Charles glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner and saw to his astonishment that it was a quarter to eleven.
“So would I,” he said honestly. “But I overslept, and have only just come down.”
Even just hinting at the reason why he was late for breakfast seemed scandalous, and he was forced to push down a little panic. If she could have known what he had been up to last night…
Heaven forbid.
“Besides, many of my acquaintances had decided to stay in the country, and so my circle was much reduced,” continued his mother, now spreading Dundee marmalade on a piece of toast. “It is so tiresome speaking to the same five people over a weekend, do you not think?”
“Hmm,” said Charles, not trusting his voice. There were two footmen in the room, one standing by the door, one ensuring the food was piping hot. It would be impossible to speak plainly before them.
Not that it would be easy to speak plainly to his mother.
“And of course, there is so much to prepare for the wedding,” Lady Audley continued, smiling at her son. “I had no wish to leave you to face it alone, now that we are only a few weeks away. The final touches must be prepared.”
Charles reached for a cup of tea and swallowed the scalding liquid. His mother had given him the perfect opening. All he had to do now was steel himself for the discomfort of the conversation.
Perhaps it was like lancing a boil. Agony at the time, but relief when it was over. “Mama,” he said awkwardly. “I need to speak to you about that.”
Placing down her knife and taking another bite of her toast and marmalade, Lady Audley peered at him carefully until she had swallowed.
“So,” she said with a smile. “You have finally decided between white and cream for the napkins. Excellent.”
Charles hesitated. A quick look at the footmen and a jerk of his head was all that was needed for them to bow and stiffly walk to the door, closing it carefully behind them.
Lady Audley raised an eyebrow. “Well, I cannot think why your choice of linens must be a great secret! Do you disagree with Hodges? Have you fallen out with him? You know how he carries on if he doesn’t get his own way.”
Charles took a deep breath. “I wish to end the engagement.”
For a moment, he was not entirely sure whether his mother had heard him. She blinked, took a large sip of tea, and then sighed.
“Well, I suppose we must, if you insist. But I have to say, he has been a very good butler over the years, and I had rather thought we would keep him for another few years and then pension him off. Poor Hodges. You really disagreed about those napkins, didn’t you?”
Charles glanced at the door and almost laughed; it was so ludicrous. Why was this so difficult? Had anyone had to have such a meandering conversation with their mother to end an engagement?
“No, not Hodges. My engagement to be married to Miss Lloyd,” he said stiffly. “I wish to break it.”
His mother’s mouth opened, and she placed her cup of tea down carefully before retorting, “Well, now I see why you wished the footmen to leave before our little tête-à-tête!”
Her expression was stern, and Charles knew he had but moments to explain himself before a tirade he would be unable to resist would come crashing down on him.
“I have thought about this carefully,” he said hastily, “and I believe it to be the best option – not just for myself, but for Miss Lloyd, too.”
“And what about the family?” Lady Audley snapped.
Charles smiled weakly. “We are all that is left! We are the family!”
“No, we are not.” His mother glared, transporting him back to the times when he was a young boy, caught in mischief. “We are the members of the family currently alive, true, but it is much more than that. I am talking of the family name, our honor, reputation. Have you considered that?”
Charles leaned back in his chair and tried to calm his temper. He knew that duty and responsibility would be thrust at him, but surely that could not be a reason to marry a woman one did not love?
“And why exactly would not marrying Miss Lloyd be difficult for the family name?”
If he could believe his own eyes, he would have said that his mother refused to meet his gaze.
In any case, she stared at her teacup as she spoke. “A broken engagement always looks bad on a family name.”
Charles laughed dryly. “Mama, it happens all the time! The society pages would be empty if there were not broken engagements and changes of heart to document!”
“Not in this family,” she retorted. “Not a single Orrinshire.”
“So, because, by sheer chance, it has not occurred in our family before, you will force me to marry a woman I do not love?” Charles could feel the desperation in his voice and knew his mother heard it, too.
She smiled sadly as she beheld him. “Love? Love. You think love is vital for a marriage, you think it cannot continue without it? Goodness, my boy, trust me – if that were true, most of the royal and noble houses would have died out years ago. My word, love!”
Until that moment, Charles had been relatively sure he would have been able to get his words out coherently, but this…
“Well, I thank you for your counsel, Mama,” he said calmly. “But I am of age. I do not require your permission, but I did seek your approval. I will speak with Miss Lloyd and her father this afternoon.”
But Lady Audley was shaking her head. “You may be of age, son, but you know precious little about the world. Almost all the dowry has been paid, and we need that money. The invitations have been sent. Guests even now are confirming their choice of salmon or game. You think you can just stop a ship when it is about to make port?”
“Those are details,” Charles said, waving a hand airily. “Details can be changed.”
“Oh, you think so?” Lady Audley smiled, and there was real affection in there – but also a little pity. “Charles, you do not even know what preparations have been made. How would you cancel them without help?”
He swallowed. It was impossible not to feel a little foolish at his mother’s words. If he had been involved in the first place, then he would have an idea of what had been paid and how to cancel the damn things.
She was watching him, and there was sadness playing around the expression on her face. “You are not the only one to enter an arranged marriage without…without your heart fully in it, but I must press upon you how difficult it would be to untangle all of this. Two weeks’ time is very little. And…and the estate needs that dowry.”
Charles shrugged. “Money can be found – I never keep much of an eye on the finances, I leave that to –”
“Me,” said Lady Audley sharply. “Perhaps you should write to the bank and ask for a few more details. I think it would change your mind, my boy, and show you a little more reality than you are ready for. Charles, wherever this fancy has come from, I beg you to leave it alone. Are you willing to go against all our plans, the agreement of your marriage, losing the dowry, all for nothing?”
“It is not for nothing – it is for Priscilla,” were the words he wanted to say, but he was wise enough to halt them before they reached his tongue. He knew how his mother felt about her.
Priscilla. Even the mere thought of her was enough to put a smile on his face. She brought him such joy, and at this moment, she brought him courage.
“I will write to the bank,” he said aloud. “And then we will end the engagement with Miss Lloyd.”
Chapter Twelve
Priscilla sipped the coffee, attempting not to burn her tongue. She failed, the scalding liquid pinching the tip of her tongue, and she quickly returned the cup to the ornate table.
She had never grown to love the taste of coffee. Tea, any leaf and at any time, was her preference. Coffee was starting to lose favor in London, but one could still hardly move for coffee houses, usually packed to the rafters with the fashionable and the elite, everyone raving about the intensity of the flavor.
Priscilla peered into her cup. She did not see the attraction.
She looked around the coffee house and smiled.
Her gaze meandered over the other visitors. In one corner, three giggling girls, almost certainly not yet out, sharing tidbits of gossip their mothers had overheard. Beside them, two gentlemen, wearing the restrictive clothing and dour expressions of solicitors. On the other side of the room, a family group, seemingly meeting for the first time this season.
Charles’ letter had said meet him at two o’clock very clearly, and she had arrived here at ten to the hour just to be on the safe side. The idea that she could miss him, that he might think she had refused to come…
But now she was the one waiting alone. It was twenty past two now, according to the large clock over the counter.
For a person who often berated her about her timekeeping, Charles was unbearably late, but she could not be frustrated with him, not really. Not when she loved him, and he loved her, and they had shared so much of themselves with each other.
Everything. She had shared everything with him.
The door of the coffee house jangled, and as Priscilla glanced toward it, she relaxed.
There he was. Charles Audley, Duke of Orrinshire. He looked even more handsome than the last time she had seen him, and her cheeks crimsoned.
Fighting down the impulse to wave – not a ladylike behavior that she could display in public – Priscilla twisted her hands together in her lap. She had never believed in the phrase ‘heart singing’ before. It had sounded like nonsense whenever she had read it in one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.
Her heart was singing now. There he was, her betrothed, the gentleman with whom she would be spending the rest of her life – even if no one else knew it.
Charles was all hers, and she wanted to keep him that way.
He had not spotted her. Looking around, his hair ruffled from the wind, his shoulders seemed to slump with disappointment.
Priscilla’s heart sank. Did he think she had not kept to her word?
Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to push his way past people toward the counter, and a short conversation with the owner, a plump man with the most incredible moustache, pointed Charles in the right direction.
He turned, and as their eyes met, Priscilla almost melted. There was no one like him, and he was all hers.
It took almost a full minute for Charles to push his way through the patrons of Morgan and Fenning’s, and by the time he arrived, he was a little out of breath.
“Priscilla,” he managed, almost knocking over a chair.
She fought down the instinct to throw herself into his arms as she stood. That would not do. Creating a scandal right here, in the center of town, was not a wise decision.
Dropping instead into a low curtsey, Priscilla knew it would not be long before she could become totally lost in his embrace, his lips on –
No, she must be restrained.
“I almost thought you were not coming,” she said as they took their seats at the table. “I am sorry, I ordered the coffee when I arrived, but it may be cool enough for you to enjoy now.”
She had expected him to laugh, to agree that coffee drunk scalding hot was no different from pouring boiling water down one’s throat.
Instead, he smiled wryly. “My horse threw a shoe as I was leaving Orrinspire Park. I was only half a mile down the drive and had to gently lead him back to the stables and saddle up another horse.”
Priscilla nodded and murmured, “Of course, I completely understand.”
And she did – it was something of a relief, in truth, to hear such a believable excuse. A part of her she had attempted to ignore for the last twenty minutes had whispered that he had changed his mind. Not just that he was not coming, but that he had decided to keep his engagement with Miss Lloyd.
Foolish, she thought to herself. Do you really think Charles – Charles! – would break his promise to you? He is not so dishonorable that he would ravish you, take your innocence, and then simply leave you by the wayside as he trotted up the aisle with Miss Lloyd!
“I ordered a few cakes, also,” she said aloud, desperate to fill the strange silence between them. “I hope you do not mind.”
Why was there such an air of discomfort between them? Is it because the last time they had seen each other, neither of them had been wearing any clothes?
“Touch me, Priscilla. Do what you want with me.”
To cover the heat in her cheeks, Priscilla lifted up her cup and took another scalding sip. It still tasted bitter, burning the tip of her tongue again.
Charles did not seem to notice the heat of the beverage, throwing half of his cup down his throat and picking up a slice of fruit cake.
“And how are you, Miss Seton?” he asked stiffly.
Priscilla almost laughed, almost leaned over and tapped him on the hand for being so overly polite. Miss Seton? She could not recall the last time he had called her Miss Seton!
The giggle of the girls in the corner floated across the room, and Priscilla remembered herself. They were in public, and on the off chance someone did overhear them, it was best to keep to formal greetings, at the very least. Some elements of decorum must be retained.
“Very well, thank you, Your Grace,” she returned, a smile dancing on her cheeks. “And yourself?”
“I am well, thank you.”
And that was his entire response. Charles did not even meet her gaze, staring instead into the depths of his cup. He took another gulp of coffee, almost draining it.
A thousand and one questions rose in Priscilla’s heart. How did he feel after they had made love? Did he forgive her for leaving him to sleep? Had he spoken to his mother? Did any servant suspect? What had Miss Lloyd said when he had broken off the engagement?
Each and every question she forced down. They would have the rest of their lives to talk, every day of their future to ask questions and discover exactly how it was that these days unfurled. She did not have to barrage him with questions now.
Now it was just important to be together.
Leaning across the table, she took his hand in hers, feeling the strength in his fingers.
“And when do you want to announce it?”
Instead of answering immediately, Charles pulled his hand away, placing both of them in his lap. “Announce what?”
Priscilla hardly knew what to say. She pulled her hands quickly back into her own lap, ashamed of her forthrightness.
“You…you do not wish to hold my hand?” Her question was whispered, and at first, she was not sure whether Charles had heard it over the noise of the coffee house.
His gaze was still focused on his nearly empty cup. “It is…it is not as simple as that.”
Not as simple as – Priscilla opened her mouth to retort, but Charles cut across her.
“Anyone could be here, anyone could see,” he breathed. “Anyone could whisper about what they have seen, and before you know it, the gossip is all over town. Is that what you want?”
His words rang true, but his tone was cold, distant.
Priscilla twisted her fingers in her lap. “No,” she said, feeling admonished.
Looking around the coffee house, she spotted Mrs. Bryant, the notorious gossip and columnist for one of the London newspapers, sipping her coffee as an acquaintance gabbled away.
Grudging acceptance of Charles’s words filled her heart. If Mrs. Bryant saw the two of them holding hands, then the entire world would know their feelings within twenty-four hours.
“I take your point,” she said quietly. “But I still wish to know when we will announce our engagement.”
Was it her imagination, or did Charles’s shoulders slump a little lower at her words?
“’Tis not that simple.”
Ice dropped down Priscilla’s throat. Those words…they could not mean what they sounded like.
“I beg your pardon?” she said coldly. It was all she could do to prevent panic seeping into her tones.
She did not want Charles to think she did not trust him – but why would he say something like that?
He had not looked up from his coffee cup, nor said a word.
“Why would it not be that simple?” she asked, her voice low but urgent. “Charles, we…we love each other. We both know it. You cannot go ahead and marry Frances – Miss Lloyd, I mean, knowing how we feel about each other.”
Charles twisted the cup around, moving the handle between each hand. He said nothing.
“We will be married, and that is an end to it.”
Only then did a twisted smile move across Charles’s cheeks, and he looked up. “Do not worry yourself, Priscilla. I am not going to break my promise to you. I told you the truth when I said that engagements could be broken, and I meant it when I said I…I loved you.”
A waiter meandered to their table. “Another pot of coffee, sir, miss?”
“No, thank you,” she said, smiling. “We are quite happy with what we have.”
The waiter bowed and moved on to the next table.
“Do not worry yourself, Priscilla. I am not going to break my promise to you.”
“But Charles,” she said slowly, “you say you keep your promises, and I believe you. But what about your promises to Miss Lloyd?”
“That is different,” he said nonchalantly, devouring the last of the fruit cake.
Priscilla’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
If Charles had a fault, and she had to really force herself to think this way, then it was his ability to be overridden by the person he was speaking to at the moment.
He was not weak. Principles he would stand behind until death. But his mother…
Priscilla bit her lip. She had taken a terrible risk when she had made love to him. How could it make much difference, allowing yourself to succumb to desire a few weeks before your wedding rather than a few hours after?
That had not been in doubt when she had been sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they would wed. Now she felt reckless. What had she been thinking?
“The promises I made to you were real, from a place of love, of devotion,” said Charles quietly. His blue eyes seared into hers. “Without coercion. I do not think I even proposed to Miss Lloyd. Our mothers decided, and that was it. The promises are incomparable.”
Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7) Page 12