by Cheryl Holt
If that happened, Aaron wouldn’t have a chance to attend, and the notion was incredibly depressing. Lucas, for all his faults, was Aaron’s favorite person in the world. Lucas was carefree and dashing and reckless in a way Aaron had never attempted to be. Aaron had always wished he had a bit of Lucas’s panache and brave negligence, but Aaron had never possessed a single bad habit.
Their mother had been talented and flamboyant, and Lucas had inherited all her traits for music, charisma, and dramatic misadventure. Aaron, on the other hand, had been left with the traits from their father, so Aaron was stodgy and fussy and pompous. He was constantly vexed by his arrogant nature, but his routines were too ingrained and he couldn’t seem to change.
He and Priscilla reached the ballroom floor, and they were besieged by acquaintances, the flow of the crowd separating them. Aaron didn’t try to stay near her. She was whisked off by friends who, no doubt, would interrogate her over Aaron’s explanation of his absence.
Unfortunately for the gossips, Priscilla wouldn’t have any juicy answers. With Claudia and Priscilla tiptoeing around Aaron, there’d been no opportunity to bicker or accuse or justify. Priscilla had to be about to explode.
She had a temper and would eventually let loose on Aaron. It was interesting to him that she was so young—just eighteen—yet so sure of herself, so positive it was appropriate to speak her mind. If she had any idea how little her opinion mattered to him, she’d faint with shock.
He had his own temper, but it was tightly controlled and rarely exhibited. He’d spent too many years in his father’s house, watching Lord Sidwell’s rages and tantrums, and Aaron had grown up knowing he would never act so ludicrously.
So people assumed he was mild mannered, but he wasn’t—as Priscilla would ultimately learn to her great regret.
He strolled out onto the rear verandah and waited for her, figuring she’d arrive with scant delay. She was nothing if not predictable. In a few minutes, he glanced over and saw her approaching.
“Let’s walk in the garden,” she said.
“Yes, let’s do.”
She took his arm, and they went down the stairs and proceeded down a lighted path. Rapidly, they were away from the party. It was a quiet night, the stars out, no clouds drifting by.
He thought about Fox Run, about Bryce and Florella being there with Evangeline. How lucky they were to be there with her, while he was in London and more miserable than he’d ever been. Did Evangeline miss him?
He missed her. It was silly and ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. She made him smile, made him happy. His father had advised him to have an affair, and what better female could he have found?
But of course, he’d run away. He was back where he belonged, being the dutiful son, the dutiful fiancé. How had he become so tedious and absurd? Why couldn’t he be more like his rowdy, unruly brother? Would it kill him to misbehave? Would it kill him to enjoy himself?
His life had been a boring slog of burden and obligation. Why couldn’t he reach for a more rewarding, more fulfilling existence?
They rounded a bend in the path, and Priscilla pulled away.
“I have something I should like to say,” she announced.
With her white-blond hair and violet-colored eyes, she was very beautiful, but in an icy, poisonous way. She was very glum, as if she’d been sucking on sour pickles.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I apologize for what my mother did to Lucas.”
“Thank you, but I rather imagine she should apologize herself.”
“I’m expecting she will once she can catch you alone.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“So…we can put this unpleasantness behind us.”
“Certainly.”
She studied him and frowned. “You don’t appear to mean it.”
“I mean it.”
“My words don’t seem to have made any difference. Are you still angry? You can’t blame me for how Mother behaves.”
“I don’t,” he claimed, but he absolutely blamed her.
She presumed she had the right to boss him, to meddle in his affairs, but it was his own fault. He was so averse to quarreling that he simply wouldn’t. He’d let her run wild, but his trip to Fox Run had altered him.
He had to seize control of their relationship. She was a girl, not far removed from the schoolroom. Her days of nagging and complaining had to end. He couldn’t continue in their current condition.
“If you’re not upset,” she fumed, “what’s wrong then?”
“I’m not upset.”
“Well…good.” She stared, fiddled with her skirt, stared again. “Where were you the past two weeks?”
“At Fox Run.”
“Why did you leave London?”
“You know why. I was sick of you and your mother.”
She tsked with offense. “You don’t have to snipe about it. We received your message loud and clear.”
“Perhaps next time you’ll think twice before involving yourself in nonsense.”
“It wasn’t me who schemed against Lucas. It was Mother. How many times must I tell you?”
“No more. I can’t bear to discuss it any further.”
She glowered, appearing less winsome by the second. His father had betrothed them for the size and scope of her dowry, but there had also been some benefit in her being fetching, with many people insisting she was the prettiest debutante to have come out in years.
But her snobbish qualities overrode her stellar looks, and with his father keeping most of the dowry—it belonged to the estate, not to Aaron—Aaron’s bounty was to be the blushing bride. Yet as he watched her, he was recalling vivacious, flamboyant Evangeline.
In that comparison, Priscilla didn’t stand a chance and, suddenly, Aaron’s reward in the engagement—the beautiful bride—didn’t seem like much of a reward at all.
“What were you doing for two whole weeks?” She hurled her question like an accusation.
Trifling with a houseguest in very inappropriate ways. My father thought I should.
“I was with Bryce.” He left Florella out of the equation, for she was a doxy and not anyone with whom he could ever expect Priscilla to socialize.
“I might have known,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong with Bryce?”
“He’s so beneath you, Aaron.”
“It’s not really any of your business, is it, Priscilla?”
“Not my business?” she huffed. “We’re about to be married. How would it not be my business that you have unsavory companions?”
There was a bench directly behind her. He pointed to it.
“Sit down, Priscilla.”
“I’d rather stand,” she snottily retorted.
She glared at him, mulish, defiant, and he sighed with exasperation.
This conversation had been pending for ages, and in light of his usual tendency to avoid discord, he’d put it off for as long as he was able. But his patience had finally evaporated.
“Sit!” he said again.
He grabbed her arm and led her over to the bench. When she refused to oblige him, he increased the pressure on her arm and forced her down. The fact that he had to manhandle her, that she wouldn’t comply simply because he’d asked, was galling and infuriating.
“Honestly, Aaron,” she seethed, “there’s no reason to be a bully.”
No, there wasn’t, but when she constantly enraged him, what was he to do?
“You had a few things to say to me,” he snapped, “and now I have a few things to say to you.”
“What are they? Get on with it.”
“Priscilla, let me be very clear. Your days of saying things to me are over.”
“I’m about to be your wife. My opinion ought to be the most vital one in your world.”
“If that’s what you suppose, then you have grossly miscalculated the relationship you shall have with me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking abo
ut. You’re acting so oddly, you could be a stranger.”
“I am a stranger to you. You know nothing about me.”
“I’ve known you since I was a little girl, and we’ve been engaged for a year. Of course we’re close.”
“No, we’re not.”
“You’re being absurd, and I won’t converse with you when you’re in such a foul mood.”
She started to rise, and he bellowed, “Sit down! And if you pry your bottom off that bench again before I’m through, I’ll take a switch to you.”
He’d never physically abused a woman in his life, had never threatened abuse either, but she’d pushed him beyond his limit. Apparently, his spurt of temper caught her attention. Aggrieved and offended, she plopped down.
“Speak your piece,” she said, “and make it fast. I’ve heard about all I’ll tolerate from you for one evening.”
He assessed her, like a scientist examining a peculiar specimen he’d never previously encountered. She was very young, and he was a male, twelve years older and her superior in every way: size, station, wealth, reputation.
How had she mustered the temerity to be so brazen? Her mother had fostered this perception of magnificence, and Priscilla believed every story her mother had told her. Lord Sidwell could have picked any candidate for Aaron to wed, and the fact that he’d settled on Priscilla had only increased her elevated sense of importance.
Visions of their pending marriage swarmed in his mind. He saw decades of quarrels, of pointless bickering, of his patience stretched to breaking.
They’d have to live apart, would bump into each other at balls or parties. He’d have to travel to Fox Run occasionally to fornicate with her, to plant the heir the Sidwell title had to have. After she birthed that son, he’d have to plant another, and perhaps even a third after that. Then he’d be shed of her.
What a sad, ghastly life it would be!
“I’m normally a very calm person,” he said, “so you have an erroneous impression about me.”
“What impression is that?”
“You seem to think you can nag and complain and disrespect me.”
“Well, if you insist on foolishly—”
“Shut your mouth, Priscilla. For once, just shut the hell up.”
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
“Be silent!” he shouted. “You’re laboring under the mistaken notion that we are equals. You assume that I give a rat’s ass about you or this wedding or anything else.”
“How dare you say that to me!”
“Yes, how dare I? I’ve listened to your harangue for twelve arduous months, and we are making some changes. As of right now, you will only ever address me in a manner that displays the regard I am due as your fiancé.”
“I’d show you respect if you ever deserved it but, sometimes, you behave like an idiot. Look at that fiasco with your brother. Was I supposed to ignore it?”
“Yes, Priscilla, you should have ignored it. It was between me and my brother. Not me and you. Or you and him. I will have my own life. I will come and go and have my own friends and carry on however I please. I will never be any of your business.”
She burst into tears, and he stoically watched her, wishing his father was present to witness the disaster he’d orchestrated by selecting her. Could they possibly have chosen a girl more juvenile and frivolous?
“You’re ruining everything,” she wailed.
“No, I’m merely establishing the rules as to how we’ll proceed from this moment on. I will not waste another second dealing with your childish antics. You will grow up and act like an adult woman, as if you’re mature enough to eventually become a countess, or I swear to God, we’re through.”
She gasped. “You’d cry off?”
“Yes.”
“I’d be humiliated before the entire world.”
He shrugged. “You certainly would be, so I suggest you don’t aggravate me in the future.”
There was no way he could back out of the marriage, but she didn’t know that, so it was a good threat.
Her mother had already given Lord Sidwell a substantial portion of the dowry, but Lord Sidwell was a gambler and wastrel who had huge debts. He’d spent every pound as quickly as he’d received it. If Aaron walked away from the match, they’d have to repay the money, but there was no money.
He wasn’t sure what might have happened, but her mother blustered up, probably sensing they shouldn’t be alone, that calamity could arise.
“There you are,” Claudia chirped. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”
She tried to pretend all was fine, but with how he and Priscilla were glaring, their discord couldn’t be concealed.
“What is it?” Claudia hissed. “What’s wrong now?”
“I’ve been explaining some things to your daughter,” Aaron said.
“What things?” Claudia asked.
“He wants to cry off!” Priscilla bleated.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Claudia scoffed. “No one is crying off. Lord Sidwell and I wouldn’t consider it for an instant.”
“He couldn’t, could he, Mother?” Priscilla whined. “I’d be a laughingstock.”
“You’re worrying over nothing, Priscilla.” Claudia turned her exasperated gaze to Aaron. “What’s the problem, Aaron? Tell me what it is, and let’s see if I can fix it.”
“I was betrothed to your daughter without being consulted and against my better judgment.” It was a terrible remark to voice in front of Priscilla, and he wasn’t usually so crass, but he was suffering from a bout of temper the likes of which he’d never experienced prior.
“She’s very young, Aaron,” Claudia said. “When your father and I first discussed the engagement, I understood you might have reservations. I still understand them.”
“Mother!” Priscilla huffed.
“For the past year,” Aaron continued, “she has sassed and scorned and verbally abused me. She has prevailed on my good nature, ruined my calm demeanor, and enraged me beyond what I can abide.”
“She can be horrid,” Claudia agreed. “I admit it.”
“Mother!” Priscilla protested again, but Claudia and Aaron ignored her.
“I am at the end of what I will allow,” Aaron seethed. “She will decide here and now that she will conduct herself as is expected of the woman about to wed the Sidwell heir or I’m finished with her.” He paused, shocked at his outburst. “What is it to be?”
“Of course she’ll be the bride you expect.” Claudia turned to Priscilla and ordered, “Priscilla, get down on your knees and apologize to Aaron.”
“Apologize! For what? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You see, Claudia?” Aaron fumed. “What am I to make of it?”
“I’ve spoiled her, Aaron,” Claudia said. “I’ve let her run roughshod over me, so she assumes she can run roughshod over you too.”
“Yes, she does,” Aaron concurred, feeling ragged and undone, as if he might simply shatter into a thousand pieces, “and I would love to hear your advice—for I’ve had it with both of you.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Claudia studied him, her concern visibly evident. She stomped over and yanked Priscilla off the bench and forced her to her knees.
“Tell him you didn’t mean to be awful,” Claudia demanded. “Beg his pardon. Humbly and sincerely. Do it, Priscilla.”
Priscilla gnawed on her cheek, debated, delayed, then she folded her hands as if in prayer and dipped her head.
“I’m sorry, Aaron. I didn’t realize I’d been upsetting you. I can be obstinate, and I’m blind to my faults. Please don’t spurn me. If you cried off, I’d just die!”
It was a pretty speech, and she peeked up at him, not appearing contrite in the least, and he supposed it was all he’d ever receive from her. Words, not actions.
He nodded, accepting her apology, but he was sick with disgust. Aaron knew—no matter how Priscilla might currently grovel—their relationship would never i
mprove.
Claudia lifted Priscilla to her feet as she told Aaron, “There now, that has to have mended a few fences. Hasn’t it?”
“We’ll see,” he said. “I’m not optimistic.”
“I’ll spend the whole month with her, Aaron. I’ll work on her temper and attitude.”
You’ve had eighteen years! he wanted to complain, but what would be the point?
Instead, he replied with, “I appreciate it.”
“I haven’t prepared her to be a wife. I haven’t explained her role or her true position, but I will.”
“I’m exhausted, Claudia.”
“There’s no need to be. We’ve smoothed over your troubles, haven’t we?”
He gaped at her, practically weak with fatigue. He hated bickering! It reminded him of his childhood, of listening to his father rant at Lucas, whip Lucas, shame and damage Lucas until he was an unruly miscreant who was beyond repair.
“Are we fine now?” Claudia nervously asked.
He took a deep breath, pulling back, reverting to form. “Yes, we’re fine.”
“There’ll be no more talk about crying off?”
“No, there’ll be no more such talk.”
“And I’ll get Priscilla squared away. I promise you. Next time you see her, you won’t even recognize her. She’ll be so changed, you’ll think she’s a new girl entirely.”
Claudia flashed a tremulous smile, but he didn’t return it. He didn’t believe proper conduct was possible for Priscilla—despite how Claudia might guarantee it.
Claudia waved toward the house. “Why don’t you head into the party? Find some of your friends and have a few stout brandies. You’ll feel better.”
“I’m sure that’s precisely the cure for what ails me,” he said.
He spun away and left.
Priscilla—thank God—hadn’t uttered another comment. She simply stared, looking as if she’d like to throw something at him, but with Claudia standing there, she wouldn’t dare.
He hurried inside, but didn’t stop to socialize. He kept on through the ballroom, up the stairs, and out the front door, wondering where to go, wondering what to do.