Breathe. The tightening below his waist eased as he mentally chanted prime numbers. He ought to get out his monthly to-do list and do extra work today. Otherwise, his afternoon clients would not appreciate his lack of focus. Sighing, he returned his attention to his desk, banishing all thoughts having to do with Americans and with widows.
Chapter Two
“SOUNDS GHASTLY,”ELEANORBridewell, neé Piper, commented, taking a second scone. Prudence admired the woman’s zest for food, even if she couldn’t stomach any more jam. She’d never eaten so many sweets in her life. Even when she lived with her husband, they ate simply. Gregory’s constitution was never suited to indulgence. She assumed hers wasn’t either.
Prudence shrugged. Telling the story of Mrs. Moon’s drawing room accusations had the other ladies roaring with laughter. Well, as much as the Brits roared. Eleanor and Ophelia tittered appreciatively, and Justine’s outlandish sigh and blasphemous muttering ofFor God’s sakehelped make it feel like an accomplishment.
“What did you say after she accused you of designs on her son?” Ophelia’s eyes danced with mischief.
Prudence laughed. “Why, the truth.”
Eleanor’s brows furrowed. “That you are here to climb the Matterhorn?”
“That I came to England—” Prudence explained, and if they didn’t know, they’d soon find out, “—to take a lover.”
Eleanor coughed swallowing her scone. Ophelia’s eyes rounded in shock. Justine threw her head back, American-style, and guffawed as well as any frontier-born girl.
“I’d thought to go to France or Italy to take a lover, as those seemed better cultures for it,” Prudence sighed, thinking through last year’s dull enterprises before she fell in with this lot.“But while I know the best season to plant different breeds of corn, and have a fair estimate of how many tons a coal cart can hold, I can’t speak French.”
“I can help you with that,” Ophelia said. The flaxen beauty was determined and able. Ophelia could likely teach a rock how to speak French.
“Thank you.” Prudence had no intention of taking Ophelia up on the offer, though speaking French might be helpful. She simply didn’t want to learn a new language. Climbing a dangerous mountain was enough of a task at any one time.
“Have you found any?” Justine asked, leaning forward.
Bad News indeed, thought Prudence. The nickname had been given to Justine by Ophelia’s brother Tristan, now Eleanor’s husband. But she was a mischievous girl with a buxom figure that could not be helped. She was cute as a button to boot, making her a magnet for every male in a fifty-mile radius. Prudence had watched Justine in a ballroom, and for every minute Justine protested that her reputation wasn’t her fault, she watched as Justine laughed openly and sassed anyone she pleased. While that wouldn’t have passed for anything remotely out of order where Prudence grew up, it was decidedly outside the normal behaviors of young ladies in London.
“Found any what?” Prudence asked Justine.
“Lovers.”
Eleanor coughed again. Ophelia poured her another cup of tea to help her wash down the dry pastry.
She’d started with the unfiltered truth, so she may as well stay with it. “No. I found that I’m not as bold as I thought I would be. I thought with all my red dresses, I would make quite the splash. But I’ve slipped into the waters unnoticed, it seems.”
“Your dresses aren’t red,” Justine protested.
“Of course they are,” Prudence protested. She’d had them made specifically for the task of attracting a scoundrel. Or arakehellas they might have once called such a man here in London.
“They’re burgundy. Mauve. Wine. If you want a red dress, find a Frenchwoman. They know red.” Justine sat back in her chair and took up with her tea again.
“Is that why I can’t find a lover? I’m too subtle for Englishmen?” Prudence teased.
“Likely,” Ophelia chimed in. “Many need to be bashed over the head to realize the obvious.”
“Well,” Prudence sipped at her tea, trying not to wonder if Ophelia had ever needed to bash a man over the head with her beauty, “I was blunt enough with Mrs. Moon. I bet that will get the word out. By the next event, I suspect I shall be swarmed with all manner of disreputable men.”
“Aren’t you afraid of tarnishing your reputation?” Eleanor asked, glancing around each of them. “And tarnishing ours?”
Eleanor’s observation took the wind out of her. She’d spent so long in Spain over the winter that she’d quite forgotten about the need to keep her activities quiet for the benefit of the other women in the Alpine Society.
In order to fund their journey—which was expensive indeed—they would need a hefty sum. Ophelia had already penned a few articles about their adventure on Ben Nevis, but had quite a time getting them published. Men’s magazines didn’t want them because she was a woman, and women’s magazines didn’t want them because the topic wasn’t feminine. The London Alpine Society flat-out rejected women as climbers in general, and ignored Ophelia and Justine, hoping they might go away of their own accord. But neither woman ever justwent away.
Ophelia looked down at her hands as she spoke. “Prudence, you know that I loathe telling people what to do—” The women snickered. Ophelia looked up, acknowledging her straight-faced humor. “—But I would ask you to deny this claim should it comeout openly. I really do need respectability in order to achieve my goals. If we were men—”
“—If we were men,everythingwould be different.” Justine threw herself back in her chair, open disgust on her face.
Prudence felt as if she’d been kicked by a mule. “Of course,” she assured Ophelia. “I wasn’t thinking. I wanted to set the old lady back a bit, that’s all.”
