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

Chapter 29

29

Prudence’s hopes of sitting near Sir Robert during the second half of the concert were dashed. Mr Cavendish directed her to two chairs at the end of a row that was otherwise full. She found herself pinioned between her unwanted suitor and a large lady whose perfume was so overpowering that she felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. She was aware from the sound of Mrs Codd-Phelp’s resonant voice that she and Sir Robert were sitting in the row behind.

She frequently had the sensation during the next hour that she was being watched, especially when Mr Cavendish bent to speak softly into her ear. His attentions were irksome; she had a desire to slap him away like a irritating fly when she felt his breath tickling her neck as he made inane observations on the music, but she remained mistress of herself, and kept a polite composure and smiled or nodded benignly to his comments, though she wished him at Jericho, as Charity would say.

The interminable concert did end, and the guests rose, chattering like a coop of hens, so Prudence’s frayed nerves thought, and everyone migrated to the dining room where an early supper was laid out. Prudence was to leave at ten to meet her sister and godmother’s party for supper in Covent Garden. A glance at the drawing room clock showed her that it was twenty minutes until ten, and she felt an urgency to find Sir Robert, that she might speak to him before she left. ‘Will you excuse me, Mr Cavendish?’ she said, spying Sir Robert a little way ahead. ‘I must speak with an acquaintance on an important matter.’

‘Then I shall escort you to your acquaintance,’ said Mr Cavendish, ever punctilious in his attentions. He was thwarted in this, but so was she, for Miss Kimpshott appeared, looking uncharacteristically flushed as she said in a low, but determined voice, ‘Miss Grace, I know you have a carriage coming for you shortly, but I must speak with you a minute,’ and plucked her from Mr Cavendish’s side and hurried her away to a curtained alcove.

‘What is it?’ said Prudence, noting the glitter in her friend’s eye.

‘Lord Cole has proposed.’

‘Oh. Am I to congratulate you?’

Miss Kimpshott wrung her hands. ‘I have not said yes. And he says he does not expect an answer immediately, but only asks if he may be encouraged to speak to my guardian.’

‘That is very proper.’

‘It is as good as a proposal, is it not?’

‘To be sure it is. Did you tell him he could speak to your cousin?’

‘I said I would give him an answer soon.’

‘Then I take it you are not sure of your own mind?’

‘My mind says that it is an excellent match, and Cousin Phyllis will be in high alt if I accept him. She says his bloodline goes back to Charlemagne.’

‘Doesn’t everyone’s?’ said Prudence, trying to rouse a smile from her friend, for she did not like to see her distressed.

‘I never thought I was in the least romantical,’ said Miss Kimpshott. ‘I intended to make a good match on entirely practical considerations. A good temper, pleasing looks, no horrid vices such as hard drinking or gambling, and to satisfy Cousin Phyllis – a man of good family.’

‘Lord Cole is all those things,’ said Prudence, stating the obvious.

Miss Kimpshott nodded and looked miserable.

‘But something else is needed,’ suggested Prudence.

Miss Kimpshott nodded again.

‘Is your heart engaged elsewhere, my dear Miss Kimpshott?’

‘I am not sure. What does it mean when you have an odd kind of sadness at the thought of someone you have become very familiar with, even to seeing them almost every day, no longer being with you? No, sadness is not the right word, it is more than that. It is as though you are somehow all tangled up with them, and you cannot imagine, in fact, it is very distasteful, abhorrent even, to imagine being entangled with any one else in such a way?’

‘I would say that is love,’ said Prudence, heroically concealing her heavy heart.

‘Is it?’ Miss Kimpshott considered this for some moments, then said, ‘What would you do? Would you marry a man only because you liked to have him near above others, even though he was a little eccentric and did not have a great fortune, over a sensible man with excellent fortune and rank? You are by far the most sensible and wise person I know. Do advise me, please .’

Miss Kimpshott was regarding her intently as she waited for her friend’s answer. Prudence was uncomfortable at having so much attached to the answer she gave. She did not need to ask who the unnamed gentleman was whom Miss Kimpshott felt ‘entangled’ with. Was Mr Shelbourne the right choice of husband for her friend? He was a kind and genial man, but he was young and overly led by his emotions. He might grow into a devoted husband, and the responsibilities of family life might shape him into a true Greatheart in time. Lord Cole, on the other hand, was all that was sensible and amiable, and would make Miss Kimpshott a countess in time. Their children would rank among the ruling classes of the land.

‘If you married Lord Cole, you would have great wealth and influence at your command,’ she said slowly. ‘While those are not things to be sought for their own sake, one can do a great deal of good with them.’

Miss Kimpshott nodded slowly, but still with that troubled look.

The alcove curtain had moved, and Prudence turned to see who was looking in on them, but whoever it was, they had moved away again.

She turned back to her friend. ‘But if your heart is for another, my dear friend, I do not advise going against it because it is what your cousin or what society believes you should do. I am not romantical either,’ here she had to stifle a slightly cynical laugh, for her thoughts were always towards matters of the heart these days. ‘But I do hold mutual love to be the highest consideration in the choice of a marriage partner. Anything less, I believe, would make the state insupportable. And you are not a girl to be carried away with fancies or foolish notions. If your heart is speaking to you, my counsel would be to trust it.’

Miss Kimpshott digested this, finally saying quietly, ‘Thank you, Miss Grace.’ She gave a small laugh with a tang of irony. ‘The only difficulty in following my heart, is that the gentleman in question has never asked me for my hand.’ She gave herself a little shake, and straightened up. ‘I must go into supper before we are missed. I think Sir Robert was sent to look for us, for he looked in a moment ago.’

‘Did he?’ Prudence hurried out into the hallway, looking up and down for Sir Robert, but there was no sign of him.

Mr Shelbourne was nearby, and she beckoned to him. He came quickly to her, saying, ‘There you are! I have been looking for you. Sir Robert said I would find you here. Your carriage is ready, that is what I was sent to tell you.’

‘Where is he?’ said Prudence.

‘Sir Robert? He is just this minute gone.’

‘Gone? Pray, where?’

‘He did not say. He was looking for you to take his leave, but you were engrossed in private conversation, he said. He sends his regards, etcetera. Commanded me to see you to your carriage. Shall I wait here while you fetch your cloak? Mrs Martin is in the dining room, but it is a sad crush in there, so you might have trouble getting near her. I will pass on your regards to her, if you wish.’

Prudence murmured her thanks and fetched her cloak and muff from the room set apart for the ladies. She re-joined her friends. Miss Kimpshott took her hands saying softly, ‘Thank you for your counsel. I shall certainly consider it while I make my decision.’

Prudence returned the pressure on her hands and smiled as best she could, for she felt low in spirits. Miss Kimpshott saw the strained look and said, ‘Are you well, dear friend?’

‘Oh, yes. I have the beginning of a headache, that is all.’

‘Mrs Martin’s chairs are not very comfortable,’ said Miss Kimpshott. ‘It is a long time to be sitting still. I have a little headache myself. ’

‘Do you?’ said Mr Shelbourne anxiously. ‘You must take some sustenance. Allow me to take you into supper as soon as Miss Grace is in her carriage.’ He turned to Prudence. ‘May I procure you a glass of water or a biscuit before you go? The only time I get a headache is when I have forgotten to eat and drink.’

‘Thank you, but I think a little fresh air is all that is needed.’

They took a friendly leave of one another, and Prudence was glad to sink back against the squabs of the carriage and be alone with her thoughts for a short while.

She considered telling the coachman to take her home to Curzon Street and then sending word to her godmother and sister that she would not join them for supper after all, but would retire early. But she knew that they would be concerned for her, and it would spoil their evening, so she determined to keep the arrangement.

How hard it was to keep pretending outwardly that all was well and be her usual calm and composed self. Lines from Mr Shelbourne’s poems drifted into memory – lines she had thought overly sentimental as they mourned an unrequited love – how pertinent they seemed now. She recalled Charity’s wild pendulous moods when she had been pining for Captain Hart, and shrank from the idea of demonstrating any such drama. As the carriage pulled up in Maiden Lane she took a deep breath, pushing aside emotive lines of verse, and schooling herself to appear cheerful.

She did not sleep well that night, and after a breakfast that she had no appetite for, declined going out with Charity and retired to the library, giving instructions that she was not to be disturbed unless Sir Robert or Miss Kimpshott called. She sat at the desk staring at without seeing the papers before her. She was considering whether it would be too forward of her to send a note to Sir Robert to call, that she might have some uninterrupted conversation with him and gain some clarity on what his true sentiments towards her were. Until she could understand what had changed in him, she felt she would linger in this awful state.

While submerged in these thoughts the door of the library was lightly tapped at, and the butler obeyed her call for him to enter. ‘Is it Miss Kimpshott?’ she said, not wishing to have her hopes dashed that it would be Sir Robert.

‘No, miss.’ Her heart quickened. The butler hesitated.

‘Is it Sir Robert?’ She stood, dropping the papers in her hand on the table.’

‘No, miss. You did say only Sir Robert and Miss Kimpshott were to be admitted, but I wished to check if Sir Robert’s young cousin were to be excluded, he being so regular a caller, and… he seeming a little distraught.’

She sank back down. ‘Oh. Mr Shelbourne. Yes, you were quite right to query. Do send him in.’

Mr Shelbourne came in looking white faced.

‘My dear friend!’ exclaimed Prudence, shocked at his look of despair. ‘What is wrong? Has something happened?’

‘It is the end of everything, Miss Grace.’ Mr Shelbourne sank into the wing-back chair near the fireplace and put his head in his hands. He had forgotten that he was still wearing his new Wellington beaver, and his hat fell to the hearth. Prudence darted to snatch it up before soot or a spark from the fire should ruin it.

‘Shall I bring tea, miss?’ enquired the butler.

‘I think you had better,’ replied Prudence, who always considered a well-made cup of tea the best thing for comfort. ‘Tell me, Mr Shelbourne, what is wrong? It is not your cousin, is it?’

‘My cousin?’ said Mr Shelbourne in a groaning voice from behind his hands. ‘What has he to do with anything? It is Miss Kimpshott.’

‘You will have to raise your head, Mr Shelbourne, for I can barely hear you while your face is buried.’

He slowly raised his head and slumped back against the chair. ‘I called on Miss Kimpshott this morning.’

Prudence waited patiently for further enlightenment. ‘You saw her?’ she suggested, when he continued staring at the ceiling as though searching for some succour in the plasterwork.

‘No.’

She waited again. ‘She had gone out?’ she prompted.

‘No.’

‘She refused to see you?’

‘I do not think so.’

‘So, you came away again?’

‘I saw her guardian.’

‘And did Mrs Codd-Phelps say something that has dismayed you?’

He lowered his head to look at her. ‘Dismayed? Dismay is too weak an adjective, Miss Grace. It is the end of everything.’

His head sank back into his hands with a groan. Prudence left him to finish out his groaning. The tea things came in presently, and she quietly made it and took a cup to him, pulling a footstool near to his chair that she might sit nearby. ‘Do oblige me by drinking this, and then you will be able to tell me all about it.’

The tea did revive him, and when she had taken his cup away to refill it, he was able to speak coherently. ‘Cole has proposed,’ he said. ‘Mrs Codd-Phelps told me.’

Prudence did not reply, still busy with straining the tea. She added a little milk and a piece of ground sugar and handed it to him with a look of compassion.

‘You are not surprised,’ he said, taking the cup. ‘You knew?’

‘Miss Kimpshott told me last night.’ She sat back down and regarded him. ‘She has not accepted him,’ she said gently.

‘But she will.’ He stared into his cup. ‘Her cousin was positively gloating . You’d think she was the one going to be a countess.’

‘Miss Kimpshott declared last night that she did not yet know what her answer would be.’

‘That cousin of hers will not let her refuse such a match.’

‘But Miss Kimpshott has decided views of her own. She will not be forced into a match she does not wish for.’

‘Why would she not wish it? Mrs Codd-Phelps is of the opinion that no girl would refuse that man. And to think that I rejoiced to see Carlyle driven away by Cole, and now Cole has proved a far worse rival.’

‘Miss Kimpshott is not an ordinary girl.’

‘Indeed, she is not,’ groaned Mr Shelbourne. ‘She is extraordinary in every way. How could Cole not want her? How could any man not want her?’

Prudence sipped her tea thoughtfully, wondering how best to counsel him. Her thoughts ranged over her own miserable situation.

‘Mr Shelbourne,’ she said finally, putting down her cup. He looked up, surprised by the alteration of her voice from an expression of compassion to one of firm counsel. ‘ If I were a man in your circumstance, do you know what I would do?’

‘What would you do?’

‘I would take action. It is the sad lot of us women to have to sit around waiting for the man we would like to marry to make the proposal. We can do none of it ourselves, not without being thought unconventional at the very least. But you – you are a man. You do not need to sit around waiting for a proposal that may never come, being tormented by uncertainty. Go to Miss Kimpshott and ask her if she would consider your suit.’

Mr Shelbourne stared at her. ‘Why would she consider my suit over Lord Cole? What have I to offer her that he cannot offer far more besides?’

‘A proven loyalty and unwavering affection. That is what you have to offer.’

He stared some moments longer. ‘She will give me a decided refusal.’

‘You do not know that. Oh, I could shake you sometimes!’ He was startled. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Miss Kimpshott has shown you a marked preference for months, and you have never spoken to her of marriage. You have no right to come here complaining that you have lost her forever when you have never even tried to win her. Go and ask her to marry you. She might say no, and you are no worse off. But she might not say no. And then…’ She let him envision for himself this happy state.

‘Do you really think I have a chance?’ he asked, looking dazed.

‘I would not urge you to try if I did not.’

He sank back in the chair again, staring at the ceiling.

‘Will you do it?’ she pressed.

He launched himself from his chair. ‘Yes. I will!’ He looked about him. ‘Where did I put my hat? ’

‘It is here.’ She held it out. He took it, and with his other hand grasped hers, saying, ‘Thank you, Miss Grace. You are the veriest of friends.’ She smiled wistfully in reply. ‘I don’t know what my cousin is about,’ he added. ‘Last night he did nothing but talk of you, I half expected him to try for your hand, the way he was talking, but he took leave of me this morning in the blackest of moods.’

He bowed, making ready to leave, but Prudence said, ‘Wait! What do you mean?’

‘He’s gone back to Bath.’

‘What do you mean about him trying for my hand?’

‘I joined him at his hotel last night and we shared a bottle. He’s not one for drinking in the main. Prefers tea.’

‘And what did he say about me?’ Prudence was finding it hard to remain patient.

‘I quizzed him, said he must be drowning his sorrows, and he said that very likely he was. I talked of Miss Kimpshott. I said he could have no notion of the despair I felt and he took me very much to task, ripped up at me, saying in the most violent language that he knew exactly how I felt, for he felt just the same. I quizzed him some more and was more taken aback when he said that the lady was you, Miss Grace.’

‘But… why should he despair of me?’

Mr Shelbourne shrugged. ‘Thinks he’s too old for you. It was one thing when you were plain Miss Grace resigned to living hidden away in the country where no one would see you, but now you’re a young heiress you can move in the best circles and have your pick of husbands. You’re never at home all the time he’s been in town, meanwhile, Oliver Cavendish is paying court to you, and by all appearances you look kindly on his suit. Why would you throw over a handsome, rich young fellow like Cavendish for my cousin? ’

‘Is that what he thinks?’

‘Is it not true?’

Prudence looked at him and did not answer, for her thoughts were racing.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said at last, desiring him to leave her to think over what this startling revelation meant. ‘Go to Miss Kimpshott,’ she urged. ‘Do not waste any more time.’

He put his hat on, and took his leave.