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"Many marriages are based on such an interest and they have prospered nicely."
Prudence didn't answer. She couldn't, since what she would say would only shock her father. She knew of such marriages and she knew what they harvested. A husband who spends his night at the club and a wife who fulfills her social obligations and does charity work appropriately, neither spending time with each other until the proper time that a child should be produced.
"Will you at least give the proposal consideration?" he asked.
"Very well, Father, I shall think on it," she agreed, knowing full well she had no intention of agreeing to such an odious proposal.
"Good," her father said. "I'm happy to hear that."
"And will you give my proposal thought?" She was well aware of his answer, but her obstinate nature forced her to press the issue.
James Winthrop shook his head. "I thought I made myself clear on that, Prudence. You will not now, or ever, go west to educate the heathens. My God, child, you wouldn't survive a day out there on your own."
Prudence stood with her chin up, her eyes narrowed, and her look determined. "As you wish, Father." She roughly grabbed the side of her skirt, lifting it as her steps took her toward the door.
"Prudence, I only wish to protect, not hurt," he said with a sad smile.
“I understand, Father." And she truly did. He was doing what he thought best. What was expected.
"I look forward to the Butterfields' ball this evening."
He was attempting to make peace with her. He was not one for harsh or hurtful words, and he always made certain that they never parted angry with each other. She loved that about him, his sensitivity and caring.
"I look forward to it as well," she said sincerely.
"You will save your old father a dance?"
Prudence laughed then, her face lighting up with pleasure. "I will always save a dance for you, Papa."
She had called him Papa when she was small, and when she did so now, it touched his heart, for it held the telltale hint of the little girl who had thought him her hero.
"Good, good," he said with a hint of a tear in his eye.
Prudence walked to the door and stopped. She braced her hand on the cherry wood frame and turned her head. "And you are far from old. As a matter of fact, you are the handsomest man in all of Boston. And the women know it."
James Winthrop smiled and bowed graciously to his daughter.
"I will be ready at eight. See you then, Father."
"You look lovely, Prudence," Glenda Butterfield said, squeezing her hand.
Prudence delivered her usual complacent smile. After all, Glenda had expressed the standard compliment, even though she had barely glanced over Prudence's attire. The woman was too busy ogling James Winthrop with her doe-eyed expression. Prudence was certain that any minute Glenda would throw herself at the man.
"Father, I see Charles Dutton. Didn't you wish to speak to him?" she asked, feeling a hasty retreat was best.
"Yes. Yes, I did. Please excuse me, Glenda," he said, and carefully pried his hand from her grasp.
Prudence slipped her arm around her father's as he carefully maneuvered them through the crowded ballroom.
"Thank you. That woman makes me feel uncomfortable," he whispered as they approached a short, rotund man, puffing madly on a cigar.
"I told you that you were handsome," she teased softly, causing a faint blush to race to her father's cheeks.
They stopped before the Duttons, who were engulfed in a haze of cigar smoke.
"Hot in here, isn't it, James?" Charles Dutton asked between puffs.
"Yes, most uncomfortable at times," James agreed.
"Prudence, dear, did you see that Mr. Stewart is in attendance?" Margaret Dutton asked, waving her hand in the air to chase the offending smoke away.
"Really, Charles, it isn't proper to smoke in here."
"I don't care," Charles said. "I’ll enjoy my cigars when and where I please."
Prudence ignored the arguing couple and cast her eyes about casually, catching no sign of the gunslinger.
"Perhaps some air, Charles," James suggested, motioning toward the open doors to the garden.
"Good idea. I've wanted to talk to you about some stocks, anyway," Charles said, walking away with the cigar smoke trailing after him.
The two men were soon out of sight.
"Your dress is lovely, dear," Margaret said, chasing the last of the offensive odor with another wave of her hand. "Have you seen Mary Brisbane's dress? It's absolutely gorgeous. Mr. Stewart's been by her side since his arrival. I believe the man is quite taken by her. But then, she is beautiful."
"Excuse me, Margaret. I must speak to someone," Prudence said, and walked away. She knew she was being rude, but she couldn't bear listening to that blabbing woman another minute. Everyone was well aware of Mary Brisbane's beauty. Blond hair, petite form, gracious manners, soft speech, she was the perfect woman and many men sought her attention.
