Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,81

quite the amusement.”

Pru sighed. “I have enjoyed spending time with him. He’s intelligent and easy to talk to and forthright. But...” She trailed off, fingering the fine material of her russet gown.

“Go on,” Mrs. Northgate said. She looked at Sterns and made a shooing motion. “Out.”

When the door closed and they were alone, Pru said, “But he won’t marry me.”

The older woman sat back. “I assume he has not compromised you else I would have heard the tale.”

“No,” Pru said, not offering any details.

“So he knows you have feelings for him? Does he feel the same?”

“I think so.”

“Is it an issue of class? He is the son of an earl, albeit the youngest son, and you are the daughter of...well.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” Although the differences in their class probably did not help the matter.

“I see. Do you want my advice? Because I do not want to give advice where it is not wanted.”

This was news to Pru who had been on the receiving end of Mrs. Northgate’s advice more times than she could number.

“Yes.”

“Life is short and when you find happiness, you should embrace it with both hands. Even if that happiness is to be short-lived.”

Pru looked at Mrs. Northgate for a long time. “Do you know,” she finally said, “I believe we are more alike than anyone could guess.”

“I suppose that may be true.” Mrs. Northgate stood. “But do not ever tell anyone I said that.”

“Grandmama!” A quick tap sounded on the door and before Mrs. Northgate could call out, it opened to admit Miss Mary Northgate standing in the doorway, her blond curls bobbing. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said to Pru, probably forgetting that she was too good to speak to Pru. She looked rather out of sorts. “Grandmama,” she gasped. “I have such news.”

“Catch your breath, child, and then out with it.”

Miss Mary pushed a hand to her abdomen and tried to gulp in air. Meanwhile Miss Northgate strolled behind her. “Mr. Pope is in the village,” she said, smiling triumphantly.

Miss Mary whirled on her, grasped one of the artful tendrils of hair dangling down the side of her sister’s neck, and yanked it.

“Ow!”

“I wanted to tell the news!”

“You took too long.” Miss Northgate grasped one of Miss Mary’s curls and yanked. Pru looked at Mrs. Northgate, who was watching her. Their eyes met and Mrs. Northgate nodded. “Go,” she said. Then, “Girls, move aside right away. Miss Howard was just leaving.”

The girls stepped aside without ever pausing in their squabbling. Pru rushed past them, Mrs. Northgate’s admonishments ringing through the vestibule of the house as she collected her coat and gloves and raced toward the center of town.

Seventeen

Nash supposed the benefit of being mostly blind was that he could not see the good people of Milcroft staring at him. He imagined he could feel their gazes on him, but Rowden said it was only his imagination and no one was paying him any attention.

Nash didn’t believe that rot. He could hear the way conversations stalled or petered out as he approached. They’d driven into the village just a quarter hour ago, leaving the carriage at Mr. Langford’s.

He and Rowden had visited the bakery and the blacksmith. Nash had said very little, allowing Rowden to engage in the awkward conversations with the villagers. Finally, on the way to the general store, he heard a familiar voice.

“Mr. Pope!”

Nash turned toward the sound of Mrs. Blimkin’s voice. “Mrs. Blimkin,” he said, bowing in her general direction. “Who let you out of the kitchen?”

“Oh, you’re very naughty, you are. Mr. Higginbotham is out and about today. I was on my way home until I heard you were in the village. Is Mrs. Brown at Wentmore all alone?”

“I daresay she isn’t alone,” Rowden added. “We have our usual contingent of workmen there. When we left, she was in the kitchens muttering something about dinner.”

Nash doubted Rowden had been anywhere near the kitchens today, but he didn’t contradict the other man.

“She isn’t thinking of making something herself, is she?” Mrs. Blimkin asked, sounding alarmed. “I left her with provisions.”

“I’m not certain, Mrs. Blimkin. I heard Clopdon ask her if she could make a porridge.”

“Oh, that awful man! He should not be allowed anywhere near the kitchens.”

“If you’d like to accompany us back to Wentmore, you are welcome to join us in the carriage.”

Nash couldn’t see Mrs. Blimkin’s reaction, but he could hear her sharp intake of breath. He was perplexed by it for a moment, until he realized