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‘Nonsense—of course you are,’ said Gregory.
‘There is no “of course” about it,’ she snapped.
‘Then why on earth did you propose to me?’
There was a gasp from Lady Mixby. And Hugo, who’d been in the act of taking a sip of port, sprayed ruby-red droplets in all directions. But Gregory didn’t appear to notice.
‘And why do you think I accepted?’ he continued, in the teeth of her determination to set him free and the muted sounds of shock emanating from every other person in the room.
Damn Prudence for getting him so worked up that his usual mastery over his emotions, over his actions and speech, had totally deserted him. How could he be standing here with his cousin, his aunt, her companion, and a virtual stranger watching while he blurted out things he’d vowed nobody should ever know?
‘But you didn’t,’ said Prudence, to his complete astonishment, relegating what anyone else in the room might think to a very minor position.
‘Yes, I did!’
He cast his mind back. Came up blank.
‘That is, I may not have said in plain speech, Thank you, Prudence, yes, of course I will marry you, but you knew I’d accepted. I spoke of our marriage the next day as a fait accompli. Subsequently I introduced you to everyone in this house as my fiancée. The wedding will follow as a matter of course.’
‘It doesn’t need to, though.’
She gazed at him in the way she did when she’d made up her mind about something.
‘Yes, it does need to,’ he said, scrambling for a reason that would reach her. ‘I have...er...tarnished your reputation. You admitted as much in front of Lady Mixby.’
‘Tarnished—fiddlesticks! Now that I know you are a duke I’m certain you could dispose of me in some other way than by marrying me.’
‘Perhaps I do not wish to dispose of you.’
‘Of course you do. You cannot seriously wish to marry a mere Miss Carstairs, from Stoketown. What will everyone say?’
‘I do not care what anyone will say. In fact I care so little that I have already sent the notice of our betrothal to the Gazette.’
‘Well, you will just have to unsend it, then!’ She stamped her foot. ‘I mean, send another letter telling them it was a mistake. I’m sure it will catch up with the first before it gets into print. You cannot marry me just because I’ve admitted, to one person, that we spent a night together.’
‘And to the other people present. Besides,’ he put in swiftly, ‘this is not just about restoring your reputation, Prudence. It is about justice. Can’t you see what would come of letting people like your guardians think they can go around abusing their position of trust? Or what it would mean if it ever got out that they’d tricked a duke, and that duke had let them get off scot-free?’
He simply could not permit anyone to cross him, or wound those he loved.
‘Justice?’ She looked pensive. ‘Well, I suppose...’
‘Obviously,’ he plunged in, seizing upon what looked like a weak spot in her defences, ‘not only must they return the money they thought to steal from you, but they must also be suitably punished.’
‘Punished?’ She looked at him rather reproachfully. ‘Is that really necessary? Wouldn’t depriving them of my money be punishment enough?’ She pulled her hands from his. ‘If you persist in hounding my aunt she could end up in prison. Which would destroy her. And I’d never forgive myself. Because she isn’t a bad person—not really. Until she married Mr Murgatroyd she tried to do her duty by me, even though she found it so hard. And who could blame her? My grandfather left me the money she considered hers.’
‘Did he not also leave her a similar sum?’
A frown flickered across her face. ‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose he must have done. She was certainly considered well-to-do.’
‘But instead of being satisfied with her own inheritance she decided to rob you of yours, too?’
‘No... I don’t think she did. I think it was Mr Murgatroyd who put the notion in her head.’
‘Nevertheless, she went along with it.’
‘Isn’t a wife supposed to obey her husband?’ she shot back.
‘In theory. From experience, however, I can testify that it is rarely the case.’
‘Well, I’m sure it was in this case. Because Mr Murgatroyd isn’t the sort of man a woman can disobey.’
‘And yet she married him. Even though she was well-to-do. She didn’t have to do any such thing. And don’t forget I was on the receiving end of her diatribe that morning in The Bull. She put on a performance worthy of Drury Lane. Flung herself into the role of aggrieved guardian of an ungrateful, unruly ward with a gusto that had nothing to do with coercion.’
