She harrumphed, her gaze pinning Prue in place. However, she noted a warm amusement had entered his mother’s eyes. As if she had liked catching them in their intimate cavorting.
“Good afternoon, Prudence,” she said. “You have a wonderful glow about you. Is the family to expect news?”
What news? Prue glanced up at Oscar, who had narrowed his gaze in a warning.
“Mother,” he said. “Why are you here?”
That was the reminder she needed for her hand to flutter to her bosom. Suddenly she looked out of sorts. “It is your sister.”
“Which one?”
“Cecelia.”
Oscar had three sisters, Julia, Amanda, and the youngest, Cecelia. Prue stepped forward. “Is she well, my lady?”
“I fear there is a dreadful scandal in the making, and we must get ahead of it. She has left her husband. The stubborn chit will not listen to a word of reasoning from me.”
“Hell,” Oscar muttered under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Where is she?”
“She is here. I demanded that she accompany me to visit you, after being in my home for a week.”
“A week?”
His mother looked away briefly. “I thought I could handle the matter on my own. I never thought my youngest could be this frightfully obstinate! You must get her to return home as a matter of great urgency, Oscar.”
His expression carefully composed, he said, “Let us retire to the drawing-room.”
His mother turned and walked away. Prue felt his worry, and she touched his hand. “Go see to your family. I will ensure this is all packed up. I will join you after informing the housekeeper to send in refreshments.”
Her husband briefly brushed his mouth against her, rousing a sweet longing in her heart. He disappeared through the terrace door, and she scooped Cleopatra in her arms, stroking the cat. Cecelia was only a few years older than Prue, and they had grown close during her time in the country. The other girl had always been amiable and good-natured. Since Cecelia’s marriage to Viscount Redburn, they had only exchanged the occasional letter. Prue instinctively trusted that her friend would have an exceptional reason for acting in this manner. She would not casually put her family under scrutiny.
Hurrying to direct the servants to pack their painting tools and the picnic, Prue instructed their housekeeper to prepare refreshments. Walking toward the drawing-room, she slowed her steps as a raised voice filtered through the door. Looking around, she dismissed a servant who was placing flowers in a vase on the hallway table. Servants were prone to gossip, and Oscar would be furious should a scandal about his family get out through one of his staff. She knew they were loyal, but it was better to take every precaution against loose talk.
“What do you mean I should return home to my husband! He is a wretch who has broken my heart! I wrote him the loveliest poem sharing my feelings. He read it and locked it away in his top drawer.”
Cecelia’s voice came passionately through the door. Her voice was faintly accusing as if Oscar were responsible for her heartbreak.
“Cecelia,” he said patiently. “Your husband not returning your sentiments is not sufficient cause for these tears and tantrums. Marriage is not about sentimentality.”
Opening the door, Prue entered the lavishly furnished drawing-room.
“Prudence,” she cried, jerking to her feet. “I am terribly glad you are here!”
“Cecelia,” she said, hurrying over to her. “Are you well?”
Her face a mask of misery, she shook her head. “My beast of a brother refuses to acknowledge my pain and support me.”
Prue glanced at his inscrutable expression, noting that his mother reposed on a chaise with a vinaigrette of smelling salts in her hand. The dowager duchess was either being overly dramatic, or something horrible had occurred. Prue felt as if a knot were tightening low in her belly, tugging taut. She was expected to support her husband. That was where her loyalty stood; however, something Cecelia had said resounded painfully within her. Still, she had to tread with care for all the heated emotions of the family members involved.
She took in the pathos that Cecilia had affected. She had always been the most spirited of the family and was of a romantic disposition. Her delicate pastel blue gown harked back to more medieval fashions, as if seeking to play a role in scenes of courtly love.
“Have you found out that Redburn might have taken a mistress?” She asked.
“Good heavens, no! Nothing as alarming like that.”
“Yet you have walked out of your home,” Prue said gently. “If it is not all that dire, perhaps you might reconsider returning home.”
“Mama has exaggerated. I have not run away. I am merely visiting her for an extended period.”