She rose to her feet, her skirts shifting around her. “Charles Audley, Duke of Orrinshire, I hereby break our engagement and release you from our proposed marriage.”
Charles stood hastily. “What? Frances, you cannot –”
“I can do precisely what I want,” she said curtly, a little fire in her words for the first time since she had entered the billiard room. “Do you question my decision? Do you believe I am unable to make up my own mind? Do you think me blind to the misery I would be committing us to? Do you think I am a monster, to entrap you into a marriage that would bring neither of us joy?”
She glared as Charles bowed his head. “Frances, I…”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them, and then she sighed. “Charles, I am giving you your freedom. The question is, what are you going to do with it?”
She stepped around him, but before she had reached the door, Charles dropped to his knees.
“Frances, marry me!”
It was all he could think to say. The one chance he had to save the only solution to his family’s problems was going to walk out of that room and out of his life forever.
She paused and turned. In her hesitation, she breathed. “Why?”
Charles swallowed. This was the only thing he could think of, and he must ensure he was convincing. The fortunes of his family depended on it.
“You have released me from our engagement,” he said slowly, his knees starting to hurt. “Released me from the engagement that our mothers made. Now I ask you of my own free will. Will you marry me?”
Slowly, she walked toward him, Charles’s heartbeat racing with every inch she came closer.
Delicately, she kissed the top of his head. “No, of course not. Now for the love of God, Charles, go and find the woman you actually love.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Priscilla Seton, come down here this minute! Something has happened!”
Her mother’s voice echoed around the house, and Priscilla turned to look at her bedchamber door. She finished checking her reflection in the looking glass and would have usually made those last-minute changes one makes before descending for breakfast – but her mother’s voice was…
Well. In any other situation, she would have called it anxious. Something had happened?
“Priscilla!”
Dropping her second earbob onto the floor, Priscilla rose. The last time she had heard her mother speak like that was when Mary had her accident. Her blood grew cold as she darted down the corridor, shod only in her stockings, and hurtled down the stairs.
If something had happened to Charles…
Mrs. Seton was standing in the hallway, a newspaper in her hands.
“Is it Charles?” Priscilla panted as she stopped short before her mother. “Is he quite well?”
“No,” said her mother, gravely. “Not at all.”
Priscilla’s heart contracted painfully. He was hurt; something had happened. Why had he not taken greater care, why had he risked himself for what must have been nothing?
“What is it?” She could barely speak the words; the potential answer was so awful. “Tell me, Mother, I cannot bear the suspense. Is he…is he dead?”
Mrs. Seton looked up from the paper in surprise and gave a short laugh. “Dead? My word, nothing so dramatic, Priscilla. You always had a tendency to assume the worst.”
Priscilla attempted to calm her breathing as she glared. “You said something terrible had happened!”
“And so it has, but there are far more terrible things than mere death,” Mrs. Seton said calmly. “Come, let us –”
Priscilla, hardly a patient woman at the best of times, grabbed the newspaper in her mother’s hands, desperately flicking through the pages to find the news which had called her down so quickly.
“Priscilla, are you only wearing one earbob?”
“Mother!” Priscilla said sharply, looking up from the newspaper. “Tell me at once. What is the news about Charles, and why did it warrant such a dramatic entrance?”
Mrs. Seton smiled. “Charles was engaged to a Miss Lloyd, was he not?”
Priscilla could barely breathe. “Was engaged?”
Her mother nodded. “I told you something has happened, although where you have got this ‘terrible’ idea, I know not. No, all there is can be found on page fourteen – a small paragraph, to be sure, but I suppose neither Miss Lloyd nor her family wished for more prominence. There, at the top.”
Priscilla’s fingers were shaking, and she struggled to part the pages of the newspaper. Charles, no longer engaged? It could not be true. She knew better than anyone, just what he was willing to give up to continue his engagement with Miss Lloyd.
If he could give up true love, marriage with the one he truly cared for, what on earth could have broken the engagement?
“I am not surprised, I assure you,” her mother was saying airily, as though she had been party to the news for days rather than a few minutes. “And just two days before the wedding, ’tis truly scandalous! You know, I have not thought young Charles happy of late. I knew it was his engagement, but…”
She continued as Priscilla tried desperately to find page fourteen, but the more she struggled to find the page, the more they seemed to stick together.
It could not be true. However much she had wished for it, her mother must have misunderstood. It was only – what three days, four, since he had told her that despite desperately wishing he could, he would not break off his engagement even for the love he felt for her.
Her heart grew cold. Surely there could not be another lady in his affections? She had never considered that there could be a third.
“ – and I think, really, they would have been most unhappy,” her mother was saying thoughtfully. “I do not know Miss Lloyd well, naturally, but I know her mother. I cannot help but think she and young Charles have such different temperaments, it could never have been a happy marriage. In some ways, this could be seen as a blessing for Miss Lloyd, for I heard…”
The tittle-tattle of town did not interest Priscilla. She had finally managed to force her fingers to find page fourteen, and now her eyes scanned the page, attempting to spot any mention of Charles or Miss Lloyd.
“Top left-hand corner,” said her mother helpfully.
“Thank you,” Priscilla murmured, and she folded back the newspaper.
It comes as a great disappointment to this editor that the news must be shared of a broken engagement – and from the highest nobility in the land. It has been announced that Charles Audley, Duke of Orrinshire, and the Right Honorable Miss Frances Lloyd, so lately engaged and with their nuptials prepared at St. Martins’s for this very Thursday, have decided to part ways. No fault is laid at either door, and no restitution will be required from their party. It is this editor’s hope, however, that a reconciliation can be made between the happy lovers.
Her darting eyes flickered across the short paragraph again. No details, no details! She wanted to know far more than the newspaper could tell her, but they knew as little as she.
…have decided to part ways.
What did that mean? The engagement was broken, to be sure, but it was not clear which of them had decided to end the arrangement.
No fault is laid at either door…
Priscilla swallowed. What on earth had Charles done? Could he have been foolish enough to confess his love for another to Miss Lloyd?
“I don’t know, all these broken engagements, it was simply not done in my day,” her mother said airily. “I cannot think of two engagements in my own time as a debutante that did not continue, and one of them was quite scandalous. The gentleman, if I remember correctly, had believed the young lady…”
Perhaps it had been Frances – Miss Lloyd, who had decided to break the engagement, Priscilla thought wildly. She had said at the Donal wedding that she had no great affection for Charles, after all. Perhaps she had realized, as the wedding approached, that she could not go through with a marriag
e that she did not believe in.
It is this editor’s hope, however, that a reconciliation can be made between the happy lovers.
Priscilla glared at the words. Why hope for that? Not when Charles was free.
The thought made her whole body tingle. Free, free to love her if he wished. Their separation must be true; it was in the newspaper.
Charles was free. He would not be marrying Miss Lloyd the day after tomorrow.
“But then, Miss Lloyd is so young,” Mrs. Seton mused. “She may decide not to marry for a few years, and wait for a few more gentlemen to come out into society – and she has enough of a dowry to wait.”
Priscilla almost dropped the newspaper. She had completely forgotten about the dowry, the reason Charles had refused to break the engagement, despite his great affection for her. The dowry. The Orrinshire estate needed the dowry, or it would fall into ruin.
Here she was, selfish creature, rejoicing that Charles was finally free to love her, to marry her – and she had completely forgotten the reason they could not be together in the first place.
The Orrinshires were ruined. It must have been Frances who had ended their engagement so soon before the wedding.
What was Charles going to do?
“Her dowry is large,” she said eventually, aware her mother was waiting for a response. “Twenty thousand pounds, I have heard.”
Mrs. Seton snorted. “I do not know why you are impressed, Priscilla, you have half that.”
The words did not sink into Priscilla’s ears for a moment. Then she did drop the newspaper.
“Half that?” she said, staring at her mother aghast. “Do not say such things, Mother – I know I have two thousand, and I am grateful for it, but I will not be teased. Not today.”
Tears prickled at the edges of her eyes. Ten thousand pounds – yes, if she had that sum, this entire situation would have been easy to resolve! She could have told Charles, and they could have been engaged these last two weeks.
But her mother was not smiling, a frown crinkling her forehead. “Priscilla,” she said quietly. “Come and sit here with me.”
Mrs. Seton turned and walked into the morning room. Priscilla hesitated and picked up the newspaper from the hallway floor before following her mother.
The older woman had settled herself gracefully into a chair. Priscilla dropped inelegantly into a chair opposite and attempted to fold the newspaper.
“Priscilla, listen to me and listen carefully. How much is your dowry?”
Priscilla looked up from the impossible to fold newspaper, hearing the concern and confusion in her mother’s voice. “Why, two thousand pounds. And I am not ungrateful. It is a large sum.”
Mrs. Seton looked as though she was controlling a very strong emotion. “And how do you know that?”
“I…” Priscilla started to say, but embarrassment crept over her cheeks. “Well, do not be shocked, but I…I overheard you once, talking about it with my Uncle Seton. I was not eavesdropping intentionally,” she said hastily. “I had come downstairs looking for a book, and the door was open, and I…”
Her voice trailed away. She did not expect her mother to be truly angry – it had been so long ago, and it was her own fortune, after all.
Laughter, however, she could never have predicted.
“Oh, Priscilla,” her mother said with a smile. “You were always able to get yourself into scrapes as a child, and here you are, in another one!”
Irritation curled at Priscilla’s heart. “I am not in a scrape!”
“Two thousand pounds,” Mrs. Seton mused. “Well, this explains everything. And I suppose this is what you have told people when they have inquired delicately?”
Priscilla colored slightly. It was not seemly to discuss something as pecuniary as money in good society, but her friends had known, and surely any gentlemen interested in her hand had applied to them for information?
“I suppose so, though indirectly from myself, I assure you,” she said stiffly. “And I do not see what is so funny about that.”
Mrs. Seton was laughing openly now. “Oh, my dear child – not two thousand, but ten thousand! Ten thousand! You must have misheard me when I spoke with my brother-in-law, and of course, I never thought to correct you because I assumed any gentleman interested in your hand would apply to me directly. You have not honestly been going around thinking you were only worth two thousand?”
Priscilla blinked. The words made sense individually, but she could not put them all together. “Ten thousand?” The words came out as a whisper.
Her mother nodded. “You are not quite equal to Miss Lloyd, though, as your mother, I naturally think you far more beautiful than she. But yes, you have half the fortune that Miss Lloyd has – and fortune it is. I remember your father saying, he thought…”
The words continued, but Priscilla’s attention did not.
Ten thousand. She had ten thousand – a huge sum to one who had believed her dowry only a fifth of that.
What had Miss Ashbrooke said? “If he does not marry money soon, the Orrinshire name will be hung over a cottage, not a mansion.”
Her measly two thousand had never felt important. How could she, with two thousand, make any sort of difference to the Orrinshire accounts with such a sum?
But ten thousand – ten thousand pounds. That was a serious sum. Only half what Miss Lloyd could offer, to be sure, but it was something.
Priscilla swallowed. But Charles did not need ten thousand pounds. He needed twenty thousand pounds, perhaps more than that.
He needed Miss Lloyd, and if he had been so foolish as to break off his engagement, or Miss Lloyd had done so, then something had to be done. She would not allow the Orrinshire family to fall into ruin.
“Now, when you are finished with the newspaper, just leave it in here, will you?” Mrs. Seton said with a smile as she rose. “I have not yet read the final few pages, and I do not want Mrs. Busby using it for kindling just yet.”
“Yes, Mother,” Priscilla found herself saying in a dream.
Now the news had settled, she was left with nothing but sadness. Charles had lost her, and now he had lost the funds to save his family. In her wildest dreams, when she had imagined how she would feel when Charles ended his engagement, her heart had focused on joy, relief, love.
The reality was nothing like her imaginings. All she felt was sick. Charles had nothing, no dowry, no wife, and depending on what the gossips of the ton decided, potentially the guilt of jilting poor Miss Lloyd.
This was all her fault. She knew it, as clearly as she knew she loved him. If she had just left well enough alone, allowed him to make his own decisions, then he would be just forty-eight hours from the marriage that would restore the Orrinshire fortunes.
Now he would lose his home, his honor…he would never live this down. Few ladies would consider him a suitor now, knowing that he could end an engagement – one secured through the respectability of mothers, and of long duration – merely days before the blessed event.
Priscilla swallowed. She loved him too much to allow this to happen. There was only one thing she could do.
“Mother,” she called, rising and walking into the hallway. “I am leaving and will not be back before luncheon.”
Her jacket and bonnet were already on before her mother’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Where did you say you were going, Priscilla?”
“I didn’t,” Priscilla shouted back before shutting the front door behind her.
She had a rough idea where Frances and her parents were staying in London, and so when Priscilla ordered the carriage to be brought out, the driver was given an area of London rather than a direct address.
“Are you sure, Miss Priscilla?” Henderson said cautiously.
Priscilla nodded as she pulled herself into the carriage. “And as fast as you can, please.”
For the next twenty minutes, Priscilla had plenty of time to rehearse her words. If only they did not feel so false. She could not sa
y with honesty that she was not overjoyed initially at hearing the news, for instance. That was best left unsaid.
“Here is fine, Henderson,” she said eventually as she recognized a street.
The carriage came to a gentle stop, but the worried face of Henderson peered at her as she descended without waiting for him to open the door.
“You are quite sure you know where you are going, Miss Priscilla? I would hate for your mother to –”
“I will find my own way home,” Priscilla said confidently. “Please return, Henderson, and…and do not tell my mother where you brought me.”
The driver had known her most of her life, seen her grow, and had never been given such wild instructions before.
“Yes’m,” he said with a nod. “But if you have not returned by three o’clock, I shall come back here for you and wait by this corner. Is that agreed?”
Priscilla smiled. “Agreed. Thank you, Henderson.”
She watched the carriage drive away and took a deep breath. Now all she had to do was find them.
Thankfully, it only took accosting an elderly couple and asking politely to be directed to the Lloyd residence for Priscilla to find herself standing outside their front door.
She took a deep breath. What she was about to do was the last thing she could ever have imagined, but she owed it to Charles. She loved him too much to suffer because of her own arrogance, her own desires.
It was perhaps the least selfish thing she would ever do, and she already hated herself for it.
Her knock was swiftly answered by a stern-looking footman. “Yes?”
Priscilla curtseyed. “Good morning. I am here to see Miss Frances Lloyd.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “And you are another one of her visitors?”
She nodded, without taking in his words. After being bowed into the house, she was led down the hallway and into the parlor, where Miss Lloyd was seated by the window.
“Oh, Miss Lloyd, I cannot apologize enough,” she said, rushing into the room and seating herself beside the astonished woman. “I believe I have ruined everything, and I am so sorry. Your…your engagement with Charles is ended?”
Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7) Page 18