Page 43 of To Dare a Duke

It was a glorious event, and one of the few that Prue heartily enjoyed, so she indulged Phyllis’ constant crowing over her success and applauded her efforts. It would have been easy enough for a widow to be overlooked on such occasions, but Phyllis was not a lady who would allow such a thing. She might have been clinging to respectability by a thread, but cling she did.

Prue’s mother had been the daughter of a viscount, but her marriage to a man far beneath her social standing had made her a social pariah. This had isolated her further than ever when the marriage soured, and she was left with no one to turn to. As far as the viscount had been concerned, his daughter had made her own bed, and she could lie in it.

Though Phyllis’ connection to the viscount was rather vague, her breeding was still impeccable and, being the widow of a respected military man killed in battle and with a lovely and vivacious daughter, she was acceptable company.

Prue was included in the invitation as a matter of politeness.

It was a glorious day. The spring sunshine felt warm upon Prue’s back as they walked the grounds, admiring the thousands of spring bulbs that carpeted great swathes of the garden, and which were the reason for the party itself. Although she’d still not resolved her thoughts on the chapter that was still outstanding, and despite feelings that ranged from guilt and regret to annoyance and irritation, Prue was in good spirits. It was hard not to be in such lovely surroundings, and with the sun shining down on her. It was spring on parade, showing its colours and promising new beginnings.

New beginnings, she reminded herself.

She would have a new beginning. The offer to publish her story as a novel would surely come soon, along with a demand for at least one other story from The Lady’s Weekly Review, hopefully more. That she was doing it at the duke’s expense was the only thing souring her good mood, but she pushed it away. She wouldn’t think on that today, having spent too much time already dwelling on the rights and wrongs of it.

Prue had made an excuse not to attend the last ball two nights previous, begging off and pleading a megrim. It had been a grand affair and she’d known the duke would attend, known he would seek her out. She wasn’t ready to see him again.

The taste of his kiss still lingered upon her lips. It had kept her from sleep and made her mind wander down paths she’d refused to consider before he’d made his ridiculous proposal.

For heaven’s sake, why was she getting in such a tizzy about it? It wasn’t as if he cared a jot for her. He just wanted a wife who would keep her head down and not cause him any trouble. On the face of it, that was Prue… but he didn’t know the truth.

She’d hoped that her outrageous behaviour in the gardens that night had put him off, but the kiss they’d shared, and his words after the event, had not given her that impression. Prue was not a fool. She knew the kiss had meant nothing to him. His reputation was such that she doubted the kiss had lingered in his memory for more than a minute or two, let alone kept him from sleep.

If only she could say the same.

Good lord, she needed him gone from her life. He was upsetting all her lovely plans and she couldn’t allow it. Of course, she could just tell him she was Miss Terry. That should put a dent in his ardour—feigned or otherwise—fast enough. The idea made her heart give an unpleasant little flutter in her chest, and not because he’d be furious. She didn’t want him to know it was her who had cast him in such a wicked light. Mainly because she now suspected she’d got it terribly wrong.

Trying to force her attention away from the blasted man who had occupied far too much of her time of late, she turned to look at Minerva. Her cousin appeared the picture of spring today, in a pale yellow dress and matching bonnet.

“You look like a daffodil,” she said, smiling as Minerva turned to her in surprise.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, looking pleased by the comment. “I thought it was a sunny colour.”

“It is. It suits you.”

Minerva pulled a face and Prue took her arm, surprised. “What is it?”

The young woman looked over her shoulder at her mother, who was walking close behind them. “Nothing,” she said with a sigh.

They walked on in silence for a while as Prue considered her.

“Tell me the truth. Do you want to marry Bedwin?” she asked, wondering what had possessed her but gripped by the sudden desire to know.

Minerva looked just as startled by the question and glanced back again, relieved to see that her mother had paused to speak to someone else and fallen behind. She shrugged.

“It’s what Mama wants,” she said, before giving Prue a sharp look. “Why? Do you not think I could? Am I not clever enough?”

Prue paused, a little taken aback by the comment. “I think you could catch just about any man you set your heart on, Minerva,” she said, with complete honesty. “If you were yourself, and stopped trying so hard, whether or not you do it to please Aunt Phyllis. Why not consider your own feelings?”

Minerva frowned and Prue waited, wondering if she was about to face a torrent of abuse in thanks for her reply.

“She’d never let me marry for love,” Minerva said scathingly, as though Prue was an imbecile for even considering the idea. “She wants a title and she says I have the face to catch one.”

Prue nodded. “You do,” she said, smiling at her cousin. “And would that make you happy?”

Minerva stared back at her and then took a breath but, before she could speak, Aunt Phyllis’ voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Look who I found, Minerva, darling!”

Prue turned with a dull sense of foreboding to see her aunt bearing down upon them with the Duke of Bedwin.