Christine Merrill - Lady Priscilla’s Shameful Secret

Then he reminded himself, yet again, that women were not horses. Life would be easier if they were. He could not exactly break her spirit with a rough bit and a whip. But it would be better to have to argue and cajole for every compromise than to have a woman with no spirit to break.

The combination of riding and spirited women made him smile into his glass and take a long savouring drink. He had not expected to feel the low heat he was feeling for the woman he had met tonight. He had imagined the getting of an heir to be a momentary pleasure, surrounded by a lifetime of awkwardness and frigid courtesy. At best they would develop a fondness for each other. But suppose there could be passion as well?

Then it would be better if it were mutual desire, he reminded himself. He already knew the foolish course he was likely to take. He would do well to remember, before it was too late, that a passionate dislike from his spouse might make him long for the frosty indifference he was avoiding now.

And here was her father, eager to know how the dance had gone, but too subtle to ask directly. If Robert did not acknowledge him, the man would be hanging about all night, waiting for an opportunity to speak. ‘Benbridge,’ he said. ‘A word, please.’

‘Of course, your Grace.’ The old earl looked at him speculatively and it reminded him, as always, of a stallion he’d had that would give the impression of docility, only to bite suddenly at the hand that held the apple. Reighland held precedence and they both knew it. But Benbridge thought in his heart that he was the superior and would show him that, if he could find a way.

‘I have had the opportunity to speak with your daughter, and have found her to be …’

Fractious, ungrateful, uninterested and bad tempered .

‘… quite charming. She is most lovely as well. May I have your permission to pay further visits upon her, with the object of a possible match?’

‘Certainly, your Grace.’ Benbridge gave only a slight lowering of the head, as though the honour were equal.

‘The girl would have to be interested as well,’ Robert reminded him. ‘I would not wish to press my suit upon her, if she were otherwise engaged.’ Despite her objections, it would make the most sense if she was pining for another.

‘She is not so promised,’ Benbridge said firmly. ‘Even if she had plans in that direction, I would forbid all but the most appropriate match for her. After the misfortune of her sister …’ There was a slight narrowing of the eyes and an even slighter twitch of the cheek to show what he thought of his other daughter’s marriage. ‘Priscilla will not reject you, your Grace. She would not dare.’

For a moment, Robert felt quite sorry for the girl. He wanted to pursue her, but his slightest interest was seen by her father as tantamount to an accepted offer. No wonder she refused to show him partiality.

‘I must see her again, so that we might decide if we suit each other.’ The earl might not care, but Robert would much prefer a wife who could at least tolerate him.

‘Of course,’ the earl replied, with just the slightest touch of obsequiousness. Then he stared across the room at his daughter, as though deciding on the best way to bully her into good behaviour to secure the proposal.

Silently, Robert damned him for his overconfidence. At the very least he would meet with the girl again and press the advantages of marrying a man who was not only rich and titled, but well on his way to being fond of her—and warn her of the danger of disobeying such an unaffectionate father.

‘Priscilla, you have a visitor.’

No, she hadn’t. For whom that she actually wished to see would be likely to make a call? Her old friends had cast her off quick enough, after her fall from grace. The sister she longed to see had been banned from the house. And she had gone out of her way to do nothing on the previous evening to warrant a call.

But rather than scolding her for her rudeness during the ride home, both her father and Veronica had seemed inordinately pleased with the turn events had taken. It was as though they’d shared some bit of information between them that she was not privy to.

Please do not let it be the duke . Because what would she do with the man, should he persist? ‘Tell whoever it is that I am indisposed.’

Her bedroom door opened and Veronica poked in her head. ‘I certainly will not. Reighland is in the sitting room, and you are going to see him.’ She crossed the room, seized Priss by the arm and pulled her to her feet, brushing the wrinkles from her gown and smoothing a hand over her hair to rearrange the flattened curls.

‘I am not prepared. I do not wish to see him.’ And I do not wish to marry him . She doubted pleading with Ronnie would help, but neither would it hurt.

‘You are unprepared because you spend your days hiding in bed with your Minerva novels, feigning illness to avoid company. Now come downstairs.’

‘Send him away.’

‘I certainly will not.’ Ronnie was pushing her out into the hall and put a firm hand in her back to hurry her along. ‘If you mean to put him off, you must do it yourself. And if you do, you will suffer the consequences for it. Your father will not be pleased.’ She said it in a dark tone to remind her that there were worse things awaiting her than social ostracism, should she fail.

Priss gave her a mutinous look. ‘Do not be so melodramatic. Father will do nothing worse to me than shout and sulk, as he has done the whole of my life. Perhaps he will banish me from the house, as he did Dru. Although how that is a punishment, I do not know. It is clear to all of London that she is the better for it.’

‘It is not your father who should worry you, dear,’ Ronnie replied, voice cold and venomous. ‘You should know, after spending several months under the same roof with me, I will be far less forgiving. If you will not go to the duke, I will bring him to you and lock the bedroom door behind him until the matter is settled.’

The image of being so trapped with such a forbidding man made Priss a little sick, and she thanked the fates that she had not been caught en déshabillé today. While her father might view this as an alliance with a powerful man, she had no doubt that Ronnie would engineer her total disgrace with any man available, simply to have her out of the house. The woman was all but thrusting her through the door of the salon where her guest awaited.

But she showed no sign of following. Priss grabbed her arm, trying to pull her into the room as well. ‘You are going to sit with us, of course,’ she said hopefully. ‘For surely a chaperon—’

‘He is a duke,’ the other woman whispered. ‘He does not require a chaperon.’

‘It is not for him,’ Priss snapped back, embarrassed that the duke could likely overhear this interchange, for he was scant feet across the room. Could they not at least pretend that she had some honour left?

‘You were happy enough to escape the care of your sister, while she was still here. It makes no sense, a year later, that you are having a fit of the vapours over a few minutes alone with a man.’ Her stepmother pushed harder. ‘He is a duke. He wishes to speak to you alone. Benbridge said he was most specific on that point. I do not mean to be the one to argue.’

‘My father is allowing this?’ Priss felt another small bit of her world crumbling. She had received continual signs from Ronnie that her presence was an inconvenience. But usually Papa was more subtle with his displeasure.

‘Your father thinks that Reighland is an excellent catch. He is amenable to certain laxities if it smoothes the way for an offer.’