Was…was it possible? Priscilla found herself holding her breath at the very thought. Could there be a chance Miss Lloyd wanted to go through with the betrothal as little as Priscilla wanted them to?
It was not possible. Her luck would simply not have handed her this perfect opportunity on a plate…and yet, Miss Lloyd had said ‘if’…
“I know we have only just become acquainted,” she said slowly, carefully weighing each word before she spoke, “but as a friend of Charles – of His Grace, I would hope to be a friend to you. I would like it if you could confide in me – in the strictest of confidence, naturally.”
Had she laid it on too thick? Priscilla could not bear to look at Miss Lloyd as they circled the dancers.
“Remember, I have Charles’s interests at heart,” she said quietly, “but that does not mean I am not a woman and have no solidarity with those of my sex. It is clear you have doubts.”
Miss Lloyd sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. “You must keep it to yourself, for goodness knows, I have not shared with anyone else, I am trusting you to –”
“Please,” Priscilla interrupted. “You can be assured that anything you say to me stays with me.”
Her heart was racing. Was this the moment she discovered everything was not as she thought?
Miss Lloyd sighed again. “I am not…well, enamored with our parents’ plan. It does not take a university education to see that Charles has no interest in me, and…well…”
Her voice, a mere murmur, trailed away.
“You do not want to marry him either.”
She whispered the words, but Miss Lloyd looked imploringly as she said, “Is it obvious?”
Priscilla almost laughed as she blurted, “Not in the slightest! You do surprise me, Miss Lloyd, I had no inkling whatsoever. So…so you would not mind if he chose to marry another?”
Now it was her turn to blush as Miss Lloyd’s eyes widened. “You want him for yourself?”
Panic rose in her heart. “Did I say that? No, I did not mean – when I said –”
“But this is perfect!” Miss Lloyd stopped and turned to Priscilla, her face bright. “Do you not see, the solution is clear! Why does not Charles simply marry you?”
Priscilla laughed. “Charles does not see me that way! I think he barely registers that I am a lady. He… I did not even consider him that way, not until…”
Her voice gave out. The only reason she saw Charles as a man now was because of the woman before her.
But Miss Lloyd was no fool. “Until we became engaged to be married.”
Priscilla nodded. This was fast becoming like some terribly gossipy story one heard about a young lady from another town, one you never actually met.
She dropped into an empty chair, and Miss Lloyd followed suit. Priscilla’s gaze immediately fell on Charles, standing on the other side of the room, conversing with a gentleman she did not recognize.
She sighed. Oh, this was ridiculous. Falling in love with a gentleman you had known for years, and at a wedding? Was there a worse cliché than herself?
“He has never made me do that,” Miss Lloyd said gently. “Sigh across a crowded room. You must really care for him.”
Priscilla swallowed. “I have spent so little time with these emotions, I hardly know what they are,” she admitted. “Not that it matters now, of course. The dowager is set on marriage.”
“But not necessarily set on me,” said Miss Lloyd thoughtfully.
Priscilla glanced at her. There was no love there, barely any affection. There was politeness, a willingness to do what was necessary, but no fondness. The most incredible, wild, and most of all outrageous idea appeared in her mind.
She smiled. The answer to their problems, and it was so simple!
“Miss Lloyd,” she said. “What you need is a rival.”
Miss Lloyd frowned. “I am not entirely sure how that will benefit me. We need to consider a way for Charles to fall in love with you and break his engagement with me.”
“But this is the answer,” Priscilla insisted. She almost laughed, it was so obvious. “Do you not see? If I set myself up as a rival to you, consistently remind him of myself and compare myself to you, show him that our longstanding friendship will give us far more happiness than an arranged married – all he needs is another option.”
Miss Lloyd was looking over at Charles, still frowning. “A chance to see you differently.”
“Exactly!” Priscilla could barely contain her excitement. This was the answer, the way Charles would see her differently, just as she now saw him differently. How had she gone so many years not realizing how she cared for him?
Miss Lloyd leaned back and looked at Priscilla. “You know, that may work. From what Charles has said, you have always been his rival.”
Priscilla stared. “Rival?”
“Rival for attention. Rival to Mary, rival to any other ladies!” Miss Lloyd laughed. “I was a little envious of the friendship you had even before I met you. He holds you in exceedingly high regard, you know.”
Priscilla swallowed and tried not to color. She could not get lost in those words now, she would examine them later in the comfort and safety of her own room. In this moment, she must agree with Miss Lloyd.
“We need to concoct a plan for me to rival you,” she said slowly. “Get his attention, remind him that arranged marriage or not, he is a duke, he could marry anyone!”
“But we want him to marry you,” Miss Lloyd said hesitantly. “Is that not the intention?”
Something twisted in Priscilla’s stomach at the idea she could do all this, encourage him to look beyond Miss Lloyd, and Charles could break off his engagement with her just to marry another!
Priscilla pushed the idea away. She would not permit that to happen.
“Tempting Charles away will be difficult,” she said slowly. “But no one knows him better than I.”
Miss Lloyd looked nervous. “But what if anyone finds out our plan? It is…well, not exactly ladylike to conspire to shift a betrothed from one to another!”
Priscilla looked across the room at Charles, the way he laughed, his stance, always so square. She had teased him about it when they had first come out into society, but he had never lost the habit.
“If he is right, and I have always been his rival,” she said slowly, “what better time to put it to good use?”
Chapter Three
All Charles wanted to do was sit down.
“Stand up straight, Charles,” his mother hissed, her smile never leaving her face. “You still have guests to welcome!”
Years of training at the best school meant that Charles knew exactly what was expected of him. That did not make standing for two hours, welcoming every single notable person in London to Orrinspire Park, a pleasure.
“You will not embarrass me, Charles, and so I will not tell you again– ah, Lord Rust!”
An elderly gentleman approached them over the lawn and frowned at Lady Audley.
“Damned strange thing to do, Orrinshire, a picnic,” he said gruffly, bowing.
Charles almost smiled as he felt his mother bristle.
“This is my son’s engagement picnic, and what better place to host all of our dear friends and family members than here, at Orrinspire Park?” she said stiffly, curtseying to the gentleman. “Please, Lord Rust, avail yourself of a chair, and a footman will bring some delicacies to you.”
Lord Rust looked out over the lawn and took in the spectacle. Charles forced down a laugh as he saw the look of barely hidden distaste on the gentleman’s face. It was a little avant guarde, even for his mother, but then she had heard engagement picnics were all the rage on the continent, and who was she to buck the latest trend?
And so the lawn was covered with blankets, chairs, and small tables with elegant plates piled high with the latest cuisine. Footmen encircled the guests with champagne bottles in one hand and silver platters of delicious food in the other. The weak autumn sunshine ensured no lady would ov
erheat, and only a few people struggled to keep themselves in a decorous manner when lowering themselves onto a blanket.
“Hmmph,” Lord Rust said before walking off.
Charles sighed, but immediately forced his shoulders high as another gaggle of guests were brought over by another footman.
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Howarth,” the dowager simpered, curtseying low. “So honored that you have graced us with your presence.”
Charles bowed automatically, barely taking in their names. Had his mother invited every single person they had ever met to Orrinspire Park? The lawn was large but was still overflowing with people milling about, blankets starting to become scarce across the dark, lush grass.
As he looked toward the gates, he could see a line of people trailing toward him. God’s teeth, more people!
He felt movement beside him and realized he had utterly forgotten Miss Lloyd. She curtseyed to the latest guest to be welcomed, and he bowed in turn, feeling a little foolish.
His own engagement party, and he had forgotten about the bride. Well, that was what you got with an arranged marriage. He barely knew Miss Lloyd, and all his hopes of using the picnic as an excuse to speak with her privately had been utterly dashed by his well-meaning but constantly present mother.
He glanced at her, and she smiled wanly. Charles was about to speak, but his intended opening remark was immediately forestalled.
“Charles? I said, did you not, Charles?”
His attention snapping back to his mother, he saw a grandmotherly type lady standing before them, looking expectant.
“Yes,” he said immediately. “I mean, no. I beg your pardon?”
The lady sniffed and walked away.
His mother did something she had not done for many years and nudged him in the ribs. “If you do not attend, Charles, I shall be most displeased!”
She loved him; he knew that. All this was intended to put his marriage on the best possible start.
“I do apologize, Mama,” he said aloud. “Perhaps if Miss Lloyd and I were to leave you to welcome the guests, we could circulate and –”
“Do not be ridiculous,” she snapped. “You are welcoming your guests to your engagement party.”
“I think I would be more interested if I had actually invited any of these guests,” Charles said with a wry smile.
Miss Lloyd stifled a laugh beside him, and it made him feel a little better. At the very least, she had a sense of humor.
His mother, on the other hand, was not so easily amused. “They are guests of the family, Charles, and I do not want to hear any more impertinence. You may be six and twenty, but I can still send you to bed without any supper.”
There was that stifled laughter from Miss Lloyd again, but this time it only made Charles’s heart sink. Was he just going from one woman who dictated his every move to another?
He blinked in the warming sunlight and tried to hold his frame to the taut, respectable angle that his mother expected. How long had he been welcoming guests to this foolish engagement party? It felt like an age, but it could only be about an hour.
An hour of watching people trot past him muttering their congratulations for a marriage he did not even want.
“Can you hear me, Your Grace?”
Charles almost took a step backward, the voice was so fierce. Blinking to attention, he saw Lady Romeril was standing before him, her hands on her hips. She was so like his mother – but then, they were cousins.
“Is that any way to speak to your great aunt?” she snapped. “Just because you are marrying one of the most eligible ladies in society, that does not mean you can stop being polite to the least eligible.”
“My dear Lady Romeril!” Lady Audley looked absolutely mortified and threw Charles a panicked look. “I must apologize for my son, the excitement of the day, you know how these young people…”
Charles smiled. No matter the fierceness of her expression, he knew Lady Romeril had a soft spot for him, and there was a twinkle in her eye if ever he saw one. He always knew when to play to his advantage, and it was now.
“My dearest Lady Romeril,” he said, switching on the Orrinshire charm, “I do apologize, but you know I had good reason.” Leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek, he whispered loudly, “I have to try to keep our secret, or the whole of society will know.”
When he straightened up, he saw the irritated look on Lady Romeril’s face had been replaced with a chuckle.
“You will not gain my forgiveness like that, you naughty boy, but I shall pretend for your mother’s sake. And how are you, Lady Audley?”
Charles saw his mother looked mollified and breathed out. Another storm in a teacup avoided.
“And you are Miss Lloyd, are you?” Lady Romeril examined his betrothed and nodded. “Hmm. I do not know you, Miss Lloyd, and I would like to. Tell me…”
Miss Lloyd shot him a panicked look, but Charles could not rescue her. What could he say? Lady Romeril was as close to family as anything he had, outside of his mother, and he was not going to admit he was afraid of her.
“Stand up straight,” repeated his mother under her breath. “We have more guests approaching.”
Charles sighed. The streets of London must be empty, and he had no comprehension of how long this engagement party was supposed to continue. He had hoped, foolishly it felt now, that by the early evening, he would be settling down in his armchair with a good book and a cigar.
His gaze lifted, looking out across the lawn to the guests pouring from the gate – and his heart stopped.
Near the back, walking on her own, was Priscilla Seton. But this was not a Priscilla Seton that he had ever known before.
Instead of the typical demure, pale gown that she normally wore – when he noticed her apparel at all – she was wearing a gown of bright blue silk which shone in the sunshine. There were…diamonds, it looked like, in her hair and dripping down her front in rows. She had ignored society’s rules and worn no bonnet, the diamonds glittering in the brightness of the day. A bright blue parasol made of the same silk as her gown was leaning elegantly on one shoulder, and she was beaming at the world.
Something jolted in his stomach. Surprise, perhaps? She was…well, outlandishly dressed for a young lady at another’s engagement party. Charles saw heads turning all across the lawn. Gentlemen’s expressions were appreciative, looking Priscilla up and down with widening eyes. The ladies looked, in general, horrified.
Charles’s attention snapped back to Priscilla, who was continuing to promenade along with the guests, her head held high, and smiles for everyone who caught her eye.
He swallowed, unsure whether to laugh or gasp aloud. This was not the Priscilla he knew. At least, the one he had expected. She had always loved the finer things in life, even when they were children, and she had been far more thrilled to come out into society. The chance to dress up and the opportunity to experience the finer things in life.
Childhood was one thing. This was his engagement party, his engagement party to Miss Frances Lloyd. What did Priscilla think she was doing coming here dressed up to the nines?
“Well!” Lady Audley exclaimed, her mouth open. “Is that – that is Priscilla Seton! She will take all the attention away from Miss Lloyd!”
Her spluttering continued in a lower volume as Miss Lloyd’s cheeks pinked.
Charles stood between them, utterly embarrassed for Priscilla’s sake. Had she any idea what a stir she was causing? Did she realize how inappropriate such a display was?
“Do something!” his mother hissed.
Charles found he was smiling. There was only one Priscilla, and she would make such a fuss.
“I will deal with this,” he said gently, squeezing his mother’s arm. “Miss Lloyd.”
He bowed stiffly, striding away from the two ladies who were his future and walking toward the lady who, really, was his past.
“Charles!” Priscilla smiled as he approached, but all Charles could focus on were the turned heads followin
g him as he walked straight past them without speaking.
Without saying a word, he placed a hand on her arm and pulled her away from the arriving group.
“Charles, what are you doing?” Priscilla protested, but thankfully not at the top of her lungs. Charles could remember how loudly she could scream from when she fell from that oak tree. “Let go of me – I came here to picnic, not to be manhandled!”
Only when they were several hundred feet from his guests and standing in the ornamental kitchen gardens, far from prying eyes, did Charles let go of her.
“Well!” She had a mischievous smile. “This is a pretty way to welcome me to your party, Charles.”
Charles could not help it. He laughed wryly. “And this is a pretty way to turn up to my party!”
In the afternoon sunlight pouring down through the apple trees, Priscilla glanced down at her gown and her blue parasol.
She looked innocent as she said, “I have no comprehension what you are referring to, Charles.”
She really was a minx when she wanted to be, thought Charles, attempting to keep his face serious. What did she think she was doing?
“You have never attired yourself in this way before,” he said instead.
Priscilla frowned. “Attired myself? What do you mean?”
“This,” Charles said, gesturing. “All of this…”
His voice trailed away. Now that he was only a few feet from her, he could take her in completely and found, to his surprise, he had never examined her this closely before. Now that he took a proper look, he was for the first time in his life conscious of Priscilla’s…
Well, body. It was not a gentlemanly thought, and he attempted to quash it immediately, but damn it, he was flesh and blood.
And so was she. Her high cheekbones seemed accentuated somehow by the diamonds in her hair, her slender form hugged tightly by the silkiness of her dress, and her breasts were suddenly far more prominent than he had ever noticed.
Charles swallowed. These were most ungentlemanly thoughts, but as they crowded his mind and refused to be silenced, something twitched in his stomach, which he did not understand.
Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7) Page 3