Miss Frances Lloyd. The woman he was to marry, but all he could do was think about Priscilla.
The five of them turned another corner, and a woodpecker flew past them, a red, white, and black blur against the gold of the leaves.
What was wrong with him? Why did Priscilla haunt his waking thoughts just as much as his dreams, although admittedly with more clothes on? Why was it so hard to prise his mind away?
“Such a shame Miss Lloyd could not join us,” Priscilla said, her voice cutting through his thoughts.
His stomach lurched. Damn. He had not even thought to invite her to their country walk. He needed to buck up his ideas if he was going to go through with this wedding.
The path turned again, taking them into even denser trees. The coolness was a welcome relief to Charles, too hot and uncomfortable in his greatcoat. All he had to do was stay calm and quiet. The walk would be but an hour, perhaps a little more, and then he could return home, far away from the temptation of Priscilla Seton…
“And how are the wedding plans going?” Miss Worsley asked. “It cannot be long now.”
Just stick to the facts. “No, it is not that far away now. The wedding plans…yes, they are coming along.”
He saw Miss Worsley frown. “Coming along?”
He sighed and pulled at a blackberry, just turning ripe. The tartness of the fruit jolted him awake in a way that nothing else had.
“If I am honest with you, Miss Worsley, I have been leaving the planning of the day to Miss Lloyd and my mother,” he said airily. “I will admit, I am not really involved.”
Was it his imagination, or had Priscilla’s gaze dropped to the woodland floor as he spoke? What did that mean?
“How very wise of you,” said Miss Worsley delicately, apparently not noticing the downcast expression on her friend’s face. “It is, after all, a day for the ladies.”
“I am not sure if I agree, Miss Worsley,” Charles said without thinking. “True, there is more attention focused on the bride and on the mothers of the couple. But surely a wedding day should be about both the bride and the bridegroom. That is what a marriage is for.”
He had spoken without conscious thought and felt a little vulnerable now his sentiments were exposed.
But Miss Worsley did not appear to be aware he had just opened himself in a fresh way. “Yes, but marriage and a wedding are very different things, are they not?”
Charles glanced at Priscilla, whose gaze was still focused on the ground.
He swallowed. This was dangerous territory. He could not be certain that what he said would not eventually get back to the ears of Miss Lloyd – or arguably even worse, his mother.
“The wedding day itself does not interest me,” he said eventually. “It is the marriage that is important. I would rather be focused on deciding on the marriage that I want than the wedding I want.”
Why did his eyes betray him and keep looking at Priscilla? It was impossible to drag his gaze away, and he wished Miss Worsley would catch up with Westray and Harry, who had marched off ahead of them.
Miss Worsley, however, merely nodded. “That is a fair argument, I suppose. And what are your plans for your marriage?”
Charles tried not to sigh aloud. Why did every conversation with ladies end up being about weddings?
“I am far more interested in learning more about you, Miss Worsley,” he said, allowing the Orrinshire charm to come to the surface. “Tell me, have you –”
His voice stopped as they turned around a corner.
A large bull with horns far greater than any Charles had seen before was standing in the middle of the field panting, and its feet tapping at the ground. Just ahead of them stood Lord Westray and Harry, looking mightily uncomfortable. About twenty feet away, leaning against a fence, was a man Charles recognized as a Tanner.
“Goodness!” Priscilla said. “What on earth…”
Charles strode forward. This was his land, after all, and his tenant. Didn’t that make it, in a strange sort of way, his bull?
“Careful, Orrinshire!” Harry said urgently as he passed. “You have no idea what you are doing!”
There was fear in her voice. It was clear both she and Miss Worsley were afraid. Even Westray looked a little uncomfortable, town boy that he was.
The bull stood and watched Charles, but did not move.
Charles sighed as he approached the farmer. He was not afraid – one could not be the master of hundreds of acres and grow up afraid of cattle. But he was intelligent enough to have a healthy respect for animals, especially those who were unsettled.
“Afternoon,” he said breezily, putting out his hand to shake that of the farmer’s. “I must apologize, I cannot remember your name – but you are a Tanner, am I right?”
The farmer doffed his cap and shook hands warily with his landlord. “’Sright. Ben Tanner, old Thomas Tanner’s eldest boy.”
Charles nodded. The Tanners had been tenants of the Orrinshires in their southern holdings time out of mind. They said in the village that instead of their profession giving them their name, it was the Tanners who had named the profession.
“Well, Mr. Tanner,” Charles said. “You seem to have a problem with your bull.”
Mr. Tanner scowled. “’Tis my problem, and I will deal with it, y’lordship.”
Charles hesitated. He was no fool. Evidently, Mr. Tanner was not a ‘loyalist’, as his mother would put it, but he could hardly allow the man to attempt to herd the bull back into its field alone.
“Ben! I thought it was you – how is your mother?”
Charles’s head turned so quickly, he cricked his neck. Priscilla was beaming, walking toward them quickly as she pulled off her jacket.
“Afternoon, Miss Priscilla,” Mr. Tanner said, a smile creeping over his face. “I didn’t see it was you. Ma is well, thank you for asking, and thank your Mistress Busby for that side of beef. It did her good.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Priscilla said airily, reaching them and placing a hand on Charles’s arm. Without saying a word to him, he knew what she intended. She would be able to charm this young farmer in a way Charles never could. “Tell me…”
And charm him she did. Charles watched, amazed, as within two minutes, Mr. Tanner was all smiles, and thanking her and him for the offer of help.
“Orrinshire!”
Charles turned to see Westray, who had crept slowly across the field to join them. “Orrinshire, what is Miss Seton doing?”
Charles smiled at his old friend. “It is just Priscilla. She is interested in people.”
“ – definitely help you,” she was saying to Mr. Tanner. “I am sure Lord Westray will be more than happy to offer his assistance.”
Mr. Tanner frowned. “Well, I thank him for it, but that only makes three of us. Needs four to do it, by rights.”
“That is no trouble,” Priscilla said, unbuttoning her cuffs and rolling up her sleeves. “I will make the fourth.”
Mr. Tanner only laughed for a moment before he caught her gaze.
“I warn you, Mr. Tanner,” said Charles with a grin. “Do not take Priscilla lightly, for she is a force to be reckoned with. You know her far better than you know me, it seems. She will be an asset in this endeavor. Are you ready?”
The farmer hesitated again, but after looking at Priscilla’s determined face, he nodded.
Only then did Charles realize what he volunteered to do. Damn and blast it, the last thing he wanted to do was herd an angry bull!
But Priscilla was already moving around in a wide circle to go behind it, and not only Lord Westray and Mr. Tanner, but Harry and Miss Worsley were all watching.
Taking a deep breath, he followed in Priscilla’s wake but stayed back. Lord Westray mimicked him in the other direction, and Mr. Tanner threw his coat onto the ground before sighing heavily.
“Who would have thought, all these fine ladies and gentlemen helping with you, Big Joe,” he said with a grin. “Come on now. You know you want to be
back in your field.”
Heart pounding, Charles tried not to think too much about the danger he was in. Priscilla should be absolutely nowhere near here, and that thought was enough to turn his lungs to lead.
Slowly, they moved, their square shifting around the field. Big Joe glared and then trotted a little to the right. Charles swallowed. At any moment, this could go very wrong.
Before he knew it, Mr. Tanner was slamming the gate shut behind Big Joe, and Priscilla was laughing with relief.
“Well done,” she said, slapping him on the back. “Well done, Charles!”
Love, pure and unadulterated, seared through him. Charles almost stumbled across the verdant grass as the emotion flooded through him like a dam finally bursting.
He loved her. Priscilla. She was the only one he cared for, and he loved her with a possessiveness that he had never known before.
Damn, damn, and damn! When his mother had insisted that he marry for the good of the family, why hadn’t Priscilla immediately sprung to his mind? Why had he not wanted her, chosen her as his bride?
Why had he allowed this damn foolish arranged marriage, when what he wanted…
“Well, I shall certainly come and see her again after church on Sunday,” Priscilla was saying to Mr. Tanner, who was smiling too much for Charles’s liking. “Tell her that, and tell her I shall bring a batch of chicken soup, too. It did wonders for me just a few days ago. Goodbye then, Mr. Tanner.”
The farmer bowed as she rejoined their party.
“You were so brave!” Miss Worsley squealed, taking her arm as they turned and started to retrace their steps through the woodland toward the church. “How did you –”
“I must say, even I would not have done such a thing, and I am considered pretty fearless,” Harry said a little breathlessly. “What made you do it?”
Priscilla only laughed as she walked ahead with her friends on either side of her. “I grew up here, you must remember! You think that is the first time any livestock has breached its home? I remember, five years ago, when…”
The three ladies walked on, and Lord Westray slapped Charles on the back with a heavy sigh.
“The next time you ask me to come on a country walk,” he said with a grin, “I will decline. Damnit, Orrinshire, I almost lost my breakfast for a moment there. You look mighty unwell, too, come to that. Anything wrong?”
Charles swallowed as he pushed back a branch that was growing over the path. “I…I am falling in love, Westray.”
It felt strange saying the words aloud. He had only minutes before understood his own feelings, and sharing them with another felt…odd.
But he had to say it. He had to tell someone.
“That is fantastic,” Westray said enthusiastically.
Charles sighed heavily. “With Priscilla Seton.”
The smile disappeared from his friend’s face. “Ah. Not as fantastic as I originally thought. Damnation, Orrinshire, you are weeks away from your wedding! The last thing poor Miss Lloyd needs is a rival to her affections. What are you doing to do now?”
Charles’s gaze watched the form of Priscilla Seton. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Chapter Eight
Priscilla smiled nervously at Hodges as he shut the door behind her. “Good evening, Hodges.”
The servant nodded serenely. “Good evening, Miss Seton, and I may take this opportunity to congratulate you?”
She stared as he took her coat and gloves. It was a cold evening, so cold she had almost stayed at home.
But she could not. Once her mind had been made up, she had to venture into the night, walk across the Orrinspire Park, and come and see him.
Her heart was thumping so loudly she was certain the butler could hear it. “Congratulate me?”
Hodges smoothed a crease in her coat. “Yes, I heard from a Mr. Thomas Tanner that you were of material help to his son, Benjamin, a few days ago. Something about an escaped bull, or that was the story told in the Red Lion last night.”
Priscilla smiled. “I wondered how long it would take for the news to get around the village. Yes, a bull. His Grace and a friend of his, Lord Westray, also assisted.”
Hodges raised an eyebrow. “Well, His Grace never ceases to amaze me. I assume that it is he upon whom you have come to call?”
She hesitated. This was it, the last moment she had before she could escape Orrinspire Park with her dignity intact.
Was this the right decision? It had felt right when she had shouted down the passageway to her mother that she was visiting Charles, and her mother, naïve as she was, had evidently not thought a thing of it.
Ever since that woodland walk, she had been unable to think of anything else. Her mind had been consumed with Charles like never before, but it was tinged with thoughts of another.
Miss Frances Lloyd. This rivalry, as she had called it when they had spoken at the Donal wedding. It had all been for a most excellent cause, and at the time, she had thought herself…well, clever.
She had not seen Miss Lloyd since and had continued her antics, assuming that she had not changed her mind. Even if she did, would Priscilla stop in her pursuit of the one man she knew she…
Priscilla bit her lip as the butler waited. All she had wanted was for Charles to see her differently, to realize that he had a choice between her and Miss Lloyd. How could he, if he did not even know that she was entered in the race and was determined to win?
She swallowed, tasting the indecision in the back of her throat like bile. What was she doing? Would she regret this night?
Her fingers tightened around the book she had brought for the task. The leather felt smooth under her palms, and it was this grounding to reality that helped her speak.
“Yes,” she said far more firmly than she felt. “Charles. Is he here?”
“The master is at home,” the butler said slowly. “But…’tis a little late to call, Miss Seton, if you do not consider me impertinent in saying so.”
Priscilla raised the book like a small shield. “I found this in our library and knew immediately it did not belong there and wanted to bring it back where it belonged.”
The servant was looking a little taken aback. “My goodness, Miss Seton, I had no idea that you were a great reader.”
Priscilla swallowed. This was all going wrong. All she had wanted to do was come in and see Charles, and…well. See if she had the nerve.
“Thank you, in any case, for bringing back an Orrinshire book,” Hodges said, reaching for it.
She pulled it into her chest, protectively. “I want to give it back to Charles. He is the owner of the book, after all.”
There it was again, another raised eyebrow from Hodges. “You do not trust me, Miss Seton?”
Was it possible to feel any more wretched? But she would not get another chance like this, and she was determined. She would see him alone.
“It is not that, Hodges, you know that,” she said quietly. “It is…I feel honor-bound to place it into his hands. For all I know, this is a very important book.”
Hodges smiled. “Prodromus Florae Novae Hollandiae et Insulae Van Diemen, I see.”
Priscilla flushed. Blast it, but of course, it was the most boring book to have ever been printed. “And Charles is…?”
She allowed her question to linger, her face a picture of innocent questioning.
The butler sighed. “In the drawing room. As soon as I have put away your coat and gloves, I will take you to –”
“No need, Hodges,” Priscilla said, darting around him. “Fear not, I know the way. I have known this house for as long as I can remember.”
As Priscilla walked toward the west corridor, she looked up as she always did at the painting that never failed to avoid her eye.
Mary. Lady Mary Audley, even at the tender age of eleven showing all the beauty of her mother that promised would blossom within a few short years. Gone now, of course. A flower that never bloomed.
She was brimming with emotion as
it was. The last thing she needed was to lose herself in recollections of Mary, of what could have been.
It had always been she and Mary against the world, and Charles when he was back from school. Strange to think that it had been Mary’s death, really, that had brought them together.
She passed a number of other family portraits, as familiar to her as Mary’s, along with a Rembrant and two Gainsboroughs. Only the best for the Orrinshires, Lady Audley had always said, and Priscilla smiled to think how in awe of her she had been as a child.
And then she was outside the drawing room door. Without ceremony, she opened it and walked in.
“Charles, I thought I would – oh!”
Priscilla’s eyes widened at the scene before her, the drawing room was lit by a blazing fire and several candles, and there on the settee was Charles without a jacket, without a waistcoat, and with a shirt unbuttoned to his navel.
“Charles,” she breathed. Closing the door behind her, she was grateful for the heat in the room that colored her face, removing any potential questions about why her cheeks were so red.
To think, he was just sitting here, almost…her mind could not even think of the words. When was the last time she had – she had never, never seen him so dishabille, and it was obvious by the growing smile on his face that he was enjoying her disquiet.
“Hello,” he said with a grin, sitting up slightly but not bothering to button his shirt. “This is a little late, isn’t it? Was I expecting you?”
Priscilla shook her head mutely. There was something so wildly intimate about being in this room with him after dark and….
Without saying a word, she held out the book. Where had her tongue disappeared to?
Charles sat up properly now, his hair tousled, and leaned forward to take the book. Priscilla was careful to position her fingers so it was almost impossible for their hands to touch.
“And to think, I never even noticed that it was missing!” Charles opened the cover and examined the title page. “Goodness, and who knows how long it would have taken before I noticed.”
Priscilla nodded, tongue still mute. What had she been thinking? All afternoon, she had planned the perfect speech, explained everything to him in a way he would understand, perhaps even agree with.
Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7) Page 8