Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7)

by Emily E K Murdoch

It was not embarrassment, but it had all the fire of that emotion. It was not fear either, but the way his stomach lurched was similar.

  Priscilla was smiling, and this was a knowing smile he had never seen on her before. Could she possibly tell – God forbid, did she know what he had been thinking?

  Shaking his head as though his ears were full of water, Charles tried to speak. “I-I was…all of this, I mean…you know, th-the…”

  Why couldn’t he speak? He had never been tongue-tied with Priscilla – it was Priscilla!

  “I was not aware,” she said elegantly, cutting through his thoughts, “that there was a dress code. If I had been informed of such, I can assure you I would have carefully stuck to the requirements to the letter.”

  Charles laughed – anything to let the tension out from his lungs. “Damn it, Priscilla, you know you could turn up in a sack for all I care! But my mother – the guests. You must have noticed how they… Today was meant to be about Miss Lloyd!”

  Pink dots appeared in Priscilla’s cheeks, the first sign she had given that she understood her social misstep. But it was not like her to admit defeat. He had learned that long ago.

  “I am not preventing anyone from congratulating Miss Lloyd on her engagement to the Duke of Orrinshire,” she said defiantly. “And I believe congratulations are in order for you, too. We…we have not really discussed it, have we?”

  He hesitated, a prickle of discomfort moving across his shoulder blades. “Is this really the first time that we have talked about it?”

  Surely not. He talked about everything with Priscilla. There had never been anything they had hidden from each other.

  She nodded, and for a moment, her voice was unsteady. “You told me about it months ago, and we laughed. That was it.”

  All the tension and frustration that the day had built in his heart melted as he looked at her. God knows, if he was finding this whole engagement strange and unnatural, Priscilla would feel it, too. She always understood him. Always had, even when no one else had.

  Instinctively, he reached out and took Priscilla’s hand in his.

  In that moment, there was a flash of something between them, a burn, a spark of energy that passed from skin to skin. It was wild, untamed, and soared from his hand through his arm and into his chest.

  Charles dropped her hand as though he had been burned.

  “What you are saying,” Priscilla said, as though she had felt nothing, “is that I am a rival for Miss Frances Lloyd’s attention.”

  Charles’s tongue did not appear to be working. What had happened? Surely she had felt it, too – some strange connection between them, a heat that had naught to do with the weak sunshine.

  “Rival?” he repeated, attempting to get his bearings in the conversation. “I suppose so. Really, Priscilla, you should have known.”

  She smiled and twirled her parasol. “If Miss Lloyd is concerned I am making a scene, then that is something Miss Lloyd can talk to me about. I do not see why you are being sent on her errands, Charles.”

  He rolled his eyes as the scent of rosemary wafted on the breeze. “You always were stubborn, Priscilla.”

  “And you were always concerned about upsetting someone, anyone,” she countered, taking a step forward, so she stood just a few inches away. “It is why you never owned up to scrumping those apples, why you did own up to stealing that ice sculpture at old Axwick’s ball, and why you have been sent to chastise me now.”

  How was it possible that she knew him so well? He always seemed to forget, somehow, that Priscilla was not his sister, she was such a part of his life.

  “And why,” she continued, not taking her blue eyes from him, “you have managed to entrap yourself in an arranged marriage.”

  There was something strange in her voice as she said that, but Charles could not make it out. Was she attempting to say that she wished he had not entered into an arranged marriage? Why would she think such a thing?

  His throat had become dry, but he managed to croak, “You have never protested arranged marriages before. You never condemned mine.”

  Priscilla leaned closer, and he caught her scent and swallowed. There was something…well, if it had been any other woman, he would have said intoxicating about her.

  But this was Priscilla. It could not be.

  “That is because,” she whispered, her gaze unwavering, “I never thought you would actually go through with it.”

  Charles stared, utterly transfixed. Her hand was just an inch from his, and the temptation to take it in his, he knew not why, almost overwhelmed him.

  “Any marriage will not change our friendship,” he murmured.

  Priscilla laughed softly. “But it will, won’t it? Can’t you see, Charles, how it has changed it already? I cannot be seen as a rival for Miss Lloyd’s attention simply by wearing a new gown to a picnic? You…you really believe we will continue to be friends as we always have been once she is your wife?”

  She was so close, so fragile in a way he had never been before. Something in Charles was tempting him to lean forward, to close the gap between them.

  An even louder part of him was shouting that this was Priscilla. Priscilla. She was always there, always a part of his life.

  Charles opened his mouth, unsure what to say but desperate to reassure her.

  “Charles Audley, come here!”

  His head dipped as he sighed. “That is my mother.”

  Priscilla touched her forehead to his. It seemed natural, this closeness, but it brought back that strange, hot lurching feeling in his stomach.

  “You have never been able to say no to her. Off you go,” she breathed. “I will try not to scandalize anyone…”

  Charles’s eyes closed as he breathed in her presence, calming and gentle as always, but then she was gone.

  “Charles Audley, there you are!”

  He opened his eyes to find Priscilla had disappeared, and his mother was barreling toward him.

  “I have never been so disgraced,” she said fiercely. “Really, Charles! Your betrothed is out there, attending her engagement party completely alone! Perhaps you might find it in yourself to go to her?”

  Charles nodded, unable to speak. He followed his mother meekly out of the kitchen gardens and toward the sloping lawns.

  Two figures caught his eye. One was Miss Lloyd, surrounded by a gaggle of well-meaning ladies, pestering her with questions about the wedding, her trousseau, and the flowers.

  The second wore bright blue and stood alone, separate from the entire party, with a blue parasol obscuring her face.

  Charles swallowed down the instinct to ascertain why Priscilla was upset, and how in God’s name, he had managed to do it, but instead, walked toward his betrothed.

  Chapter Four

  Priscilla halted before the large door of Orrinspire Park and took a deep breath. The sun was shining, the rain of the morning had been burnt away, and her strange plan was going far better than she could have ever imagined.

  A smile crept over her face, and she turned to look out at the lawn. Just two days ago, she had been here in that ridiculously bright blue gown with more diamonds and glass than she knew what to do with. Her lady’s maid had turned her nose down at it – garish, she had called her apparel – but it had worked.

  “What you are saying is that I am a rival for Miss Frances Lloyd’s attention.”

  It was wild, scandalous. It was the sort of thing that the daughter of a baker would do, dress in the wildest way to catch the eye of the son of the butcher.

  But she had done it. Priscilla could hardly believe it. She had never been one to push herself forward, usually happy to allow others to get all the attention.

  This was different. If this was a competition, then Charles was the prize, and she was determined to win.

  A light breeze tugged her hair. Turning back to the door, Priscilla hesitated again, and instead of reaching to knock, she reached into her reticule. There was the newspaper cutting she had placed
there only minutes before, but she could not wait to read it again.

  Pulling it out with fumbling fingers, she smoothed it flat and read the type once more.

  Our readers will be scandalized to hear of the outrageous scenes witnessed at the engagement party of Charles Audley, Duke of Orrinshire, and the Honorable Miss Frances Lloyd. The gentility of the guests was assumed based on the social circles of the happy couple, and the dowager duchess cut an elegant figure across the sloping lawns of Orrinspire Park.

  Little was it to be supposed that the gathering would be so rudely interrupted by a young miss who sought nothing but her own good by arriving more properly dressed for the opera than for a picnic in celebration of another lady’s achievement.

  Miss Priscilla Seton was seen in deep discussions with the duke, raising eyebrows and more than a little sympathy for the poor Miss Lloyd, who was forced to wait until her betrothed had finished his tête-à-tête before returning.

  We at the Times are surprised, nay, disappointed that a lady so normally courteous and pleasant would be so wild and radical in such a public setting. Inquiring minds wonder whether there was a gentleman at the engagement picnic that Miss Seton wished to attract – it is too much to suppose she was setting herself up as a rival for the duke’s affections.

  Priscilla almost laughed aloud. Well, she could not help but be a little impressed. The editor of the Times, wherever they had been seated or standing at the picnic two days ago, had evidently seen far more than Charles had!

  Charles had never looked at her that way. She could not complain, really. It had been but a week since she had looked at him and suddenly saw him not for the friend he had been, but the man he was.

  Now she could never go back. What had once been a wonderful friend had become a gentleman of such worth, her heart ached to see him betrothed to another.

  She was not going to lose him to another woman, not after all they had experienced together.

  It took only a few moments to fold up the newspaper cutting, put it back in her reticule, and ensure every hairpin was in place before she knocked on the door.

  When they had been younger, she used a special knock, so Hodges had always known it was her. She had grown out of the habit once she had come out into society, but the temptation was always there, and this time she permitted herself the indulgence.

  Rat-tatatat-rat-rat-rat!

  When the door opened, it was to reveal Hodges, smiling despite his better nature.

  “Good morning, Miss Seton,” he said stiffly. “And how are you this fine day?”

  Priscilla almost took a step back. It was disconcerting, his smiling face not reaching his frigid tones. What was going on? Was she no longer welcome at the house of the Orrinshires?

  “I am very well, Hodges,” she said. “Please let me in. I am in rather a hurry.”

  She stepped forward but had to halt immediately. The butler had not moved.

  “I am sorry, Miss Seton, but His Grace is not at home to visitors.”

  Priscilla blinked. Not at home to visitors? “I do not count as a visitor, Hodges. I am a friend. Let me through, please.”

  She attempted to take another step forward, but once again, the butler did not move.

  “His Grace is not seeing visitors.”

  “Nonsense,” said Priscilla briskly. “I want to see Charles. Step aside, Hodges, I have no wish to hurt you.”

  The butler swallowed, and it was only then Priscilla noticed his discomfort.

  “I shall inquire for you whether –”

  “Hodges, how many years have you known me, and how many times have you seen me prevented from getting my way?” Priscilla shook her head. “Now, out of the way, there’s a good chap.”

  It was perhaps only because of her long-standing friendship with the Audleys that Hodges did not physically prevent her as she pushed open the door to allow herself into the house.

  “That was not too difficult, was it?” she said breezily, removing her bonnet and placing it into the unresisting hands of the butler. “What a rigmarole, Hodges, how ridiculous to –”

  “Good morning, Miss Seton.”

  Priscilla froze. The reason for Hodges’s discomfort was now obvious.

  Taking a deep breath and ensuring that a smile was on her face, she turned around to curtsey deeply to the dowager duchess.

  “Your Grace,” she demurred.

  When she rose, the duchess was looking as though she had stepped in something nasty but was too polite to say anything.

  “We were not expecting you,” the older woman said icily. “What an interesting surprise.”

  Priscilla swallowed down the retort that it was no crime to visit a neighbor, particularly when one was supposed to be friends with that family, but knew it would do no good.

  Lady Audley had never treated her the same since her daughter had died, and Priscilla did not blame her. Who could? She had lost her in the same accident, which had almost claimed Priscilla’s life. The two of them had left the big house that day, and only Priscilla had returned. It was no surprise Lady Audley could barely look at her.

  “What a lovely day,” Priscilla said aloud. The weather? Was she talking about the weather? “I was passing on my way to the village, and I wondered whether Charles would like a walk.”

  Why did her innocent words sound so…well, sordid? She fought the temptation to just leave without him. She was a grown woman, not a child anymore. Lady Audley may have frightened her then, but she did not frighten her now.

  Much.

  The dowager sniffed. “No doubt my son will want to call on Miss Lloyd in town if it is such a pleasant day as you describe. Thank you for calling, Miss Seton, and do give my best regards to your mother when you return home.”

  There was such genteel force in those words that her feet almost started carrying her back out of the door, but before she could move, a voice rang out as a figure descended the stairs.

  “Priscilla! I did not know you were here – fancy a walk to the village? Sunshine looks glorious outside!”

  Charles’s grin faded as he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the expression on his mother’s face. “I-I will just retrieve my coat,” he said. “One moment.”

  It was the most uncomfortable silence between the two ladies as Charles disappeared into the cloakroom. Priscilla averted her eyes from the dowager, sure that if she met her gaze, she would lose all heart and probably just return home.

  Thankfully, it was not more than a minute before Charles had returned, pulling on a dark green coat and matching top hat.

  “You are welcome to join us, of course, Mama,” he said respectfully. “We would be glad of your company, would we not, Priscilla?”

  She nodded, working hard not to smile. She could always rely on Charles to take her side. It was what made them such excellent friends – and what would make them such an excellent couple.

  “Thank you for that warmly extended invitation, Charles, but as I appear to be an afterthought, I will regretfully decline,” said Lady Audley.

  Priscilla wondered how Charles did not freeze to the marble floor as his mother swept past him, undoubtedly glaring for good measure.

  Charles waited until the door was closed behind her, and then let out a long breath. “Not sure how I managed to get myself into that tangle.”

  Priscilla chuckled but kept her voice low. “You always did have a wonderful way with words, Charles. Now come on, the sunshine is perfect for this time of year!”

  As he stepped forward, she looped her arm into his, and they descended the doorsteps together. Priscilla could not help but feel that somehow, she had won a great victory.

  Here she was, walking down the gravel path of Orrinspire Park toward the village, arm in arm with Charles. Where was Miss Lloyd? Forgotten, that was where. How could Charles not see the folly of this engagement?

  “So, how was the picnic after I departed?”

  Charles pulled a face as they stepped out of the gate onto th
e road. “Dull, dull, dull. I mean,” he corrected himself, hastily, “quiet.”

  Priscilla laughed and tightened her grip on his arm. “Is that not the same thing? You do not have to concern yourself with pretending with me. We have known each other for too long. I am just sorry you had to go through it like that. I would never have permitted such a thing – all that formality!”

  “I had to greet what felt like every person of note in London,” groaned Charles. “You cannot imagine, I think I spent three and a half hours standing there like a fool, bowing and scraping to people!”

  “That is what you get for being a duke,” she teased, the road widening as it approached the village. “Do you really think there was a single person left in London? They all wanted to come and gawp at you.”

  He laughed, and she laughed with him, every fiber of her being crying out with happiness. This was how it was supposed to be. Could he not see they were made for each other? Everything just fell into place when they were together.

  “You just wait until it is your own engagement party,” Charles retorted as they stepped onto the pavement – a recent addition to the village paid for by Orrinshire gold. “I will be the one turning up in all my finery and laughing at you!”

  All the joy in her bones disappeared immediately. The thought of her engagement party to another man – and what is more, Charles turning up to see her, undoubtedly with Miss Lloyd on his arm, silenced her.

  But no. She would be the Duchess of Orrinshire then. Charles’s wife.

  He had not noticed her sudden silence. “What a moment that will be, your engagement!”

  Priscilla could have attempted a smile, but she knew it would look false, and said instead, “You assume you will be invited to any of my parties!”

  Charles shook his head. “Friends for all these years, and you are going to cut me from your guest list?”

  Their conversation was halted as a woman approached them with a wicker basket, evidently going to a butcher or baker. The pavement was not wide enough for all three of them, so Charles quickly dropped her arm and stepped into the road, bowing as she passed.

  The woman nodded. “Your Grace.”