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

Chapter 28

28

Three times Prudence had come home to Curzon Street to find Sir Robert’s card. She was bitterly disappointed to keep missing him. On a fourth occasion she had given instructions to the servants not to disturb her while she had a meeting with Mr Rowlinson, and had been dismayed to emerge from this hour-long meeting to see Sir Robert’s card left in the hall.

She made a point of asking Mr Shelbourne to convey to his cousin her regret at not being at home when he had called. ‘You will tell him, won’t you?’ she pressed. ‘I have so many appointments at present with solicitors and advisors and so on, that I am away from home or engaged most afternoons. Will you tell him that I shall certainly be at home on Thursday? Would he dine with us, do you think? If you and Miss Kimpshott and Mrs Codd-Phelps were to come, he would be among his acquaintance.’

‘He’s in Bristol at present,’ was the answer that dashed her hopes. ‘Left early this morning. I expect that’s why he called on you yesterday. Called to say goodbye.’

‘Oh,’ was all Prudence could sadly answer.

‘Be back next week,’ added Mr Shelbourne .

‘He will?’ She brightened.

‘Said he’ll be back for the Martin’s music evening next Friday. He’s fond of music. Dare say you’ll have an invite. Miss Kimpshott has. She gets invited everywhere now, after being such a success at that Christmas ball.’

Charity was surprised to find her sister riffling through the stack of invitations on the hallway console after Mr Shelbourne left. ‘What are you looking for? Those are last week’s.’

Prudence looked up almost guiltily. ‘I was wondering if we had an invite for the Martin’s musical soiree next week. I don’t recall you mentioning it.’

‘Why should I? Mrs Martin is a bore. Don’t tell me you wish to go?’

‘Miss Kimpshott is going. And I would like to hear Miss Krumpholtz play. Ah – here it is!’

Charity peered at the card over her sister’s shoulder. ‘It’s the same night we’re engaged to go with our godmother to Drury Lane.’

‘Oh dear. Do you think she would be very disappointed if I did not go?’

‘Mrs Martin? She has only met you once. Why should she care?’

‘I meant our godmother.’

Charity stared at her. ‘You cannot possibly prefer sitting on one of Mrs Martin’s uncomfortable chairs listening to a harpist followed by seed cake and ratafia to seeing The Rivals followed by oysters and venison at Rules?’

‘Perhaps I might join you all for supper afterwards?’ suggested Prudence, still regarding the invitation in her hand, but wondering if she were merely setting herself up for more painful rejection by going to the soiree.

‘But you like Sheridan. ’

‘I have seen The Rivals before,’ said Prudence. ‘I have never heard Miss Krumpholtz play.’

‘Well, you must do as you please,’ said Charity with a defeatist shrug. ‘Leon says I am not to interfere with you. You will have to get that Mrs Codd-Phelps to chaperone you, for I shall not go. But I must say, Pru, you are growing very queer of late.’

The Hart carriage deposited Prudence at the house of Mrs Codd-Phelps and Miss Kimpshott at seven o’clock on the following Friday. She was to join their party to Mrs Martin’s house in Portman Square.

Mrs Codd-Phelps was not in good humour for she had learned that Mrs Martin never provided card tables at her soirees. ‘I hope you appreciate all that I suffer on your behalf, Regina,’ she scolded during the carriage ride. ‘It is a mystery to me why anyone of sense would want to spend an evening listening to someone plucking catgut. It is a tedious bore, and I would not endure it if I did not know that Lord Cole would be there. Do encourage him to come up to the mark, and let us have this all tied up as quickly as possible so I can go home again.’

‘I cannot compel Lord Cole to propose,’ said Miss Kimpshott mildly.

‘Of course you can. Make the fellow a little jealous. That always does the trick. Play up to your poet if need be, and force Lord Cole’s hand.’

‘But perhaps I don’t want Lord Cole to propose.’

‘Regina, I warn you, I can only bear so much. If you turn down the most eligible man on the mart, I shall wash my hands of you and go home.’

Mrs Codd-Phelps turned her dissatisfied eye on Prudence, saying darkly, ‘It is bad enough to have to harbour the sister of a usurper in my carriage.’

Prudence looked at her in surprise, but had not the chance to enquire as to the meaning of this, for they had reached their destination.

Mr Shelbourne was on the watch for Miss Kimpshott, eager to escort her into the drawing room where the concert was held. Prudence looked discreetly about her, but there was no Sir Robert to be seen.

Once the concert began she could not look around without drawing attention to herself, and so was resigned to trying to enjoy the music, but never did a concert seem so long. When the last reverberating note of Miss Krumpholtz’s harp was plucked and Mrs Codd-Phelps said a little too loudly, ‘Thank the Lord!’ she almost added an ‘Amen.’ Fortunately, Mrs Martin, who had heard this exclamation, took it as a compliment to the divine gifting of Miss Krumpholtz and assured Mrs Codd-Phelps that there would be more of Miss Krumpholtz’s playing to enjoy after tea, and she would be sure to reserve Mrs Codd-Phelps a front row seat.

‘She means it as a kindness,’ said Miss Kimpshott when their hostess had passed on, ‘not a punishment.’

‘Then the kindness is all for you,’ replied Mrs Codd-Phelps. ‘You being the belle of the season and marked out by Lord Cole. But you can keep any kindnesses along with the front row seat, for I cannot endure another hour of that screeching.’

‘Go home if you please,’ said Miss Kimpshott. ‘I shall do very well with Miss Grace and Mr Shelbourne. I shall cry off for you and say you have the headache.’

‘I do,’ said Mrs Codd-Phelps grimly.

‘You may feel better after a cup of tea,’ Prudence suggested .

‘Tea!’ said Mrs Codd-Phelps. ’A good glass of Burgundy would be more the thing. Do not tell me there is no wine to be had?’

They had entered the dining room where the tea was laid out. There were urns and tea things, and one solitary decanter of liqueur.

Mrs Codd-Phelps pulled a face as she sipped a glass of the liqueur. ‘I detest ratafia,’ she said. ‘And watered down ratafia is the outside of enough. Oh, where is Lord Cole?’

Prudence remained standing with Mrs Codd-Phelps. Miss Kimpshott had vanished into a flock of gentlemen all desirous of having the honour of bringing her tea. Mr Shelbourne was doing his utmost to fend these suitors off but he was outnumbered.

‘I should not have come at all if I had known Lord Cole would not be here. He particularly said he would.’

‘But he is here, ma’am,’ said Prudence, spying the tall figure of Lord Cole crossing the room directly to Miss Kimpshott. ‘And he is pulling rank,’ she said with some amusement as she watched Miss Kimpshott’s suitors fall back at his lordship’s approach. Only Mr Shelbourne persisted, but Lord Cole turned his back pointedly to Mr Shelbourne and steered Miss Kimpshott away.

‘Where is he taking her?’ said Mrs Codd-Phelps eagerly. She craned her neck to peer over the little crowd of guests. ‘He is showing her some pictures on the far wall, but I dare say it is a ruse to get her alone. I wonder if he is going to declare himself. What do you think, Miss Grace? He looks very like a man in love to me. What do you think?’

‘Every young man who comes into the vicinity of Miss Kimpshott looks like a man in love,’ said Prudence. She sipped at her tea. ‘This tea is very good,’ she said, a little surprised, for she had expected an inferior beverage judging by the watery ratafia and the unappetising cake on offer.

‘I am glad you think so, Miss Grace,’ said Mrs Martin, who was passing by as she did the round of the room, ensuring that all her guests were supplied with refreshment. ‘It was a gift from a friend, who is a great music lover and promised he would bring me five pounds of the best tea if I would secure the wonderful Miss Krumpholtz. And there he is, speaking with Miss Krumpholtz.’

Prudence looked in the direction Mrs Martin was nodding at, and felt the usual lurch of her stomach at the sight of Sir Robert looking immaculate in evening clothes and smiling as he addressed Miss Krumpholtz. He did not often smile, and Prudence could not take her eyes from his face.

‘He is an eccentric man, to be sure,’ said Miss Martin confidingly, ‘and so I tell him. But any gentleman who appreciates music I am glad to call a friend of mine, even if he should have a lowering inclination for trade, and so I tell him. Are you acquainted with him?’

Before Prudence could answer, Sir Robert, turning his head slightly, caught her eye. She flushed at having been caught staring, but managed to smile and incline her head towards him in a friendly gesture. Miss Krumpholtz was speaking animatedly to him, and he turned back to her without acknowledging Prudence’s nod. She felt instantly crushed. Was it not enough to treat her with cool civility, but that he must now cut her directly?

Mrs Martin was still speaking, but Prudence struggled to attend to what she was saying. ‘I shall introduce you,’ she was saying, but Mrs Codd-Phelps replied that that they had been acquainted with Sir Robert at Bath on account of his cousin Mr Shelbourne.

Mrs Martin said a few more words that Prudence nodded politely at, without hearing a word, and then moved on to attend to her other guests.

‘Are you well, Miss Grace?’ enquired Mrs Codd-Phelps. ‘You look like a filly who’s got among the cabbages.’

‘I am well,’ murmured Prudence. ‘It is very close in here. I am a little over heated is all.’

‘It is mortal hot,’ agreed Mrs Codd-Phelps. ‘Let us move away from the fire to the other side. Now where did I put my fan?’

‘Good evening, ma’am, Miss Grace.’ Prudence almost spilled her tea at the sound of Sir Robert’s voice. She had turned away from the sight of him conversing in so friendly a manner with Miss Krumpholtz, and had not realised he had left her side and crossed the room to greet them. He bowed neatly. ‘How do you find the tea?’

‘Good evening, Sir Robert,’ said Mrs Codd-Phelps. ‘I am not a tea drinker. I like chocolate in the morning, coffee at luncheon, and Burgundy in the evening.’ She gave a pointed look of disgust at the glass of ratafia in her hand.

‘There is an obliging footman in that alcove there with a tray of decanters at hand,’ said Sir Robert. ’Would you like me to procure you a glass of wine?’

‘Is there indeed? I shall take a look for myself, for I cannot stand by this roasting fire a moment longer.’ She left them, and Prudence forced herself to speak in a friendly tone, though her hands gripped her teacup.

‘Have you been busy, sir? I have not seen you for some time.’

‘Yes. I have been keeping busy.’

She looked down at her cup as though its contents were extremely interesting, as she said, ‘I thought you had given me the cut direct a moment earlier.’

He sounded surprised. ‘Now why should I do that? As soon as I saw you I made my escape that I might come and greet you.’

‘Escape?’

‘Miss Krumpholtz is a talented musician, but she is something of a rattlebox.’

She attempted a smile, but it was a shaky one.

He frowned slightly, regarding her closely. ‘Now what in the world would put such a foolish notion into your head that I would ever give you the cut direct, my dear—Miss Grace?’ She looked up at him, a stirring of hope beginning to rise. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

She tried again to smile, and shook her head. ‘It is… just that I have hardly seen you… and…’ She took courage and decided to speak frankly. ‘We were on such friendly terms in Bath, before you went away on business. I am disappointed not to… continue on the same terms since you returned.’ She dared to meet his eyes again. ‘I am sorry that things are altered.’ It was as much as she could say in so public a setting. It was as much as propriety would allow. It was not for her to make advances to him.

He looked gravely back, and she did see strong emotion passing over his expression. But the emotions were not easy to read: affection was there – dare she call it love? — but also pain, but from what some source?

‘I too am sorry that things are altered,’ he said at last.

‘May I know why they are altered?’ she ventured. ‘Did I do something to cause it?’ Her voice trembled as she added, in an almost pleading voice that she hated the sound of, ‘It would stop me tormenting myself with wracking my mind to think what I could have done or said to change things so completely?’

He responded to this confession with a quick movement towards her, saying in a low voice, ‘Oh, my dear girl— ’

‘Look what I found!’ Mrs Codd-Phelps broke in, waving an ivory stick fan triumphantly in one hand and a bumper of wine in the other. ‘I shall have to down a couple of these to make tolerable the next hour.’ She groaned and took a large gulp of Burgundy before saying to Prudence, ‘I saw that Mr Cavendish of yours. He just came in. Said he went to the theatre expecting to see you there, but your sister informed him you were here, and so he has come after you.’ She turned to Sir Robert. ‘If Regina will reel in Lord Cole and Miss Grace bags Cavendish, it will be a good few weeks’ work for our pretty heiresses, shan’t it? Ah, here comes Cavendish on the hunt.’ She raised her fan and waggled it in the air to catch the attention of Mr Cavendish, who, alighting upon Miss Grace, came directly over to make his bow.

‘Your servant, ma’am, Miss Grace.’ He nodded at Sir Robert, whose expression had resumed the closed look that Prudence knew so well. ‘Might I escort you to your seat in the concert room, Miss Grace,’ he asked, putting out an arm.

‘Aye, take her,’ encouraged Mrs Codd-Phelps. ‘You’ll give me your arm, Sir Robert, won’t you? And here’s your young cousin, looking blue-devilled. What’s the long face for, Mr Shelbourne?’

Mr Shelbourne joined them, saying gloomily. ‘I can’t get near Miss Kimpshott. That Cole fellow has walked off somewhere with her.’

‘Has he indeed?’ said Mrs Codd-Phelps with a gleam.

‘You should not let her go off with him, ma’am,’ said Mr Shelbourne. ‘You should keep a close eye on her. He could be saying anything to her, or taking any manner of liberty with her.’

‘He may say what he likes, so long as he comes up to the scratch,’ said Mrs Codd-Phelps cheerfully. Mr Shelbourne glared, but she only said, ‘Take this glass, my good fellow, and fill it up for me from that tray in the alcove over there.’

The room was emptying as the guests made their way to their seats in the adjoining room. Prudence hoped Sir Robert would claim her as her escort, but Mrs Codd-Phelps had taken his arm without him offering it, and Mr Cavendish tucked Prudence’s hand under his arm in a possessive manner, saying, ‘Shall we go?’ steering her away without a reply.