Miss Lloyd blinked, evidently shocked at the sudden appearance of her rival. “Why, yes.”
Priscilla’s heart sank. She had ruined everything, but she would make it right. “Miss Lloyd, you – you have to marry him!”
Miss Lloyd said nothing, but her gaze shifted from Priscilla’s face to something beyond her. There was a giggle.
Priscilla turned around slowly to see Miss Ashbrooke standing just behind the door, a smile on her face.
So eager to speak with Miss Lloyd, she had hurtled into the room and not even considered the footman’s words. Another one of her visitors.
“Please do not concern yourself, Miss Seton,” Miss Ashbrooke said briskly. “You did not say anything I did not know already.”
She had not believed it possible to be even more embarrassed, but the matchmaker’s words made her stomach twist. Why did she have to be so…so readable, so easily understood, even by strangers?
But this was not the time to agonize over her own feelings. She had to make things right.
“Miss Lloyd,” she said, turning back to her. “Please, renew your engagement with Charles. He broke it in a fit of madness, I am sure, and he would never do so again. You must ask him to take you back. He – he needs you.”
Miss Lloyd stared as though Priscilla was possessed. “It was not Charles who broke the engagement, but me.”
Shock and confusion flooded through Priscilla. “You – you broke the engagement?”
The door to the hallway opened, as presumably, a footman brought in tea.
Miss Ashbrooke laughed dryly as she stepped across the room to stand by Miss Lloyd. “Of course! He was a ruffian, really, for all his grand titles. In hindsight, I believe Miss Lloyd deserved better. It is the only match I have ever made, which has not come off, but in truth, I will be glad to see the back of him. I will certainly not be recommending any eligible and wealthy young ladies in his direction!”
Priscilla’s emotions had been pulled taut all morning, and she had just about had enough of this. Hearing Charles was no longer engaged, hoping it had been broken for her, realizing her selfishness, discovering her own fortune was five times what she had expected, knowing she would have to beg Miss Lloyd to forgive Charles for breaking their engagement – and now hearing that it had been she who had broken it, and Miss Ashbrooke thought Charles worthless?
“Charles is not bookish, certainly,” she said, fire in her words, “but he is honorable, kind, and handsome! He is everything any young lady would wish to find in her future husband, and…and he makes me laugh. He makes me feel safe, cared for, and that was before – I mean, he is the best person I know! Miss Lloyd, he was so honorable that he decided to marry you despite the fact that…”
Her voice trailed away. This was not, perhaps, the best way to defend Charles after all.
“I know no ill of him,” she said finally. “I have known him all my life, and he has never done anything of which I was ashamed.”
Miss Ashbrooke was smiling now, and it was a knowing smile that made Priscilla think most unladylike thoughts about pins and hot needles. “Why, with a passionate defense like that, one would almost think you were in love with him yourself.”
Miss Lloyd smiled. “Why, she is, of course.”
Heat rushed through Priscilla’s body. “What – no, I…Charles and I have…I do not think that…” Her words eventually trailed into silence. “Is there any point in attempting to deny it? Yes, I love him. More than anything. More than my very life, but that is not important.”
“Oh, I think it is,” Miss Lloyd said quietly.
She looked so calm despite her engagement ending mere days before her wedding, and Priscilla found herself irrationally annoyed at the woman.
“And why is that?” she snapped.
“Because that was exactly what he needed to hear.”
Priscilla’s blood, hot and furious, froze that very second. She shifted in her chair, slowly turning to look behind her.
It had not been a footman who had entered just as she had started to speak about Charles.
It was Charles himself.
Chapter Nineteen
Charles stared. The whole world had stopped, so how was it possible that his heart was still beating? Why was his pulse throbbing in his hands, beating in his ears?
Nothing else moved. Nothing else made a sound.
Is it possible? He could not take his eyes away from Priscilla, whose words still echoed in his mind.
“Charles is not bookish, certainly, but he is honorable, kind, and handsome! He is everything any young lady would wish to find in her future husband, and…and he makes me laugh.”
Had she meant it? Where had those words come from, spoken so fiercely in his defense?
Miss Lloyd and Miss Ashbrooke were watching him closely, but they faded into the background as he looked at Priscilla. She had spoken up for him when all he had done was confuse her, tempt her with the perfect future, and then tear it away.
“Is there any point in attempting to deny it? Yes, I…I love him. More than anything. More than my very life, but that is not important.”
She loved him. More than that, she knew him; knew all his faults, failures, mistakes, and yet still chose to love him.
Despite everything that had happened. Despite all he had done to her. Despite how he had hurt her, how he had not trusted in her, or believed that together, they could face anything.
She loved him, still.
There was a cough. The sound cracked the world, and Charles blinked. The room came into focus, and so did Miss Ashbrooke’s knowing smile and Miss Lloyd’s beaming joy.
Between them was Priscilla. Her bonnet was askew, she was only wearing one earbob, and there was shock on her beautiful face. She was everything he wanted. Everything.
He cleared his throat, unsure whether the words he wanted to speak would make sense. How could he possibly put his emotions, swirling and conflicting as they were, into sentences?
“Wh-what?” was all he managed on a first attempt. After clearing his throat again, he spoke distinctly. “What are you doing here?”
Priscilla appeared to be just as surprised to see him. “You – here?”
Before Charles could answer or receive an answer himself, Frances spoke. “You know, Priscilla, our conversation at the Donal wedding gave me much to think about.”
Priscilla’s head turned. “It did?”
Frances nodded. “I realized that simply marrying Charles – Your Grace, I mean – because it had been agreed between our mothers was foolish. Nay, barbaric. This is England! We hardly live in the time of savages, and it is down to us to decide our fates. And so I wrote to Miss Ashbrooke.”
Charles looked at the matchmaker. “You did?”
What on earth was his mother going to say about all of this? He could not imagine that she was going to be pleased that the family fortunes were no longer to be rescued.
“She did,” Miss Ashbrooke nodded. “After speaking with Miss Lloyd, and speaking with Miss Seton, too, though she probably was not aware of my purpose –”
“Morgan and Fenning! Turning up for all that cake and nonsense!” Priscilla looked outraged. “Were you…you were spying on me!”
“Now, spying is such a harsh word,” said Miss Ashbrooke, seating herself beside Miss Lloyd. “’Tis a very unladylike term, and I have no wish to hear you say it again. I was speaking with you and working to ascertain your true feelings. They became clear to me at once.”
Charles watched as Priscilla’s cheeks pinked. “They did?”
Frances smiled. “Why, Miss Seton, after we agreed to a rivalry so you could win His Grace’s heart, it was very obvious to me that there was little point in considering my engagement continuing. It was clear to me, and I will admit that the two of you were meant to be together.”
“Never have I seen a more perfect match,” said Miss Ashbrooke quietly. “Never have I made a better one.”
“You?” Charles burst out,
finally able to concentrate enough to speak. “You have – I did not think you…”
His voice trailed away, but thankfully Priscilla was able to continue with far more coherence.
“You have not made a match between us at all,” she said, looking between the two ladies. “Charles and I have acted independently, without input nor instruction from either of you.”
“Of course you have,” Miss Ashbrooke said soothingly. “And an excellent job you have done, I must say, for amateurs.”
Charles almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. His betrothed and the woman who had orchestrated their betrothal, working together to break them apart and push him in the direction of a lady he had not even realized he was in love with?
“’Tis not as sinister as it sounds, I assure you,” said Miss Lloyd. “We decided merely that where we could, we would push you together. It turns out that the two of you needed very little encouragement.”
He swallowed and caught the gaze of Priscilla. She looked as incredulous as he felt.
“Look, just answer me this,” he said finally. “I am aware now of three plots to have me wed. Firstly, Miss Ashbrooke agreed with Mrs. Lloyd that I would marry her daughter. Secondly,” he counted off on his fingers, “Miss Lloyd and Miss Seton agreed that Priscilla would set herself up as a rival to tempt me away from Miss Lloyd. Now you are telling me that Miss Lloyd then agreed with Miss Ashbrooke to encourage me further toward Priscilla. Are there any other secret plans in this room?”
Frances laughed, and Miss Ashbrooke rolled her eyes and said, “Now, really, Your Grace!”
But Charles was not looking at them. He was watching Priscilla. She was holding back. What was it she wanted to say, but could not before Miss Ashbrooke or Miss Lloyd?
Whatever it was, it was time to find out. He reached out a hand, and she took it.
“Come with me,” he said softly.
He would have said more if needed, but he knew Priscilla. She nodded without hearing another word.
Her hand felt warm in his, and his whole being was focused on it so much that he almost forgot to take proper leave.
“Miss Lloyd, Miss Ashbrooke, I remain your humble servant,” he said with a quick bow. Then he and Priscilla were in the corridor, through the door, and standing on the street in the morning air.
Cheeks still flushed, she looked at him through dark eyelashes. She was his, Charles knew that. He knew it was a terrible decision for the family and one that his mother would certainly not agree with. Abandoning one woman with twenty thousand to wed another with merely two was madness. But he was of age, and so was she. He chose happiness, not duty.
Not caring a whit precisely where he was going, he pulled her arm into his and started walking down the street. She kept pace with him and mirrored his silence.
After five minutes of fast walking, Charles saw what he was looking for. At the very last moment, when they passed the entrance to the alleyway, he sidestepped and pulled Priscilla in with him.
“Charles, what –”
She had cried out in surprise, but it had not lasted long. Not now, Charles had pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately.
In that first instant, Priscilla resisted him, squirming in his arms and pulling away – but by the next moment, she was melting into his arms and returning his fiery kisses with just as much ardor.
Charles could not care what was happening in the world. Debts? Responsibilities? Mortgages? What did they matter, when Priscilla was in his arms? When she was against his chest, her tongue teasing his own, her fingers wrapped in his hair?
He could have spent hours there, lost in her embrace, feeling, not thinking, but after a few minutes, Priscilla pulled away.
“No.”
Charles smiled. “No?”
“No, Charles,” she said, a little more firmly this time. “No, we cannot just fall into this again, it is not right! You need to find a bride.”
“What if I want to keep kissing you?” he growled. After so much pain, after being separated so long by his own idiocy, he was not going to let go of her now. “What if I want you more than anything in this world?”
“I am not saying that I have no wish to kiss you, Charles, but – come now, we must speak first! You are not engaged to Frances any longer.”
It was more a statement than a question, and Charles was so full of joy he could not help but reply with cheek. “No, I am not. Are you?”
His heart was singing. His soul was free, and the burden of restoring the financial fortunes of his family had disappeared. He had not even noticed how slumped his shoulders had been for the last few months.
Now they were light, and his teasing nature resurfaced. “You love me after all that has happened. I want to kiss you, and you wish to kiss me. I see no problem.”
He leaned closer to capture her lips again, but Priscilla leaned back, laughing. “You are teasing me!”
Her cheeks were pink, but her smile remained. “Yes, but only because I love you. ’Tis a terrible thing, to tease a lady one is not besotted with. Do you love me?”
Priscilla sighed. “Everything I have done has been because I love you, Charles. How can you doubt that?”
“I never doubted it, but I do not believe I allowed my heart to understand it,” he murmured, becoming a little more serious. “Damnit, Priscilla, I cannot even explain to you the surge of emotions and the depths of despair I have experienced these last few days. I never wanted you to think less of me, but…”
“Think less of you?” There was a fierceness to her tone now, though she kept her voice quiet. “I do not believe you could do anything to make me think less of you!”
“Breaking the engagement – or rather, not breaking it,” he said, luxuriating in the feeling of her in his arms. “I was frightened, I admit it, of the negative repercussions of breaking off the agreement I had with Miss Lloyd. I should have trusted my feelings, trusted you. All of this pain and uncertainty could have been avoided.”
Priscilla nodded. “Yes, I suppose so. But you would not have been the caring, conscientious man I knew. That I loved.”
“Nevertheless, I should not have allowed that fear to overcome me,” said Charles heavily. He would never forget how easily he was overwhelmed by it. He would never allow himself to be so easily swayed again. “I had you, and I almost lost you. I am sorry, Priscilla. Can you ever forgive me?”
She replied with a swift kiss, one that simply did not continue long enough. Charles groaned as she pulled away, and she smiled.
“If we are going to take turns to make confessions, then I suppose it is my turn,” she said. “I admit, I became a little swept up into the idea of being Miss Lloyd’s rival. I should have thought more about you. What you wanted. Your commitments and responsibilities.”
Charles smiled. “That is all in the past.”
“Still, I wish to absolve myself,” said Priscilla seriously. “I thought…well, that I needed to be impressive, decadent. Something more than myself, to make sure you loved me.”
“I did not need anything else to love you – though I certainly needed your exuberance to make me realize what I had right in front of my nose,” said Charles.
This was madness; here they were, locked in a tight embrace when just a few feet away society of London was walking by on the street.
“Priscilla, I loved you before all of that,” he said quietly. “I did not recognize the emotion, true. But it was there. I love you the same, whether you are splendidly dressed to attend my engagement picnic to another woman, or whether you are wrapped up with a cold and the biggest and reddest nose I have ever seen!”
A flush of embarrassment flushed Priscilla’s face. “Well, you have certainly seen me at my worst over the years, as well as my best.”
“And I want to keep seeing both of them, and all the Priscillas in between, for the rest of our lives.”
Charles knew he spoke the truth as joy welled up in his soul. How was it possible that he could
be this happy? How could he deserve it? How had he found his soulmate, the perfect woman for him, a rival for his affections when his heart was supposed to belong to another, in Priscilla?
Somehow, despite it all – the engagement to Miss Lloyd, the pretensions, the confusion, the debts – they had found each other.
But Priscilla had not spoken. She had hesitated, and Charles found his heart sinking. Surely, after all they had been through, she would not abandon him now?
“Surely, you cannot think of another reason why we should not be happy?” he asked quietly. “Have we not compromised enough?”
Priscilla swallowed before replying, placing her hands on her chest. “Why did you not tell me about the debt to the bank, Charles?”
Damn and blast. When had she found out – how had she? Questions swirled in Charles’s mind, but he knew better than to attempt a cross-examination of Priscilla. He did not want to see that fiery temper directed at himself.
“Debt to the bank,” he repeated dully.
She nodded. “If I had known that your marriage was, in essence, to save your family name – to clear the mortgage to the bank, and of Orrinspire Park, too, why did you not tell me? I would have understood.”
“No, you would not,” Charles said. “And you should not have to. No gentleman wants to think of himself as a purchasable commodity, but that was what I was. I allowed myself to think I could simply sell myself to solve the family’s problems – but it goes far deeper than that. We need to rethink how we spend money.”
Priscilla was staring. “That is all very well, but what about the debt to the bank? Wasn’t Frances’s dowry intended to pay those debts?”
It was impossible not to become a little frustrated at these words. “Does everyone know about my financial affairs – other than myself, I mean?”
Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “What happened to all those sweet nothings?”
He kissed her, pushing her back, so she fell against the wall with a little gasp, and Charles groaned. It was damn near impossible to have a rational conversation with this woman while she was so delightfully teasing.
Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7) Page 19