“Or for Lord Shelhurst to die?” Fanny laughed.
The specific names meant nothing to Prudence, but the import was clear enough. He had been carrying on with these ladies, while prating to her about improving to please her. In a snit she said, “Perhaps it is the births he is interested in.”
“Miss Mallow, you are too horrid,” Lady Melvine approved happily. She personally had no use for missish women, and felt much more at home with Miss Mallow, the worldly sophisticate. “I shouldn’t think he would marry anyone like Lady Margaret or the Shelhurst woman,” Hettie said consideringly. “They are well enough for flirts, but when it comes to settling down it will be some prim-faced little duke’s daughter with a fat dowry he will settle on. His sort always does. No, he can’t have marriage in mind at all, or he’d have gone to Longbourne Abbey to get things in shape. He said he was purposely not going there as he had such a lot to do at the Abbey he wouldn’t find time to write if he went there.”
Here was another blow for Prudence. That Dammler would look to a high-born, well-dowered lady for a wife had never occurred to her. Here she had been wasting her time being jealous of the Phyrnes, who were actually to be pitied. Naturally it would be a title and a fortune he would eventually marry.
This visit plunged Prudence into gloom, and she could not find solace even in her writing. The sanctity of her study without a little enlightening mischief from Dammler proved too pure. She made any excuse to get out of it. Two days later she wanted to go down town with her mama. She foolishly imagined the carriage would be at her disposal, but was informed otherwise. With never a prestigious caller for nine days save a lady writer Clarence had never heard of, and who looked suspiciously like a nobody, his carriage was busy sitting idle in the stable.
The Backwoods Review arrived and sat unopened on the table. The building of the third shelf to hold it and its brothers was put off, with no one to admire it. “Strange Dr. Ashington does not call,” Clarence said a dozen times a day. He also reverted to the halcyon days of the Marquis de Sevilla. “That Spanish grandee who sent you all the flowers and diamonds, Prue, what do you hear of him lately?”
“Nothing. I do not see him at all.”
“I read in The Observer he has joined the Four Horse Club. He is making his way in the world. He would not have been a bad catch for you. I think your daughter was too quick in turning him off, Wilma.”
Prudence sighed wearily, and her mother, interpreting it, said, “Lord Dammler should be returning soon, should he not, Prudence?”
“No, he has prolonged his stay at Finefields. He does not write his aunt of returning soon.”
“I expect he is working hard on his play,” the mother said.
“Ho, playing hard is more like it,” Clarence corrected. It rankled that he had never got that form on canvas. Thrice he had hinted, and thrice the hint had been ignored on the pretext of work, but he always found time to sit around laughing with Prudence, keeping her from her writing. “I am happy he has stopped badgering Prue. There was no getting anything down with him borrowing all her books twice a day. I suppose he took that French book off with him, did he?” he asked sharply.
“No, he didn’t,” Prue assured him with a slightly wistful smile. Nor was there ever any French book for him to take.
“Well, it seems to me those shelves are half empty, and they used to be full. Why, we spoke at one time of requiring another, but it is not necessary now. They are only half full. Dr. Ashington, now, has five thousand books.” Clarence had taken this statistic for his own, and broadcast it among his friends, sometimes as five hundred, sometimes as five hundred thousand, either of which was equally impressive to him as being an incalculable, unreadable number. Dr. Ashington, still in London with his name appearing in the paper to be pointed out to Mrs. Hering and Sir Alfred, loomed larger in Clarence’s thoughts than Dammler. His title of Doctor, while not raising him to the peerage, was as far removed from Elmtree’s ken as a dukedom, and as valuable.
“He was an interesting man. You should call to see how his mama goes on, Prue. She always liked you. I daresay it is her being so ill that keeps him away from the house. He would appreciate your calling. I read in The Observer that he is giving a lecture on Plato and Aristotle and some other Italian tonight. You will take it in, I suppose?”
“No, I do not plan to attend.”
“The carriage will be free if you would like to go. Wilma will be happy to go with you. She is interested in that sort of thing.”
Prudence exchanged a silent, speaking glance with her mother. The only thing more foolish he could have suggested would be that he was interested himself, but he wasn’t quite so eager for the return of the Doctor as to put himself out an iota. “It is busy this afternoon, however,” he remarked. “John Groom has to give it a wash and polish. It is covered in mud.”
“Mama and I will take a hackney down town,” Prue told him.
“I am feeling a little peakey, dear,” her mother said. She did look pulled, Prudence noticed.
“Never mind, I’ll stay home. I did want to select a frame for my portrait though,” she added cunningly, hoping to eke at least a footman out of her uncle.
“Oh, well, if that is why you want to be off gallivanting, I daresay one of the boys can be spared to go along with you and carry it,” Clarence told her, a little mollified.
It was just outside the framing shop that she ran into Lady Melvine, and stopped for a chat. After the initial exchange of courtesies, Prue asked if she had heard anything more from Dammler. He was the main link between them, and she thought the question not encroaching.
“He does not write me often, naughty boy. No mention of returning to town. But I fancy we know what is keeping him busy.” Neither of them fancied the play for Drury Lane had anything to do with it
Prue laughed in a manner she considered worldly, and added daringly, “And he promised me he would be a good boy, too. Give him a scold for me. Tell him I disapprove of his distraction."
“That I shall. Do you go to the play this evening? It promises to be good. Kean-always a delight.”
“No, not tonight,” Prudence answered, intimating she would put it off until another evening, though, of course, she would not be going at all. “We are busy elsewhere tonight,” and added to herself, busy playing Pope Joan at a penny a hand.
“You have your distractions, too, I see,” Lady Melvine teased gaily. She heartily approved of a pretty young dasher who knew her way about town.
“It doesn’t do to become stale.”
“Much chance! Tell me who he is,” Hettie asked eagerly.
“Oh, just a friend,” Prue replied as airily as though it were true.
“Tell me, does Seville still pester you? Dammler told me of his offer.”
How strong was the temptation to lie and say he did, in hopes that it would be relayed to Finefields, but she contented herself with concealing the truth. “I never accept an offer to go out with him,” she said, truthfully but misleadingly, as no offer was ever made.
“You could do worse, my dear. Full of juice. He has been accepted into the Four Horse Club, I hear. Buying Alvanley’s greys for a thousand pounds might have had something to do with it, though he is a fine whip, Dammler tells me.”
“Yes.” Looking up, Prudence was aghast to see the tall form of Seville approaching them. Guilt and shame overcame her-she would be revealed for the liar she was. She doubted Seville would do more than lift his hat in passing. To forestall any idea that they were on such cool terms, she hailed him merrily as he passed by.
“Why, Mr. Seville, congratulations are due to you. I hear you are in the FHC. Not wearing your outfit I see.”
He stopped and smiled civilly. “No, we do not meet today. Thursdays, you know, in George Street, Hanover Square, to trot over to the Windmill. How do you go on, Miss Mallow? I haven’t seen you since…"