Carola Dunn by Christmas in the Country

preparing dinner, the entire household from marquis to scullery-boy should be fully occupied.
     Someone was not. On silent, slippered feet Prudence sped to the nearest french-window alcove. The doors were locked. She pulled one crimson velvet curtain across the bay just enough to hide her, at the last moment whisking a corner of the hem of her brown stuff gown out of sight.
     The footsteps stopped. She held her breath. The footsteps resumed, rapid now, coming straight towards her.
     Resigned, she let out her breath on a sigh. She was about to emerge when a brusque hand flung back the curtain. A tall man in a caped greatcoat stared down at her. The last light entering through the glass behind her showed no more of his face than dark hair and a frown, but he smelled of sandalwood, horse, and fresh air.
     “Who the deuce are you?” he demanded, stepping back to look her up and down.
     Prudence raised her chin. At eight-and-twenty she was too old to be intimidated by that sort of look. “I am Miss Savage,” she said with what dignity she could muster after being discovered skulking behind the arras.
     “Savage by name but not by nature, I trust.” He sounded odiously mocking. “Are you a guest here?”
     “Not precisely.”
     “A guest’s servant?”
     “No!”
     “Don’t tell me I have captured a female burglar! It will be a nine days’ wonder in the county.”
     “I’m not a burglar,” Prudence said crossly. “If you must know, I am an actress with the company the Marquis of Easthaven has hired to entertain his guests.”
     “Ah, I see.” Now his tone was enigmatic. She wished she could make out his expression. “Might one enquire, Miss Savage, just what you were doing in his lordship’s ballroom in the dark? I hope I’ve not been so crass as to interrupt an assignation?”
     “Certainly not! It wasn’t dark when I came, still isn’t quite, and besides, I have a candle.” She waved it at him. It promptly fell out of the candlestick.
     He stooped to pick it up, and courteously replaced it in the holder. “An unlit candle—useful!” he observed.
     “For heaven’s sake, I blew it out when I heard you coming.”
     “Too late. I rode cross-country and I saw the light through the windows when I passed the end of the garden. I came straight here from the stables.”
     “I wondered how you knew I was here. It didn’t seem likely anyone should come in by chance at this hour.”
     “Most unlikely, ma’am. So I venture to repeat my question: What are you doing in his lordship’s ballroom?”
     Cornered again, Prudence sighed. “I daresay you will consider me both impertinent and gooseish. I’ve never been in such a splendid house before and I simply wanted to see a grand ballroom.”
     “Now you have seen it, what do you think of it?”
     “To tell the truth,” she confided, “it’s somewhat gaudy. Crimson curtains, royal blue chairs, daffodil-yellow walls, and gilt everywhere. It’s like something a stage-manager might dream up.”
     The gentleman laughed. “How would you decorate a ballroom?” he enquired.
     “Palest blue walls,” said Prudence at once, “the shade of the winter sky on a fine day, with straw-coloured chairs and curtains and everything else white. Nothing to clash with the ladies’ gowns; nothing to draw attention from their ornaments.”
     “I can tell you’ve been pondering the subject. What an unusual actress you are!”
     “Not at all,” she disclaimed hastily. “I’m really quite ordinary. Oh dear, it’s quite dark now. I must go.”
     “Take my arm and I’ll pledge to navigate us both to a safe harbour.”
     A hint of warm intimacy in the way he spoke alerted Prudence instantly. She had been an actress long enough to know what that meant.
     “No, thank you, sir, I believe I can find my own way.” She set out tentatively in the direction of the arch to the anteroom. The white pillars on either side provided landmarks even in