Page 73 of To Dare a Duke

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sally muttered. “And you’re a blasted hanging judge, you are. What about the fact your father was a brute, what about the fact you thought the duke was the same, that he’d humiliated and bullied his wife? You sought to make an example of a man who abused a position of power, to stand up for those who couldn’t do it themselves. Only thing is you went about it all back to front, and you chose the wrong man. As soon as you realised, you changed things, and once you face him and own up to your mistake, you’ll feel a good deal better.”

Prue’s nerves surfaced at the idea. She swallowed and set down her cup and saucer as they clattered together. “I know you’re right,” she said, wringing her hands. “I’m being a coward by staying away. I must face him, sooner or later. I should just get on and do it.”

“You should,” Sally said, giving a decisive nod before pouring a little more tea into her saucer and sipping it.

Prue smiled, feeling a rush of affection for Sally’s steadfast friendship. “Very well, Sally,” she said, gathering her nerves and ignoring the fact that she felt dizzy with misgiving. “There’s no time like the present. If we leave now, we can be in London by mid-afternoon. I know one of my friends would put me up for the night. Ruth, perhaps, though it’s a dreadful imposition to turn up unannounced.” Prue chewed her lip for a moment, thoughtful as she turned the plan over in her mind. “I suppose, while I’m about it, I may as well face Aunt Phyllis, too. I don’t think she’d turn me away. Yes, better if we return and spend the night with her, if she’ll have us.”

“Now?” Sally exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“Yes.” Prue got to her feet. “Come along, Sally. We must pack, just enough for overnight. I will get this ordeal over with, and then I really can start again. A fresh start,” she said, forcing a smile, even though her throat was tight with anxiety and sorrow.

Sally gave a huff and put down her own cup and saucer. “But what about the story?”

“It will still be there tomorrow, Sally, or you can read it yourself in the carriage if you’re that desperate,” Prue said, a little impatient now as she hurried up the stairs. “Now do hurry or we’ll not be there before dark.”

Chapter 20

Dear Prue,

I am writing this, hoping that you will send me your direction soon so I will know where to send it. Oh, Prue, Bedwin was here, asking for you. He’s obviously desperate, darling and I don’t think he’s the least bit angry. If you’d only come back. I pray you will.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Miss Prunella Chuffington-Smythe … awaiting direction.

***

12th June. Beverwyck. London. 1814

“There’s always the possibility she hasn’t seen it yet.”

Helena’s face was too full of sympathy and Robert avoided looking at her, staring instead into the fire. The weather was wet and dismal, the previous sunny spring weather snuffed out and sodden under the weight of grey clouds and puddle strewn streets. It seemed fitting somehow.

Three days. Three days since the bloody article had appeared, and not a word. No letter, no contact, and certainly no sign of Prue throwing herself into his arms and telling him, yes! Yes, she loved him too, yes, she would marry him, yes, they could put this whole ridiculous mess behind them.

He’d kept telling himself the same thing, that she might not have seen it yet, but surely, she would have? She usually read the magazine, and having written for it herself, and so successfully, surely she’d be curious about other contributors?

So, perhaps she’d read it and… and she wasn’t interested. Perhaps she hadn’t run because she felt bad, perhaps she hadn’t left that day to do something to stop the story appearing, but… she had given him an ending fit for a hero. She’d redeemed him in the eyes of the ton. If she didn’t care, why would she do that? It made no sense.

Questions and possibilities circled his head, making less and less sense the more he tried to think things through. He needed to see her, that was all. If only he knew where she was, then he could put things straight.

“It is possible,” Helena said again.

Robert frowned, having forgotten his sister was there for a moment.

“Oh, yes,” he said, distracted by thinking of what he would say if Prue was here right now. How he would tell her how he felt, or that he wanted them to start over, if that was what she wanted too?

He was so deep in thought he hardly noticed the butler, nor his information—delivered to Helena as she was the only one paying attention—that there was a Miss Chuffington-Smythe here to see his grace.

“Robert!” Helena exclaimed, giving his arm a hard shake as he jolted back to the here and now at the mention of her name. “She’s here!”

“S-She’s here,” he stammered, frozen for a moment as he wondered if he was still daydreaming.

“For heaven’s sake, Robert,” Helena said, pulling at his hand as he hurried to his feet. “Run to her, tell her you love her, just… just don’t let her go until she knows that!”

“No, right,” he said, his heart leaping to his throat. Where in god’s name had his wits gone? “Do I look all right?” He tugged at his cravat, which felt like it was about to throttle him, when it had been perfectly comfortable before.

“Very handsome, now go!” Helena said, pushing him towards the door.

He dug his heels in for a moment, panic a living thing beneath his skin. “What… what if she doesn’t want me?”