Prudence’s ride along the row had been every bit as exhilarating and satisfying as she’d imagined. Friends and acquaintances had called out their hearty congratulations, which had produced the sort of smile that she felt with her entire self.
It’d dimmed when she’d a brief encounter with Lady Jessica Morton, who was the reason everyone had called her “Prudunce” in finishing school. But even her spinster nemesis had gritted out her felicitations. Had Jessica’s smile been on a dog, it would have been called a snarl, and Prudence had to fight a spurt of victorious wickedness.
Jealousy was such an unflattering color.
Oh, it wasn’t her best quality, this, but it had felt indescribably good to “win,” for lack of a better word. Her entire life, she’d come in second. Second eldest and second prettiest of the four so-called, “Goode girls.”
Second married, as well.
But to an Earl! And not just any Earl, but one of the most marriageable bachelors in the realm. Her happy engagement was delicious any day but became pure truffled pleasure when trotted out in front of Jessica.
Bidding a cheerful farewell to the retreating back of her childhood antagonist, Pru had handed Oberon to one of the grooms, and set off to meet the ladies for tea.
Bouncing her riding crop off her thigh in high spirits, Pru had searched for them, eager to share her bit of gossip about her conversation with Jessica.
She found Honoria and Amanda on a bench with their heads together. They admired a group of smartly dressed young men prancing about on thoroughbreds and sipped thin glasses of lemonade that sweated in the summer heat.
She was about to call out to them when she fumbled her riding crop and dropped it, kicking it behind a tree.
Cursing her constant clumsiness, she scampered after it, and was still stooping to retrieve it when Amanda had said, “How bold of Lady Jessica to approach Pru in public.”
Honoria retrieved a compact mirror from her reticule and checked the hue of her perfect lips, the pallor of her dewy skin, and tucked a stray dark hair back beneath her hat before snapping it shut. “I detest Jessica Morton. She tormented Pru endlessly in school.”
Amanda made a sour face, as if her lemonade had suddenly become too tart. “I’d thought her affair with Pru’s fiancé concluded, but now I’m not so certain.”
Honoria’s excessively pretty features pinched into a frown of disapproval. “George and Jessica? Are you quite certain?”
Heedless of her new wine velvet riding jacket, Prudence had pressed her back to the tree, less a furtive move than a collapse. She needed something to hold her up.
George…Her George…and Jessica Morton?
When? Why? And how? And how many times? And… When?
Certainly, she’d never assumed he’d been a saint, not with his roguish good looks, but now that they were to marry, she’d thought he’d have no need for other women.
That she’d be enough.
That their love would contain all the passion he’d require.
Amanda swatted at an insect with the fan previously hanging from her white-gloved wrist. “I heard about it at the Prescott Ball, Maureen Broadwell and Jessica Morton complained that Sutherland is a base and venal lover. She said, and I quote, ‘That man can read a woman’s body like a blind man can read music.’”
Honoria’s breath hitched on her sip of lemonade and she hid a series of delicate coughs behind her handkerchief.
Pru swallowed back her own sob. The Prescott Ball had been only a fortnight ago. George had been her escort…and these women had been discussing him in such a manner as he waltzed her on the tops of clouds.
“Poor Pru,” Amanda tutted, waiting for Honoria to finish her coughing fit before adding, “Don’t you find it a bit disgusting how many bastards Pru’s dowry will keep up once George has his hands on all her money?” She sighed, then shrugged it off as if it were no more disappointing than a broken fingernail.
Bastards?
Pru had tugged at the high neck of her gown, fighting for breath.
All she’d ever wanted was children.
To tuck chubby little limbs into bed. Kiss scraped knees and tears. She wanted to hear the peals of laughter when their strong daddy would toss them in the air and allow them to climb on his back.
George had been that man in her dreams. So dashing and virile.
He already had children?
Honoria had leaned forward, looking intently toward the track as if searching for Prudence’s form. “Poor Pru, indeed. George has convinced everyone that he