Prudence, p.1
Prudence, page 1
Prudence
Balfe Family Series Book One
By L.H. Cosway
Copyright L.H. Cosway 2025.
All rights reserved.
Cover design by L.H. Cosway. Cover Images from Shutterstock.com.
Developmental Editing by Emerald Edits.
Proofreading by Olivia Kalb.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s (and publisher’s) exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
CONTENTS
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
Epilogue.
Persistence: Balfe Family Book Two
Meet the Author
Books by L.H. Cosway
A very special thanks to Jezka Brash, Cate Walsh, Amanda White, Angie Reed, Caroline Frimston, Jeanine Alexander, Jamie Ratcliffe, Nikki Edwards, Tina Pelc, Ivana Kuhar, Tyler Hays, Soňa Š, Chandra McAmis and Cindy Warschauer for coming along on the journey and reading this book while I wrote it. I am forever grateful to have you as my readers.
“She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.”
Jane Austen, Persuasion
1.
Milly
~18 years ago~
Derek Balfe came to my rescue when the cherry blossoms were in bloom.
It was my favourite part of spring, the pale pink petals brightening up the road I walked along to school, the weather mild. Unfortunately, that day, midway through my walk home, it started pouring. Not merely rain, but hailstones, too. It was sunny when I left my house in the morning, so I’d forgone my coat, only to be punished with what felt like shards of ice pummelling down on me.
Removing my bag, I held it above my head to shield myself from the onslaught and broke into a run. Not that running would make me any less wet, but it would get me out of the downpour sooner.
I was in the middle of my mad dash when I heard a car horn beep behind me. I ignored it and continued running. When the beeping persisted, I finally slowed down and turned, spotting a black Audi idling by the footpath.
I squinted amid the rain and hail, trying to see who was behind the wheel. It could’ve been my aunt, Nell. She currently drove a BMW, but she was rich and often traded in her cars for newer models. The Audi didn’t seem her style, though. Then the driver’s side window rolled down, and a dark-haired boy with a serious expression stuck his head out. Well, not a boy, really. He was more of a young man, and it took me a moment to place him.
Derek Balfe had been a year above me in primary school. I couldn’t remember ever really speaking to him. His sister, Nuala Balfe, attended my all-girls secondary school, St. Colmcille’s. Derek was also one of the most popular boys in town, and lots of girls had crushes on him. The fact he was even acknowledging my existence felt surreal.
“Need a lift?” he called out, and my heart raced. Why on earth was he offering me a lift? Sure, it was raining but we didn’t know each other. Nerves seized me. Since I went to an all-girls school and grew up with only sisters, I wasn’t used to interacting with boys at all. My cheeks heated despite my chilly, rain-soaked clothes, and my hands felt clammy as they gripped my backpack.
My pulse fluttered against my neck, and I scurried closer to his car. “That’s very kind, but I’m already drenched. I’ll ruin your seats.”
He leaned across and threw open the passenger side door. “Ah, don’t worry about that. Sure, it’s all leather anyway. Get in.”
I chewed my lip, uncertain, then blurted, “I don’t know you.”
His serious look was replaced with an unfairly handsome smile.
“Course, you do. I’m Derek Balfe, and you’re Milly O’Shea. We went to primary school together. My sister, Nuala, is in your year.”
“Right, but still,” I went on, unable to come up with a proper excuse. “That doesn’t mean we actually know one another.”
His face softened at my hesitation, the smile fading a little as his eyes trailed up my body, from my soggy shoes to my drenched uniform and wet hair, his expression turning thoughtful. “I get it, but listen, I’m just going to drop you off at your house. I see you walking this way every day, and I can’t in good conscience leave you out in this weather. You’ll catch your death.”
My lips twitched faintly at his statement. Catch your death. It sounded like something my grandma would say. “This is very kind of you.” I stepped closer. His warm, inviting brown eyes had me throwing caution to the wind as I approached the car and impulsively slid into the passenger seat.
“It’s so good to get out of that,” I went on with an intense shiver as I closed the door, and Derek frowned, looking me over.
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine once I get home and out of these wet clothes. Some dry pyjamas and a hot cocoa should do the trick.”
Something I couldn’t decipher flickered in his gaze at the mention of me getting out of my uniform. It was gone in an instant, and he cleared his throat. “You live on Biscayne?”
I nodded, flushing slightly. I hadn’t expected him to know where my house was. “That’s right. Thank you.”
“It’s no problem.”
We fell into silence while he pulled the car back out onto the road, the windscreen wipers working overtime to clear the downpour. The radio was on low, but the heating was high, the intense blast warming my cold, damp skin. I grimaced at the sensation of my wet skirt sticking to my legs as I rubbed my hands together to get some heat back into my fingers. Derek glanced at the movement then focused back on the road.
“So,” he began after a minute or two. “Milly? Is that short for something?”
“Oh, yes, it’s short for—”
“No, wait, let me guess,” he said, a playful smile shaping his lips. “Is it … Millicent?” I screwed up my face, and he chuckled. “Okay, not that. How about Mildred?” I shook my head. “Hmm, Emilia, perhaps?”
“Nope.” I pressed my lips together, amused because he seemed annoyed that he hadn’t guessed correctly yet.
“Don’t tell me it’s Milton?”
I burst out laughing, my giggles filling the confined space, and Derek chuckled softly, too. “Oh, my goodness, can you imagine if my parents named me Milton? I’d be a laughingstock.”
“They could be Milton Keynes F.C. superfans. You never know. I have a friend whose cousin gave their baby the middle name Juventus.”
“That is truly horrifying,” I exclaimed. “And since you’re so bad at guessing, I’ll tell you. Milly is short for Camille.”
“Camille,” Derek repeated as though testing out the sound.
Something about the way he said it, his voice deep and rumbly, had my skin tingling—and not because of the damp cloth sticking to it. We stopped at a red light, and he cast me a glance, his dark eyes trailing over me and making my skin feel tight.
“That’s actually perfect. You look like a Camille.”
I shifted in place, lowering my gaze because his gold-flecked eyes were a little intense. It was no wonder he was such a big hit with all the girls in this town. Having Derek’s Balfe’s full attention was something of an experience. My stomach wouldn’t quit doing frenzied somersaults. There was just something about him that had a heady effect on me. Perhaps it was the broad shoulders, his height, or merely the confident way he carried himself. His dark hair was short at the sides with a little more length on top, his nose straight and faintly Greek in shape. He also had what appeared to be a small brown birth mark on the left side of his neck just below his jawline. I found myself studying it intently before I lifted my gaze and saw him watching me. He smiled in a way that said he didn’t mind me looking. I could only imagine what he must think of me by contrast in my drenched clothes and mousy hair that always managed to turn both flat and poofy in the rain.
I was caught on his statement, You look like a Camille, curious to know what he meant. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? “What does a Camille look like?” I asked quietly.
Derek appeared as though he was about to say something but then thought better of it. He rubbed lightly at his chin then placed his hand back on the steering wheel. “Like you, I guess.”
“Well,” I said, relieved he hadn’t pointed out my bedraggled appearance but also vaguely disappointed he hadn’t said something positive either. “Literally everyone calls me Milly, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“I honestly don’t mind. It’s just a name. So long as it’s not Milton.” I grinned.
“You’re not going to let me live that one down, are you?”
“It’s just that you really sounded like you thought it was a possibility,” I teased, undoing my seat belt.
“I was kidding, and you know it.” He reached across me and threw open the door, a waft of his cologne tickling my senses. He smelled like sage and sea salt and something pleasantly spicy that might’ve been his own unique smell. I was momentarily overwhelmed by his closeness, but a second later, he leaned back into his own seat.
“Um, thank you for the lift,” I said, climbing out and relieved to see the rain and hail had tapered off.
“It was my pleasure, Camille. Enjoy the rest of your day.” With a final charming smile, he reached over to pull the door shut then headed off to wherever he’d been going before he took pity on me and offered to drive me home.
My little sister, Jane, was peering through the living room window at me as I approached the front door. She was in the hallway by the time I got inside the house. Jane was twelve, so she was still in primary school. Being that there were six years between us, and my parents worked a lot, I tended to be the one who looked after her. My other sister, Donna, was fourteen and a little better at taking care of herself, though not yet mature enough to take on looking after Jane.
My dad was an electrician, and my mam worked at the florist in town. Both were hard workers but somewhat scatter-brained in various ways when it came to finances and running a household. For example, Mam was great at her job, but she could not for the life of her remember to pay a bill on time or complete a weekly grocery shop before we ran out of food in the house. The same went for my dad, who also liked to spend large chunks of money on random tools and gadgets he thought would make his life easier but ultimately ended up gathering dust in the shed or up in the attic. All in all, my parents were good people, but they were not adept at handling the mundane necessities of daily life.
As the eldest child, those tasks often fell to me, which could be exhausting at times.
“Who was that in the car?” Jane asked as she eyed my bedraggled appearance.
“Oh, just a classmate from school who saw I’d gotten caught in the rain and offered me a lift,” I lied because Jane could get a little overexcited when it came to boys. She was obsessed with the idea of me getting a boyfriend since I’d just turned eighteen, and in her opinion, it was time. I had to continually remind her that between keeping our parents afloat and my studies, I had no time for boys. I only had two months left of Fifth Year.
Next year, I hoped to achieve enough points to study medicine at Trinity College. It had been my dream to become a doctor since as far back as I could remember. When I was a kid, I’d been obsessed with tending to family members when they got sick and rejoiced when they recovered as though it was my care that cured them and not the prescribed medication from their doctor.
“Where’s Donna?” I asked as I shouldered off my bag and headed upstairs to change into something dry.
“She’s in her room playing on the computer,” Jane replied, following me up. “Mam’s cooking cottage pie for dinner, but she forgot the potatoes, so she’s using turnips instead.” My sister made a disgusted face. “I told her I don’t think that’s going to be very nice, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Turnip topped cottage pie? Well, I definitely preferred potatoes, but it wasn’t the worst concoction my mother had ever dreamt up.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll just put lots of salt and butter on top to make it tasty,” I said as I grabbed something to wear from my closet. Jane didn’t look convinced, but she turned and left me to change anyway.
The following day, I was walking home from school again. My friends, Tara and Celine, lived on the other side of town, so we rarely walked together. I didn’t mind, though. I enjoyed my solitary strolls. It was often the only part of my day that I got to myself, where I didn’t have to be present in class or help my parents or younger siblings and could just let my mind wander.
Unsurprisingly, today, my mind was constantly wandering to Derek Balfe and our short car journey. I couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d looked at me, how he’d playfully tried to guess my name, but most of all his devastatingly handsome smiles. Butterflies filled my stomach every time I remembered.
I hadn’t had very many boys look at me how Derek had. Well, none had looked at me precisely as he had, but my next-door neighbour, PJ, asked me out last year, and it’d taken me so much by surprise that I’d requested a day to consider it. Then I’d gone into my house, and my favourite aunt, Nell, was there visiting with Mam. Nell gave great advice, mostly because she’d lived a full and interesting life, having been married and divorced three times over, not to mention having a career as a top talent agent in the entertainment industry. Some of her clients were super famous actors from both stage and screen, and she split her time between her house in Ireland and her apartment in London. I was in awe of her, and though I wasn’t interested in the same career path, I wanted to be just as successful as her when I was older.
When Mam went to use the bathroom, I confessed to Nell that PJ had just asked me out. I’d never been particularly interested in him, but he was good looking in a laid back, musician sort of way. His band often played gigs at some of the local venues and community events.
“Do you mean the guitar-playing stoner boy who lives next door?” Nell had replied, aghast. “Goodness, no, Milly. You can do so much better than that.”
Her opinion had sealed the deal, and I’d told PJ the very next day that I couldn’t go out with him. I wondered what Nell would think of Derek. He wasn’t anything like PJ, and his father was one of the most successful hoteliers in the country. People from far and wide came to stay at the prestigious five-star Balfe Hotels. I had no idea what Derek was going to do when he finished school. Though coming from such an esteemed family, he probably planned on going to college.
I was still lost in thought when a car horn beeped. My heart pounded when I turned and saw Derek’s Audi. He wore sunglasses, his dark hair stylishly mussed. Something about the texture had me feeling the odd urge to run my fingers through it. He lowered the window as I approached, gripping my backpack. He also looked really good in his navy school jumper and white shirt.
“Hello again.”
“I was just thinking,” Derek began, “since I drive by you on my way home almost every day, and your house is on my route, it would be rude not to offer you a lift.”
“Um, that’s very kind, but I’m actually not going straight home. I have a couple errands to run first.”
“That’s okay. I can take you.”
Was he serious?
I swallowed thickly. “Are you sure? Because I have to shop for groceries, then pick up a prescription for my dad.”
“That’s fine. Get in,” he answered breezily.
Feeling like I might be imagining this—because honestly, one of the most popular boys in town offering to take me grocery shopping was not on my bingo card—I climbed into his car just like I had the day before. It was different this time, though, because I wasn’t distracted by wet clothes, and the luxurious leather seats felt soft and sumptuous beneath me. It also smelled like his sage and sea salt cologne, which was a little heady.
“I’m just going to Tesco,” I said, feeling shy, and Derek nodded, putting the car in gear.
“Where’s your, um … Don’t you have a brother?”
“Tristan,” Derek confirmed. “He has rugby training most days after school.”
“Ah, I see.” I paused, running my teeth over my bottom lip. “You don’t play?”
“Nah, I’ve never been much into team sports. I prefer running and swimming, sometimes tennis.”
“I love to swim, too, but I haven’t gone in a while.”
“You should stop by the hotel. We have a twenty-five-metre pool and a sauna, plus a larger gym than you’d typically find. I go a couple times a week.”
