Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,19

bound for a port in the Far East with her parents and brothers. Or perhaps they had arrived by now. She couldn’t expect a letter for at least another month unless her mother had mailed one at a port of call. Speaking of letters, she should write to Anne...

But she was straying from her current task, which was not writing to her sister but knocking on the Northgates’ door. Pru squared her shoulders, took a breath, and made her way up the gravel walk and to the door. She tapped lightly on the door, and it was opened immediately by Mary Northgate. Mary was the younger of the two daughters. She was probably thirteen, but unlike Pru, who had been gangly and awkward looking at thirteen, Mary looked poised and elegant. She had blond hair that cascaded down her back in perfect curls, secured away from her face by a blue ribbon that matched her eyes. She stared at Pru and did not speak.

“Good afternoon,” Pru said. “Is Mrs. Northgate at home? Your grandmother, that is.”

Mary closed the door in Pru’s face, but Pru heard her yell, “Grandmama, the vicar’s ward is here to see you.”

Pru opened her mouth to tell the girl that she was not the vicar’s ward. She was three and twenty and too old to be anyone’s ward. But what was the point? The door was closed, and Miss Mary Northgate was already gone.

Pru stood and waited for what seemed a long time. She wondered if she should knock again or just give up and go home. Finally, just as she was about to turn around and return to the vicarage, the door opened and a tall woman in a dove gray dress stood before her. Pru was tall herself, but she looked up at the woman, who must have been close to six feet. She looked even taller because of the coil of silver hair piled high on her head. It was quite an impressive coiffure, and Pru imagined the woman’s hair must reach all the way to the floor when unbound.

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

Pru curtseyed then wondered why she had done such a thing. She didn’t think she’d ever curtseyed before in her life. “I am Prudence Howard, ma’am. Mr. Higginbotham is my guardian while my parents are away on a missionary trip.”

The woman looked Pru up and down. “You look too old to need a guardian. Haven’t you a husband?”

“No, ma’am.”

“And not likely to marry with a face like that and wearing a dress a color and style that does you no favors.”

Pru began to wonder if she had made a mistake in listening to Mrs. Blimkin. “The dress is actually what I came to talk to you about, ma’am. Mr. Higginbotham’s housekeeper, Mrs. Blimkin, said you might be able to help me make a new one.”

Mrs. Northgate put her hands on her hips. “Oh, so I am the local seamstress, now am I?”

“I don’t think she meant to imply that at all. I believe she took pity on me after seeing me staring forlornly at this pattern book yet again.”

Mrs. Northgate glanced down at the pattern book Pru held out in supplication. She harrumphed. Pru thought she would close the door and that would be the end of it, but she stood in the doorway. “Are you the sort of girl who can take instructions or do you insist on having your own way?” Mrs. Northgate asked.

Pru considered. “I fear I do tend to go my own way, ma’am.”

“Good. Come back tomorrow after noon—not before. Bring your dress material.”

Pru blinked. “Thank you!”

“Do not thank me yet, young lady. I can see we have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am. Should I bring the pattern book?”

Mrs. Northgate looked at it again. “Goodness, no. Nothing in there will suit you.”

“Oh.”

“Tomorrow. Not before noon. You can tell time, can you not?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Then between noon and one, I should think.” And she closed the door. Pru stood on the steps a moment longer, wondering if she should go or if the woman would open the door again and bid her a proper good-bye. After a moment, she backed away and, when she was a sufficient distance, turned and ran back to the vicarage.

Five

Pru wore her second-best dress to call upon Mrs. Northgate the next day. She trudged through the light drizzle that had been falling all morning and knocked on the door at exactly five past twelve, and this time a servant