Prudence and the Romantic Poet (The Three Graces #3)

Chapter 12

12

Prudence had never felt so dissatisfied with her appearance as she did that evening. She was generally unconcerned about such things. She liked to look neat and presentable, and had no desire to draw attention to herself either by being woefully out-modish or very fashionable.

Her long, dark hair was too massy for fashionable ringlets. She would either twist it into a fat knot at the nape of her neck or let Lizzy plait it into a coronet for the evening. Her gowns were ordered more for serviceability than fashion. She liked her clothes to be comfortable and easy to wash and iron. The thought of wearing a wispy gossamer gown in white, as Miss Kimpshott did, was not a sensible choice in her opinion.

‘What’s the Friday face for?’ Lizzy demanded, when she had finished Prudence’s hair in readiness for the ball. A wide blue ribbon had been woven through the braids. ‘It looks trim,’ she assured her, examining her handiwork.

‘There is nothing wrong,’ said Prudence. ‘You always do my hair very well. It’s my gown, not my hair that I’m dissatisfied with. Is it too plain for a ball? I wish I had kept my rose silk with me. ’

She could not see much of herself in the handheld looking glass, but what she saw was a slight figure in a very demure gown of light blue sarsenet. ‘I know from Miss Kimpshott that frills are the thing,’ she said, regarding her hem which boasted only the narrowest ruffle. Her sleeves were only lightly puffed, in contrast to Miss Kimpshott’s fulsome sleeves, and her neckline was modest, for nothing would induce her to sport a fashionably low neckline.

‘You look as natty as you always do, miss,’ Lizzy assured her.

‘Did I bring my Kashmir shawl that Charity gave me for my birthday? Or my turquoise necklace?’

‘No, miss. You sent all your finery away with Mrs Finnistone. You said you wouldn’t need it for a couple of weeks of nursing that old—your uncle.’

‘So I did.’ Prudence sighed. ‘I had not intended to go to any more balls.’ She put on her slippers and then her long white gloves. Lizzy draped her shawl about her shoulders, and then her winter carriage cloak.

‘I shall look in on my uncle before I go,’ said Prudence. ’Hold Pip, or he will try and follow me. And do not wait up for me. If you are tired, you must go to bed.’

‘Lawks, miss, these Bath balls end at eleven. I can wait up till then.’ Lizzy held the wriggling dog while Prudence made her escape.

She tapped softly at the door of her uncle’s room. Pickering opened the door a few inches, then wider when he saw who it was.

‘How is he?’ said Prudence, peering past Pickering’s shoulder into the room beyond.

‘Riding rusty, miss.’

‘What do you want?’ growled out Mr Sealy. ‘Letting a draught in to kill me off quicker. ’

Prudence slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. ‘How are you, Uncle?’

Mr Sealy scowled up at her. ‘I see how you are,’ he replied, scanning her person. ‘Off on a kick up.’

‘Just for a few hours at the assembly rooms,’ said Prudence. ‘I would not go, but Miss Kimpshott particularly wishes me to.’

‘And what do they charge you for a few hours at the assembly rooms?’ her uncle enquired.

‘Fourteen shillings for a subscription.’

Mr Sealy grunted in disgust.

‘Did you ever dance, Uncle?’

He grunted again.

‘He liked to stand up with a certain Miss Everingham,’ said Pickering. ‘Prettiest little thing she were. He liked the ladies very well when he was a rum duke.’

Mr Sealy growled something indistinct but certainly rude.

‘Was she your sweetheart, Uncle?’ asked Prudence, genuinely interested. But he glared at the fireplace and would not be drawn out. He would not be drawn out on any subject, other than to interrogate Prudence over the household expenditure, and to demand proof of all her bills to prove that none of the new comforts in heat and light and food had come out of his pocket.

It saddened Prudence to see him locked into his own small world of bitter feeling. She wished she could reach him. She prayed earnestly for him every night, grieved to think of his life so lacking in any thought of God or of love for his fellow creatures. Mr Sealy broke into one of his coughing fits. Pickering reached for the cough syrup she had made.

‘Works a treat, miss,’ Pickering assured her, measuring out a spoonful and waiting for his master to draw breath long enough to swallow the mixture.

‘I am glad of it.’ She waited until she was sure the attack was over. Mr Sealy slumped back into his chair, his strength sapped by the exertion of the fit. ‘I’ll give him his bedtime tonic,’ said Pickering, ‘and he’ll sleep like a babby in no time.’

Amos put his head round the door to say that Mrs Codd-Phelps’ carriage was at the door. Pickering called to Amos to help lift the master into bed. Amos said he’d be back in a trice, once Miss Grace was put in the carriage.

They were met in the Octagon Room by Mr Shelbourne and Sir Robert. It was a new experience for Prudence to be attended upon by a handsome man. She did not fall into feelings of flattery however, for Sir Robert, judging by his unsmiling face and his formal bow of greeting, was only there out of duty rather than an expectation of pleasure. She only wished she were better dressed; her gown was not shabby, but it was among the plainest of gowns on display. Miss Kimpshott was radiant as ever in the sheerest of muslins over white satin, with row upon row of fine lace, and Sir Robert looked very well in evening clothes, his stark black coat and breeches emphasising his granite expression. His linen shirt and cravat were faultless, and he seemed taller and more imposing than ever, so that she felt a little intimidated by his finery, and was appalled to hear herself say, by way of releasing some of her discomfort, ‘I am sorry I do not make a worthy partner for you, sir.’

He looked down at her, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’

She blushed a little, feeling like an awkward schoolgirl and wondering what was the matter with her. ‘I fear I am not fine enough for such an assembly.’ She laughed to show that she was not being self-pitying, a thing she would hate to be thought.

He was silent as he looked around, no doubt noting the jewels and feathers and lace of all the ladies, a contrast to Prudence in her almost Quakerish plainness. He looked down at her again, as though seeing her properly for the first time that evening. ‘I see nothing amiss in you, Miss Grace.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, straightening her small shoulders and smiling to try and dispel the feeling of gaucherie that had crept over her.

‘Fine feathers, and all that,’ he said, ‘as the saying goes. You are not a bird.’

This made her laugh, and she relaxed a little.

‘You are worth more than many sparrows,’ he added quietly. She glanced at him. It was odd how he sometimes said the most gallant things while looking so stern. He was not looking at her, but nodding to acquaintances as they passed into the ballroom.

The upper rooms always looked pretty in the evening, Prudence thought. The exquisite chandeliers were displayed at their finest, casting a magical glow over the assembly beneath. Usually she found it all a bit of a crush as she sought somewhere to sit. It was pleasant to have an escort making a dignified passage for her through the crowd and leading her to a chair in a good part of the hall where the dancing could be seen. He was hailed by more acquaintance, and was kept from her for some minutes as he greeted those who accosted him. His good manners moved him to introduce Miss Grace to those who were strangers to her.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, when he finally resumed the chair beside her. ‘I forget how sociable one must be in such places. It has been years since I attended a ball.’

‘You certainly have roused a good deal of interest,’ commented Prudence. It seemed at least half the room were eager to greet Sir Robert and exclaim how long it had been since they had had the pleasure of seeing him. Prudence was aware of a good deal of scrutiny towards herself as his unlikely partner. She tried to ignore the looks and whispers, and to not lament for the umpteenth time that she were not better dressed. She was far happier to be an unobtrusive observer, and wondered that Miss Kimpshott was so unaffected by the constant attention she excited.

It was a little presumptuous of Sir Robert to take it for granted that Prudence would dance the first dance with him without asking, but she was too polite to say so. He was not a talkative dance partner, but he was as graceful as his young cousin.

She thought he would leave her for the card room once his obligation was discharged – Mrs Codd-Phelps had already vanished from the ballroom, undoubtedly to play at picquet – but he remained with her until she was asked to dance by another gentleman.

For the next hour and a half she was engaged by partners, but always aware of the whereabouts of Sir Robert even as she danced and conversed with others. He only danced twice, once with a shy young lady thrust upon him by her mother, and once with Miss Kimpshott. She saw that he talked amiably with his young partner, and wondered that he had been so silent with her. She was not quite certain if he liked her or not. He was a puzzling man, to be sure, and she tried to pay no heed of him and keep all attention on her partner, but it was strange how insipid every other man was in comparison to Sir Robert, and strange how her eyes were always drawn back to him.

She was about to accept, a little unwillingly, her current partner’s escort into supper, but before she could give her hand of acceptance Sir Robert bore down on them, seemingly out of nowhere.

‘Beg pardon, Fothergill,’ said Sir Robert, plucking Miss Grace from young Mr Fothergill’s side. ‘But Miss Grace is promised to my escort into supper.’

Prudence cast back an apologetic smile to Mr Fothergill before saying to Sir Robert, ‘I don’t recall exchanging any promise with you, sir.’

‘Don’t you? I am quite sure I was charged to take you into supper at Miss Kimpshott’s request.’

‘So you were. I had forgotten. If you had rather sit with your friends, I perfectly understand.’

He gave her a quizzical look but did not reply as he led her through the surging throng from the ballroom to the tea room and secured a table. Mr Shelbourne and Miss Kimpshott joined them, but Mrs Codd-Phelps had struck up a friendship with her picquet partner, who obviously shared her interest in horses, and her braying voice could be heard above the chatter. Prudence heard such words as linebreeding and damsire bellowed out, and wondered that poor Miss Kimpshott did not blush at her cousin’s vulgarity, but Miss Kimpshott either did not hear, which was unlikely, or chose to ignore her cousin entirely.

Usually it would be some time before Mr Shelbourne could obtain service amidst the crowd, but Sir Robert seemed only to give a look and a server hurried to their table.

The food was merely passable, but it was a change from the plain fare Prudence made on the old range at her uncle’s .

Sir Robert exerted himself, taking the role of host, and keeping up a flow of conversation between himself and the ladies. Mr Shelbourne could not be drawn into the conversation much, for he was in low spirits. Tea was served at the close of the meal, and Mr Shelbourne gazed sorrowfully at Miss Kimpshott over his cup.

‘How much did we pay for this tea?’ asked Sir Robert.

‘You paid sixpence each for it,’ replied his cousin.

Sir Robert pulled a face. ‘No wonder you’re out of countenance, Arthur. Such an insipid beverage is enough to drive anyone into the mopes.’

‘I don’t care a fig for tea,’ said Mr Shelbourne.

‘I know,’ said his cousin dryly. ‘I was being ironical. But if you are going to sit there sighing for the rest of the evening I shall feel obliged to replace you with some other gentleman. Miss Grace and Miss Kimpshott deserve better company.’

‘How can I be anything other than desolate?’ said Mr Shelbourne. ‘When I might never dance with Miss Kimpshott again?’

‘It is called good countenance ,’ said his cousin. ‘One disciplines oneself to not show all of one’s feelings when in public.’

‘I cannot lie nor pretend,’ said Mr Shelbourne. ‘I value truth too highly.’

‘You value self-indulgence more than other people’s comfort.’

Mr Shelbourne looked resentfully at him. ‘I shall leave Bath,’ he said, as though that would make his cousin sorry.

‘Go back to your cottage,’ said Sir Robert.

‘I should have liked to have seen your little cottage,’ said Miss Kimpshott.

‘Should you?’ said Mr Shelbourne. His face lit up, transformed in an instant. ‘You must come and see it! We’ll make a party of it! We can have a look round Beech Park, can we not?’ he asked of his cousin.

‘I see no reason why not,’ said Sir Robert. ‘I can let the housekeeper know to expect you, so long as she is given at least a day’s notice, or I will get my head bitten. You had best ask permission of Miss Kimpshott’s guardian first. That is,’ he acknowledged Miss Kimpshott, ‘if Miss Kimpshott wishes to make the visit. It is a good hour and a half drive each way.’

‘I should like it very much. You will come, won’t you?’ said Miss Kimpshott to Prudence.

Prudence hesitated, thinking it would be a long time away from her uncle who seemed in a daily decline.

‘Of course Miss Grace must come,’ said Mr Shelbourne.

It was hard to resist the pair of eager young faces. And she did have an interest in seeing Beech Park.

‘You deserve a day’s outing,’ insisted Miss Kimpshott. ‘You have hardly left your uncle’s dreary house these past days.’

‘Oh, only to meet you almost every day, and visit the theatre, and attend tonight’s ball,’ said Prudence. ‘If Mrs Codd-Phelps approves the scheme, and if my uncle does not go into a crisis, I shall be very pleased to come.’

‘Famous!’ cried Mr Shelbourne, jumping to his feet. ‘I shall ask her directly.'