Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,55

be back tomorrow.”

“Only if your head is clear!”

Pru all but ran down the stairs, eliciting a contemptuous look from Miss Northgate and Miss Mary, who just happened to be in the vestibule. “Look at that,” Miss Northgate said under her breath, but loudly enough to be heard perfectly. “Not only does she look like a horse, she sounds like one too.”

The girls giggled and Mrs. Northgate, their mother, stepped out of the parlor and into the foyer. She gave Pru a passing glance and then turned up her nose. “Into the parlor, girls. No need to waste your time out here.”

Pru understood the inference. She was a waste of time. She shouldn’t allow it to hurt her. They had said and done worse things in the few months she’d been here, but she was already upset about the asylum threat and feeling particularly vulnerable. She told herself to keep quiet and ignore the barbs, but she’d had all she could stomach of misery for a day.

“By all means,” Pru said, startling all three ladies. They turned to look at her. “Go waste your time in the parlor. I am sure you need to practice sneering and sniping until you have it just right.”

Mrs. Northgate’s face went red. “You,” she said, pointing a long finger at Pru. “I would ask you to leave my home immediately.”

“Gladly,” Pru said. “I have never felt so unwelcome.” Head high, she walked to the door, took her shabby coat from the servant standing there, and marched out the door. Just as she stepped outside, the younger Mrs. Northgate said, “And don’t think the vicar will not hear of this.”

Pru stumbled. She turned back to say—she knew not what—and the door closed in her face. Pru sighed. She feared she was in for another lecture. Fortunately, even if the younger Mrs. Northgate marched to the vicarage right that moment, she would not be able to speak with Mr. Higginbotham. He was visiting a sick parishioner. Pru went home anyway to collect Mrs. Blimkin. The housekeeper insisted on dusting shelves she had dusted just yesterday before they could leave, but then they were in Mr. Langford’s dog cart and soon on the drive to Wentmore.

Most of the workmen were in the rear of the house, completing repairs to the kitchens, but she spotted one or two on ladders patching the roof. Stationed at the side of the house, Mr. George Northgate waved at her. He was standing beside his cart, which was full of apples and cider. Any other time, Pru would have found all of the activity fascinating and would have wanted to take a closer look at what was being done. She had always been interested in building things. In Rome she had marveled at the Coliseum, trying to imagine it filled with people and the ancient Romans as they built it. In Cairo, she had gone with her parents to see the pyramids. She had asked far too many questions about how they were built. Finally, her mother had told her to try and act like a young lady.

Today Pru couldn’t have cared less about the scaffolding around Wentmore. She only cared about its occupant. Was Mr. Pope inside, waiting for her? Was he planning to kiss her again?

She should not allow him to kiss her. She should not want him to kiss her. She should not kiss him back. Her parents and the vicar would have told her all of these things. But Pru failed to see the harm in it. And perhaps a few more kisses, more human interaction, would do Mr. Pope good. He had been secluded for so long, and if his father had his way, Mr. Pope would be secluded in an asylum forever.

They waved at the workmen as they went to the back of the house and left the horse and cart with a groom. Pru wondered where the groom had come from as she did not remember there being a groom yesterday.

Inside the house, the echoes of the work being done reverberated. Mrs. Brown was not in the servants’ dining room, and Mrs. Blimkin shooed Pru out so she could begin what she called “dinner preparations.”

Pru went upstairs and found Mrs. Brown directing two young men to move furniture in the parlor. Pru blinked in surprise when she saw the room. The curtains were open and the yellow light of the autumn day streamed in. The furniture’s style was outdated, but except for a few broken pieces,