell that only the most terribly soignée of misses would gain entry from this butler.

And besides, he smelled of musk. She refused to be intimidated by a butler who smelled of musk. She raised her eyebrow in faint, sophisticated surprise. “I believe His Grace will be most put out if he misses me.”

The butler hesitated.

“Come now,” Prudence said in a firm voice. “It is raining and my maid is getting cold.”

The butler glanced at Lily, who, discreetly nudged by Prudence, shivered obediently.

“Very well then, miss, if you would care to wait in the green drawing room, I shall inform His Grace.” He held open the door, and with a sigh of relief Prudence entered.

Silently indicating that Lily should remain on a seat in the hallway, he took Prudence’s hat, umbrella, and damp cloak and ushered her into a large room, furnished in the Egyptian style.

“If you would care to wait, miss.” The butler bowed and left the room.

Prudence glanced around the room, deciding where to sit. The choice was not a simple one. The main item of seating was a green and gilt settee, shaped for all the world like Cleopatra’s barge, with a carved headboard depicting a river scene with water lilies and dolphins surrounded by writhing asps. The other end looped up in a gilt and ebony curve, rather like a sultan’s slipper. And the feet looked horridly like crocodile’s feet.

It was not the sort of settee on which one could sit correctly: It was the sort of seat that invited one to loll. She could not greet an unknown duke lolling. She needed every shred of dignity and poise she could muster.

Gingerly seating herself on a carved ebony chair with snarling one-legged gilt lion armrests, Prudence waited.