Imprudent Lady (29 page)

“No, no, when you urged Seville on me I had no notion you were interested in a
ménage a trois."

“Oh, Seville—I knew you didn't love him. He would not have had anything but your body."

“You have no objection to that?” she asked in a voice containing incipient pique.

“I have
now!
And who was the fellow who was admiring your shoulders? If it was that snake of a Springer..."

“Do you have your duelling pistols with you?"

“No, I'll pull him apart with my bare hands and anyone else who looks at you too closely."

“Oh, but most of my Bath beaux have to look closely—becoming short-sighted in their dotage, you know."

“Don't try to wiggle your way out of it; you've been flaunting yourself, Prudence. Those old dotards are the worst ones. I didn't even notice at first that you were beautiful. It was such an unusual experience for me to fall in love with a lady from the
inside
out that I didn't recognize it for love. Well you know my former views on that. I was always susceptible to ripe, luscious..."

“Yes, I don't think it will be necessary for you to remind me again, Dammler. Ever. I suppose you are still susceptible to them."

“No, only you. I've sown enough wild oats for ten men, from one end of the world to the other, and regret each, but at least they are all sown. How should I have time to think of such things, when every man you meet falls in love with you. I won't have time for any passion but jealousy. Well, maybe a
few
minutes a day to love you."

There was a warning rattle at the door, and Clarence and Mrs. Mallow entered. “It was all a hum,” Clarence said angrily. “Mrs. Hering is not here at all. Wilma has been taking me upstairs and down looking for her, and there was never an empty apartment in the building at all.” Something in the air told him events had transpired in his absence; perhaps the proximity in which his niece and Dammler sat, or their intertwined hands. “What have we here?” he asked suspiciously.

“Lord Dammler has asked me to marry him, Uncle,” Prudence said.

“I told you he only wanted a little encouragement,” he advised her, smiling fondly at his niece.

“She never gave me the least encouragement,” Dammler accused severely.

“She was always backward. I daresay she might have had a royal ... well, well. Never mind that. So you are to become Prudence Merriman, eh? The Marchioness of Dammler,” he rolled the title on his tongue, savouring its heady flavour. “Aye, and you will still be well-named, too. Doesn't she look merry, Wilma?"

Wilma smiled happily, and embraced first her daughter, then, rather shyly, Dammler. Noticing her reserve, Dammler put both arms around his new mother, and hugged her. “I love you, too,” he said.

“He is strangely susceptible to mature women,” Prudence warned her mother. “You will want to stay out of his way when I am not about to protect you.” Mrs. Mallow laughed self-consciously, still wondering how her little daughter had managed to make herself so free with this lord, of whom she remained in awe.

“Prudence Merriman,” Clarence repeated. “Well named on both accounts."

“Another name to live up to,” Prudence said with a sigh.

“And a title,” her uncle said. “A
real
title, not like Seville's old foreign handle, eh, Nevvie?” he added to Dammler, whose eyes enlarged visibly at this familiarity. “You don't mind my practicing up the term? It will take a little getting used to."

The frequency with which it was soon repeated led the Marquis to believe his new uncle would have less difficulty mastering it than he feared.

“I shall do a wedding portrait of the pair of you,” Clarence promised. “I have been wanting to get you on canvas a long while, Nevvie. But I am very busy. We all are. It is a good time for us. Lawrence, I read, is doing the Prince of Wales and his brothers and I have had the whole Chiltern family to do, five girls and two boys, each with a squint to be got rid of; but I have no trouble with that sort of thing. No trouble at all. Lawrence, I daresay, will give the whole Royal Family a broader form than he ought. But I will do you and my niece up nicely. You needn't worry; I will put that quirk in your eyebrow. I will just lower it a fraction of an inch and you will not look deformed at all."

Prudence opened her mouth to protest, but Dammler silenced her with a glance. “Can you do anything at all to make my wife look less hagged, Uncle?” he asked in a playful spirit.

“Ho, you are practicing, too, I see. My wife—very good, Nevvie. And Uncle—you will get on to it in no time. Yes, I will make my niece look as good as new or better. Well, well. I am not much of a one for writing letters, but I think this calls for a note to Mrs. Hering and Sir Alfred. They will want to hear that it is settled.” He arose and said to his sister, “Come with me, Wilma. We may leave these two alone a minute. Prudence, you know, always lives up to her name."

They left, and Dammler turned to his bride. “Uncle is an original, isn't he?"

“When we cease to live up to our jolly name, we can always have him to Longbourne Abbey to tease us. He has been good to me, Dammler, I hope you have not taken him in dislike..."

"Dislike?
I adore him. He is half the reason I am marrying you. Come now, Prue, don't laugh at me. If you were a natural girl at all you would be demanding to know what is the other half."

“I'm afraid you'd tell me."

“I will anyway. I never know when to hold my tongue. I shall need an amanuensis when I do some serious work. In fact, I'll break you in on my play for Drury Lane. No, seriously..."

“Now Allan
Merri
man, you too must live up to your name. Don't turn serious on me."

“But I want to tell you the other half a reason. I love you, Prudence."

“If you ever stop, I'll spill ink all over your manuscripts. You see how conniving and managing I mean to be. I'll keep you under cat's paw."

“The very way to deal with me. Prudent. You are well-named.”