Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,80

entire affair on Pru. As a further sting to her parents, the father had said he would never allow his son to marry a heathen whore. Pru still grimaced when she remembered her parents hurling insults back, accusing Abubakar and his family of being the true heathens.

It was no wonder they’d had to leave Cairo quickly after that.

Pru thought she had learned her lesson after Abubakar. She’d thought she had closed her heart after her parents left.

But she’d obviously learned nothing because here she was, sobbing in Mrs. Northgate’s boudoir, over Nash Pope.

He didn’t want her either.

She still had Anne, her dear sister Anne. Perhaps she would write and suggest, again, that she come for a long visit. Surely, Anne could use help with little Rose. She knew Anne and Mr. Thomson did not have much money and lived in a modest one-bedroom flat, but Pru didn’t eat much. She could sleep on a pallet in the kitchen and stay out of the way.

But Anne hadn’t yet answered her last letter, and Pru didn’t want to ask to come for a visit in every letter she wrote. She didn’t want to seem desperate.

Even if she was, now more than ever.

But she couldn’t stand here weeping all day. She had to go back to not thinking about Nash and all the other people who didn’t want her. Besides, Nash still needed her. She would not allow his father to have him sent to an asylum. She didn’t yet know how she would prevent it, but she knew she had to try.

“Ah. I see that pointy chin of yours lifting,” Mrs. Northgate said, taking a seat in her highbacked chair. “Stop watering and sit down.”

Pru wiped her eyes once more and did as she was bid.

“Did I ever tell you about Mr. Northgate, my husband?”

“No,” Pru said, trying not to sniffle.

“He was a curmudgeon of a man, even when I met him at six and twenty. Never a smile out of him, so sober and serious, while I was his opposite.”

Pru narrowed her eyes. “You were?”

“Oh, yes. I was always laughing and dancing and flirting. Do not look so shocked. It was a different time. Our skirts were wide and our necklines low. My hair was white with powder then, not age.”

Pru refrained from mentioning that she was less shocked at the idea of Mrs. Northgate flirting—though that was inconceivable—than she was at the woman dancing and laughing.

“But we fell in love, despite our differences. It was not at all fashionable to marry for love in those days, so we were fortunate that our parents approved the match. And it was a good match for forty years. I made him laugh a little more and he taught me to cultivate an air of gravitas.”

“It sounds as though it was a happy marriage,” Pru said.

“Not always. We fought and faced hard times. Our first two babies were delivered stillborn. William was the only child that lived, and he has blessed me with two granddaughters and a grandson to carry on the name.” She leaned closer. “He’s also saddled us all with that shrew of a wife, but that’s what happens when a boy does not listen to his mother. I told him not to marry her, and now he regrets it, of course.”

During the past few months, Pru had become used to the way people in the village would gossip. She had always felt so anonymous in London or Rome, but here everyone knew everything about everyone else. Still, Mrs. Northgate’s words were a rather shocking revelation. Not because Pru doubted their truth, but because no one of the Northgates’ status ever admitted to matrimonial discord. But Mr. Northgate was never at home, and Pru could only assume that was his choice. Of course, if she had to live with Eliza and Mary Northgate and their sharp-tongued mother, she would find somewhere else to spend her time as well. Poor Mrs. Northgate. She was trapped with them all the time.

“I don’t tell you this so you’ll pity me,” Mrs. Northgate said, sitting forward. “I’m not to be pitied. I do just fine, and I have my diversions.”

Pru could only suppose she was one of those diversions. Knowing Mrs. Northgate, Pru supposed the lady not only enjoyed having something to do away from her daughter-in-law but was also pleased that her diversion was something that rankled said daughter-in-law.

“We all need diversions, Miss Howard,” Mrs. Northgate said. “I imagine Mr. Pope and his peacock are