2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

S ilas followed Lady Prudence to the drawing room, having donned his waistcoat and jacket. He hated that he'd fallen climbing the tree and liked it even less that someone had witnessed his failure.

When Lady Prudence knelt at his side, he feared for a brief moment that an angel had come to claim him. Her pale hair and wide blue eyes in a heart-shaped face were much like he'd always envisioned an angel might look. And when her gentle manner and calming voice eased his panic at being unable to breathe, he'd become even more taken with her.

She was different than the ladies he normally encountered with their assessing gazes suggesting they knew exactly how empty his pocketbook was.

In truth, Lady Prudence was the type he tended to avoid, especially since she was no heiress from what his grandmother had mentioned at some point in the past. Innocence and shyness radiated from her like a beacon. Wariness flashed in her blue eyes, and it was clear she wasn't sure what to think of him. She seemed much more comfortable with the cat.

If his grandmother had known she and her aunt were planning to call, he wished she would've said as much so he could've avoided the encounter.

"You found him," his grandmother declared and held her arms out for Bertie.

"Lord Winstead did." His rescuer handed the grumpy feline over with a smile. "I merely had the honor of carrying him inside."

He waited for her to share his unfortunate mishap, but to his surprise, she didn't say a word.

Puzzled, he greeted her great aunt, Miss Flowers, and then reached for the papers and drawings his grandmother still held, anxious to put them away for reasons he didn't care to explain.

His grandmother swatted away his hand. "I'm not finished."

He took them anyway. "We can review them another day. I should leave you to your callers."

"Nonsense. I've already ordered tea."

Resigned to stay a few minutes longer, he carried the papers to the table in the corner only to notice one of his drawings flutter to the floor.

Lady Prudence retrieved the paper, aiding him once again. Rather than immediately hand it to him, she studied the drawing with interest. "Is this for a windmill?"

"Yes." He didn't elaborate as she wouldn't want to hear it. To his surprise, embarrassment took hold as she continued to study it carefully while he set down the papers and waited for the one she held.

"Is this something you're working on?" she asked in a quiet voice.

He glanced at the older ladies who were going on about the "poor cat" before returning his attention to Lady Prudence. It didn't matter whether she knew of his work, he told himself. Chances were he wouldn't see her again for a long while, if ever. "A bit of a hobby of mine."

She lifted those pretty blue eyes to his, their long lashes framing wide eyes that gleamed with intelligence. The interest in her expression lightened her features, making him realize how pretty she was in a quiet, understated way.

She reminded him of his grandmother's treasured painting that hung above the fireplace. It was easy to dismiss at first glance. Only after a person studied it did the richness and depth come to light.

"We have a windmill at our house in the country," she said. "They are such clever devices."

"Yes, they are." He bit back the urge to tell her exactly why that was true. Ladies didn't want to hear about such things.

"This is different than ours. The blades appear to be narrower and longer." She studied the paper a moment longer before handing it to him with a smile. "How interesting."

"Thank you." He hoped she thought he thanked her for returning it to him rather than for her interest.

They rejoined the older ladies when Wilson arrived with the tea tray.

"Your home is lovely as always," Miss Flowers said.

"Thank you." His grandmother took pride in the few possessions she had.

"I so admire that painting," Miss Flowers said as she gestured toward the Monet water lily scene displayed above the fireplace in a prominent position—the same one that reminded Silas of Lady Prudence.

His grandmother smiled. "As you may remember, my late husband was friends with Monet for a time when we briefly lived in France. He gave it to Henry in exchange for his assistance. I adore it and wouldn't let it go for anything."

Silas was pleased she'd never felt the need to sell it, though it must be worth a fair amount, since her financial situation was strained at times. He appreciated the enjoyment she took from the painting, both for the appealing scene it depicted and the memory of his grandfather.

They gathered around the low table where his grandmother poured tea with graceful, deliberate movements, taking pleasure in the process. He loved that about her. It was a lesson for life—to enjoy the small moments of each day—and one he was still trying to learn. It was easy to allow worry for the future to overshadow the present.

Lady Prudence said little but listened closely as if enjoying the older ladies' conversation. Her cheeks bloomed with a charming blush as their gazes met over their teacups.

Silas found himself watching her more than he should. That wouldn't do. He didn't want her to think he was taken by her. If she were an heiress, he might consider pursuing her. Lady Prudence was easy to be with, a good listener, and attentive to her aunt.

Clearly, she was also good at keeping secrets.

The few remarks she offered were intelligent, though they often ended with a wary glance in his direction as if she expected him to counter them.

What had caused her lack of confidence, he wondered.

He indulged himself with numerous biscuits, sandwiches, and two cups of tea.

Lady Prudence's gaze kept straying toward the small, iced cakes, but she resisted taking one. When she studied them again a few minutes later, Silas couldn't resist reaching for the silver tongs to place one on her plate followed by one on his own.

"Oh." She blinked at him in surprise. "I shouldn't."

"It's not every day that one is presented with such a delicious temptation," he countered with a smile. "It seems wrong not to enjoy them, don't you think?"

With a smile, she nodded. "I suppose you're right." She took a bite and closed her eyes, clearly savoring the cake.

Her expression tightened something deep inside him. What other activities did she do with such abandon? Realizing the inappropriate path of his thoughts, he jerked his gaze away only to find his grandmother watching him, her expression unreadable.

Then a small smile curled her lips before she directed her attention to her friend.

A sense of unease took hold. Ridiculous, he reassured himself. His grandmother knew he needed to marry an heiress to save the family. The thought was a sobering reminder of what lay ahead.

Of course, he could hope to win the foolish wager he'd been caught in. A drunken night at a gambling hell with friends had embroiled him in an outlandish scheme: dance with twelve wallflowers at twelve different balls over the next three weeks.

He never should've agreed, but Viscount Maynard had offered a sum of money to the winner that had made his mouth go dry. Five hundred pounds was enough to have a prototype made of his windmill blades to test them.

What if...

The wild hope had him shifting in his chair, suddenly unable to sit still.

Lady Prudence sent him a questioning look, a subtle one that he could easily ignore. Her sensitivity to those around her was surprising compared to the self-involved ladies of the ton who couldn't pass a mirror without looking at their reflection.

He offered a sheepish smile, one that suggested she should ignore him.

Reserve slid over her expression, and he had the feeling he'd disappointed her. Ridiculous when they didn't know one another. He was obviously imagining their silent communication.

Yet the feeling persevered as she withdrew from the conversation and was careful not to glance his way again.

Silas didn't care for it. He was used to being well-liked and effortlessly putting others at ease. For some reason, he couldn't resist the challenge of drawing her out again. He put his mind to the task and watched for an opening, telling himself he would depart as soon as he coaxed another smile from her tempting pink lips.

"Lady Prudence," he began when there was a brief lull in the conversation, "how are you finding London thus far?"

Her gaze held on him as if pondering the reason for his question. She smiled politely. "Well, thank you. The museums are always a delight."

Surely she hoped to find a husband. Perhaps become betrothed by the end of the Season. "I assume there is a ball or two in your future?" he asked.

To his surprise, she almost looked resigned rather than excited by the idea. "I believe so."

She didn't take the opening he'd offered. Another lady would say she hoped to see him at one, flutter her lashes, and wait for him to request a dance.

Lady Prudence said nothing. She needed to improve her flirting skills if she wanted to keep her own among the more aggressive ladies of the ton .

"I do hope you will consider saving a dance for me."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted his grandmother's nod of approval. Silas kept his attention on Lady Prudence as if he wanted nothing more than for her agreement. He offered an encouraging grin.

Another blush rose in her cheeks, and her lips curved into a smile. "How kind of you. I would like that."

Pleasure washed through him. Why her agreement pleased him so much when he'd left her little choice he didn't know.

But much like his grandmother's example, he intended to enjoy the small moments of the Season before the noose of a monetarily advantageous match was secured around his neck. Gaining a smile from his secret rescuer counted as one.

"Silas, perhaps Lady Prudence might be of assistance with the birthday celebration." His grandmother's ecstatic look suggested she thought it an excellent idea.

He glanced at the lady with dismay. What was his grandmother thinking? Friendliness was one thing, but requesting her assistance, which would mean seeing her frequently over the next few weeks, was another entirely. "I couldn't impose."

"Prudence is extremely organized," her aunt added. "She has assisted with planning several events for relatives, including her sister."

Silas looked at Lady Prudence, wondering about her feelings on the subject, to find her eyes wide with alarm. "I'm sure she has many talents..." Ones he would like to explore despite knowing it was a fruitless pursuit. "But I couldn't intrude on her time in London."

"Prudence, you don't mind, do you?" Miss Flowers' tone suggested only an agreement would do.

"I would be pleased to help," Lady Prudence said, sounding rather breathless. Her blush deepened, spreading to her chest visible above her modest neckline. All Silas could think of was where else on her body that pretty pink might appear. How much more breathless would she be when they kissed?

He fisted a hand to keep from reaching for her, his body tightening even as he wondered what had come over him.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you. I appreciate it." The lady's unexpected appeal had him frowning, unable to remember the last time his interest had been caught so quickly.

Prue blew out a nervous breath as she turned away from her reflection in the cheval glass. A pretty gown didn't change the woman who wore it. At least, not in her case.

She could only see gangly limbs and a bony figure that lacked the curves she envied in others. She already knew her mouth was too wide and her chin too pointed.

Nothing could hide her flaws. Much like frosting a fallen cake, little could be done to disguise the imperfections that were as familiar to her as her own name. Especially since the painful reminder during her debut.

"You look beautiful," her cousin, Millicent Davies, declared as she entered the bedroom.

"Thank you." Prue smiled. "As do you. That gown is gorgeous." Millie wore pale blue silk with bands of a deeper blue around the short sleeves and hem. It complemented her dark brown hair and blue eyes, which were a shade darker than Prue's.

She reached for her cousin's outstretched hands and squeezed them.

Millie was not only her cousin but a dear friend. If Prue was to endure a Season, there was no one she'd rather be with than Millie.

"Green is most definitely your color," Millie said as she looked her over from head to toe.

"I am fond of this shade." The moss green gown with ecru satin trim was simple but elegant.

"It always makes me feel better to have a new gown to wear." Millie glanced down at hers even as she tugged on the rather daring neckline. A hint of weariness shaded her eyes when she met Prue's gaze. "Perhaps this will be the Season we meet someone special."

Prue's heart squeezed. She knew her cousin was losing hope of finding a gentleman interested in her. The least Prue could do was support her in any way possible. "One never knows. Our lives could be completely different come tomorrow."

Millie gave a mock shudder. "That is a terrifying thought."

The two of them laughed.

"At least we shall have one another to keep ourselves amused." Prue couldn't imagine enduring even one ball without her cousin at her side.

"Yes." Millie grinned. "I am most anxious for you to meet my friends from The Mayfair Literary League."

"I'm envious of your book group," Prue said as they made their way down the stairs.

"It's so much more than that. We have become the dearest of friends, and I know you will enjoy the ladies as well."

The thought was reassuring. Having a group of friends to visit with during the numerous balls and parties scheduled for the coming weeks would make them far more enjoyable.

How she detested standing along the outskirts of a ballroom hoping to not only be noticed by a gentleman but asked to dance. The rising hope as one approached only to be dashed when he asked another instead. The expectant look from her mother that suggested she wasn't trying hard enough to draw attention to herself. That was a skill she hadn't mastered, nor did she care to.

Why couldn't a nice man, titled or not, see her for her true self and decide no one else would do?

The thought brought to mind a pair of chocolate brown eyes that glinted with life and a far too attractive lopsided smile. She'd done her best not to think of Viscount Winstead since their unusual meeting.

However, he wasn't an easy man to forget. Those broad shoulders and fine physique, along with a handsome face as well as that confidence—he was clearly a rogue through and through. She could never dream of catching the notice of a man like him. Well, except in her secret heart of hearts after she closed her eyes at night. But that would remain her dream.

If only more gentlemen in London were like him, so kind and considerate. Would he be there this evening? Somehow, thinking that gave her hope for the ball. She would enjoy dancing with him, though she had to believe he'd forgotten all about asking her to save him a dance.

Chances were he wouldn't even remember her. That happened more often than she cared to admit and confirmed how unremarkable she was in both face and personality. He wouldn't want her assistance with the party either.

She shook off the dour thoughts and settled into the carriage with her mother, Millie, and Millie's mother. How lucky her mother was to be so close to her sister-in-law.

Everyone was in high spirits, which made the twenty-minute drive pass quickly.

The Halverston ball was to be a crush, according to Mrs. Davies. She patted Millie's arm. "Expect your feet to ache from all the dancing by the evening's end."

Millie shared a look with Prue that said she didn't believe it for a minute. Neither did Prue.

But it would be entertaining to see the ladies' gowns and discuss the merits of the latest fashions as well as admire the gentlemen who passed by on their way to ask someone else to dance.

This Season, Prue didn't have the breathless anticipation of a debutante. She knew how unlikely it was that anything exceptional would occur.

They alighted and waited in the receiving line to greet their hosts then entered the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers glowed, reflecting in the numerous mirrors. The bright colors and soft pastels of the ladies' attire were in stark contrast to the formal black suits of the men.

Prue refused to allow herself to search for Lord Winstead but caught herself doing just that numerous times.

Their mothers paused to speak with friends, some of whom she'd already met.

"There's Phoebe," Millie whispered as she looped her arm through Prue's with a wave at her mother to let her know where they were going.

They approached an attractive lady with dark hair and warm brown eyes that lit up at the sight of Millie.

"Millicent, I'm so pleased you're here." The two ladies hugged.

"Phoebe, may I present my cousin, Lady Prudence Davies. Prue, this is Phoebe Stanhope, the Countess of Bolton, a dear friend and the founder of our literary league."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Prue curtsied. "I've heard amazing things about you and the league."

"We are so blessed to have found one another."

Prue would hazard a guess that the lady was expecting a child and not just because of her full figure. She glowed with good health and happiness.

A handsome gentleman joined them, his adoring look at Lady Bolton making his identity clear. Millie confirmed it when she introduced him as the Earl of Bolton.

The lord's attentiveness to his wife sent a pang of longing through Prue. What might it be like to be so adored?

She met several other members of the league, two of whom were betrothed. It was interesting to watch the couples interact and how close they all were. Millie was lucky to be a part of it, even if she was one of the few single ladies.

"I knew you'd like them," Millie whispered a short while later.

"You were right." Phoebe had invited her to be a guest at the next league meeting since Prue would still be in town, and she readily agreed.

The group eased apart as two of the couples went to dance and others moved away to speak with friends.

"This is the part of the ball that I do not care for," Millie murmured as she looked around the ballroom.

"What part is that?" Prue asked.

"When we wonder whether we'll be asked to dance or if we will merely be part of the décor the remainder of the evening."

Prue lifted her chin. "We will not allow our enjoyment of the ball to be dependent on whether a gentleman notices us. Not when we have one another." She only hoped she didn't come upon the rogue who'd caused her such distress three years ago.

Millie smiled. "You are right."

Before they could say another word, they were both introduced by Millie's mother to two gentlemen, who then asked them to dance. When it happened a second time, Prue had difficulty hiding her astonishment, for it exceeded her expectations. She tried not to allow it to bother her that the two who had asked her appeared to be rather jaded rogues.

Before she had time to consult Millie as to whether she agreed, yet another gentleman requested an introduction and a dance.

This one, Lord Ulstead, made little effort to hide that he'd rather be doing anything but dancing with her. The smell of spirits on his breath added to the unpleasant experience. He didn't attempt much conversation, which was a relief since she already knew she didn't care for him.

Another dancer brushed against Prue and murmured an apology. Prue studied her and some of the others nearby and realized several of the more reserved ladies were on the dance floor.

How strange. Then she caught a glare from one of the obvious beauties who watched from the edge of the dancing. It almost seemed as if she, too, thought something was amiss, though Prue couldn't imagine what it might be.

Unease prickled along her spine as she thanked Lord Ulstead when he returned her to her mother's side.

"Prudence, you are surely having a marvelous time." Her mother beamed as if she couldn't be prouder.

"It's been quite enjoyable." Yet she couldn't escape the feeling she was the object of a joke, especially when she saw the three men with whom she'd danced visiting among themselves and laughing.

A hot rush of shame filled her, though she couldn't say why. They couldn't possibly be talking about her.

"Whatever is happening?" Millie asked with a frown when she rejoined Prue. "It is as if all the rogues in London not only attended this evening but are dancing."

Prue was both relieved and concerned that her cousin felt it, too. "I thought it was just me. It is odd, isn't it?"

The sight of Viscount Winstead across the room caused her breath to catch. She hadn't imagined how handsome he was. But her heart sank as he joined the group of rogues. It shouldn't come as a surprise but why did he have to be one of them? And what would it mean if he asked her to dance?