The Scoundrel and the Debutante (The Cabot Sisters #3)

“A toast!” Mr. Pratt said jovially, having imbibed more than his fair share of champagne. “Roan Matheson, you should make it,” said a jovial Mr. Pratt. “After all, you are responsible for our daughter’s happiness.”


The guests roared with laughter, all of them having heard the gossip, apparently.

Roan stifled a groan and stepped up to Susannah’s side. He had to admit, in her wedding finery and with the glow of happiness on her face, she was much more becoming than she’d ever appeared to him before. She had artfully arranged her dark hair, and in her fine dress, she made a small, happy bride. Roan put his arm around her waist, dipped down to kiss her cheek and, with their backs to the window, he lifted a flute of champagne and toasted her union with Gunderson, wishing them many happy years. When the toast was done, the meal was served to fifty assembled guests.

Roan imagined the cost of feeding them all to be something that would make him uncomfortable. If this were his wedding, he imagined Prudence and him taking their luncheon alone, in a room in this hotel, with no one present but a girl to fill their tub with bathwater.

“You look glum.”

Roan had been so lost in his rumination he hadn’t even noticed Aurora. She cocked her head to one side and peered up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m bored.”

“Really?” She sounded skeptical. “I thought it a lovely wedding. Miss Pratt was surprisingly lovely.”

Roan smiled.

“How strange that you would be bored by it.”

“How strange that you would be diverted by it.”

“Oh, it’s all water under the bridge now,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “At least I had the opportunity to express to Mr. Gunderson how ardently I held him in my esteem, and how very sorry I was for having bruised his feelings. He said I was incorrigible, but he’d always known that about me.”

“I suspect all of New York knows that about you.”

Aurora laughed. “I’m really very happy for them, aren’t you? They seem to genuinely admire each other. Oh! Speaking of admiration, I saw the most remarkable thing.”

“What?” Roan drawled, uncaring.

“I saw a girl who looked so much like Miss Cabot that they might have been twins! Imagine, a woman who looks like her here in New York. She was unusually pretty, wasn’t she? At least I thought she was.”

It was as if everyone suddenly stopped moving, as if everything inside Roan had gone very still. “Where?” he managed.

“Outside, on the sidewalk,” Aurora said, and pointed to the window.

Roan whirled about. There were dozens of people milling about, looking in the windows of the hotel.

“Goodness, it wasn’t her, Roan,” Aurora said, looking slightly alarmed. “It just looked like her. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

Roan dropped his empty flute where he stood and strode for the door, pushing past several guests, upsetting one woman who cried out at him. He ran out of the hotel, jogged down the steps to the street and looked around him. Right, left, across the street. There were so many faces, so many people gathered to see the society wedding at the City Hotel.

No, she couldn’t possibly be here. Aurora was right—it was just someone who looked like her. Surely there would have been some mention of her in the letter if she were here.

Now he felt foolish.

Dispirited, Roan turned to go back into the hotel. And when he did, he saw a glimpse of golden hair beneath a bonnet. The woman was walking down the street away from the hotel. It was another of the many Prudences Roan seemed to notice every day, but he shouted “Prudence!” nonetheless and began to push past people to reach her.

“Prudence!” he said again, catching up to her. He touched her arm.

The woman whirled around. “I beg your pardon!”

It wasn’t Prudence, of course it wasn’t! It would never be Prudence. When would he accept that simple truth? All the life went out of him and Roan decided in that moment that enough was enough. From that moment forward, he would not think of her. He would not mope. He would get on with his life once and for all. “I beg your pardon, I thought you were someone else,” he said apologetically.

The woman walked on and Roan turned back. And when he did, his heart stopped beating.

Prudence was standing behind him on the walk, her hazel eyes wide with surprise. Roan couldn’t speak—he couldn’t even be sure she was real.

“I...I am so sorry,” she said, and put her hand to her breast.

He didn’t understand. “Pru?”

“I shouldn’t have come,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize what he meant when he said the City Hotel—”

“Is it really you?” Roan asked stupidly, still trying to make sense of it, to understand where she’d come from.