quite full of himself. She felt strongly opposed to liking him. He was brusque, even crass. But today she’d seen a softer side to Sir James—he appeared to be a gentle and caring friend, happy to assist his old school chum Arthur Greenwood on the road to recovery. She had observed how he enjoyed verbal sparring as well as fighting pirates, but his brusque exterior and brash manner masked a surprisingly tender heart.
It began to drizzle. Prudence scowled, quickening her pace. She was slightly damp when she reached her aunt’s house, which only increased her sour mood. Despite the gloominess of the day, Aunt Judith had not had the fires lit. Prudence retrieved a shawl from her room before joining Margaret and Aunt Judith in the drawing room, where she found her cousin perusing a number of dress patterns. Her aunt reclined on the sofa, dozing, a lap shawl thrown over her legs.
Giving the skirt of her gown a sharp twitch, Prudence glanced disapprovingly at the cold hearth. A small fire would have been most welcome. She took the chair next to Margaret’s and said, “Dorothea Greenwood sends her regards. She will see you both tomorrow evening at Lady Brownell’s. We’ve been invited to dine, I am told.”
Judith’s eyes snapped open. “You will enjoy it, Pru. Eliza has a most excellent cook.”
“I shall look forward to it then,” she replied. Turning to Margaret, Prudence added, “Sir James was there.”
“Oh?” Margaret’s tone was flat and uninterested. She didn’t even bother to look up from the dress patterns.
“He came to take Reverend Arthur Greenwood to the mineral baths,” Prudence went on. “The man is so…” she floundered, trying to find the right word to describe him. She settled for odd .
“You find Reverend Greenwood odd?” Margaret asked, looking up at last, her eyes wide with astonishment. “In what way, I wonder?”
“No, Sir James,” Prudence corrected her.
“But Sir James is not odd!” her aunt protested. “He’s a perfect gentleman.”
Prudence held her tongue. She felt the word perfect could not—did not—apply to Sir James Brownell in any circumstance.
“No doubt you will find his collection of Oriental relics to be quite interesting,” Judith went on.
“Including the bullet under glass?” Prudence asked dryly.
Margaret gave a most unladylike snort. “Did he boast of his new title?” she asked pettishly.
“What new title?” Prudence asked.
“Sir James is a rajah, or so he says.” Margaret shrugged a shoulder.
“Whatever do you mean? Some sort of Oriental tribal king?”
“Exactly so!” Judith exclaimed. “Can you imagine it?” She readjusted the shawl across her lap.
Prudence stared at both of them and blinked. “You’re roasting me!”
“It is true,” her aunt insisted. “So extraordinary.”
Before Prudence could pursue the matter more fully, guests were announced: Clarissa and Harry Paige. They were shown into the drawing room. Margaret rose with alacrity to greet her friends, embracing Clarissa warmly and extending a hand to Harry. Margaret’s face flushed prettily, as she squeezed his hand. Then beaming at his sister, she pulled Clarissa over to sit next to her on the settee. Prudence realized how fond her cousin was of the handsome pair. Margaret was certainly never this animated around Sir James.
“Mrs. Leyes, our mother sent this with her compliments,” Clarissa said, holding forth a small green medicinal bottle. “She insists this tincture is just what one needs to cure peptic ulcers.”
Prudence watched her aunt’s face light up, apparently pleased with the prospect of trying a new medicinal remedy and touched by Mrs. Paige’s thoughtfulness as well. While Judith inquired politely about the health of Clarissa’s mother, Harry nodded at Prudence and then asked Margaret how she was faring, following the previous day’s vaccination.
“As you can see, it is merely a scratch,” Margaret answered him. She extended her
It began to drizzle. Prudence scowled, quickening her pace. She was slightly damp when she reached her aunt’s house, which only increased her sour mood. Despite the gloominess of the day, Aunt Judith had not had the fires lit. Prudence retrieved a shawl from her room before joining Margaret and Aunt Judith in the drawing room, where she found her cousin perusing a number of dress patterns. Her aunt reclined on the sofa, dozing, a lap shawl thrown over her legs.
Giving the skirt of her gown a sharp twitch, Prudence glanced disapprovingly at the cold hearth. A small fire would have been most welcome. She took the chair next to Margaret’s and said, “Dorothea Greenwood sends her regards. She will see you both tomorrow evening at Lady Brownell’s. We’ve been invited to dine, I am told.”
Judith’s eyes snapped open. “You will enjoy it, Pru. Eliza has a most excellent cook.”
“I shall look forward to it then,” she replied. Turning to Margaret, Prudence added, “Sir James was there.”
“Oh?” Margaret’s tone was flat and uninterested. She didn’t even bother to look up from the dress patterns.
“He came to take Reverend Arthur Greenwood to the mineral baths,” Prudence went on. “The man is so…” she floundered, trying to find the right word to describe him. She settled for odd .
“You find Reverend Greenwood odd?” Margaret asked, looking up at last, her eyes wide with astonishment. “In what way, I wonder?”
“No, Sir James,” Prudence corrected her.
“But Sir James is not odd!” her aunt protested. “He’s a perfect gentleman.”
Prudence held her tongue. She felt the word perfect could not—did not—apply to Sir James Brownell in any circumstance.
“No doubt you will find his collection of Oriental relics to be quite interesting,” Judith went on.
“Including the bullet under glass?” Prudence asked dryly.
Margaret gave a most unladylike snort. “Did he boast of his new title?” she asked pettishly.
“What new title?” Prudence asked.
“Sir James is a rajah, or so he says.” Margaret shrugged a shoulder.
“Whatever do you mean? Some sort of Oriental tribal king?”
“Exactly so!” Judith exclaimed. “Can you imagine it?” She readjusted the shawl across her lap.
Prudence stared at both of them and blinked. “You’re roasting me!”
“It is true,” her aunt insisted. “So extraordinary.”
Before Prudence could pursue the matter more fully, guests were announced: Clarissa and Harry Paige. They were shown into the drawing room. Margaret rose with alacrity to greet her friends, embracing Clarissa warmly and extending a hand to Harry. Margaret’s face flushed prettily, as she squeezed his hand. Then beaming at his sister, she pulled Clarissa over to sit next to her on the settee. Prudence realized how fond her cousin was of the handsome pair. Margaret was certainly never this animated around Sir James.
“Mrs. Leyes, our mother sent this with her compliments,” Clarissa said, holding forth a small green medicinal bottle. “She insists this tincture is just what one needs to cure peptic ulcers.”
Prudence watched her aunt’s face light up, apparently pleased with the prospect of trying a new medicinal remedy and touched by Mrs. Paige’s thoughtfulness as well. While Judith inquired politely about the health of Clarissa’s mother, Harry nodded at Prudence and then asked Margaret how she was faring, following the previous day’s vaccination.
“As you can see, it is merely a scratch,” Margaret answered him. She extended her
Similar Books
