10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

"T he party was a delight." Silas's grandmother sighed with satisfaction as the carriage rumbled toward her home. "Thank you for all the effort you and Lady Prudence went to in order to make it a success."

"I am pleased you enjoyed it." Silas reached to clasp her hand. "Your energy is impressive as always. I am quite exhausted while you were ready to continue the festivities until the early morning hours."

She laughed as he had hoped. At least he could make someone smile. "Hardly, but it was very enjoyable and something I'll remember always. Thank you again."

"You are welcome."

"I only wish Lady Prudence had been able to attend. I hope whatever illness has befallen her isn't serious."

"As do I." His heart squeezed at the knowledge that he was the reason she hadn't come.

He'd watched the door for her all evening, hoping she would arrive just so he could see her again. Four days without her hadn't eased the ache in his heart. In fact, it had only worsened. He was beginning to think the pain would never go away.

No matter how many times he'd told himself their parting was for the best, he couldn't bring himself to believe it when he longed to be with her again more than anything in the world.

"It's such a relief to see your mother feeling better."

"Indeed. Her recovery was well timed. I'm not certain I could have managed the past two days without her assistance." His mother had been impressed with all he and Prue had accomplished, especially the small details that had pleased his grandmother and the effort they'd gone to for the lilies. The memory of their interlude in the conservatory was bittersweet.

"You would have done perfectly well, just as you do in all things." The carriage rolled to a halt. "Thank you for seeing me home. Would you care to join me for a drink before you depart?"

"I would like that." Though his life was not turning out the way he'd hoped, that didn't mean he would turn his back on the small moments of happiness presented to him, including a celebratory drink with his grandmother.

After greeting Wilson and sharing a few highlights of the evening with the butler, they moved into the drawing room where Silas poured himself and his grandmother a brandy.

"Cheers," he said as he handed her the glass and lifted his own. "To the best grandmother a man could have. I wish you the happiest of birthdays and many more to come. I love you very much."

She grinned and lifted her glass in return. "I love you as well and appreciate you more than I can say."

They both drank and then stared into the coals of the fire, enjoying the silence and one another's company.

He'd told her two days ago that Arthur Harrison had decided against pursuing his design and that he was pleased he'd tried one last time to make it work. Though she'd been unhappy with Silas's decision to set aside his idea in order to pursue an heiress, she hadn't argued, much to his relief.

Several quiet minutes passed before his grandmother straightened in her chair. "I have made a decision."

"Oh?" He couldn't imagine what it might be and didn't attempt to guess. She never failed to surprise him.

"We shall sell the Monet."

"What?" Silas set aside his drink in alarm and sat forward, worry climbing through him. "Why? What's happened? If your finances need assistance, we will find a way—"

She waved a hand in dismissal. "I am fine. But yours do."

"I have a plan for that, as you know." He ignored the knot of dread in his stomach as he reached for his drink. "I shall ask for Miss Smithby's hand in the coming days. I have every reason to believe she will accept."

He should've already done so. He'd told himself he needed to make it through the party, and then he would get on with it but that was simply an excuse to delay the proposal. However, he wasn't prepared to commit himself to another when his heart was otherwise involved. That wouldn't be fair to the lady.

"And be miserable for the rest of your life?" His grandmother shook her head. "Not while I am here to say otherwise. Your future is a gift and not to be squandered."

"We are not selling your painting." He glanced at the pretty garden scene with its gold frame. "That would be like selling your memories, and I refuse to do any such thing. It's not necessary."

"I will still have my memories. No one can take those from me." A smile curled her lips, hinting at the attractive young lady who had caught his grandfather's eye. "Tomorrow, you shall find someone to manufacture the prototype and then approach another investor group with your plans."

He tossed back the rest of his drink, appreciating the burn of the amber liquid. "I no longer have them. Not many of them anyway."

"What? How could that be?"

"I burned them." He was fiercely glad he'd done so, as now his grandmother wouldn't be tempted to sell the Monet. That would've been a betrayal of his grandfather's memory. He'd put away the few remaining plans and sketches he had, though apparently he'd burned more than he'd realized as a significant number were missing.

It didn't matter. No purpose would be served in pursuing the idea.

"The time has come to be realistic," he added, attempting a smile with the hope of convincing his grandmother all was well.

"Do not use that smile with me," she ordered. "The time has come to reach for the future you want." She thumped her cane. "You might be a Hayworth, but you are also a Sutton. We are nothing if not intelligent and persistent." She leaned forward to hold his gaze. "To the point of stubbornness."

He knew that to be true. Yet he couldn't agree to her idea. "Do not sell the painting." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the thought of doing so enough to make him ill. "Not unless it's absolutely necessary."

Was there another way? He had to admit the idea of pursuing the wager as Prue had suggested tempted him. Winning wouldn't solve his problems, but it would help to pay a few debts and start the process of creating the prototype of a blade if not the entire windmill. That could be enough to convince an investor.

More importantly, it would provide Silas with the proof he needed as to whether he should pursue the design. Drawings and plans were one thing but seeing it in action was quite another.

"Does that mean you have an idea as to how to proceed?"

"Perhaps." If he could leverage the value of the painting without selling it and win the wager, it just might be possible.

Pursuing the wager meant speaking with Prue. As far as he knew, Maynard was still in the lead, and Silas had no chance of winning. He didn't want to give her false hope by telling her what was in his heart. Not until he had at least the promise of future funds would he share his feelings and ask for her hand.

However, in order to win, he needed her help as well as that of the wallflowers. Was any of that possible?

Prue knew she'd been poor company for Millie the past several days but was determined to change that. Attending a meeting of The Mayfair Literary League was the perfect distraction from her woes even if it would be only temporary.

Her decision not to attend Mrs. Sutton's birthday party had been difficult. She desperately wanted to see Silas and help his grandmother celebrate. Yet it was too soon to be with him. Hiding her feelings would've been impossible. She'd settled for sending a message to Mrs. Sutton with her regrets and to express her best wishes, using the excuse of not feeling well for not attending.

Lady Bolton's warm but elegant drawing room was filled with over half a dozen ladies near her own age. Prue had already met several at the parties she'd attended since arriving in London and found them to be wonderful.

Lady Bolton's loose gown hinted at the baby she carried. Her pregnancy clearly agreed with her based on her contented expression.

Millie had shared the book the group was reading so Prue could read it too and participate in the discussion.

After Lady Bolton called the meeting to order, a lively discussion over the merits of the book began. The ladies were not shy about sharing their opinions or disagreeing with one another, but it was all done respectfully.

They voted between three suggestions for the next book, and Prue wished she was going to be there for it as it was one of her favorites. However, she and her mother would most likely return to their country estate by then.

"Next is our For Better or Worse agenda. Does anyone have anything to share?" Lady Bolton asked.

Prue was intrigued by the idea of the ladies making bold moves toward the men who caught their interest, and she admired the happiness the plan had brought several of them.

But a bold move wouldn't solve her problem. Silas already knew how much she cared for him, though she hadn't told him in so many words. She hoped her actions had shown him. From what he said when they'd parted, he felt the same way.

While she admired his determination to rectify his family's finances as they were obviously in dire straits, she hated that it stripped away their chance for happiness together. Unfortunately, she was powerless to change it.

Still, the success of the group's agenda couldn't be denied. One need only look around the room to see that. Lady Bolton's bold move had been to propose a marriage of convenience to the man who was now her loving husband. Lady Tabitha Shaw was married to a mystery author who had been a friend since childhood, all because she'd suggested a pretend betrothal.

Lady Harriet Persimmons' wedding to a viscount was next week. Miss Frances Melbourne was newly betrothed, her fiancé having recently returned from America. One of the other ladies, a new duchess, was on her wedding trip, having asked her secret tendre for a simple favor. Their ideas seemed ingenious thus far.

Millie shifted in her seat, drawing Prue's attention. A glance at her cousin's face suggested she dearly wanted to say something—or perhaps do something.

Prue understood and held her breath as a flash of determination crossed Mille's features only to be quickly followed by resignation. Her shoulders slumped as if she'd decided against the idea that gripped her.

Lady Bolton noticed Millie's change of heart as well, though she was careful not to draw attention to it. The countess cleared her throat. "Remember, our goal is to choose action over regret. Isn't it better to attempt to reach for what we want and risk failure than to always wonder if there was something we could have done to change our future?"

The question settled deep into Prue's heart. She completely agreed and pressed her lips tight to keep a resounding "yes!" from slipping out.

Yet what could she possibly do to reach for Silas? Her funds were limited. She had already introduced his idea to her uncle. What else was there?

Perhaps it would be worthwhile to see if her uncle had any suggestions. That was a small step that might make a difference.

Another would be to help Silas win the wager. Did she dare? If she explained the situation to the other ladies, would they lend assistance? Would teaching Maynard a lesson be enough to satisfy the wallflowers involved?

She glanced at Millie, wondering what her cousin would say if she told her how much she cared for Silas. Helping him was no guarantee that he'd win since she didn't know the exact terms of the wager or who was leading. But the need to act was taking a firm hold.

As if feeling the weight of her regard, Millie turned to meet Prue's eyes and smiled, a thoughtful look upon her face. Did that mean an idea was brewing for her as well? Prue hoped so.

As Lady Bolton said, wasn't it better to reach and fail than live with regret?