Prue felt like a fool. He had said their marriage was a mutually beneficial arrangement. And she hated now that she understood that even after all their weeks of loving and learning each other, he had still been able to render their attachment to a mere ‘Prue and I have an understanding.’ Her throat burned with the need to cry, and despite the unintentional spite in Cecelia’s words, Prue wanted to help her.
“I have it on the highest authority that the way to a husband’s heart is through seduction.”
Cecelia’s eyes widened with surprise and then burned with hope. “Seduction?”
“Learning his thoughts…and his carnal desires and fulfilling them. Tempting him.”
“Is that what you did why Oscar looked at you with such warmth when you entered the drawing-room just now?”
Those words did not soothe the pain in her heart. Everything was now tainted. She had inadvertently done the one thing she had sworn not to do, marry a fortune hunter. She had convinced herself that her earl was better than that. A man of principle and honor. But she had been wrong, he had only wanted the money that had purchased her family a title. Such a man would never have seen the woman before him, for it would never be in her that his interest lay. And now she understood even more why for long three years she had been an ant he could walk past and ignore.
Her lips trembled when she said, “I do have a few books I can loan you. Be warned they are scandalous. But they did offer me some insight.”
“Oh, yes, please! I would like to borrow them.”
Prue nodded, desperate to get away from the cheery loveliness of the gardens. “I will see that they are discreetly delivered to your home. If you will excuse me, Cecelia. I wish you all the best.”
She whirled and hastened away, ignoring the call of her name. Prue needed to be alone, and she wanted to be anywhere but at this place. To her dismay, the wretched tears spilled over, and she dashed them away, for they made her pain and embarrassment evident. She had possibly led herself to more heartache than she could ever bear. For there had been a time when they were equal in sentiments with little threat to her heart. But because of her loneliness, she had dared. And now she was so in love with him, while he…
Love was for fools, and her husband was no fool.
Chapter Fourteen
Prue arrived at her parents’ home in Russell Square an hour after slipping from her home. She did not bid the dowager countess farewell or inform her husband where she was going. Prue did not call for the carriage or wait for it to be readied. She had simply collected her pelisse and bonnet and set out to walk to her parents’ townhouse.
“There is no need to announce me, Jameson,” she said, entering her parents’ home and smiling at the butler.
“Very well, Lady Wycliffe.”
“Is my mother at home?”
“Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Walters went out for a stroll. You only missed them by a few minutes, Your Ladyship.”
So Temperance was in town. Prue frowned, for she had not received any correspondence from her sister that she was visiting town for the season. She hoped all was well with her. Only last year, she’d had her second child, a lovely girl that looked so much like her mother. A surprising pang of yearning shot through her as an image of a child with Oscar’s eyes and smile roused in her thoughts.
“Thank you, Jameson. I presume my father is in his study?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship.”
Prue handed over her bonnet and pelisse and padded down the hallway to the study. She knocked on the door and entered when her papa’s gruff voice bid her entry. Her papa glanced up, surprise and then pleasure suffusing on his face.
“Prudence,” he cried heartily, standing up and coming around the desk. In the two months since she had last seen him, he had gained some weight around his middle, but he was still the picture of health and vitality at nine and forty. His hair now had greyer streaks and looked particularly distinguished. A very handsome papa too with green eyes just like hers, and a ready smile for everyone. His apparel was made by the best tailor, but his taste was slightly more colorful than the current fashions.
Papa sported a waistcoat of red damask, embroidered with what appeared to be prancing dogs and unicorns in several garish hues. He wore a matching red Belcher neckcloth although he would have a more correct one tied when he expected company. Her father was a man who was aware of society’s expectations but who preferred comfort in his own home. He was prepared to play the part of a gentleman in public, even though he admitted to his family that it was a sham designed to support his business interests and to not embarrass his daughters who had married above his class.
Prue was proud that her papa was a shrewd businessman who had come from a humble beginning but was a man of great wealth today.
He enfolded her into his arms, and she returned his hug, basking in the comforting embrace, hating that intolerable ache once more, tightening her throat.
“Come, come, have a seat. I shall ring for some refreshment. You just missed your mother and sister. They have gone to call on Aunt Beatrice.”
She sat on a comfortable sofa. “I would prefer sherry, papa. Not tea.”
He jolted, clearly startled. “You are a countess,” he said, “If you want sherry, you shall have it.”
Prue smiled at him, recalling her sister’s promise that if she married a title, Prue would be the jewel in her papa’s eyes. He handed her a glass, and she wrapped her finger around it, unable to drink. “Papa?”
“Yes, poppet?”