Chapter Twenty-Six

Prudence drew in a deep breath as she opened the library door. There was something about a blessedly dry room filled with books that made her feel quite at home, even away from home.

The damp kitchens downstairs certainly did not compare, even though her sister often said she felt quite at home in the kitchens. Then again, Charity's enthusiasm for baking and the like was probably why. And while Charity's tales of the Recipe Wars of Balvenie were amusing, it was not an occupation that Prudence had any inclination for.

Though Prudence would say her time downstairs this afternoon had been more productive than others. She wondered if Charity would be proud of her use of art as a means of subterfuge during her little investigation. Charity would also like the fanciful little sketches she'd been commissioned to do in her time downstairs. She'd done the staff here for her own series, of course, but she'd also drawn them as mermaids, knights, royals, and centaurs. Charity would probably ask to be painted as a fairy the minute she visited next.

Mrs. Stern had not been impressed, of course. She never was. Prudence was tempted to draw her as a banshee. The woman had been even more prickly and efficient than usual.

"Is there some reason you have such time to sit, Miss Finch?" Mrs. Stern barked in her clipped German tones as everyone bustled about, leaning over Prudence. "Do you not have two charges now? You should be tending to your own work instead of distracting the rest of us from ours."

"I have finished my own work, Mrs. Stern," Prudence said easily. It was true, considering she had no work to finish anyhow.

"Strange, because I've yet to catch you doing any," the woman droned.

Yes, definitely a Banshee. Perhaps she'd draw her thus tonight. She often found that sort of thing helped ease her ire. She'd drawn Lord Headless' face on everything from dastardly demons to marauding minotaurs. It was quite soothing.

"I prefer to work in the peace of Miss Crewe's bedchamber." That was also true. Mrs. Stern didn't need to know what kind of work she did upstairs. Pru never liked to sketch where others might see if she could help it.

Mrs. Stern helped illustrate why as she plucked up Pru's sketching book. "And what is this?"

Prudence bristled. She truly hated when people handled her drawings, particularly when they were not yet finished, but she had to remind herself that she must put up with such indignities here. She couldn't whack the woman about the head, as she would if Ernie had done it. "It is Mr. Higgins, but as a gladiator in Roman times."

"And you are encouraging this... nonsense?" Mrs. Stern glanced away from her, at Mr. Higgins himself, who was standing by the window, his head tossed back and his foot upon a chair.

"Tis the only time for it. This light is ideal," Higgins said, not breaking his pose. "Miss Finch insists it best highlights my athletic form."

Mrs. Stern tossed the book back to Prudence, rolling her eyes. "Athletic form," the woman muttered, slapping at Higgins' protruding belly with the back of her hand as she passed him.

He huffed in annoyance, but kept his posture.

She was partial to Greeks, herself. All the Romans did, to her mind, was take all the Greek myths and slap new names upon everything. Could they not create their own culture? Their own gods? Headless liked to argue about that, going on about roads and plumbing, as if his trips to Italy made him some sort of expert on anything. He didn't even read in Latin!

The Greeks were far superior, anyhow. They had the best poems and the best plays. But Mr. Higgins was not impressed by her representation of their battle helmets. And, as she'd learned in the last few years, sometimes artists must swallow their pride and cater to their audience.

Truly, Prudence would rather not be doing this here and now, but there was no helping it. Since she'd been caught nosing about in Mr. Higgins' cramped little office, she had needed an excuse for it. That had all been part of her plan. She had actually drawn him twice already and had decided, if he came upon her rifling through his papers, to claim she was looking for her previous drawing to improve upon it. Unfortunately, when he inevitably caught her, he had agreed far too enthusiastically and told her all the many ways she had failed to capture him, which was a little bit galling.

Of course, sketching him now, in the middle of the kitchen and probably getting in everyone's way, was not part of her plan. But she had garnered a certain amount of good will with the drawings she'd done and the ones she'd promised to do... from everyone apart from Mrs. Stern.

Mr. Higgins had insisted the sunlight coming through the west-facing window would make him look most fearsome. And she wasn't too upset about it, considering her little investigation had been so fruitful. She'd had a very long look at his ledgers. She would tell Emilia all about it as soon as she was finished.

She only hoped Emilia had played her part as well. It wasn't as if she relished the idea of Emilia rejecting proposals for her, but it was really quite an easy thing to do. She'd done it nearly half a dozen times since her debut.

Evie leaned over her now. "What's that he's got his foot on?"

"A chair," Prudence huffed slightly. She truly detested people looking over her shoulder as she worked, but she quite liked Evie, so she allowed it. Sometimes she wondered if she might steal the little thing away for Crewe House by the time this was all over. Evie was very eager to learn and there was so much Prudence could teach her. It would be lovely to have someone who looked up to her, someone young and lively about the house with Charity gone. She was happy for her sister, that she had a life she'd chosen and was passionate about. But her absence made Prudence's own life that much more lonely.

"No, I mean in the drawing," Evie said.

"Oh, it's his shield."

"But why would he not be holding it or—"

Prudence leaned up to Evie a bit, whispering, "Look, I know it looks precarious, but apparently leaning on a rock was not regal enough for Mr. Higgins."

Evie giggled. "Well, it's very kind of you."

"Let's just hope it's the last one," Prudence said lowly. Her previous drawings had yet to please him, but for this one, she finally realized what it was he wanted. He didn't want to be the pudgy older man now stood before her, but the man he wished to see. So if she shaved a bit of fat from his chin and belly, removed some wrinkles, and gave him perhaps an inch more height than he actually boasted, perhaps now...

"I have a surprise for you when you've finished," Evie whispered.

"Oh? And what is that?"

"Wouldn't be much of a surprise if I said, now would it?" Evie winked before taking a seat next to her and pulling a little pile of pink handkerchiefs from her sewing basket. It was surprising. Prudence had so rarely witnessed the poor girl sitting to do anything.

"Are those part of the surprise, because I should tell you I'm not partial to pinks," Prudence laughed. Charity, however, adored the color in all its forms. She had names for it from the first blush of a maiden to the darkened hue of desire. Even as a painter, Prudence didn't have much patience to make up poetic names while she worked, though it sometimes made her giggle whenever she had cause to use the pink that Charity liked to call the palest, prettiest princess pink.

"No, silly! These are Lady Adele's," Evie said. "I'm practicing my embroidery. I mean to monogram them all before this ends."

"Her current initials won't do her much good if she leaves this party engaged. Isn't that the object of these little gatherings?" God, she really did hope Emilia had managed her task.

"She gave me leave to. She says she won't be leaving this party with a fiancé stupide if she can help it."

"She said that? Is your French getting better or is her English improving?"

"Well, let's just say one of those is true," Evie said on a giggle.

"I say, Miss Finch, are you certain this pose is the right one?" Higgins said from the window. "I shouldn't mind one where I am at battle in the light of dawn. Perhaps tomorrow morning we could—"

Lord save her! "You are doing wonderfully, Mr. Higgins," Prudence called out. "I dare say your form could grace the portrait hall if I had the paints." It wasn't even a lie. She'd had a look through the portrait hall and Higgins didn't look any worse than those stodgy old lords.

"I had thought it was your mistress who painted." Mrs. Stern was still not done grousing, even as she was glancing over Mrs. Doyle's dinner preparations.

"Indeed. Miss Prudence Crewe is as fine a painter as I ever met," she said. It was also true. She'd not met many others who shared her dedication to her craft. Art was a mostly solitary endeavor, which is why doing it in a crowded kitchen was less than ideal. Still, when needs must... "There!" She approached Mr. Higgins now, turning her sketch toward him. "I do hope you like it."

"Why, I..." The older man smiled, tracing the sketch. "You have finally captured me, Miss Finch!"

Well, minus about ten years and two stone, she had. But she was glad if it finally pleased him. "Now, I must find Miss Crewe. I'm certain she has much for me to do."

"Ah, some work at last," Mrs. Stern said — of course. She put Prudence in mind of her old dancing master, Monsieur LaFarge. He had nothing but praise for Charity's every move and nothing but biting little comments for what Prudence thought were her very best efforts. "I expect all of you to tend to your duties admirably," Mrs. Stern went on. "I better not come back tomorrow night to find this party in chaos."

Prudence leaned toward Evie, who still seemed quite intent on her handkerchiefs. "Back from where? Is she going somewhere?" Prudence asked hopefully.

"It's the Sabbath. Mrs. Stern doesn't work a lick from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday," Evie whispered. "She'll be back to scold us all before tomorrow night's supper."

Mrs. Stern must have heard her nonetheless. "Indeed, I will," she said as Evie blushed. "Just because the cat is away does not mean the rats can play."

"It's the mice, Mama," a young girl said, strolling into the kitchen and reaching for a biscuit from Mrs. Doyle's growing pile.

Prudence had met her briefly earlier this morning in the back drive. Nearly all the servants had gathered there and she'd been quite curious, wondering what part this new arrival played in the mysteries afoot. Mrs. Stern had been fidgeting and nearly bouncing on her heels when the doors of the post-chaise finally opened. She'd pulled the girl out of it before the coachman could even think to help her down.

She'd learned it was Mrs. Stern's daughter, back from some sort of special program for little ladies who were musically inclined. She was quite little. She looked to be about eleven, perhaps. Prudence couldn't quite remember her name, even though several of the staff had said it, all greeting her quite warmly. Pru had been been so absolutely shocked to see Mrs. Stern smiling that it had gone clean out of her head.

"Ruth!" Mrs. Stern slapped at the girl's hand now.

Ruth. That was it.

"No sweets for you till you've had your supper. And perhaps I meant rats."

"Oh, come now, Mrs. Stern," Mrs. Doyle cooed. "One wee little biscuit certainly won't spoil our Ruthie's appetite so badly. She's a growing girl, ain't she?"

"I do not care a blot. I am her mother and she will—"

"It's jot, Mama," Ruth giggled.

"I meant blot," Mrs. Stern insisted. "And are they teaching you to be tart at these schools? Perhaps I shall tell Mr. Byrne that all you are learning is bad manners." She stiffened suddenly, glancing at Prudence.

"I believe your daughter has the right of it, Mrs. Stern," Prudence said, pretending she hadn't heard that last part. She was glad to have her suspicions further confirmed, but she'd much rather distract Mrs. Stern than let on that she'd noticed her little slip. "It is from The Bible — from the gospel of Matthew, I believe. 'For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.' It refers to a mark on paper."

"A blot is a mark, too," Mrs. Stern groused. "And that is your bible, not ours. Those new-fangled gospels are not gospel truth to everyone. Ruth, do not kneel on the floor! You shall ruin your stockings!"

"But I am trying to give Mopsy a present." The girl pulled a cloth doll from her pinafore. The dog took it eagerly, prancing back and forth as far as his rope would let him, as if showing it off for everyone. He'd taken to Ruth immediately and the feeling seemed mutual. She supposed Emilia could add another to her ranks in the Dog Alliance. "See? He loves her!"

"He already loved your other dollies to death," Mrs. Stern scoffed.

"Oh, I don't mind, Mama. I'm far too old for dollies now, anyhow."

The older woman blinked a little at that, seeming a bit overcome.

Prudence had once caught her own mother swiping away a tear at what Charity declared had been her very last doll funeral. Did all mothers react in such a way to the death of their daughter's last moments with dolls? She'd never bothered with dolls anyhow. Ernie had beheaded so many, she considered her own dolls quite beyond hope. It was only Charity who cared to mourn her own 'doomed little darlings.'

Mrs. Stern stiffened as she caught Prudence looking her way. "I thought you were finished your scribbles. Have you nothing else to do?"

"Aye, that I do. I shall go find Miss Crewe."

"You should go find Miss Poole first," a new voice said, sounding a bit cross. "Ye'd promised to aid her in the library, unless ye forgot..."

Prudence turned to find Dora, Miss Poole's maid. She'd been cross this morning as well, when she'd brought her to Miss Poole. It was only for a moment, so Miss Poole could secure her promise to help in the library this afternoon rather than the morning. Miss Poole said she would like to enjoy the sunshine before it vanished again. She was quite certain they could finish it today, and claimed she had a little surprise as well.

Lord, between Miss Poole and Evie, there seemed to be a lot of surprises in store for Pru today. "Goodness, would you look at the time. I shall find her directly." She stilled by the stairs. "Could you take me to her, Dora?"

"I just said the library, didn't I?" Dora said peevishly.

"Ah, but this old house. It gets me so turned around." Prudence took her arm. "Are you angry with me?" she finally asked when they'd got to the top of the stairs, unable to fathom this coldness. After she'd given Dora her sketch of her as a queen, royal sceptre and all, she'd thought they'd become friends of a sort.

Dora slowed a little, sighing, "Not with you. I am a bit put out with Miss Vanessa, though, as I think she means to put me out of a job."

"Surely not. From all I hear, she loves you dearly."

"Well, she'd better. I've been dressin' her up since I was fifteen and she was a tiny little thing of eight. But the way she goes on about you, I'm starting to fear she means to replace me."

"Oh, please do not worry yourself about that. I could not leave my position if I wanted to." That was quite true. She'd not leave off being Prudence Crewe forever, after all.

Dora smiled a little as they walked on. "That is a relief to hear."

"I suspect she's just fond of having someone to talk about books with," Pru said briskly "and we have such little time together. This party won't last forever."

"No, I don't begrudge her your friendship." Dora shook her head. "And I am sorry I was cross. I just... Well, I've been with Miss Vanessa so long now and I feel a bit... protective at times. She doesn't have an easy lot. No matter how much money Lord Mayworthy has and how many parties he gets her invited to, she never comes home happy. This season was her first out, and she came home miserable every night, the poor dear. Not that she admits it, but I hear the other young ladies don't bother with her."

"Truly?" What ninnies they must be. "I love talking to her. Sometimes I cannot believe she is only eighteen. She is so very well read."

"Aye, that she is." Dora frowned. "Lord Mayworthy made certain she had the finest tutors and every book she could wish for. But young ladies in her set don't appreciate that much. It's nothing like a cut direct, mind you, but they make it clear that they don't consider her one of them."

That was absolutely infuriating. Was it the color of her skin or was it the rumored circumstances of her birth? Or perhaps it was both. God, how she hated The Ton. They always looked for rexcuses to exclude the best people from their vaunted ranks, often for no reason whatsoever.

How she wished she'd had the chance to meet Miss Poole last season. She wouldn't have cried sick for half as many parties if she could have found a kindred spirit there. "Thank goodness Lady Adele is not so snobbish, at least. The pair of them seem to be thick as thieves." Granted, Miss Poole was the only person in the house who spoke French, but still...

"Aye, that's nice enough, even if she is French."

Prudence reminded herself there was a bit of snobbery among the servants as well. Perhaps now that the war was ending, everyone might stop their nonsense. She had no love for Bonaparte and his posturing, but surely one should not blame the people for what their leaders do. She certainly had no great love for England's monarchs and their various crimes. King George's fidelity to his queen did not erase his tyranny over the colonies. She'd informed Aunt Muriel, upon her presentation at court, that she was doing it under protest.

Her curtsy had been reported in the gossips sheets as "substandard, at best. Disrespectful, at worst," which was just as she'd meant it.

"We might not meet her often after this, anyhow," Dora went on. "From what Miss Vanessa says, Lady Adele despises London. And she's a bit old. Nearly three-and-twenty!"

"Perish the thought," Prudence said, unable to help a laugh, considering she'd been three-and-twenty since the winter.

"Oh, I know that's nothing to workin' girls like us. We got years more left in us. But the Beau Monde, as they call themselves..."

"And what a beautiful world they've made," Prudence quipped bitterly. Lord, how she longed to leave them all behind!

"Not to gossip, but word is that Lady Adele's relations won't keep her much longer," Dora said on a whisper as they entered the front hall. "They're shocked she hasn't married before this, pretty thing she is. She'll certainly need to marry this year."

That quite contradicted what Evie had said. Hadn't she shared that Lady Adele determined to leave this party without a fiancé stupide? Even with the language barrier, that seemed quite a clear declaration.

"Miss Poole needs friends among The Ton," Dora went on, "young girls of her own sort." She stilled, gesturing to Prudence. "Not that there's anything wrong with her befriending a lady's maid, mind you. I dare say our kind treat her better than her own. But I truly wish she had more friends in society."

"Perhaps she will, after this." Evie wasn't the only thing Prudence wished to take home with her. Of course, she'd not be packing up Miss Poole herself in her trunk, but perhaps in the end they could write and visit. At the very least, Miss Poole need not worry about Prudence Crewe marrying herself off any time soon — or ever, in fact. "I shall see what Miss Crewe can do for her."

Dora laughed. "I wasn't trying to beg for help from Miss Crewe."

"Nonetheless, she's the cousin of a duke and invited almost everywhere." God, it was exhausting! "I daresay she'd be delighted to host Miss Poole in London." How nice it would be to have someone she could abide at her side next season. She'd only got a season and a half with Charity before she'd gone and married as soon as she possibly could, at the tender age of eighteen. Miss Poole was eighteen now, but she didn't seem the romantic sort. Perhaps she could get two entire seasons with her.

She reflected on that happily now after Dora left her at the library doors, as she stared at Miss Poole, who'd yet to notice her. She had her back to the door, humming a bit as she stared at the shelves. She could carry a tune, at least. Aunt Muriel would enjoy that. Prudence and Charity were so musically disinclined that her aunt often despaired of ever hearing music in her townhouse again before she went on to the great hereafter. Yes, Miss Poole would be a lovely companion for the season.

Between the smell of the books and the thought of their friendship, Pru felt quite happy with where the afternoon was headed. And there were, apparently, surprises still in store...

"So what's this surprise of yours, Miss?"

Miss Poole started and turned. "Good God, Miss Finch! I didn't hear you!"

Prudence dropped a slight curtsy. "Beggin' your pardon, Miss."

Miss Poole rolled her eyes. "You're putting that on still? I thought we'd dispensed with that nonsense." She pulled her further in, shutting the door. "You are far too clever to keep miss-ing and curtsying at people."

Pru laughed. "Ah, but am I not still a lady's maid?"

"For now, I suppose," Miss Poole said, looking a bit sly.

Prudence tossed her a confused glance.

But Miss Poole went on, clasping her hands together and looking about, "Now, we'd best get to it if we mean to finish today! Last time, we'd had only the boring books left to put in order."

"Here now, they aren't all boring. I've not much use for agriculture, but travel—"

"Plant books, you mean," Miss Poole said dryly. "Wasn't that the word you were pretending not to know yesterday?"

Pru had quite forgot about that. She'd been so certain Miss Poole had worked out the entire charade, but then she'd only been encouraging Prudence — or Miss Finch — not to hide her intelligence, telling her she could be so much more than a lady's maid. Really, at the time, Prudence felt rather guilty, wondering if Emilia wanted to be more than this. and if she was keeping her from it.

Emilia had assured her that her eventual ascension to housekeeper was all she wanted in life. Pru was not convinced, but that was a worry for another hour.

Now, she felt guilty for another reason entirely. Here, Miss Poole was, taking an interest in her life and she had no idea that it wasn't truly her life.

"Could we not imagine that you are not a maid and I am not a miss and simply... talk?" Miss Poole prodded.

"Very well," Prudence said with a nod. Hadn't she just relished the thought of leaving The Beau Monde and their world of pretense? She could, at least, stop pretending with someone she genuinely liked. "I shall say all the fancy words I know, if you like."

"Extra syllables and all?" Miss Poole teased. "I require no less than six."

"Hmmm. Impracticality, unintelligible... Indiscretionary?"

"Impressive. But have you got one with seven?"

"Now you've gone too far." Prudence chuckled, searching the ceiling. "Such a request is... an... Irretrievability," she finished, triumphant.

"And now you're showing off," Miss Poole laughed.

"I do like a bit of word play, puns aside," Pru added quickly. "My sister and I often make little games of it — alliteration, especially."

"You never mentioned you had a sister."

Prudence cleared her throat and moved to their remaining books. Perhaps she was dropping her pretense a bit too much. "She's... been away a while. I guess I forgot to mention her."

"A friend and I exchange limericks." Miss Poole said. "Very silly ones."

Prudence turned back. "Limericks? I'm not familiar."

"It's a sort of poetry."

"And here I thought I knew every sort of poetry." Prudence set down a book on moss, since this was much more intriguing. "Do go on..."

"I shouldn't blame anyone for not knowing them. They aren't very popular, but I think they're great fun. I believe they came out of Ireland."

"Ah, perhaps Mr. Byrne is familiar, then," Pru said.

"I rather doubt he would be." Miss Poole tilted her head. "He doesn't seem the poetic sort."

"No, he rather doesn't," Prudence couldn't help but agree. "But one never knows." She'd learned at least one surprising thing about Byrne today. Perhaps there was more.

"He seems so severe, doesn't he?"

Prudence wasn't certain about that. He seemed to have a pleasant enough manner. Then again, having spent the week with Mrs. Stern, anyone might seem to be a merry party. She'd certainly be observing Byrne more closely, for further investigation. But she was far more interested by fresh new poetry at the moment. She sat down, gesturing to Miss Poole. "Go on, then. Give us a limerick!"

"What? Now?" Miss Poole scoffed.

"Did you not just now force me to find a word with seven syllables? It's the least you can do."

Miss Poole sighed. "You see, the rhyme scheme is A,A,B,B,A, but with a shorter rhythm for the B's and..."

"Sounds like you're stalling to me," Pru teased, then wondered if she was being too pert. It was fun to drop the pretense of a lady's maid. But how far was too far?

"Give me a moment, at least," Miss Poole huffed, sounding amused rather than affronted. "My friend and I tend to base them upon things we are discussing or seeing."

Pru glanced around, tapping her chin. "Is it too obvious to say... books?"

"It's usually more specific than that."

"Shakespeare, then!"

"Shakespeare, Shakespeare... William... Willy..." Miss Poole muttered, pacing away, then back again. After she'd done it three times, Prudence began to think that had been too challenging. But she suddenly stilled and cleared her throat...

"There once was a playwright called Willy,

With a collar decidedly frilly.

He scandalized some,

But made more laugh, by gum,

From the moment he picked up his quilly."

Prudence could not help but applaud. "How very clever! Also very silly."

Miss Poole laughed and gave a little curtsy. "Why, thank you. That is the object."

"And you didn't even use the word 'silly.' I was so certain you would."

"It would have been too easy. You see, we like to make our limericks challenging, if at all possible. And we have certain words we consider lazy words."

"Is your friend able to make them up as quickly as you do?"

"He's actually a bit better at it than I, but then he insists the same for me."

"Oh. He, is it?" Pru laughed. "Have you a sweetheart at home?"

"No, of course not," Miss Poole said, dipping her head down. "Just a good friend." She ducked her head and made for the books piled upon the windowsill. "Should we do agriculture or travel first?"

"Er... Agriculture," Prudence said more soberly. As much as she hoped they'd become friends before the end, she didn't know Miss Poole well enough to tease her so. "Plants are the most boring. We'd do best to get them out of the way first."

"Plants aren't boring at all. Travel is. Have you been on a ship? A more tedious thing, I cannot imagine."

"I confess, I've not yet traveled anywhere interesting, so I envy you. Where have you been?"

"France, Italy, Spain... I do long to see the Americas or Africa."

"I thought you might have seen them already, considering..."

"My skin?" Miss Poole cut in.

"Oh! I mean... Well, I didn't mean—"

"Most people assume I must have grown up in the West Indies or anywhere else that people look like me, but I've never even been there. I assure you, if a ship across The English Channel is a chore, then I would likely go fully mad crossing a sea. No. I've lived in England since I was a babe, since Lord Mayworthy was kind enough to... take me on." She turned a book on Antigua over in her hands, perching on the window seat. "Yet I feel like I'll always be treated as a foreigner."

Prudence perched beside her. "I truly didn't mean—"

"No, I'm sure you didn't mean it unkindly," she said with a sad sort of smile. "I'm sure you're simply curious, but I have had certain young ladies ask questions in ways that, I can tell, they are looking to make sure I know I'm nothing more than an oddity to them."

"But you are not an oddity. You're like a... a raft in the middle of an ocean of nothing. You are someone who doesn't only read, but who likes to talk about it. If that's odd, then I wish more people were so." Prudence cleared her throat. "Besides, Miss Crewe often says that odd is just another word for rare."

Miss Poole tossed her a wry glance. "Does she now?"

"Well... if she doesn't, she should."

Miss Poole laughed a little. "I have to remind myself that people are sometimes curious and they don't necessarily mean ill. My chaperon, Mrs. Garvey, for instance, is as pleasant as they come, but I've had her express envy that I can forego a bonnet if I wished, as if the sun cannot burn me. I don't bother correcting her. Still, as kindly as she means it, all it does is remind me how I don't belong."

"I must say, you contend with it very pleasantly. I personally cannot resist correcting people."

"So I've seen. How you ever got hired on as a lady's maid, I'll never know."

"Here now. I can be biddable when I choose." Now that was a lie.

"Perhaps I should speak my mind more," Miss Poole mused. "It's not like it would make things any worse. I am dreadfully unpopular with the other young ladies of London."

"No. They are simply dreadful themselves. Who'd care to be popular with them?"

"They really are quite awful." She turned more fully to Prudence. "They're always so... tricky. I cannot tell you how many times one of them has started a conversation, all pleasantly, only to end with a jibe."

"God, how I hate that," Prudence groaned. "Why not simply be awful from the start?"

"Yes! Why the pretense at civility?" Miss Poole said, nodding furiously. "It only makes one feel foolish for believing, for even a small moment, that they meant to be kind."

"I'd wager that's the object. Detestable little game!"

"Sometimes girls can be far worse to contend with than men!"

"Now, let's not go that far," Pru said, laughing a little.

"Ah, yes. I quite forgot you were a disciple of Wollstonecraft... or was that Miss Crewe, as you like to pretend."

Prudence sighed. "Well..."

"Nay, I shall stop teasing you on that as long as you cease your pretense. And I don't include you among those beastly girls." Miss Poole grasped her hand. "I've always seen more kindness from servants than the supposed upper crust."

Prudence felt another frisson of guilt. Perhaps the only reason Miss Poole was confiding in her now was because she thought her a servant. What would she think once they'd revealed this farce?

"We'd best get started." Miss Poole stood, releasing her hand. "We're not likely to talk these books onto the shelf."

"Indeed not," Prudence agreed, pushing away her shame for now. There would be plenty of time for that when all was revealed.

They chatted companionably, bickering just a bit as they continued shelving the books. Though they did both agree that they preferred fiction to biographies and poetry to instructional manuals, they had a rather merry time arguing which subject was more tedious than the others.

Yet by the time they'd got to the final category — religious sermons — which they agreed were the most tedious of all, they'd gone quiet.

"That's done, then," Prudence said, handing Miss Poole the final book, as somber as James Fordyce himself. "Shall you do the honors?"

"Can we not shelve this one somewhere else?" Miss Poole tried. "Out the window, perhaps?"

"Or at the bottom of a lake?"

Miss Poole shook her head before placing the book of sermons in Prudence's hand. "You do it."

"Perhaps we could shelve it in Mary Hartley's room. She could use a sermon or two," Pru said before placing the book behind several others.

Miss Poole let out a horrified laugh behind her. "I mean, I quite agree, but—"

"Forgive me, Miss." Pru turned and dropped an exaggerated curtsy, laughing as well. "I should know better than to mock my betters."

"Particularly since you're so much better than your betters, however you pretend. I am on to you, Miss Finch."

Prudence's laugh trailed off. "Whatever can you mean?"

Miss Poole shook her head. "Enough stalling from me. I'll just say it."

Had she let things slip some more? It's not as if Miss Poole would never know, but she'd rather tell her than...

"It's quite obvious to me that Miss Crewe's reputation as a bluestocking is false." She held up a hand. "I'm not saying she's unintelligent, but anything she knows she's learned from you. And please stop trying to tell me it's the other way around. It's a bit of an insult to my intelligence to think I can continue to be fooled."

Prudence stared at her for a long moment. "Miss Poole, I... Very well." She gestured to the sofa. "Perhaps you should sit down..."

"Nay, there's no need for a long confession. I would just prefer we continue without pretense. I told you before that I had a surprise and... Well..." Miss Poole twisted her hands in front of her, looking a bit nervous suddenly. "Perhaps this is not a good surprise. If you are indeed very close to Miss Crewe—"

"Closer than you think. You see—"

"Come work for me," Miss Poole burst out.

Oh, God! This was precisely what Dora had feared. "But you already have a very lovely—"

"No, not as my maid. As my secretary! I know it seems odd. Usually, ladies don't have secretaries unless they're nobility, like duchesses or... countesses and the like."

"It's really not that."

"I know Miss Crewe has a duchess for an aunt, but I have an earl for a guardian. Surely that's nearly as grand."

"It's not that either! Truly—"

"And he denies me nothing... or almost nothing. At any rate, he'd certainly let me hire a secretary — or a companion if that sounds better to you."

"Miss Poole—"

"Please, don't answer now. I only ask that you consider it."

"I... Well... You've certainly given me much to think upon." Prudence finished breathlessly.

Miss Poole grasped her hands. "I should hate to think this is the last project we embark on together. I hope we can be very good friends."

Prudence dropped herself to the sofa as Miss Poole left the room. "I hope so, too," she sighed.

Apparently, Emilia wasn't the only one entertaining proposals today.

************************

Don't you EmByrne girlies worry. I'll be getting right back to them in the next. I just wanted to have a little fun with my favorite bookworms first. For those of you curious about Miss Vanessa Poole, she will have her own journey and, in the future, her own book.

If you can't tell, I've been setting a few things up for when the Crewe series is over. Vanessa Poole and Cecilia Marbury, in particular, are young ladies trying to find their place in a society that doesn't seem to want them. They are still young and unsure of themselves. I'd like to see them grow into the confident ladies they are destined to be. Whether I get to write that before I meet the sweet hereafter... we shall see, I guess.

As for this story, there's more to come next weekend, if not sooner. :)

And Happy Bridgerton Week (or Polin week) to all who celebrate!