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air.
    Prudence had good reason to detest the previous Duke of Ainsworth. He had tried to debauch her during her brother’s first house party as baronet and lied to blame her. And Sir Oswald punished her for it.
    As for the present duke, she had no doubt if she ever had occasion to speak with him — if he condescended to do so — she would find him to be yet another pompous, self-satisfied, smug, inbred, over-privileged peer of the realm. Attractive, perhaps. Admirable for his military service, assuredly. But arrogant, over-sexed and insufferable in person.
    “You should be glad he’s in fine fettle, Miss H. No harm done, I say,” said Mrs. Mason.
    Prudence relaxed. This was true. At least life could return to normal. The tattoo had caused the Duke of Ainsworth no irreparable harm. There would be no infuriated peer hunting her down, no Bow Street runner snooping around. She must count herself lucky there’d be no calamitous repercussions for assaulting a member of the nobility. Revenge was out of her system and no one was much worse for it. That was a relief.
    Her sanguine thoughts were interrupted by an unwelcome sound.

Chapter 5
In which our heroine begins the New Year with tea and apathy.
    P rudence and Mrs. Mason heard the sound of a carriage approaching at a crisp pace down Henrietta Street. It came to a halt outside the cottage. Heavy, booted feet trudged up the gravel drive as someone approached the door.
    She expected no visitors.
    Prudence’s guilty conscience flew instantly back to Bow Street runners and to the worst of all possibilities: imprisonment. She frantically catalogued what she would bring with her to Newgate Prison. She needed a warm shawl, another gown, bed linens…She also needed as much coin as she had at hand. Everything from necessities to amenities such as candles and ink cost money within its walls.
    The loud thud of the front door knocker sounded in the pit of Prudence’s stomach and she gasped involuntarily. Mrs. Mason frowned at her as she left the kitchen to answer the door.
    Rumors abounded about the dreadful conditions at Newgate for women and children imprisoned there. Those pitiful souls had to cook, clean and keep themselves in tiny, filthy, vermin-infested cells. She wondered if she had the fortitude to cope in durance vile. Her heart pounded in time with Mrs. Mason’s hurried footsteps on the wide plank floors returning to the kitchen.
    Prudence would miss this cozy place.
    “Lady Abingdon’s footman is here,” Mrs. Mason began. “Says her ladyship’d like you to join her for tea at Sally Lunn’s.”
    “Thank God in heaven!”
    “I take it, you’ll go then,” Mrs. Mason said dryly.
    “I’ll be there directly,” Prudence almost sang, chiding herself yet again for letting her mind fly off in dark maunderings at the slightest provocation.
    Months had passed since the unfortunate incident. Surely, the odds of detection and serious consequences diminished with each week. They were safe. Life would go on as it always had. Nothing remarkable would ever happen to her, for better or worse. From now on, however, she would be
grateful
that her quotidian existence continued undisturbed. Never again would she bemoan her life’s lack of excitement, ever.
    Recalling herself to the present, Prudence asked, “Would the footman like some mulled cider? Perhaps John Coachman would, too. Ask them will you, Mrs. Mason?”
    Prudence skipped upstairs to wrap a shawl about her shoulders and to tuck her hair into a presentable bonnet. There was no need to change. She still wore her best woolen gown from Sunday services. Buoyant with relief, she floated light as a feather to join the footman waiting by the front door.
    He handed Mrs. Mason back the empty mug, “I’ll nip out for the other before I help Miss H. to the carriage. That cider was most welcome. Thank you.” Next, he helped Prudence to the carriage, up its steps and settled her inside. She gave him a dazzling smile. All was