The Courteous Cad by Catherine Palmer

mill this morning,” she now said. “You were with a woman. Do you mean to marry her?”
    “I do. She is good and gentle. I will make her children my own.”
    “Do you love her?”
    “Yes. Very much.” He paused. “Do you still cry for me, Prudence?”
    “Not often. With much effort, I had given you up. I see I must do it again.”
    “God has a better plan for you.”
    “To shout at overlookers? To play the fool in front of everyone?”
    “To save the children.”
    She bit her lower lip as she reached out and took his hand. Holding it, she studied the shape of those fingers she had loved. She lifted the hand and kissed it.
    Releasing him, she nodded. “I shall try.”
    He smiled for the first time. “I knew you would.”
    Before she could speak again, he had slipped away into the night. She stood alone, reflecting on the past. Pondering the future. Mr. Walker was right, as always. She could save the children. And she would.
    As she turned to enter the inn, she heard the thunder of hoofbeats. Mr. Walker, she thought as she looked in that direction. But at the sight of a dark rider in a greatcoat and hat, she was not so certain. Had it been the blacksmith . . . or someone else?

    “His carriage is here! Oh, Pru, such a wonderful beginning! You must make the most of every moment with him. Secure him if you can.”
    “Secure Mr. Sherbourne? As a husband?” Prudence laughed as she set a yellow bonnet on her head and tied the gossamer ribbons beneath her chin. She stepped to Mary’s side and peered over her sister’s shoulder at the street below. “I should rather marry that pig who is wallowing in my mud puddle.”
    “Nonsense! But indeed, your puddle is back again this morning. We must have had a little rain in the night. Do be careful, Pru. Your gown is lovely and I should hate to see it soiled.”
    “I shall be riding in this gown in an hour’s time. It will return six inches deep in mud. I have little doubt of that.”
    “Will you be nice to him?” Mary caught Prudence’s shoulders. “Mr. Sherbourne is a good match for you. Promise to be polite.”
    “I shall promise nothing of the sort. He kissed me last night, you know. He commanded you to play a waltz, and then he danced me into the shadows, where he kissed my cheek. Very ill-mannered of him. There can be no doubt William Sherbourne is a cad.”
    “What is a stolen kiss but evidence of a tender heart?” Mary followed Prudence to the door of their chambers. “Do try to be sensible for once in your life, sister. Mr. Sherbourne has completed his naval duties and returned home. He has a good income from the mill. And Lady Thorne told me last night that her husband has promised his brother a fine house on their estate. Chatham Hall, it is called—large and very grand. You might be mistress of it, Pru, if you can bite your tongue and give Mr. Sherbourne a pretty smile or two.”
    “You are quite sure he wants a wife?” Prudence shook her head as she gazed at her sister. “Oh, Mary, it is you who is in want of a husband. That is why you speak of little but matches and wedding dates.”
    “I cannot think of any man but my dear departed Mr. Heathhill. Do you know . . . I almost dread to return to my sweet baby. Her eyes will remind me of a true love with which none else can compare.”
    “No one will love you in the same way as Mr. Heathhill, but there may be many who can love you just as much.”
    “I cannot imagine it. Go down to the carriage, Pru, and try to win Mr. Sherbourne. If you do not, I shall be forced to write to Sarah and bid her begin arranging your nuptials to Lord Delacroix.”
    “Heaven forbid!” Prudence hugged her sister and hurried down the narrow staircase.
    A footman wearing the livery of the Thorne family stood at the door to the inn. He made her a bow and escorted her to the carriage. She half expected to find William waiting inside it, but he was not there. She would journey alone.
    Just as well, she told herself as the