“And the best guides,” Prudence added.
“And the best sleeping cars,” Justine added with a mischievous grin.
“We’re going to climb the Matterhorn,” Ophelia whispered.
The realization sunk in for all of them. It was no longer an “if” plan. There were no more hurdles. There was only training and packing. Tears welled up in Eleanor’s eyes, and if Prudence didn’t know better, she would have thought she saw them shining in Ophelia’s as well.
Justine wiggled with excitement, causing the cheese plate to tip over onto the bed. “Oh blast,” she said, picking up the pieces.
It was later that evening when Prudence drug herself back to the hotel. Georgie met her there and helped her with her trunk and ran her a bath. Prudence gave her a report of the dancing and the bidding as she soaked in lavender-scented bubbles.
Georgie gave her head a nice massage when Prudence told her how Leo had bid and bid, until he’d given up on her. Without meaning to, Prudence might have let it be known that it was so very disappointing.
She ordered dinner for both of them, asking for a simple American dish of scrambled eggs, only to find that when they came they were wet and filled with cream. She stared down the dish, the toast completely cold beside it, and a serving of stewed mushrooms whose water started to mix with the absolutely sopping eggs. “I can’t,” Prudence said.
It was the look of utter sympathy on Georgie’s face that made Prudence begin to cry. At one point, Prudence even questioned why tears were continuing to form and fall from her face, only to have Georgie utter a motherly cluck, which caused Prudence to sob all the more.
Georgie put her to bed. It wasn’t even seven in the evening. Prudence wept, feeling silly and small and unlovable. She didn’t know when she stopped weeping and fell into a dark sleep.
The next morning, feeling somewhat refreshed, slightly puffy, and now, quite hungry, Prudence rose to face a new day. It was strange to have the ball behind her. And no Leo. And no Mrs. Moon to visit.
But she needn’t have worried. Her foyer table was thick with cards and notes, from strangers and friends alike. She ordered a pot of coffee to be brought up, and rang down for Georgie. They shared the pot and went through the correspondence. Prudence had never felt the sudden reversal of emotions so severe. Where last night she felt awful and unloved, all these notes and letters made it clear she was sought after and appreciated. There was even a letter from her sister and her mother in the stack—always a beloved piece of her week—and a strange note left with the front desk.
Mrs. Cabot,
Please forgive my forwardness. I believe you know the whereabouts of someone very dear to me. Please meet me at a place of your choosing. I need only a moment of your time. I will check back in tomorrow morning at eight a.m. for your answer.
Kindest regards,
Mr. Reginald Morgan
Normally she wouldn’t think of meeting a stranger anywhere. But Morgan was the last name. And the stranger at the cottage had asked for Lenny Morgan, and now here was a Reginald Morgan, looking for someone. Hadn’t that stranger said something about a Reggie? Did they believe she knew where Lenny Morgan was? What would she find out if she met with Mr. Morgan?
“Georgie, I think I’m about to make a terrible decision.” Prudence looked over to her companion. Georgie didn’t even look up.
“What time?” was all she asked.
“Eight a.m. tomorrow.”
“I’ll be ready at seven thirty,” she said, tossing aside another card.
At a quarter to eight, both women were in the lobby of the hotel. Prudence had delivered a message to the bellhop the night before, telling the man where to meet them in the afternoon, should his appearance prove unsettling.
But instead of a highwayman, a well-dressed man appeared exactly at eight, ringing the bell for service. His coat was of a slightly older style, but given the salt-and-pepper hair and the fact that he likely lived in the country, Prudence was willing to overlook it as a sign of something untoward. He was tall and slim, a build that Prudence couldn’t help but notice was muchlike Leo’s, and drummed his fingers with impatience at the counter.
Prudence looked at Georgie.
“I’ve got a derringer in my reticule,” Georgie whispered.
“Do you really?” Prudence asked, surprised.
Georgie just gave her a reassuring nod. Prudence returned the gesture and stood.
“Mr. Morgan, I presume?” Prudence approached him, extending her hand as an American businessman would. Old habits died hard.
He looked at her in surprised pleasure. “Mrs. Cabot?”
She nodded, and he took her hand, giving it a less than enthusiastic squeeze. She dropped her hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
