The two ladies had been dear friends since before Prue was born. Prue enjoyed their fascinating conversations, which included stories from the past, their current needlework projects, and the latest scientific advancements.
Accompanying Aunt Edith was preferable to more shopping. Prue was ready for a quiet afternoon and had her book tucked in her reticule in case the opportunity arose to sit in Mrs. Sutton’s garden and read.
This Season was going to be different, she told herself. She was determined to partake in more of the activities she enjoyed and worry less about catching the eye of a man, despite her mother’s ideas. With a lift of her chin, she reminded herself that she was no young debutante who could be tricked by a handsome face or an engaging smile.
If she truly did have to marry, she would much prefer a plainer sort of man with a fine mind and depth to his personality. However, she had already determined she would not be averse to remaining unmarried. Two of her many aunts were spinsters and led fulfilling lives.
She ignored the pang of regret that speared through her at the thought of never having a family of her own. Now that she was more mature—one and twenty—well educated and had traveled to the Continent with one of those aunts, she considered herself worldly enough to choose her own future.
Unfortunately, none of those qualities had improved her confidence when it came to facing another Season. Her mother assured her this year would provide the remaining “polish” she needed. Polish made Prue think of armor. Perhaps her mother was right. Surely any added defense would serve her well.
Prue raised the doorknocker, smiling when the familiar butler opened it.
“Lady Prudence and Miss Flowers. How delightful.” Wilson bowed, his broad smile suggesting he was pleased to see them. “Do come in.” He opened the door wide and bid them to wait while he made certain Mrs. Sutton was receiving.
He quickly returned to show them into the drawing room where Mrs. Sutton sat with an impressive pile of papers on her lap.
“Ladies, how lovely to see you.” Mrs. Sutton started to lift the documents out of the way to stand to greet them, but Aunt Edith waved a hand to stop her.
“Do not stir on our account, Dorothy.” She reached for Mrs. Sutton’s hand to squeeze it in greeting before sitting in the chair next to their host.
“Prudence, you are just in time,” Mrs. Sutton said. “I am in need of assistance.”
“I would be pleased to offer it if I can.”
“My grandson is searching the garden at this very minute for Bertie. I don’t suppose you could lend a hand?”
“Of course.” She adored Bertie and had a cat of her own at home in the country. However, she had yet to meet Mrs. Sutton’s grandson, though she’d heard numerous stories about him from his proud grandmother. In Mrs. Sutton’s eyes, he could do no wrong. She set her reticule on a chair and removed her gloves and cloak. “I shall do my best.”
The butler escorted her to the garden door, and she stepped into the beautiful garden. Neat rows of dahlias and primroses reached for the sun. Several wrought-iron benches were tucked among the bushes and made her long for her book. For now, she walked along the path only to still when a muffled oath rent the air. The sight of a form falling from a tall oak tree had her rushing forward.
“Oh, dear.” She hurried toward the unmoving figure sprawled on the ground, relieved when he moaned. “Lord Winstead, are you well?”
The man briefly lifted his head to look at her; his mouth moved but no sound escaped.
She knelt at his side, searching for injury. Her stomach fluttered at how very handsome Mrs. Sutton’s grandson was even if he had not yet uttered a word. His dark hair held a hint of wave, one lock resting on his forehead. High cheekbones and a patrician nose lent his tanned face strength and symmetry. Long lashes framed brown eyes that stared at her in confusion.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, then once again scanned his body for a broken limb or twisted ankle.
His white linen shirt clung to his broad shoulders and slim torso. Rolled-up shirtsleeves left his powerful forearms covered in dark hair visible. She blushed at his state of undress but saw no obvious wound.
“Shall I fetch help?” she tried again, worry mounting at his inability to speak.
He shook his head gingerly and gasped, a hint of panic glittering in his dark eyes.
Sympathy welled within her. “You must’ve had the wind knocked from you. Never a pleasant feeling.” She patted his shoulder with the hope of reassuring him. “Shorter breaths seem to help.”
He did as she suggested with some success.
“That’s better,” she encouraged him. “Try to relax. The feeling should quickly pass.” She looked over his body again, trying not to notice powerful thighs in buff-colored trousers. “Do you think you broke anything?”
He frowned as if displeased by the thought then slowly moved his hands and arms before testing his feet and legs. He moved those broad shoulders, grimacing as he did so. “I—I don’t think so.”
The deep timbre of his raspy voice sent a shiver over her skin, though she couldn’t imagine why.
“W—who are you?” he asked, his breath coming more easily.
“Lady Prudence. My great aunt is a friend of your grandmother’s.”