is not wanton, Thomas. She loves life and has a spirit that makes her exuberant. If she has not turned out as you hoped she would, then I am sorry. I’ve done my best,’ Arabella told him, annoyance creeping into her voice at her brother’s readiness to berate her for not rearing Prudence to his satisfaction. ‘It hasn’t been easy for any of us these past nine years. But, as you know, Prudence does have a passion for gardening—which I have had reason to bless, for while ever she is tending her plants she is not getting up to mischief.’
‘I’m sorry, Arabella.’ Thomas relented, seeing his sister’s dismay and admiring her readiness to spring to Prudence’s defence. ‘I don’t mean to sound harsh or judgmental, but something must be done—and quickly. Does she have any suitors?’
‘No—although unconsciously she does draw attention to herself wherever she goes, which is a constant worry. All the youths seem to notice her. There’s something about her that intrigues them—Will Price in particular.’
Thomas glanced at her sharply. ‘Will Price?’
‘He works for Mr Rowan at his nursery where Prudence regularly goes to buy plants and to seek advice on gardening matters. Will certainly seems to find her appealing.’
‘So does Lucas,’ Thomas said with grim amusement, standing still with his hands clasped behind his back as his features settled into thoughtful lines. ‘It seems to me that we will have our work cut out guarding our young sister’s maidenhead, Arabella. It’s also clear that it’s not too soon to think of marriage.’
‘Marriage is not the solution, Thomas,’ Arabella countered quickly. ‘Prudence is not ready for that.’
He smiled grimly. ‘Perhaps if Adam were still free she would feel differently.’
‘So—you know about that, too. I had no idea until yesterday that she was so fond of him. She has given no indication.’
‘Pity. Adam would have been eminently suitable—if a trifle quiet and reserved. Lucy, his wife, being docile and gentle, is just right for him and will make him happy, whereas Prudence is too volatile and would very soon become bored. I think what she needs is a man to gentle her, to take her in hand,’ Thomas went on. ‘A mature man, a man who will stand no nonsense.’
Arabella shook her head, prepared to disagree with him. ‘I cannot deny that I am relieved to turn over the responsibility of Prudence to you, Thomas, but on this I matter I cannot agree. She has spirit, I know, but the kind of man you speak of would subdue that spirit. If you force her into a marriage such as that it would become a prison for her. It would be cruel and I would fear for the consequences.’
Thomas nodded. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Arabella, and I promise not to force her into anything that is distasteful to her. But marriage has to be considered some time—particularly when you and Robert marry and Verity comes to live at Willow House.’ He frowned uneasily when he thought of his wife. ‘I know you will like Verity, and she you, Arabella—but Prudence might very well prove to be a different matter entirely. Be so good as to go and fetch her. I think it’s time I had a serious word with her.’
To Arabella’s dismay, Prudence was nowhere to be found. She returned to the parlour just as Thomas was receiving Lord Fox, who had ridden from Whitehall Palace, where he and his servant had managed to procure rooms. Despite being their neighbour at Marlden Green, whose family had lived at the magnificent Marlden Hall for generations, Arabella had met Lord Fox only once before last night, and at that time she had been too young for him to have formed any deep impression.
The same age as Thomas, at twenty years of age the two young men had left Marlden Green together to join King Charles at Worcester, for what was to be his final battle. And now, like everyone else when they are first introduced to this illustrious lord, she could not fail to be impressed by his presence and bearing. Dreading having to tell Thomas that Prudence had disappeared, she hoped her brother’s wrath would be somewhat tempered by Lord Fox’s presence.
‘Where is Prudence?’ Thomas demanded when Arabella stared at him mutely, waiting for him to finish speaking to Lord Fox. His voice bore an edge of sharpness that bespoke vexation.
‘She—is not in her room, Thomas. One of the kitchen maids saw her leaving the house about ten minutes ago.’
Thomas’s face was almost comical in its expression of disbelief as he stared at Arabella. ‘Not here? Do you mean to tell me that she has been allowed out already?’
‘She must have gone to Mr Rowan’s nursery in Covent Garden to see Molly. I’ll go after her.’ Arabella turned towards the door but Thomas halted her.
‘Stay where you are. I’ll go myself. That young whelp has just over-stepped the bounds of my endurance. I’ll teach her how to behave. It’s high time somebody did.’
Anticipating that Thomas was going to unleash his wrath on Prudence the moment he clapped eyes on her, Lucas attempted to defuse the highly charged situation.
‘Perhaps you will permit me to go after her,’ he suggested calmly. ‘My horse is saddled and I can be at the nursery in a matter of minutes. Besides, the mood you’re in, Thomas, I don’t reckon much to your sister’s chances when you get your hands on her.’
Thomas threw his hands up in the air in frustration. ‘Thank you, Lucas. You may go if you wish. But stand no nonsense. You have my full permission to drag her back to Maitland House if necessary.’
When Arabella had given Lucas directions on how to find Mr Rowan’s nursery, he left the house.
It was still early, and Prudence was thankful there wasn’t the usual crush of traffic to slow her down as she walked in the direction of Covent Garden, having no doubt that most people would still be sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s celebrations. Covering her nose with a scented handkerchief to ward off the putrid smells rising from the gutters where dogs scavenged among the filth, she moved out of the way of a late reveller going towards Charing Cross in a fine carriage, escorted by liveried servants.
Shopkeepers were slow to open this morning. She heard the yodel of a milkman down an adjoining street, and a chimney sweep carrying a bundle of rods and a long broom scurried past. Water-carriers, their shoulders stooped from the weight of their yokes bearing buckets, went from house to house.
Leaving the Strand, the timber-framed buildings on either side of the narrow street were blackened by pitch and the smoke of sea-coal, the upper storeys jutting out and almost touching, shutting out most of the light. It gave the impression of passing through a tunnel. She managed to avoid the rubbish thrown out of upper windows and side-stepped worse.
At last, down a narrow twisting alleyway in Covent Garden, she reached Mr Rowan’s nursery, which was closed in by high walls. The wooden gates stood open, indicating that Mr Rowan, who specialised in the supply of plants and seeds, flowering trees, fruit trees and shrubs, was already about his business. The yard where he could usually be found at this time of day was quiet. Only Will was there, watering some tender plants in tiny pots from a clay receptacle, which had tiny holes all over it to allow the water to sprinkle out so it did not drown the plants. Wishing there was someone else she could speak to, reluctantly she walked towards him.
‘Hello, Will.’ She was smiling as she drew closer, but gradually her smile faded. Normally Will welcomed her cheerfully, but today his face was drawn into sullen lines. His blue eyes looked dull and were almost hidden by folds of puffy flesh. Perhaps he was suffering the after-effects of the previous night’s celebrations, she thought. It wouldn’t be the
