He had no idea but the sound of church bells in the distance gave him an idea. “We’re heading into town.” He turned to let the driver know and when he climbed in to join the ladies, he caught her frown.
“But there is a festival going on,” she said.
He laughed at her confusion. “And so there is. The fall festival. You used to love it as a child.”
Her frown intensified. “I did not. You loved it.”
“Mmm.” He nodded in agreement. “So I did. You should have loved it, though, and perhaps today I could show you why.”
She huffed. “How is this supposed to help me improve in the music room?”
He tapped a finger to his temple. “I have my ways. Musical genius, remember?”
She rolled her eyes at the now-familiar joke, but he caught the twitch of her lips as she fought a grin. “I should never have told you that.”
“Ah, but you did,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “And now it is an absolute truth.”
“Why?”
“Because the ton said so.” He half turned to face her. “You’ve told me time and again that what society says is as good as law. It’s akin to holy scripture, even, by your accounts.”
She tsked, her gaze darting toward the lady’s maid who was studiously ignoring them both. “Don’t be sacrilegious.”
“I am merely quoting you,” he teased.
“And yet, I never said that.” Her tone was all huffy and indignant, her lips pursed as usual, but there was no denying the laughter in her eyes. For a moment her gaze met his and held. For the first time in a long time—perhaps for the first time ever—they seemed to be in on the joke together. Not him mocking her, or her chiding him, but both of them finding humor in their own foibles.
He was incorrigible; she was a prig. And for once, that was rather amusing.
She looked away first. “I still do not see how this outing will improve my performance.”
“Don’t you?” He smiled when she gave the view outside her window the prickly glare he was so familiar with.
“There are no instruments at the fair,” she pointed out as the bumpy dirt road they traveled upon grew cluttered with crowds heading toward town.
“Aren’t there?” He pretended to be shocked and outright laughed when she turned that glare his way.
“So then how shall we practice?”
When he didn’t immediately answer, her eyes clouded with something he could not name but hated more than life itself. “What shall I tell Aunt Eleanor when she asks?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched with anger.
Fear. That look he’d seen there in her eyes was fear...and he hated it. He’d loathe seeing that fear in anyone, but from Prudence—who might have been a goody-two-shoes, but was braver and more confident than most people he knew…
It was unbearable.
It made him want to shake some sense into her aunt, or at the very least steal Prudence away so she wouldn’t have to face her again.
“Leave your aunt to me,” was all he managed to say.
Something in his tone had her eyes widening and her lips curved up into a wan smile. “I should like to see that.”
He returned her smile and once again there was a moment. An understanding.
Before she broke it with a frown, leaning forward in impatience. “But honestly, Damian, how shall I practice here? There is no instrument in sight.”
He grinned, reaching out and bopping her nose like she was a child. Her look said she was not amused.
“The fact that there is no instrument here is precisely the point.” The carriage rattled as it slowed. “For now we are through with those lessons. Today we focus on your voice.”
Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her throat. “My voice?”
The voice in question sounded an awful lot like a squeak at the moment.
“Your voice,” he repeated slowly, as if she had merely misheard.
“But I can’t—” Her protest was cut short as the carriage came to a halt and he swung the door open. Helping her out and then the lady’s maid, who’d clearly been trained well to be all but invisible, he led Pru toward the center of excitement.
They headed through a maze of stalls, past a marionette show which was thronged with children, away from the livestock which stunk to high heaven, and bought them each a jam tart before finding a bench for them to sit and watch the action.
The lady’s maid hovered nearby, watching them like a hawk. “She could have had a treat too, you know.”
Pru shrugged. “I offered. She refused.” She eyed the tart in her hands with such longing, he had the sudden urge to snatch it away from her and hold it up in front of his face to see what it would feel like to have her look at him that way.
Stuff and nonsense. He took a bite with a shake of his head, waiting for her to do the same. When she didn’t, he nudged her arm. “Is there something wrong with it? I can get you another if you’d prefer—”
“Oh no, there’s nothing wrong. I just shouldn’t, that’s all.” She continued to eye the treat as if it were her first love leaving for sea.
He started to scoff, ready to tease her for this rare display of melodrama, but caught himself just in time.
She was not in jest. She was serious. She was debating whether or not to eat the sweets. Her great aunt’s horrible words came back to him and he growled low in his throat. “Eat the tart, Pru.”
She blinked up at him in surprise. “Pardon me?”
“Eat the tart,” he said, gentler this time. “Your aunt has no idea what she’s talking about.”
“W-what do you mean?” she started.
He rolled his eyes as he shifted to face her. “Tell me, Pru, in all your years living with the Dowager Demon, have you ever seen gentlemen ogling her
