In the Money With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #2)

Chapter Eight

O ne night in Thornridge was not enough.

Nor was two.

On the third morning, she awoke to what seemed like a dream. The cottage Leo had procured was small but lovely: one large room, with an enclosed stove and a ready supply of coal (which they did not need nor use), and east-west facing windows that let in beautiful amounts of long-summer light. There was a pasture nearby, not close enough for them to smell the sweet scent of manure or compost, but near enough to hear the light tinkling of bells around the animals’ necks. Whether they were on cows or sheep, Prudence didn’t know or care.

Hampers of food were delivered to a nearby tree stump, pre-arranged by Leo, which gave them utmost privacy.

While the bells were tinkling in the distance, the sun from the opened window heated her shoulder, and the cotton sheets slid soft and smooth across her naked skin. She slept on her stomach when Leo wasn’t in bed. And his side was cool and emptied. But she could see his shoulder from the window, sitting in one of the garden chairs.

There was not another house for miles. The thick trees of the forest made it impossible for anyone to see them unless they were explicitly spied upon. Prudence loved it. She felt free and unwatched and relaxed. The mattress was nowhere as nice as the one in her Strawbridge Hotel room, but she preferred this cottage, because it was next to the open fresh air, and it was a way to live unencumbered in the fantasy of Leo.

She wrapped herself in her white silk kimono—all the rage in London—and wandered outside in search of her lover. Her Leo. He was different here too. His shoulders weren’t tensed up to his ears, for one. He was better at making jokes, for two. And in a shocking turn of events, he kissed her freely, for no reason at all, for three. She’d never seen nor experienced that level of affection. It was strange. Welcome, but strange.

“Your tea, madame,” Leo said, holding up a slender thermos. It came in the morning hampers, and it was prepared just as Prudence preferred if she were drinking tea and not coffee: scalding hot with a strong brew and a touch of honey. She drank her coffee black, but she found here in England it was easier to drink tea. They still hadn’t gotten the whole coffee roasting quite right, and more often than not, she found herself with a burnt cup of lukewarm sludge. But switching to tea made her British friends more at ease, and Prudence didn’t mind.

Leo didn’t look up at her, his eyes on his sketchbook. Prudence peered over his shoulder to see a bird on his paper, matching the very bird sitting on the low stone wall surrounding the garden.

She sat in the chair next to his and sipped at her tea, still warm, thank goodness. The morning was almost gone, but Prudence didn’t care. The only thing she could think of was the sun on her face and the incredible contentment she felt.

Oh, she’d been satisfied before. Happy before. But not content like this. She’d been satisfied when she’d bought out some of the burgeoning railroad barons. She’d been happy at the top of Ben Nevis when she and the women around her crested its treacherous peak and screamed their accomplishment into the Scottish winds.

But here, with Leo, in a garden hosting the last of the summer blooms, a bird exploring the remaining bits of grains scattered on the stone wall, she felt content. Easy. Perfectly balanced in a world that was always tipping one way or another.

“If you weren’t concentrating so hard, I’d kiss you good morning,” she said softly, not wanting to disturb the bird.

She knew nothing of birds. It was brown and a bit speckled. She could tell you that. Or did they call that marbling? No, that was meat that was marbled. Well, and rock. Her knowledge of animals was less than stellar, but she would bet money on that creature being a bird, considering it had wings.

“I’ll take a kiss,” Leo said, hands still sketching. He moved his cheek over, making it available for a kiss.

She obliged. “What have you been up to all morning?”

Leo was an early riser. And Prudence typically was, but here... here it was as if she were catching up on a hundred years’ worth of missed sleep.

“Revisiting a lost love,” he said.

Her stomach clutched until he continued.

“Sketching.” He looked away from his paper for the first time, kissing her forehead. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it.” He offered her the sketchpad.

She started from the beginning, seeing the one room of their cottage on the first page. The garden on the next. Then there were a few figures and practice shapes on the next few pages. Then came a wine glass in the sun, shaded and textured such that she felt like she could pick it up from the pages. On the next was her sleeping form.

“Leo,” she gasped. The woman in the figure was undoubtedly her, but she looked so beautiful, so peaceful. There was no way this was drawn without some kind of artistic license.

“I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t help but watch you in the mornings. The light catching your hair...” He took a wayward strand of hers between his fingers, playing with it in the sunlight. “I can’t do it justice.”

“I look so beautiful here.” Her cheeks grew hot.

“It’s because you are beautiful, Prudence. Perhaps you don’t know it well, and you need to buy more looking glasses.”

There was something else in this drawing. Something she couldn’t name—more than just her sleeping form, and the bunches of blanket near her elbow. There was feeling and motion to this sketch. She could almost taste the feeling of waking after a deep sleep.

“Do you like it?” He sounded nervous—an emotion she hadn’t really heard in his voice before. As if her opinion mattered to him a great deal.

“It’s incredible, Leo. I’m flattered.” She stared at it some more, tears welling in her eyes. She felt... loved . And even if that wasn’t a word Leo would use, or her for that matter, she felt it all the same. Or perhaps it was that she felt loveable for the first time in ages. She sniffed away the blossoming tears. “You can do this, and you became an accountant ?”

Leo chuckled. “I’m much more than an accountant.”

“Well, you’ll always be an accountant to me,” she said sweetly, holding the sketchpad to her chest. He reached for the sketchpad, but she clung to it, so he succeeded only in dragging her onto his lap. Which might have been his goal all along.

He kissed her long and soft. She touched her forehead to his when he was done. “Good morning,” he rumbled.

“Good morning.”

“Shall we go back to bed?” he asked.

“Please.”

He stood, doing his very best not to groan as he picked her up and carried her into their one-room cottage, closing the door behind him with his foot. Prudence clung to him, her arms laced around his neck, and her eyes on his face. This was the life she never wanted to end. Here, in this cottage, with a relaxed Leo Moon, for the rest of her life.

*

Leo felt as if he’d lost his mind—in a good way. Yes, he was back in the very county he’d sworn never to return to. But the Thornridge cottage was in perfect condition, and he’d thank Mr. Brushworth for his excellent work. Leo hadn’t thought of all his usual worries since Prudence arrived. The hampers kept their dining options simple—he didn’t want to risk going into the village and having anyone recognize him, not that they would. He’d been a boy here, and no one had ever heard his voice as it was now.

Mr. Brushworth hadn’t come to the county until after Leo and his mother had left, so there was no worry that he might recognize Leo. And for all Leo knew, the men he’d wanted to avoid were likely dead. One didn’t become a highwayman for its career longevity. And so he relaxed his mind, let down his ever-vigilant guard, and enjoyed himself.

He enjoyed the wine in the hamper from Mrs. Brushworth. He enjoyed the morning sun—it was the hottest summer anyone could remember, and Leo was happy to make the most of the cool mornings. He adored watching Prudence sleep. The deep sighs she’d make when she shifted position, the way her head burrowed into the crook of her arm as she slept contentedly on her stomach.

And he got reacquainted with his sketchbook. He’d packed it on a whim, but he was so glad he’d done so. The play of sunlight off the trees, the low stone garden wall, the freshly pruned hedges, it was a treat to take time to study them. Now he understood why men allowed themselves leisure once a fortune was amassed. This was delightful, and far more enjoyable than his days in his dark study, comparing columns and figuring percentages.

But most of all, kissing Prudence’s sweet lips whenever he desired was the best part of this sojourn. That he could lean over while she read a book and he sketched, and kiss her. Sometimes a small peck satisfied him. Sometimes, he kissed her until she dropped the book on the ground and climbed into his lap. He liked those times. Every man had his pride, and that bolstered his.

They spent the afternoon kissing slowly, letting fingers drift slowly, and then finally, he put on the sheepskin sheath and gently entered her body. Her fingers clutched at his arms as he did so, her body rocking in time with his, their gazes locked. This was more than a business arrangement, he could admit that. Prudence was an incredible woman all around. Not just her honey-colored hair, not just her funny American accent. She was intelligent and insightful. They talked for hours as they walked through the woods, both of them entertained and entertaining.

“Prudence,” he whispered, thrusting with the most control he’d ever exerted in his life. He didn’t know what else he would say but that. There felt like something more he ought to say, but his body took over, and while her back arched under him, her fingernails digging into his forearms, all speech was lost as he climaxed along with her, lost in the sleepy afternoon sun.

Later, after cleaning up and putting on clothes, Leo suggested another walk in the woods.

“I haven’t been keeping up with Ophelia’s training regime, so I could use a long walk,” Prudence said, making a face.

Leo recalculated the route in his head. “We could climb Hooper’s Hill and watch the sunset from there.”

Prudence agreed, as he knew she would. Leo led the way, the hill not being too far.

“Why do you think they call it Hooper’s Hill?” Prudence asked.

“The village kids would make hoops out of green sticks and roll them down the hill during the May Day festivals.” He had many fond memories of those games. He was never the winner, but he was not last either. Always solidly in the middle.

“I didn’t realize you knew the area,” Prudence said, though her tone made it clear she’d like to know more.

Leo couldn’t tell her much more; at least, he felt awkward doing so. In order to make everything comprehensible, he’d have to start the story far too early, and he wasn’t prepared to do that. “I do.”

“Did you ever do such a thing? Roll a hoop down a hill?”

Leo smiled, glad she was willing not to pry too much. “I did, as a matter of fact. You?”

“We made the hoops, but no hills where I’m from. We would throw things through the hoop as someone rolled it past, or we would race them.”

“Ah, gentle childhood,” he said, folding her arm into his.

“Maybe for you. My brothers were competitive. If they didn’t win, they were more than happy to try to sabotage your hoop, and barring that, jump on you and lay on you until you agreed to give them your hoop.”

Leo chuckled. “Sounds treacherous.”

“It was like a Shakespeare play, having brothers like that.”

“You must miss them,” he said, realizing that they hadn’t spoken much about their families. Their mouths had been busy with other things.

“I do,” she said with a heavy sigh. “My family and I write weekly. I admit my letters have been rather empty and remiss lately.”

“Why?” Leo asked.

She slugged his shoulder with a playful punch. “You! All my letter-writing time is going to you! I haven’t the time to sit and write long descriptions of London’s fashionable quarters, or what a countess wore to the opera, or what kind of meat they served at the hotel that night.”

“Sounds like riveting and important documentation,” Leo said drily.

“They’ll likely never cross the ocean,” Prudence said. “So to them, yes, it is.”

He hugged her close to himself as they crossed the meadow. The summer had already burned hot enough to dry up flowers, but the grass was happy and green. The day was cooling, and butterflies and ladybirds flitted amongst them, attracted to Prudence’s pink and yellow skirts. The shadow of the trees in the wooded areas kept the ground cool, and typically a bit moist, but not now.

Beside him, Prudence sighed. “These woods feel more like fairy tale woods than anything we have in Minnesota.”

“What are the woods like there?”

She shrugged and then smiled. “Different. Depends on which direction you go. Towards the west, nothing. Just tall grasses and plains forever. Nearer to the lakes, evergreens. But it isn’t just the types of trees, it’s the undergrowth and the birdsongs and the smell.” She took an inhale of the sweet summer air. “It just smells different.”

“Sweeter?” Leo suggested, feeling rather poetic himself at the moment.

“Only when you’re here,” she quipped.

He barked out a laugh, which she seemed to be proud that she managed to elicit. Dear God, he liked her. They made it through the path in the woods, and Leo found the path to Hooper’s Hill with no trouble. His memory of this place was pristine. But they said that memories made under duress were sometimes the most heavily drawn for that very reason. And these trees had borne witness to some black deeds.

Having Prudence at his side seemed to wipe the place clean, as if it were new, and none of his life before her mattered. She was the carbolic acid that cleaned out every bit of unsavory detail.

“Race you to the top?” Prudence suggested.

Before Leo could respond, she took off at a dead run. He was impressed, she was fast. But he thought he could hold his own. On her heels, he pumped harder, pulling ahead as they reached the hill. But that was where she excelled. He couldn’t keep up, while she kept her pace easily. He dropped back farther and farther while she bounded up the side like a red deer.

As he crested Hooper’s Hill, huffing and puffing like an old man, she stood, laughing at the sky, arms raised. There was no amount of words he could ever use to explain how he felt right then. This beauty, full of joy and passion and light, radiating it for the world, as if she powered the electricity of the world’s largest city. His chest felt full and expanding, as if he could encompass that joy himself, as if he too may turn into that person full of light and passion just by being near her.

The sun slung low on the horizon, creating watercolor-like swaths of pink and blue and lavender. He sat down in the ankle-high grass and pulled her down into his lap. She wasn’t a small woman, not so easily pushed and pulled, but he didn’t mind. They were good together—complementary fits of their personal puzzles. She leaned her back against his chest and they matched their breathing, moving as one organism, one person. It was here that Leo felt complete and whole for the first time in his life.

Not an ounce was missing.

*

It was fully dark when they ambled back to the cottage. Without a candle to light their way, Prudence hung onto Leo’s hand as he guided them through the dark woods and then out to the meadow, where the grass was already dampening with the evening dew. At least there they could see by the quarter moon and stars.

The cottage windows were dark. Neither of them had thought to leave a candle lit or bring the lantern, but Prudence remembered where she’d left the matchbox. It was fun to live simply again—without the hum of electric lights or the initial whoosh of gas moving through the lines that braided throughout some house walls. Most of America did not have electricity or gas in their homes, but much of London seemed to. She’d lived so long in luxury that she’d forgotten the extra steps it took to live in other places. To live as she once had with her family. It made her suddenly homesick to think of that life. Of snuggling young Adelaide when she was scared, or rocking Samantha in the chair in the middle of the night while her mother nursed the infant Benjamin.

She hadn’t seen any member of her family for two years—since she left America after she settled Gregory’s estate. She’d inherited most of it, and could show that it was her that owned the shares of the railway companies, and that they were not eligible to be taken by Gregory’s nephews. They’d been kind to her, for which she was grateful. That was not always the case with moneyed individuals. Besides, she and Gregory’s nephews were more of an age, and she’d had a sneaking suspicion that one of them had wanted to marry her himself.

“I know right where the matches are,” Prudence whispered to Leo.

“Why are we whispering?” he asked.

“Because there is something about darkness that makes me feel like I must be quiet,” Prudence insisted. “As if there is an unruly baby somewhere, fighting sleep.”

“No babies here,” he said in his normal voice, which was loud enough to make her startle.

“Good ta’ hear it,” said a man, stepping out of the shadows in front of the cottage.

Both Leo and Prudence jumped. Leo had automatically put a protective arm out, shoving Prudence behind him. The man had an accent unlike any she’d heard before, but the voice was low and rough.

“You Lenny Morgan?” the man asked.

“Go inside,” Leo said to her, his voice low and even. He was calm, or at least pretending to be so. But his shoulders were as tense as they’d ever been in London, and his imperious veneer was growing over him like a quick-spreading moss.

“I—” Prudence didn’t mean to object, she was scared. She was scared of the dark, of the man, of what might be lurking in the cottage.

Leo’s voice came even softer, but more insistent. “Go. Inside.”

Prudence shuffled in the dirt behind him, not willing to leave his side.

“Please,” he added.

Prudence reached her arm out to feel for the low stone wall that ran around the perimeter of the house. Then she found the short wooden gate and unlatched it, wondering if she was walking into a fresh hell, or leaving Leo stranded in the wind with a highwayman.

“Who’s asking?” Leo responded to the man. It was dark enough that she couldn’t make out the man’s features, and the shadows played tricks with her eyes, not letting her see how big he was. But she heard a horse snuffle in the distance, so she knew there was a horse tied to a tree somewhere. She wasn’t sure why, but that gave her comfort.

“Lenny Morgan was a friend,” the man said.

Leo snorted. “Of course he was.”

There was a thick silence as they waited for Prudence to fumble her way inside the cottage. She would get the lantern lit, and they could have a look at this scoundrel who was causing them so much unnecessary fear.

“And you would be?” Leo asked, his voice so sharp it could slice bread.

“Like I said, an old friend of Lenny Morgan’s.”

“Did this Lenny Morgan make a habit of having friends with no names?”

Prudence’s hands fumbled over every object within reach until she finally got a hold of the matchbox. Outside, there was the sound of a man spitting.

“If Lenny were ta know me, I’d be Granson.”

There was a silence. Prudence struck the match, and it flared to life. She caught a momentary glance of the man before he put his arm up, shielding his eyes. Tearing her eyes from the scene in front of her was difficult. The man had looked younger than either Leo or her, but the harshness of his voice didn’t sound young at all. He wore a dark hat, with a brim wide enough that it hid his face. He was shorter than Leo but much stouter. He looked like the Scots she knew back in Minnesota, built like plow horses, wide and stocky, strong as two oxen put together.

Leo put his hand out to shake the man’s hand, and after a moment, the other man took it. Prudence frantically looked for either the lantern or a candle. She found a candle and lit it, rushing to hold up the light source and check behind her in the cottage. A quick scan revealed no one.

“No one by that name here, friend,” Leo said. “Good evening.”

And then, as if this had not been a fraught situation, as if Prudence’s heart had not been slamming painfully in her chest for several minutes, Leo turned and showed his back to the stranger.

“Reggie sends his regards,” the stranger called before he shuffled back into the darkness. Leo stilled, his eyes downcast, but he didn’t turn or say anything. Prudence listened to the sounds of a horse being untied and mounted. Only after the hooves beat into the dirt did Leo enter the cottage.

“What was that about?” Prudence asked as Leo joined her inside.

Leo smiled, finding another candle and touching its wick to her flame. “Just as you saw.”

“Someone asking for Lenny Morgan,” Prudence said.

“Indeed. Lenny Morgan owns the cottage. No doubt word got out that someone was staying here.” Leo seemed at ease again, the pomp of his London exterior receded. He opened the half-full bottle of Burgundy wine that sat on the table. He poured two glasses.

“I was nervous for us.” Prudence needed to talk about this. She’d been afraid for his life, and he was acting as if this was merely a continuation of their romantic sunset stroll.

“Undoubtedly.” Leo sipped. “But all is well.”

Prudence held a candle in one hand and a wine glass in the other. She sipped her wine. If Leo was fine with the encounter, then she supposed she had to be as well. But that night, as he stripped off his shirt and got into bed with her, she traced the scars on his torso. The ones that had become the invisible plane of his chest. The cuts and tracings that just were . And now she wondered, between Granson and the bleached white stripes of those long-ago hurts, what was it that Leo hid from her? What was it that kept him quiet?

The next morning, Prudence was up early. She hadn’t slept well, waking up repeatedly over every noise. Leo was still awake before her. He was returning with the hamper when she met him outside, in the sunshine.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, clearly surprised at her consciousness.

Her stomach felt like a clenched fist, hard and aching. “Morning. I see you have our breakfast.”

“Indeed.” They settled at the outdoor chairs, each sipping at their own thermos of tea. Neither of them spoke as they watched the birds working through their mornings, finding food and moving from tree to tree. Both his sketchbook and his breakfast pie remained untouched. This was not the same as the quiet idyll they had the morning before. Tension simmered off him like waves of heat.

The sun rose higher, and Prudence thought about retrieving her parasol so that her neck wouldn’t burn.

“I think we should return to London early,” he said suddenly.

The words jostled her. “Why?”

“It’s not like we are accomplishing anything being here.”

She recapped her thermos and turned to stare at the man. “I wasn’t aware we were at a purpose. I thought we came to enjoy each other’s company.”

“And we have,” Leo insisted. “But my work is calling, and you have that party to prepare for.”

It wasn’t the words he used, it was the tone of voice. “That. Party.” Prudence stared at him, as if he hadn’t walked Bond Street with her all those weeks ago, getting prices and ideas, writing down every scrap of info to bring back to the Ladies’ Alpine Society.

Leo looked at her face and had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to belittle it. But we both have lives to return to.”

She narrowed her eyes. This didn’t seem right at all. “Does this have to do with the stranger who called on us last night?”

Leo shook his head, and if this had been two months ago, she would have believed him. But this was now, after four days of spending every waking moment together. She knew when he lied to make a joke, when he teased, when he exaggerated, when he felt overcome with emotion. And he was lying to her, and it wasn’t for a joke. He was lying for some other reason.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, folding her arms.

“Prudence, if it makes you feel better to believe that I’m spooked by a stranger coming to our door asking for a stranger, then fine. But the truth is, this was already due to end in two more nights. Why not just go now?”

“Because we have two more nights,” Prudence pointed out.

“And there are three hundred and sixty-five days in the year. It doesn’t matter. Let’s pack our trunks, and we can make the afternoon train. We’ll be back in London by dinner.”

“I don’t want to be in London by dinner. I want to be here. With you.” Prudence put her thermos down. “And I would wager that you would like the same, but for some reason, you feel the need to lie to me about that.”

Leo shrugged his shoulders. “Why would I? Prudence, this is a business deal. We’ve had a lovely time together, our bodies clearly work together well, but it’s time to go.”

“A lovely time?” Prudence could barely see straight.

“I’ve had a lovely time,” Leo said, drinking his scalding tea in a huge gulp, squirming as the liquid burned his mouth.

“You say that about garden parties and afternoon teas, not about having an intimate affair.”

Leo swallowed with trouble. “My apologies. I did quite enjoy myself. I don’t want you to think otherwise. But it’s time.”

“It’s time?” Prudence asked, her vision narrowing. “Is this the end?”

“Of course not,” Leo said, pausing a beat before asking, “Unless you want it to be over.”

“I don’t want to engage in something you don’t enjoy.”

“But I just said I enjoy it,” he protested.

“But that it was time to leave a place where we could pursue it unfettered,” she reminded him. “Which makes it sound on level with a mediocre jam sandwich.”

It was then that Leo’s facade slammed down. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I’m trying to get words out of your mouth,” she said. “I refuse to believe that this exodus to London has anything to do with our lovemaking. This is about the stranger from last night.”

“You can believe what you like. I have no control over that.” He stood abruptly, making Prudence pull back. “Stay if you want. I’ll be taking the afternoon train to London.”

He stomped back inside. Prudence sat in the sun, holding her thermos, absolutely stunned. What had just happened? She was at war with herself over what to do. Old Prudence would have sat meekly outside until she felt he’d cooled enough that she could go in and pack her own trunk. She would make nice to calm him down and return to London without another word.

This Prudence, however, did not appreciate being spoken to like that. This Prudence demanded more respect. He would just leave her alone in a cottage where some strange man—that made him nervous!—might return at any moment? And he would leave her there to fend for herself? She had a mind to do just that. She was handy with a rifle—she’d shot her share of pheasants and jackrabbits in her life—but she had no such weapon here.

She stood, put down her thermos, lest she throw it at him in a fit of pique, and followed him into the cottage.

“Why can’t you tell me who that man is?” Prudence did her best to keep her tone even, her body calm.

Leo was throwing his clothes into his carpetbag, not bothering to keep anything tidy or folded. “Because I don’t know.”

“Why can you not tell me the truth?”

He looked up at her, his tongue sliding across his teeth, as if he were clearing something out of his mouth. “We don’t really know each other, Prudence. How would you know if I was lying?”

“Because I do know you,” Prudence said. “I know how you take your tea. I know that your sketches are exceptional. I know that you dislike your career, but you do it because you like knowing the financial secrets of your clients. I know you hate Lord Grabe, though I don’t know why.”

“Because he’s a scoundrel,” Leo bit out. “And a reprobate.”

Now Prudence couldn’t help but cross her arms. “And you aren’t? Carrying on with a widow such as you are?”

“It’s different.” Leo went to the window ledge and rolled up his shaving supplies and his mirror.

“Different how? Because I’m a wealthy widow you aren’t taking advantage of somehow? Despite the fact that you’d abandon her in a cottage far from anything she knows.”

His jaw worked. “That’s not what this is.”

Prudence looked around. “Seems like it to me. I’m not ready to leave. We were having a wonderful time yesterday until that stranger showed up. Now you can’t wait to leave. You’re back to your extreme posture—”

“—My posture is not extreme.”

“And you can’t look at me. Not really.”

He stalked up to her and stared her in the eye. “I look at you all the time, Prudence. The difference is, when you look at me, you don’t see me. You see the show I put on.”

It was her turn to bark out a laugh. “You aren’t that good of an actor, Leo. And if I had to guess, given the remoteness of this cottage, your answers about Hooper’s Hill, your ability to navigate a forest in the dark without getting lost, and meeting a man outside your home looking for a friend, I’d say that you are this Lenny character, and that this was your home at one point.”

Leo’s lips thinned until they disappeared. “I’m walking to town to get the tickets. I’ll send a cart back for you and the luggage.” Then he left. He turned his back to her and walked out the door, leaving Prudence staring after him.

She supposed she could be obstinate and stay in the cottage, though she didn’t feel safe doing so. The nearby village likely had a room to let. She could stay there and ask around. But that felt strange and intrusive. She flopped onto the bed. What was she supposed to do? She’d gone from deliriously happy to feeling alone in the space of a day. This wasn’t how adults behaved. Why was he shutting her out like this?

Georgie would not let her wallow like this. Nor would Eleanor or Ophelia or Justine. She might as well go back to London. There was a low ache in her belly. This was rejection. Not just being ignored or not explicitly valued. This was being evaluated, and found wanting. And somehow, this hurt worse. A tear slipped out of one eye, which she furiously wiped away. This Prudence didn’t cry. This Prudence had bent railroad barons to her will. This Prudence made money out of nothing more than rotted timber and melted down Confederate cannons. This Prudence had buried her husband. This Prudence sailed across oceans.

This Prudence wouldn’t miss Leo Moon’s inability to be a decent human being.