Chapter 6

Prudence preened. What a success. She'd thought all hope lost for a handful of horrible days when Samuel had refused to let her accompany Cora to Norton Hall. But in the end, a civil conversation with Lord Norton had convinced him all would be well. Her plans could have continued in the country without her presence, but she preferred them not to. They were her plans, after all.

And looking at the smiling faces gathered in Norton Hall's library, basking in the sounds of their cheerful conversations, she could not help but think again—what a perfect success. Cora beamed from her place on a chair near the large windows, sunlight flooding in and lighting her dark hair. Lady Templeton fussed with a tea set nearby, Mrs. Garrison flipped through the pages of a book, looking for a particularly salacious illustration, and Lady Macintosh lectured on the best words to use for a man's member. All-dissolving lightning bolt appeared to be her preferred term.

Though Prudence found it difficult to believe a man would wish his lightning bolt to dissolve.

"Cock is much preferable," Lady Templeton argued, filling Cora's cup. "Has a nice serious ring to it. Good for waking one up."

Lady Macintosh chuckled, then shook her head. "I much prefer shaft. More descriptive. My William looks nothing like a rooster."

Mrs. Garrison snorted, raised a fiery red brow. "Are you suggesting your husband has nothing to crow about?"

Lady Macintosh's brows knit together, then they flew up her forehead. "He's plenty to brag about, thank you."

Prudence made her way across the room and sat next to Cora on the sofa. "It's perfect, is it not? Here, we can converse about things that we should not, all day long if we please, and no one will discover it. If all goes well in the next fortnight, we can hold house parties for the library women two or three times a year. We can invite more next time once we know how everything will work. No exchange of paper in Hyde Park, no London gossip. Select guests invited to a secret house party. It's much safer than anything we've done before. And Cora"—she grasped her friend's arm—"just think of the poetry readings we'll have."

Cora grinned. "It does seem, so far, to be an excellent plan. Different from the enterprise your sisters organized for years, but not worse because of it."

"Indeed not. We do not have to stop, Cora. But we can be careful. And this"—she looked around the spacious room with its high ceilings and book-lined walls—"is the answer."

Cora's grin faded. "But what about—"

"Cock, I say!" Lady Templeton slammed her teacup down, sending a wave of tea over the brim. "How can you be so foolish as to suggest gherkin? Gherkin! Of all things! It sounds like you're choking on something."

Mrs. Garrison snorted a laugh. "Perhaps she's choking on the said gherkin, darling."

Cora shook her head and turned to Prudence once more. "But what about Lord Norton? He lives here, too. Surely, he will notice all the talk of gherkins and cocks."

"I've not seen him once since he arrived."

"I haven't seen him since yesterday. He sent a note saying you would be able to attend me after all. Then nothing."

The man had no interest in his wife. Prudence swallowed a lump in her throat. An inauspicious beginning for her friend's marriage. She patted Cora's hand. "Think of his absence as a convenience. He won't be about to discover our conversation, books, or recitations."

Cora took a deep breath. "You're right, of course. It's a boon. Everything is perfect, and you are brilliant, Prudence. To find a way for this to continue but away from London's prying eyes."

"It's merely a test."

"But one that is going wonderfully well so far."

They picked up their still-steaming teacups, clinked the rims, and sipped.

A knock on the door.

The ladies did not hear, and over their protestations of what to call a man's appendage, Cora called, "Come in!"

"Shh." Prudence leaned into the group of older women. "Shh. We've company."

They quieted quickly, gazes flying toward the door.

The butler, Mr. Pickings stepped through, bowed. "My lady, another guest has arrived. What room shall I put him in?"

Silence hung like doom above them all.

Prudence began counting its length, her mind unable to grasp anything else. Five seconds, six—him—seven, eight, nine—him?—ten, eleven—

"Excuse me, Mr. Pickings." Cora rose from the sofa, shattering the silence with her soft voice. "Did you say… him?"

"Yes, a Mr. Bailey has arrived."

Prudence jumped to her feet with a yelp. "Mr. Bailey?"

The butler nodded.

Prudence paced forward. "Surely not my Mr. Bailey."

The butler raised a brow.

"Your Mr. Bailey?" Lady Templeton's voice behind her.

"Has there been a change of heart we are uninformed of?" Mrs. Garrison asked.

Prudence swung around. "Oh, you know what I mean. He's been courting me." She turned back to the butler. "What does Mr. Bailey look like?"

Cora stood beside her. "I know of only one Mr. Bailey, Prudence."

"But he and Lord Norton are not friendly. I know that better than anyone." They'd competed against one another for her hand since the previous Season. "Come, Mr. Pickings, what does Mr. Bailey look like?"

Mr. Pickings' cheeks flushed. "Tall? Yes, rather tall. And broad."

Two words which could very well describe the Mr. Bailey who'd haunted her steps the last year.

"And unkempt?" Prudence asked, dread pooling in her gut.

"Not at all, my lady. Quite well-dressed. Dashing, even."

Relief flooded through her. She pressed a hand to her hammering heart. "You terrified me, Mr. Pickings, but I see now it is not the same Mr. Bailey." That would ruin everything. Lord Norton cared nothing for how his wife spent her hours, but Mr. Bailey, her Mr. Bailey, would follow her about like a puppy dog. Thankfully that thorn in her side remained conveniently in London.

Cora patted her shoulder and spoke to Pickings. "Please have the bluebell room prepared and show him to the garden drawing room until it is ready."

The butler bowed and left, and Cora turned to the rest of them, head tilted, brow furrowed. "I wonder who this Mr. Bailey could be? I know none of Lord Norton's companions. I suppose we're about to meet one of them."

"Will he cause us problems?" Lady Macintosh asked. "I was under the impression this would be a select and private gathering, perfect for our purposes. I left the London Season for this."

"It is!" Prudence assured them. "This new guest will not wish to keep the company of women all day. We will have to suffer his attentions during and after dinner, but we did not think to have those times to ourselves to begin with. No, nothing has changed. Everything is perfect. We will proceed as planned."

But my, what a scare. Her heart still stuttered.

Cora opened the door to the hall. "I should greet our new guest. Do you think he's related to your Mr. Bailey?"

"He's not my Mr. Bailey."

"Your own words, girl," Mrs. Garrison said. "Cora, dear, do you have any whisky?"

Cora leaned low and whispered before leaving the room. "Don't let them near the whisky."

"I don't even know where it is." Prudence settled back into the circle of her friends, her mother's friends.

"What do you think, Prudence?" Lady Macintosh asked. "What is your favorite word for a man's member?"

Prudence scrunched her face. "Not member. Member of what? An exclusive club? A religion?"

Lady Templeton chuckled. "Sometimes God is called on. You'll learn one day."

Prudence reached for the teapot, poured, took a sip. Cold, but no matter.

"What's that, girl?" Mrs. Garrison tapped her shoulder. "Sit up and look us in the eye." Her husband was an admiral, and she possessed some of his… leadership qualities. "Why did you just crumple like that?"

"I didn't crumple," Prudence protested.

Lady Templeton tsked. "Evasive maneuvers if I've ever seen them. And I've seen plenty. Thurston employs them anytime I ask about his quest for a wife." A bitter edge to her voice. Thurston was Lady Templeton's son, a man she deemed too good for most women, including the Duke of Clearford's sisters. But clearly Lady Templeton was reaching her edge of patience with his continued bachelor status.

"Pruuuudence!" Rapid footsteps running closer down the hall as Prudence's name rose into the air on Cora's distressed voice.

They all four jumped to their feet right as Cora swung into the room, breathless. "Prudence… It's… it's…" Each word punctuated by a heavy breath.

Mrs. Garrison's tall, slender figure rushed across the room and pulled Cora farther inside. "Breathe deep, girl, and get it out. What's happened?"

Cora breathed deeply, and her wide eyes sparking with panic fell on Prudence. "He's your Mr. Bailey."

Prudence fell back into her seat, her legs no longer working. She shook her head. "No. He can't be. Mr. Bailey, my Mr. Bailey is not… he does not… well, he does not fit your butler's description!" Something cold seeped into the skin of her thigh, and she looked down. The teacup she'd been holding had entirely spilled its contents when she'd fallen into the seat. Her green gown, pale and pretty a moment ago, was ruined, a large brown splotch spreading across her leg.

"It is him," Cora panted. "But he's all"—she waved her hands up and down her body—"different. Prudence." Her face drained of color, every expression fleeing alongside the usual roses in her cheeks. "He's shaved."

Shaved. Mr. Bailey, shaved? She couldn't imagine it. Yet… she needed to know, to see. Her legs decided they could work once more, and she floated to her feet and out the door.

"Where are you going?" Cora hissed, hurrying at her side down the hallway.

"To see him."

"Should he know you're here?"

"He'll have to know," Lady Templeton said from Prudence's other side. "They're staying in the same house."

"But why are they staying in the same house?" Mrs. Garrison asked from nearby, her voice a whisper. "He should not be here at all. What game is Norton playing?"

From behind them, Lady Macintosh said, her voice hushed and somber, "Does he… know?"

They all stopped at the exact same moment. Everyone looked at Cora.

"I didn't tell him!" she hissed. "We've barely exchanged a word. We haven't even—" She snapped her mouth shut, glance at the door slightly down the hall. "We can't all go in at once, gawping like he's a performer at Astley's."

"Can too," said Mrs. Garrison. "It's what we call an ambush. Not a particularly secretive one, but—"

Cora swung in front of them, held out her arms, palms flat like walls to keep them at bay. "No. This is unacceptable. No ambushes."

They parted around her like the Red Sea.

"Bother." Cora scurried after them as Prudence put her hand on the doorknob.

Why was he here? And why had he shaved? He'd fairly rippled with rage the other day when he'd thought her desirous of changing him. But he'd shaved.

And what did a shaved Mr. Bailey even look like? Curiosity more than anything shoved her through the door and into the room.

A man stood near the window, his tall, broad-shouldered figure outlined by the sun filtering through the glass. The sun blinded her, and she could not see him clearly enough. He remained a silhouette against the light, and then he moved, walking slowly toward her, growing larger in her field of vision, the shadows the sun had strewn about him dimming until… there he was, towering above her—an Adonis.

Difficult to focus on one change with all of them pummeling her at once, but once her gaze struck across the lower half of his face, she could not look away. Lips. The man had lips. Quite interesting ones, full and sculpted and not at all covered by an inch of scruffy beard. An… interesting shade of subtle pink she'd never noticed before. How could she have, hidden as they'd been?

"Do I have something on my face, Lady Prudence?" His voice, deep and low and harboring a touch of humor. Familiar, too. At some point, his voice had become familiar.

"You have nothing on your face!" She'd squeaked it. She'd yelled it. She'd squealed it? No matter. The sound possessed a horrifically humiliating quality, loud yet terrified.

He scratched at his jaw, interrupting her view of his lips with his knuckles. "I shaved."

"I see." Her tone better that time. More controlled. His fingers in the way of those lips still, but… fascinating discoveries awaited her down its length. The wrist attached to the hand scratching his jaw possessed a pristinely pressed cuff of dark-blue wool, a hint of snowy white linen peeking out. And those fingers—no ink. She stepped back, forcing herself to take in the whole of him. No matter how blinding.

Start at the top. Long, sun-bleached blond hair gone. Mostly. It waved backward from a fine forehead, which sloped into his sharp nose, which didn't seem quite so lethal anymore. His eyes remained as blue as ever. But without the distraction of the beard and messy hair, they shone almost too blue. How dare they. Did the coat bring out their color? She shook her head, looked away, trailing her gaze downward, making a to-do list of the man and checking off each bit.

Cravat—snowy and crisp instead of wrinkled and loose.

Jacket—perfectly tailored, likely brand new.

Linen—unstained.

Waistcoat—slightly lighter blue than the jacket, perfectly cut. The fit of it almost too perfect. The buttons strained against the flat width of his abdomen.

Her throat went dry, but she pressed on.

To the trousers. Those, too, perfectly tailored, lovingly hugging his thick thighs and—

She swung around, giving him her back. Cowardly, yes, but her face had become a fireplace.

The gazes of her four friends, she now saw, were glued to the man behind her. They all four possessed slack jaws, and Lady Templeton's head tilted as her eyes dipped down the length of Mr. Bailey's frame.

Mrs. Garrison whistled.

Lady Macintosh hissed in a breath of appreciation.

"I did not know," Mr. Bailey said from behind Prudence, "it was to be a large party." Were the notes of his voice more refined? What sorcery was this? What nonsense? More accurate still… what trickery?

For it could be nothing else.

Prudence swung back around. "What are you doing here, Mr. Bailey? You were not invited."

He ran his hands down his form. "No compliments for my improved appearance?"

"I've a compliment or two," Lady Macintosh mumbled.

"For his tailor, especially," Lady Templeton hissed. "Those trousers."

Prudence looked at said trousers. So very… tight. "But where's your cigar, Mr. Bailey?"

Lady Templeton elbowed her in the ribs and whispered, "Good one. But open your eyes, girl. His cigar's right there. Have to be blind not to—"

"No." Mortification made her skin so hot it threatened to melt right off. She could barely look Mr. Bailey in the face but certainly couldn't look at his trousers again. She settled on the ceiling. Nothing embarrassing up there. "The cigar you keep in your pocket, Mr. Bailey. Because you like the scent."

He chuckled, and the warm rumble made, somehow, the ceiling a source of mortification as well. She tried her toes, the points of her slippers peeking out from beneath her skirts. Nothing to heat her cheeks there.

"I didn't wish to crush the cigar," Mr. Bailey said. "I've been forced to leave it in my trunk."

"Why not smoke it?" Mrs. Garrison asked.

Prudence shook her head. The conversation went entirely in the wrong direction. She ignored the women behind her. Ignored the trousers, too. "This is a private gathering. Isn't that right, Lady Norton?"

Cora stepped forward, taking up arms at Prudence's side. "It is. But…" She offered Prudence an apologetic grimace, a shrug. "It is Lord Norton's home, and he may invite whomever he pleases."

"But why did he invite him?" Prudence jerked her head toward Bailey.

"Have you quite forgotten your manners, Lady Prudence?" the man drawled.

"Ha!" She stalked toward him, skirts swinging round her legs. "You're one to speak of manners. This is the first I'm seeing of them from you."

He shrugged. "It's never too late to learn."

"How long are you staying here?" she demanded.

He leaned forward until no more than a few inches remained between their noses. "Why do you want me gone?"

She glared.

He grinned. Then he straightened. "Norton invited me for company and for my own sake." He looked over Prudence's head at Cora. "I do apologize if my presence is a surprise. I thought your husband would have given you some warning of my arrival."

"It is no bother, Mr. Bailey." Cora glided forward. "Please, sit. Would you like any refreshment?"

He sank into a nearby chair and folded his hands in his lap. "No, thank you."

Everyone else sat, too, in a neat little circle around Bailey. Lady Templeton even dragged a chair from across the room to join them when there proved not enough seating.

Mr. Bailey became a spectacle. Every eye on him. He knew it, too, shifted from side to side, hiding a grimace.

"What do you mean for your own sake?" Prudence asked.

He seemed ready to melt in relief. She'd broken the silence, and now he could breathe easy. "I have realized I must learn to fit in. If I wish to woo a wife. Norton has agreed to help me navigate the waters."

"Why do you need a wife?" Mrs. Garrison leaned forward, her eyes sharp with strategy.

"Doesn't every man?"

She leaned back, nodding as if she accepted his answer. Those sharp eyes, though… she would not be so easily pleased.

"You understand, Mr. Bailey," Cora said, "I am pleased to have you as a guest."

Prudence sniffed.

"But," Cora continued, shooting Prudence a warning look, "we, the five of us, were not expecting to entertain a gentleman. We have our own activities and occupations planned, and I am quite certain you will not find them diverting."

"Not at all," Lady Templeton said. "Things like knitting."

"And pressing flowers," Lady Macintosh added.

"And a bit of rifle target practice," Mrs. Garrison said.

They looked at her.

She shrugged. "I enjoy shooting."

They glanced at Mr. Bailey.

"Oh." Mrs. Garrison's eyes went wide. "But I, uh, do not like an audience. My fragile female nerves are too timid to shoot under the expert male gaze." Her jaw tightened, and Prudence could see in the fine lines at the corners of the woman's eyes—she strained to keep from rolling them.

Mr. Bailey smiled, a charming little curve of enticing lips. "Please do not worry about entertaining me, ladies." His gaze settled hot on Prudence. "I'm quite certain I'll find something to occupy my hours."

The door swung open, and Norton stepped in, swiping a hand through his hair. "Ah. Here we all are." He paced to Cora and dropped a hand to her shoulder. She flinched, and he yanked the hand away. "I see you've met our new guest, Cora."

"You could have told me you invited him." Her words sounded sweet, but a bitter edge floated just beneath the surface of her soft voice.

"Ah, apologies. You're correct. I'm unused to sharing my plans with others. But I'll do better next time."

Cora stood, almost jumped to her feet, and Prudence and the other ladies followed suit. Cora led them like ducklings toward the door. "We will see you for dinner, then." She nodded and left, head held high. She led them back to the library, and once they'd all piled inside, she closed the door, locked it, collapsed against it with a huff, her gaze settling on Prudence. "Well, this complicates things."

It did. Oh, it did. Because Prudence did not believe Mr. Bailey's claims for one second.

She grasped for a chair and sank into it, her hand lying on the large tea spot marring her skirts. Bother. She'd forgotten about that. She'd stood before him looking a mess when he looked…

"There's only one reason a man turns himself from beast to prince like that," Mrs. Garrison said. She paced the length of the room and back, hands folded behind her back.

"He's not here for Norton," Mrs. Templeton agreed.

Prudence traced the outline of the stain. "He's here for me."

But what he wanted from her, truly wanted from her, she could not guess. The only thing she knew for sure? It could not be her—plain, tea-stained Prudence.