Prudence nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I enjoy your company, and I know Ivy does as well.”
He cleared his throat. “Has she…um…she has said so? To you?”
“Indeed, yes,” lied Prudence without a blink. “She has often mentioned how charming it is that you accompany me with such regularity.”
“Ah.”
“And now I must go and change,” she turned away and hid her smile. “I have a session with the seamstress, and then I’m coming back for Monsieur Durande.” She glanced at him. “Just to brush up on my dancing. Did you have anything you needed me to do this morning?”
“No, that is quite acceptable. I trust you will enjoy yourself.” He smiled benevolently. “Remember that Mrs Hallowfield will be here at three for your music lesson.”
Prudence sighed. “I remember. And I have practised my piece, as you are well aware.” She rolled her eyes. “I think the kitchen cat sings better than I do, but I shall endeavour to improve.”
“Good,” he waved his hand at her. “Go and have some fun. Buy a pretty dress. You’ll wear it much better than the kitchen cat would.”
Prudence laughed and quit the room, thanking her lucky stars yet again for such a kind and gentle uncle. The suspicion that he might have a more than passing interest in Ivy Siddington was growing, slowly but surely.
Perhaps she might be the one to do something about that.
If the opportunity arose…
Chapter Two
The sound of laughter filled the parlour at Davenport house as the friends settled in for a comfortable morning’s gathering. They were falling into the habit of meeting under such convivial circumstances at least once a fortnight—more often if they could manage it.
Judith and Rose, being possessed of husbands, weren’t always able to drop everything and scurry off to Lydia’s, but since both Ragnor and Miles were part of the circle established at the Wednesday Club, they announced that they understood the need for regular social interaction.
The ladies approved, knowing full well that the gentlemen had a pretty good idea the conversation would be along the lines of curiosity, fashion, potential husbands, and the latest scandal. Did they gossip? Of course not.
They would have strenuously denied such an accusation.
Did they discuss the most recent events within the world of London society? Most definitely. But never with glee over someone’s discomforts or acrimony over a downfall or two. And as it happened, things were quiet on this particular morning.
Lydia and Rose were already settled near the fireplace, now boasting a lovely vase of flowers as the spring weather brought warm days and eliminated the need to hover around a crackling fire. Judith arrived, to be told how delightful she appeared in the latest shade of cerulean blue, and Ivy rounded out the group, bringing with her several amusing stories about her visit to the brand-new Burlington Arcade.
The women shared a fascination with the idea of a covered street, and the descriptions of the fancy jewellery and fashionable items offered for sale there kept their interest alive.
“Was it as elegant as everyone is saying?” Lydia leaned forward.
Ivy thought for a moment. “Well, since a Cavendish is behind its creation, then yes, elegance is indeed a good adjective. And the fact that it is covered, and there are plenty of Hussars on patrol—it makes one feel very secure.”
Rose tilted her head. “Lord George’s regiment? The 10th?”
“I believe so,” grinned Ivy. “You’ve been listening to Miles.”
“Well, yes,” laughed Rose. “I certainly wouldn’t have known, otherwise. But he has spoken of it too. And his thoughts align with yours on the elegance and security.” She glanced around. “Although he heard that Cavendish had the thing built to stop people from throwing rubbish over the wall of Burlington House.”
After a second or two of silence, all four women burst out laughing.
“The height of absurdity, but truly a case of where all’s well that ends well,” said Lydia, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “What an enormous project to stop flying rubbish.”
Ivy shook her head. “That’s London Society for you.”
The conversation turned general for a while and after tea had been drunk, Ivy re-directed their focus.
“I have one little tidbit to share,” she began, noting the others fixing their attentions on her face.
“Do tell,” urged Judith.
“Well, as you know, I’m spending quite a bit of time with Prudence, these days.” She paused. “Which actually is working out quite nicely. She is just the dearest girl, so I’m happy to be a sort of chaperone.”
“I agree. She’s a sweetheart,” nodded Lydia.
“I got an interesting letter a week or so ago. After our last meeting, I believe…” She frowned in thought.
“Never mind the timing, dearest, get to the meat of it. What was in the letter?” Lydia urged her on with words and a beckoning of her hands.
“Um,” began Ivy, “it was from the Duke.”
“Goodness.” Rose blinked. “He writes his own letters?”
Ivy lifted her chin a little. “He works very hard, Rose. From the little chance I’ve had to observe his life, he’s not all about horses and mistresses and gambling, you know. He’s not that kind of Duke.”
Judith leaned back in her chair, a look of interest on her face. “So what kind of Duke would you say he is, Ivy?”
“One that works very hard indeed,” she answered without hesitation. “And yes, he does write his own letters.” She blinked. “All right, I will qualify that…he probably has a secretary to do much of his correspondence, but this letter, the one that I received, was definitely from him.”
“Accepted and agreed.” Lydia nodded. “But if you don’t get to the contents of the dratted thing shortly, I will be forced to get up from this chair, walk across the room, and pull your hair. Hard.”
Amidst the ensuing mirth, Ivy sighed
