Ophelia nodded her thanks, and Prudence suddenly felt old. She was only three years older than Ophelia and Justine, and a few months younger than Eleanor. But her life had been fuller, bigger, harder, than her companions’. She’d swaddled her younger siblings when her mother was busy with some other task long before she was tall enough to see over the kitchen table. She’d helped plow at harvesttime, driving the plow cart as straight as an arrow down the field. And then she’d married, without a courtship, without any trouble, on the suggestion of her parents. Which meant that she’d skipped over this part of life—the feeling of possibilities, of butterflies in her stomach, of having suitors and pretty, meaningless baubles. And despite her pragmatic nature, God help her, she wanted to feel those things.
“But that does bring me to a serious matter,” Ophelia said, looking around at them. “Mr. Moon came round yesterday afternoon. It seems he didn’t quite believe our Prudence would be handling the funds. But while he was there, he spoke about an uncertainty of budget. That there is a deficit that we may have to make up. Apparently, there are rumblings of a war between the French and the Prussians, and that has driven the market up on everything from leather goods to train tickets. And that’s now. It could be worse next year. We might not be able to get to the Alps next spring.”
Murmurs went around. Prudence’s pride prickled. She had been assigned the task of looking over the ledgers for just this purpose. She did not like that Mr. Moon had gone over her head.As if she didn’t know what she was after. As if she hadn’t handled sums just as large as he did.
And she’d done so while wiping the bottom of the man whose name graced the bank account. To say her husband had been a railroad baron was to sully his name. He had been much, much more than that. He’d taught her every one of his tricks, and the last year, she’d done all the banking and business deals as he wasted away in his bed. A fate neither of them wanted, but had little power to prevent. Prudence’s fist tightened. She was tired of being underestimated. “I do apologize, Ophelia. I tried to get Mr. Moon to understand the situation.”
Ophelia gave her a tight smile. “It’s perfectly all right, Pru. It isn’t your fault. Besides, Mr. Moon knows now to work with you. Especially since we will be holding a charity ball.”
Justine frowned.
Eleanor cocked her head in confusion.
But Prudence couldn’t help but reward her friends with an American-sized smile. “That sounds perfect, Ophelia. Give me the details.”
“It won’t be for some months—the closing of the Season. We’ll have an ice theme, of course, since we’re raising money for our trip to the Matterhorn.”
The confusion on the other two women’s faces cleared. “Oh,weare the charity,” Eleanor said.
“Quite,” Ophelia said, pouring another round of tea. “But, as my mother pointed out, sometimes one needs to spend money to make money. So this will be the talk of the season. Lavish. Extreme. The kind of party they threw in the 1700s with animals and newly dug lakes.”
Prudence couldn’t help but mentally tally the workload of such a party.
“You aren’t really digging a new lake, are you?” Justine asked, skepticism underlining every word.
“Probably not,” Ophelia admitted. “But I want you to think on that scale. Prudence, I know that you will find me the funds or the work-around for what we need.”
“Of course.” But all of her contacts were American. She’d need to start over if she expected some kind of discount for whatever amorphous desires Ophelia was dreaming up. And who would be coming up with the ideas?
“This seems like a poor gamble,” Eleanor said, the line between her brows visible.
“It’s better than Tristan visiting the gaming hells to raise the money,” Ophelia said, referring to her brother and Eleanor’s new husband. He often got distracted by socializing and forgot to pay attention to the game.
“Very true. But I guess then I could leg wrestle Francis into giving it back,” Justine said, referring to her brother, Tristan’s best friend and usual game winner.
“No one is leg wrestling anyone,” Ophelia said. “Because we areladies.”
Justine gave out a disgruntled harrumph that made Prudence laugh. She felt lucky to have fallen in with this strange crowd. It was luck that she’d been spotted by Ophelia and Justine at a party last year. Had it only been a year? So much had happened that it felt as if she’d lived an entirely different life in that span. A life where she acted on behalf of herself, not her husband or her father. A life where she gave orders, rather than take them from her mother or her husband’s physician. A life that was utterly hers.
And a life where she could have everything, from transacting her own business to feeling those butterflies in her stomach. As for the meaningless pretty baubles, she could buy those herself. Probably after the Matterhorn ascent. She wouldn’t need them on an icy, Swiss mountaintop anyway.
“Mama and I have created a wish list of sorts, but I would appreciate everyone’s opinions. I bow to your superior knowledge and experience of what is realistic, Prudence. Give me lavish, and I give you free rein of the purse strings.” The pale afternoon light hit Ophelia through the drawing room window, and her golden hair glowed.
Oh, to have that beauty, thought Prudence. But she wasn’t envious, she was admiring. Prudence wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of face. She preferred her own. “I’m an American. I can only do extremes.” Prudence smiled behind her teacup as Justine roared with laughter.
*
LEO WAS NOTlooking forward to his audience with Mrs. Cabot. He’d made an arse of himself by denying her claims on the Ladies’ Alpine Society’s funds. Last week he’d personally called upon Lord Rascomb, only to have the man look at him like he was the biggest idiot in the entirety of England and her territories. Which encompassed quite a lot.
Still, he’d brought the ledgers and gone over the accounts with him and his daughter, Miss Bridewell, so they had a starting place. But they both deemed the sum insufficient. Miss Bridewell had left the meeting, returning with a piece of paper, which she handed to her father. He’d glanced over it, nodded his approval and handed it back to her, whereupon she deigned to give it to Leo.
And then Miss Bridewell had gone on at length about Mrs. Cabot’s history, her fortune that was entirely her own, and her vast capabilities and formidable mind. It had not helped Leo’s situation at all. He’d gone to the Bridewells hoping to get rid of Mrs. Cabot. To banish her from his thoughts.
Instead, he had to concentrate to not recall the dreams he’d had every single night in which Mrs. Cabot had a starring role. Or the fantasies he’d indulged in while he was awake. None of them were the kind of thing a man should think about his client. But it was hard not to remember the visceral ache in the morning, the hardness so strong that he felt it throughout his body, the need that ran down into his thighs. As if he wouldn’t be able to think again without finding a way to touch her.
Worst of all, the reason Lord Rascomb instructed Leo to deal with Mrs. Cabot was a budget for a party, of all ridiculous things. He couldn’t believe that this silly girl would be the first woman up the Matterhorn. Miss Bridewell was truly frivolous if she believed throwing a party would make her money. But no, she and her mother were convinced that a lavish charity ball would be just the thing. And if Miss Bridewell were so silly, then it stood to reason Mrs. Cabot was as well.
He heard the front door open, and he looked up from his desk in his study, listening. Like clockwork, the maid dashed down the stairs from his mother’s drawing room to discover the identity of the guest, so that his mother could shanghai the visitor before Leo could have his appointment. Two sets of footsteps trudged up the wooden stairs. He heard the telltale squeaks of the floorboards in his mother’s drawing room. No matter how thick her carpeted rugs were, the wood still groaned in certain places.
