“I will go there,” Prudence said.
Stanhope rubbed his chin. He looked as if he were working something out in his head. “What does your family think of this?” he asked. “Beckington, Merryton, Easton. What do they say to it?”
Prudence didn’t answer that question.
She didn’t need to. Stanhope understood her. “I see. They either are unaware of what you intend or are unhappy with your choice.”
“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks,” Prudence said. “I love him.”
“Ah, love!” Stanhope scoffed, sweeping his arm out as if he were on a stage. “A roll in the proverbial hay is not love, Miss Cabot! You are naive if you think so.”
Prudence surged to her feet. “What is it to you?”
Stanhope gained his feet, too, and stood so close that Prudence was forced to tilt her head back. “You’re being foolish. I have offered you a solution to your troubles.”
“What you’ve offered me is a heartless transaction, my lord. Not an offer of marriage.”
He nodded as he considered her. “Rethink your response, Miss Cabot,” he said, his voice low and cool. “Give my offer the courtesy of serious consideration. I’ll call again in forty-eight hours.”
Prudence bristled. “Come in forty-eight hours if you like, but I will still refuse you.”
Stanhope shrugged and glanced down at the carpet. “Isn’t your sister due to enter the Lisson Grove School of Art?” he asked idly, and slowly lifted his gaze.
Prudence froze. It felt as if her heart skipped several beats before it found its rhythm again. “How dare you. She has nothing to do with you or me,” she said, her voice shaking with indignation.
He was not bothered by it. “You may not be aware that my grandfather endowed that school. One word from me, and that would end Miss Mercy Cabot’s hopes of drawing bowls of fruit.”
Prudence began to quake deep within herself. She thought of Mercy, of the way she’d spoken with great excitement for weeks about that school. She had her paints ready, her canvases. She had made a list of all the things she would take with her. She studied books of art and practiced her talent every day. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said breathlessly.
“It seems to me that it would be much easier for all concerned if you would see how advantageous my offer is,” Stanhope suggested mildly. “You’d be a countess with two houses to see after. I’d have your dowry. Your sister would have her school.” He shrugged as if it were as simple as that.
“If it’s a dowry you want, my lord, then offer for someone else!”
“Ah, but I am not as heartless as you think. You are the one who inspires me, Miss Cabot. I find you appealing.”
Her mind was whirling; she felt as if her heart was incapable of absorbing what was happening. “You’re despicable,” she said low. “Why would you punish Mercy? What purpose would that serve?”
“It’s called vengeance, Miss Cabot. If you take this opportunity from me, I will take one from your family.”
She gaped at him. “You’re a beast.”
He shook his head. “I’m practical.” He touched her chin. “I want you to be practical, love. There were four and twenty at Howston Hall. Sooner or later, memories will be revived. Even if you have your way and sail for America, what will become of those you leave behind when tongues begin to wag? What will become of young Mercy Cabot, with no art school to occupy her?” The shine in his eyes had changed—he looked almost triumphant. “I’ll see myself out,” he said, and with a bow of his head, he walked out of the study.
Prudence stared blindly at the space he’d vacated, her mind racing, her heart beating as if she’d suffered a great fright. She couldn’t move, she could scarcely think.
Finnegan appeared. He frowned at her and poured a tot of whiskey, which he put in her hand. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“No,” Prudence muttered. She suddenly whirled around and rushed to the window. It was still raining. She watched Stanhope get on his horse.
Had he really just come here and offered her marriage?
“Is there something I can do for you?” Finnegan asked, his concern evident.
“No, thank you, Finnegan. I’ll be fine. But I need to lie down. Will you excuse me?” she asked, and hurried out, retreating to the privacy of her room.
If only Roan would come back! she thought desperately. He would know what to do. She needed someone to lean on, someone who could help her make sense of all that had happened, of what was the right thing to do.
But Roan didn’t come. And as the afternoon wore on, it became increasingly apparent to Prudence what she had to do.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Scoundrel and the Debutante (The Cabot Sisters #3)
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