So much for Robin, and for my Lady Lowestoft, scornful of his perspicacity. Well, she had had fears of this. But not even she had realized how much the sleepy gentleman saw. Egad, what must he think of her? The colour rose at the thought. She lifted her eyes; it did not occur to her to try evasion. ‘I would trust you willingly, Sir Anthony,’ she said in a still, calm voice. ‘I have not liked the lies I have told, and the great lie I have acted.’ She put a hand up to her neckcloth; it was tight round her throat of a sudden. ‘But there is not only myself involved. If it were all to do again, I would do it.’ A look of pride came into her face; her chin was up, but it sank after a moment. She looked down at the ring on her finger, and wiped the trickle of wine from her hand with a crumpled napkin.
‘Will you tell me your name?’ Sir Anthony said gently.
‘It is Prudence, sir. In truth, I know no more. I have had many surnames.’ There was no hint of bitterness in her voice, nor any shame. It was best the large gentleman should know her for the adventuress she was.
‘Prudence?’ Sir Anthony was frowning now. ‘So that is it!’ he said softly.
She looked up, searching his face.
‘You are not very like your father,’ said Sir Anthony.
She gave nothing away in her expression, but she knew that he had very nearly the full sum of it.
There fell a silence. ‘Prudence…’ Sir Anthony repeated and smiled. ‘I don’t think you were very well named, child.’ He looked down at her, and there was a light in his eyes she had never seen there before. ‘Will you marry me?’ he said simply.
Now at last there came surprise into her face, on a wave of colour. She rose swiftly to her feet, and stood staring. ‘Sir, I have to suppose – you jest!’
‘It is no jest.’
‘You ask a nameless woman, an adventuress to marry you? One who had lied to you, and tricked you! And you say it is no jest?’
‘My dear, you have never tricked me,’ he said, amused.
‘I tried to do so.’
‘I wish you would call me Tony,’ he complained.
She had a tiny suspicion she was being punished. Sure, the fine gentleman would never ask her to be his wife in all seriousness. ‘You have the right to your revenge, sir,’ she said stiffly.
He came round the corner of the table, and took one of her hands in his. She let it lie there resistless. ‘Child, have you still so little faith in me?’ he asked. ‘I offer you all my worldly goods, and the protection of my name, and you call it a jest.’
‘I’ve – I’ve to thank you, sir. I don’t understand you. Why do you offer this?’
‘Because I love you,’ he answered. ‘Must you ask that?’
She raised her eyes to his face, and knew that he had spoken the truth. She wondered that he did not take her into his arms, and with a fine intuition realized the chivalry of this man who would take no advantage of her being alone in his house, and quite defenceless. She drew her hand away, and felt a hot pricking beneath her eyelids. ‘I cannot marry you, Sir Anthony. I am no fit bride for you.’
‘Don’t you think I might be permitted to judge of that?’ he suggested.
She shook her head. ‘You know nothing of me, Sir Anthony.’
‘My dear, I have looked many times into your eyes,’ he said. ‘They tell me all I have need to know.’
‘I – don’t think so, sir,’ she forced herself to say.
Her hand lay on the chair-back. He took it in his again, and carried it to his lips. ‘You have the truest eyes in the world, Prudence,’ he said. ‘And the very bravest.’
‘You don’t know me,’ she repeated. ‘I have led the life of an adventurer; I am an adventurer – a masquerader! I have no knowledge even of my true name. My father –’ She paused.
‘I take it your name may well prove to be a Tremaine,’ he said, with a soft laugh.
‘You’ve guessed my father, sir?’
‘Why yes, it’s the remarkable old gentleman who claims to be the lost Viscount, I believe. You told me once your father would surprise me.’
‘Did I, sir? Well, that is he. I think you are one of those who have little faith in his claim.’
‘To say truth,’ remarked Sir Anthony, ‘I care very little whether he proves to be Barham or not.’