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

“Oh, you must call me Aurora,” she said brightly.

Honor paused. “You must be famished,” she said, changing tracks. “Won’t you come up and have some wine? Supper will be served in a half hour.”

“Thank you. I am very hungry. I suppose you’ve heard about my escapades,” she said, giving her brother another look. “We’ve scarcely had a bite all day.”

Mercy giggled with surprise, her bright blue eyes moving between her sisters, looking for the sign that they were as surprised by Aurora Matheson’s forthright manner as she was.

“Shall we go up?” Honor asked, and put her hand on Aurora’s elbow and guided her to the stairs. Mercy was right behind them, fascinated with the American bird, and Grace behind her.

Prudence looked at Roan. He touched her hand, his fingers twining in hers for a moment before he lifted her hand to his arm to escort her up.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

“I’m fine. It’s been a taxing day. You?”

“It’s been a taxing day,” she agreed.

“I want to talk to you,” he said. “But I dare not leave Aurora alone with your family for as much as a minute.” He smiled wearily and led her up.

He was right to be cautious. In the first quarter hour after their arrival, after the Mathesons were introduced to Easton and Merryton, Prudence scarcely said a word. Aurora was bent on apologizing for her appearance at their home without proper invitation, but seemed blithely unaware or uncaring of the trouble, of the situation she and her brother had caused in this foreign land. She somehow seamlessly turned the conversation around to acquaintances that she and Honor might have in common. It was remarkable, really, how easily this girl entered their home and was welcomed. She was strangely forthright, but bubbly, and quite easy to like. She had a zest about her that made one forget she had almost eloped with a Frenchman this morning.

Prudence wished she had a bit of that zest. “The roads were bad, were they?” she asked Roan quietly as Aurora continued to speak with great enthusiasm about a ball she had attended in the spring.

“They seemed much worse to me without my companion to natter on about them,” he said, and smiled at her fondly.

Prudence blushed a little. “I would have liked to have gone, if only to see your face when you found her.”

“Red with fury, I’m sure,” he said. “It was all I could do not to throttle her then and there.” He glanced across the room to his sister. Prudence could see the affection for her in his expression. “I pity the poor man who marries that girl.”

When supper was served, Prudence marveled that Aurora could be so gay and relaxed. It was as if the Eastons had invited them for supper. It was as if they’d all long been friends, instead of the troubled truth between them all. Aurora even laughed when George made a remark about their chase to Oxford.

“It was more of a crawl, wasn’t it? Quite tedious! I apologize for any inconvenience, Mr. Easton. I didn’t mean to cause such a stir.”

“You didn’t mean...” Roan started, and sighed heavenward. “A stir is the least you have caused.”

“Oh all right,” Aurora said cheerfully. “I can see that you haven’t forgiven me yet.” She fixed her sparkling gaze on Prudence. “Miss Cabot, I understand you have seen the Howston Hall! Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Yes,” Prudence said uncertainly.

“I was quite enchanted by the swans and peacocks. What do you think, Roan, shouldn’t we have swans and peacocks at home?”

Aurora continued on in that vein. She was excited and chatty and didn’t seem the least bit upset that her elopement had been foiled. Prudence was devastated by what had happened to her. She was worried about who she’d hurt and inconvenienced by it. How could Aurora be so indifferent? She looked at her family, all of them staring at Aurora as if they were watching a rare creature. Merryton kept his hand in a fist, lightly tapping it against the table. George leaned back, in his chair, transfixed. And Mercy kept giggling as if she found Aurora quite entertaining.

Prudence kept stealing looks at Roan, and every time she turned her attention to him, she found him looking at her. His gaze was contemplative in a way Prudence had not seen from him before. She wondered if he was feeling the same uneasiness, if he felt the slight shift in the air. She wondered if he would be as easy as his sister when it was over and done. If, in a few days’ time, he too would be laughing about his great adventure in England.