The Perfect Rake Read Free

Faith’s voice. She would sing to us all for hours. And when she laughed it was like the music of sunlight—”
    “I remember her laugh,” said Charity suddenly. “So happy. It made me want to laugh with her.”
    “You did, too,” agreed Prudence. “We all did. Mama and Papa adored each other. They were always touching each other, holding hands, kissing, hugging, laughing…”
    All the sisters sighed. It was a far cry from the cold and loveless regime they’d grown up under.
    “And they loved us all, too, so very much. Papa was always picking us up for a cuddle and a kiss and he never cared about sticky fingers or grubby faces. Mama always carried the baby—that was you, Grace—with us when we went walking along the beach or through the village, even though Concetta—she was your nursemaid—said it was bad for a baby to be outside. Mama said she wanted all her little sunbeams with her…”
    She looked at her sisters squeezed together on the big, old bed. They didn’t look much like sunbeams in the chill gray light, their faces pinched and pale and their beautiful eyes still red-rimmed from weeping. Love was their birthright. Mama had promised. Prudence had to make them believe it, she just had to!
    “Never, ever forget that we do not belong in Grandpapa’s grim and loveless world,” she said. “We were all born in Italy, in a house filled with sunshine and laughter and love and happiness, and I promise you, no matter how bad it seems, one day we shall all live like that again. With sunshine and laughter and love and happiness. I promise! ”
    Outside, the bitter wind whistled around the eaves, as if mocking her words. Prudence ignored it. She had a plan.
     
    Dr. Gibson placed his bag on the side table and sat down. “Lord Dereham has a severe concussion, and his ankle is broken in several places.”
    Prudence poured him a cup of tea. “But he will recover?” She might despise her grandfather, but she didn’t want to be the cause of his death.
    Dr. Gibson sipped the hot tea cautiously, then said, “His injuries are quite severe, but I believe his faculties to be intact. I feel certain he will recover, though it may not be speedy.”
    “How long will it take?” Prudence leaned forward and passed him a plate of buttered scones. She had a particular reason for asking.
    It was wild. It was audacious. It was risky. But it might work.
    It was the only solution she could think of to their problems.
    The doctor munched on a gingernut. “The head injury will take a few days, possibly a week. He will need to lie in a darkened room, in absolute silence.” He sipped at his tea and added, “The ankle will take longer to heal, however. It is broken in several places. He will have to keep his leg immobilized for six or seven weeks at the very least.”
    Six or seven weeks! Prudence hugged the knowledge to her breast. Six weeks or more would make all the difference in the world to her plan. But she would need the doctor’s help. She set her cup aside, took a deep breath, and said, “Dr. Gibson, do you know how Grandpapa’s accident came about?”
    He sniffed and reached for another gingernut. “The groom who fetched me told me some wild tale but you know how servants are apt to exaggerate.”
    “I doubt he exaggerated. Have you not heard how severe my grandfather’s rages—”
    The doctor waved his hand. “Bah! I hope I know better than to listen to village gossip.”
    “The tales are true,” Prue said vehemently, “and we cannot go on like this. Can you not see for yourself how very… extreme Grandpapa has become?”
    “He has never been one to spare the rod, I grant you, but a man must be strict—”
    “Strict! It is more than that, I promise you. Poor Hope has spent most of her life with her left hand tied behind her back to prevent her using it—he says it is the devil’s hand. Faith lives in fear of inadvertently humming under her breath, for that would merit a beating. And you should see