Her aunt eyed her from head to toe and she straightened her spine in response, bracing herself for the inevitable criticisms.
Fortunately, this morning her aunt seemed too distracted to delve into specifics and she settled on a simple shake of her head. “We have much work to do.”
Prudence held still. That was it?
She very nearly wilted with relief, but that would have meant that her posture worsened and that would have only incurred more criticism.
So she remained standing as straight as an arrow, her back to the door as she listened to her aunt rattle off a list of all the steps they would take for her improvement.
They had a fortnight to prepare for her possible future husband’s arrival with his family, and Aunt Eleanor meant to make the most of every last second.
“But most importantly, your music lessons.” Aunt Eleanor’s gaze turned sharp. “If you cannot master the pianoforte then perhaps he can teach you how to hold a tune so you don’t embarrass yourself by singing.”
The mere mention of singing had her throat closing up in horror.
“Or we’ll find you some other instrument.” Aunt Eleanor waved a hand as though there were a wide assortment of instruments to be found in the drawing room. “Something that you can’t ruin with those thick fingers of yours.”
Prudence nodded. All she had to do was try, she reminded herself. It was not as though this engagement would be made or broken based on her ability to sing, now would it?
Her aunt took a step closer as the door behind Prudence opened and the butler cleared his throat.
Her aunt took no notice. “Do you understand the gravity of this situation, Prudence?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Of course,” her aunt repeated with a scornful mutter. “I doubt it. If you did, you would have tried harder at Miss Grayson’s school. But you didn’t so now you are here, and do not think for one moment that I will coddle you or allow you to be the lazy ungrateful little cur your mother was as a child.”
The words were barbed arrows, but years of practice taught her how to shield herself against their blows. “Yes, Aunt Eleanor.”
But Aunt Eleanor wasn’t done. “Do you think Mr. Benedict couldn’t have his pick of ladies? Do you believe you are so very special that he will overlook such a monumental flaw?”
She ought to keep quiet. She knew this very well. Yet her entire body quaked with the urge to speak, to protest, to defend herself. “But I have many other skills—”
“Other skills?” Her aunt’s face grew flushed and her entire body seemed to quiver with anger.
Fear sliced through Prudence, cold and sickening as she stumbled back a step.
“Do you think Mr. Benedict cares that you can do maths? Do you think he will be so very overcome by your spectacular looks that he’ll forget the fact that he is in need of a wife who can host and that his very business depends on having a wife who can entertain?”
She was still trying to stammer a response when a voice from behind her saved her.
“My apologies for intruding, my lady.”
That voice. She knew that voice.
Spinning around quickly, she found herself right smack in the middle of her worst nightmare.
Him.
Damian the reckless beast was there, in the doorway...and he’d heard.
He’d heard it all, of that she was certain. When his dark gaze flickered in her direction she saw it—worse than any tirade or criticism her aunt could ever throw her way.
Pity.
She saw pity there, and it was so much worse than her friends’ sympathy. It made her insides recoil, her stomach churn.
It made her want to heave those meager contents in her stomach to rid herself of the vile sensation.
“You are late.” Her aunt snapped at him as she strode toward the door, past Prudence, who no longer seemed to exist. The tirade forgotten.
“Apologies again, my lady.” Damian bowed low, his gaze cast down to the floor in respect.
Prudence narrowed her eyes, registering him anew now that the shock of his sudden arrival was waning.
“I arrived a short while ago but did not wish to intrude.”
Her aunt glared at the butler who cowered beside him as he murmured an apology for not interrupting sooner, although Prudence was certain that they all knew he would have been chastised either way. The poor old servant was forever in trouble.
“Hmph.” Her aunt gave a grunt that no one would refer to as ladylike as she eyed Damian from head to toe.
Prudence did the same from a safe distance.
What she found was remarkable. It was him...and it wasn’t.
There was no denying those dark eyes, that sharp jawline, the narrow, aquiline nose, or those cheekbones that hinted at a heritage she could not quite place.
There was something beautifully exotic about him, with his thick, dark hair and his tall, lean build. He’d always stood apart from any crowd, and at this moment she would have recognized him anywhere, even if a few years of aging had given him a bit more of a mature look.
No, he looked exactly the same as she remembered. But his demeanor…
Well, this was new.
Gone was the roguish, disreputable rake with the languid air, the hooded eyes, and the ever present smirk. In his place was a dignified, upright, superior sort of man.
The kind of man her aunt adored. One who cast young ladies such as herself a derisive glance before turning their allegiance and respect to whomever held the most power.
In this case—in most cases—that meant her great aunt.
“I assure you, I will have your niece ready in time for her next performance,” he was saying in that low voice of his. Although rather than that smug, sarcastic tone she’d always despised, his voice now was filled with reverence and respect.
“Be sure that you do,” Aunt Eleanore snapped. “Your reputation precedes you, Lord Damian. But if you
