The Masqueraders

‘Be sure of it. I’ll have you under my sister’s wing at last.’

Prudence made a wry face. ‘Egad, I wonder what she will say to me?’

There was a little laugh. ‘Nothing, child. She’s too indolent.’

‘Oh, like Sir Anthony Fanshawe – upon occasion.’

‘Worse. Beatrice is of too ample a girth to indulge even in surprise. Or so she says. I believe you will like her.’

‘I am more concerned, sir, that she may be pleased to like me.’

‘She will, don’t fear it. She has a fondness for me.’

‘I thank you for the pretty compliment, kind sir. You would say you may order her liking at your will.’

‘You’re a rogue. I would say she will be prepared to like you from the outset. Sir Thomas follows her lead in all things. It’s a quaint couple.’

‘Ay, and what are we? Egad, I believe I’ve fallen into a romantic venture, and I always thought I was not made for it. I lack the temperament of your true heroine.’

There was a smile hovering about Sir Anthony’s mouth. ‘Do you?’ he said. ‘Then who, pray tell me, might stand for a true heroine?’

‘Oh, Letty Grayson, sir. She has a burning passion for romance and adventure.’

‘Which Madam Prudence lacks. Dear me!’

‘Entirely, sir. I was made for sobriety.’

‘It looked excessively like it – back yonder in the coach,’ said Sir Anthony, thinking of that shortened sword held to poor Matthew’s throat.

‘Needs must when the old gentleman drives,’ said Prudence, smiling. ‘I should like to breed pigs, Sir Anthony, I believe.’

‘You shall,’ he promised. ‘I have several pigs down at Wych End.’

The chuckle came, but a grave look followed. ‘Lud, sir, it’s very well, but you lose your head over this.’

‘An enlivening sensation, child.’

‘Maybe. But I am not fit to be my Lady Fanshawe.’

The hand closed over her wrist; there was some sternness in the pressure. ‘It is when you talk in that vein that I can find it in me to be angry with you, Prudence.’

‘Behold me in a terror. But I speak only the truth, sir. I wish you would think on it. One day I will tell you the tale of my life.’

‘I’ve no doubt I shall be vastly entertained,’ said Sir Anthony.

‘Oh, it’s very edifying, sir, but it’s not what the life of my Lady Fanshawe should be.’

‘Who made you judge of that, child?’

She laughed. ‘You’re infatuated, sir. But I’m not respectable, give you my word. In boy’s clothes I’ve kept a gaming-house with my father; I’ve escaped out of windows and up chimneys; I’ve travelled in the tail of an army not English; I’ve played a dozen parts, and – well, it has been necessary for me often to carry a pistol in my pocket.’

Sir Anthony’s head was turned towards her. ‘My dear, will you never realize that I adore you?’

She looked down at her bridle hand; she was shaken and blushing like any silly chit, forsooth! ‘It was not my ambition to make you admire me by telling you those things, sir.’

‘No, egad, you hoped to make me draw back. I believe you don’t appreciate yourself in the least.’

It was very true; she had none of her father’s conceit; she had never troubled to think about herself at all. She raised puzzled eyes. ‘I don’t know how it is, Tony, but you seem to think me something wonderful, and indeed I am not.’