by Tess Byrnes
“Of course I will not fail you, Ma’am,” Priscilla accepted this reversal, and replied with deceptive sweetness. “A Christmas house party! I’m sure it will be a delightful surprise for your Mama, Lord Jasper,” she continued graciously.
“Touchè” he murmured in a voice inaudible to any save Priscilla. He felt a strange exhilaration at her quick wits.
“Surprise,” Mrs. hartfield repeated in confusion. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Hawksworth?”
“I meant a lovely surprise for us, Mrs. Hartfield,” Priscilla corrected herself smoothly. “And, of course, for Lucy.”
Lucy, her thoughts wandering, jumped noticeably at the mention of her name. “Yes, it will be most enchanting,” she declared, recovering quickly. “I shall look forward to seeing Hillaire Castle, My lord. Is it true that you have many ruins on your grounds?”
“Yes, indeed. And I shall conduct you over them all, if you are interested” he quizzed her.
“Oh, no.” Lucy responded with veracity. “But Hawkie reads the most appalling,” she broke off in consternation. “I mean, ancient poetry and, well, stuff,” she ended lamely.
“Does she indeed?” Jasper queried with unholy amusement in his eyes. “Well, then she shall be allowed to join our excavating party.”
Priscilla, trying to frown Lucy down, rejoined evenly, “I shall be present in the capacity of an employee, Lucy. I’m sure I shall be far too busy to join you. But thank you anyway for the thought, Lord Hillaire.” She smiled triumphantly at Jasper.
“Nonsense, Miss hawksworth,” Mrs. hartfield said in genuine distress. “You must think me an unfeeling employer indeed. You will of course have time to enjoy the Christmas holiday! In fact, you will be there as a guest, as every employee deserves a holiday!”
“We shall have to make sure of that,” Jasper said with a conspiratorial smile at Lucy.
Priscilla tried to give her employer a grateful smile. She knew that Jasper was enjoying this whole situation beyond measure, but could not immediately think of a way to turn the tables on him. The rest of the meal was concluded amongst desultory conversation about mutual friends. Priscilla, of course, recognized many of the names from her own london season, but felt that it had been long enough since she had seen any of them, that she might reasonably hope to be unrecognized by most.
“I say, Lord Hillaire, would you and Mr. Davenport care to stroll through the grounds,” Miss Lucy was asking. Mrs. Hartfield cast a tormented look at her daughter, who had been silent as the tomb for the first half of the luncheon, and now was being disagreeably forward. Lucy, happily unaware of her mother’s chagrin, received the Viscount’s puzzled acceptance with obvious pleasure.
“My dear Miss Hawksworth,” Mrs. Hartfield spoke in a voice which she happily fancied was inaudible to the Viscount. “Please accompany them, and do what you can to encourage Lucy to be a little more temperate. My nerves cannot tolerate these swings from absolute silence to what I must call brassiness!” She fanned herself with her handkerchief, and gave a weak smile to the foursome as they rose and left the terrace. She gave orders for the servants to clear away the remains of the meal, and retired to the sofa in the blue salon to nap and happily envision Christmas at Hillaire.
Priscilla, Lord Hillaire, Julian and the resourceful Lucy, having crossed the west lawn, were approaching the ornamental pond on the far side of the rose garden. Priscilla had allowed herself to fall a little way behind her companions, to give herself time to collect her thoughts. Lucy, too, was using this time to advantage. In pursuance of her general policy, she turned the conversation towards the proposed Christmas party.
“I have never attended a house party, my lord. What will it be like?” she asked.
“Enjoyable, I hope,” he replied laughingly. “I’m sure Mama will have plenty of schemes to entertain her guests.” He had been a little conscience-stricken at saddling his mother with the task of pulling together a party with but a few weeks’ notice, until he recollected that there was nothing she would like more. And she needn’t worry about being thin of company, because an invitation to the Castle conveyed an honor on the recipient.
“There will likely be cards, and theatricals,” Jasper theorized. “We’ll have some impromptu dances in the evenings, I should think, and an informal ball on Christmas Eve.” He imagined himself waltzing with the lovely Miss Hawksworth, his arms around her, his ring of betrothal on her finger. He felt his sense rousing at the memory of her in his arms, and a glint entered his eye. “Yes definitely an informal ball,” he confirmed.
They began to stroll around the edges of the pond, Lucy promising not to attempt climbing any trees. He laughed dutifully at her joke, but turned to look back at Priscilla, who was walking some twenty feet behind them.
He had surprised himself, almost as much as he had surprised Priscilla, with his proposal of marriage. He had been the object of so many determined assaults by many matchmaking mamas and hopeful debutantes that he had thought himself hardened. Yet the thought of this slim girl ignoring the risk to her own reputation in order to save his life had touched him. He knew that the only option open to them was marriage. Even if no one ever discovered their indiscretion, it was not the part of a gentleman to accept such a sacrifice from a young and obviously gently bred girl. In offering marriage, he was doing the only thing his code of honor allowed. Her refusal to be properly grateful at first surprised, and then infuriated him. Not that he wanted her gratitude. In point of fact he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted. He had forgotten himself in the library, an action he should regret, but found himself remembering with very different emotions. Looking at her now, he felt an urge to protect her, and a most disreputable urge to repeat his actions, and soon. When she was giving him back argument for argument, and looking at him with that provocative smile, as she had during luncheon, he didn’t know if he wanted to shake her or kiss her once more.
Lucy, seeing that her companion had come to a complete stop and was staring, in what she thought was a rather besotted looking way, at Priscilla, turned and quietly enquired of Julian if he would like to come see her favorite mare in the stables. Puzzled but agreeable, Julian allowed himself to be led off.
Chapter THIRTEEN
The Viscount noted the odd departure of their companions absently, his attention claimed by Priscilla as she continued to amble slowly towards him, eyes cast down. Her mind was obviously someplace else, and she did not seem to be aware of his presence until his booted feet came into view. Looking up quickly, her eyes met his gently questioning ones. “What is troubling you, Miss Hawksworth?” he queried.
Recovering swiftly, Priscilla looked around the garden. “Where on earth is Lucy?” she asked. “She was here a moment ago. And your cousin?”
“I think your young charge has decided to give us the privacy we are so obviously in need of,” he responded ruefully.
“You didn’t say anything to her, did you?” Priscilla asked in sudden alarm.
“No,” Jasper said soothingly. “There must be more to Miss Lucy than meets the eye, though, for she is apparently a very astute young lady.”
“Well, it is very wrong of her to have run off,” Priscilla started. “And I am supposed to be her chaperone,” she remembered suddenly, conscience-stricken. “Still, I am not sorry to have this chance to speak to you. I feel we left things unsettled yesterday, that is, with you having one idea, and myself another.”
“Well, I will admit that I was very unsettled,” Jasper murmured ruefully.
She realized that the Viscount was regarding her with an amused eye, and felt a surge of anger. “I want to make it very clear that I do not intend to spend Christmas at Hillaire, my lord. And I do not intend to accept any offer of marriage made under an obligation,” she informed him decisively. She looked up to see his reaction, and was further maddened to see that he was still regarding her in a speculative manner. She glared back at him. Really, this was an odd way to receive a refusal of one’s proposal, she thought to herse
lf.
“So,” she continued in a calmer voice, “I think it would be best if you and I parted, at this juncture, and vowed never to speak of the events of that night again. Or of the events in the library.” There, she had remembered at least a part of her rehearsed speech, she thought, feeling better.
The Viscount found himself in a totally new position. Never before had he made an offer of marriage, and never before had he imagined anyone rejecting such an offer. It wasn’t that his self conceit was so great that he could not imagine anyone not wanting to marry him. But he had been used for so long to being sought after, and fawned upon. He knew himself to be eligible, and his fortune alone was enough to attract many ton Mamas with an eye to a brilliant match for their daughters. To have this girl state a preference for continuing her life as a governess to marriage with him gave him a jolt. He felt a genuine desire to protect Priscilla from any ill effects of her rescue. He felt that she should accept the protection he offered her. And deep down he had an unspoken feeling that she should recognize his chivalry in making this offer, and be properly appreciative. Instead the girl was acting as if he was importuning her! Jasper knew it behooved him to approach her carefully. He admired her resolution, indeed he was grateful for her quick thinking and ability to act swiftly in an emergency. But he found her stubbornness infuriating. And her face enchanting. And her self reliance endearing. And has he very well knew, her lips soft and bewitching, her hair perfumed with lilac and her skin like rose petals. He knew an overwhelming desire to forget that he was a gentleman again, and repeat his actions in the library. All this he did his best to keep hidden under his air of detached amusement.
“So, Miss hawksworth,” he said at last. “Do you find my sincere offer of marriage insulting?”
Priscilla eyed him suspiciously. She could detect nothing but honest perplexity in his blue-green eyes, but had a shrewd notion that she was somehow about to step into a trap.
Nonetheless, she felt impelled to answer honestly.
“I do not feel that you offered marriage in order to insult me, no,” she answered warily.
“Then there is something about me, personally, that you find objectionable, and feel precludes our engagement,” he said with grim acceptance. “I see. That is a little less easy for me to counter. My behavior disgusted you, my lack of control where you are concerned.” He looked up, and she met his eyes. “Is that it?” He asked with a very appealing self-deprecating smile. “Don’t hesitate to tell me, Miss Hawksworth.”
“No, there is nothing about you, well, nothing like that,” Priscilla said in confusion, color mounting to her cheeks. “But neither is there any compelling reason for me to accept, Lord Hillaire,” she ended strongly.
“There is one very good reason, Miss Hawksworth. It involved you, and me, and a little cottage on my estate,” he murmured with a wicked smile. The pink color in Priscilla’s cheeks deepened at this reference.
“You are deliberately making it sound as bad as possible,” she cried accusingly. “You didn’t even regain consciousness the whole night. In fact, I can’t for the life of me imagine how you even knew it was me!” She eyed him with hostility.
He gave a shout of laughter. “You are quite unforgettable, my dear,” he told her. “And I was not unconscious the whole time. I have a few scattered memories.” He saw a look of dread on her face, and sobered quickly. “Aha,” he thought to himself. “There is something else that I have not remembered, and that she is hoping will continue to elude me.”
“All this is quite beside the fact, my dear Miss Hawksworth,” he continued pleasantly. “You and I have a history together that adds up to one thing and one thing only. We will be married.” He saw the stubborn light coming into her lovely cornflower blue eyes. “No,” he forestalled her, his voice suddenly harsh. “I will give you some time to adjust to the idea.” He turned to face her, holding his hand out, and bowed gracefully. “Please do me the favor of coming to Hillaire for Christmas. It will give us a chance to become better acquainted, and come to a decision regarding how best to make the announcement of our betrothal.”
Priscilla had a hard time resisting the cajoling note in Jasper’s deep voice. She continued to eye him as if he were a coiled snake, but she also knew that it was Mrs. Hartfield’s firm intention to accept his lordship’s invitation. There was very little likelihood that she would be able to remain behind. Her mind was far from its usual orderly state, a fact which caused her to further resent the Viscount. She tried to hold on to this resentment, but the handsome, smiling face before her made it difficult.
“I accept,” she said reluctantly. “But I do not anticipate a change of heart, Sir.”
“Very well,” he replied and she placed her hand in his, feeling a thrill at his touch. “I shall have to be content with that for the time being. And now, perhaps we should search out your errant charge and my graceless cousin. I do hope it will not involve another ducking in the lake,” he said with a genuine smile, causing her own reluctant smile to dawn.
From her vantage point near the house, Lucy watched as Priscilla and Jasper made their way back to the house, Priscilla’s hand tucked under the Viscount’s arm. Lucy congratulated herself on the success of her strategy. His Lordship parted from Priscilla at the front of the house, and turned to the stables, where Lucy had left Julian. Priscilla resumed her search for Lucy, finally running her to earth in the rose garden.
“Where on earth did you disappear to, Lucy?” Priscilla asked.
“I muddied the hem of my dress, and went to change it” the girl improvised quickly.
Priscilla gave her a quizzing look. “But that’s the same dress you were wearing at luncheon, isn’t it?”
“Um, it, er, dried!” Lucy said with a hopeful smile. ‘Well, I promised Amabel I’d tell her all about the viscount’s visit, so I’d better be off,” she said, backing towards the house. As she reached the French doors, she turned and ran through the salon.
“That girl’s education is indeed sadly lacking,” Priscilla thought to herself, and resolved to take her duties as governess more seriously, especially in light of the coming house party. As she followed Lucy’s steps more slowly into the house, Priscilla thought about the implications of spending Christmas at Hillaire. She wondered if she should inform Mrs. Hartfield of his Lordship’s offer. The knowledge of that offer might change not only the matron’s desire to attend the house party, but also her desire to employ her as governess.
Priscilla, who prided herself on her ability to reason through each situation that presented itself to her, found herself in a true quandary. She still had no desire for a marriage of convenience. Her wish was to find a man, like her mother had, who would love her, and wish to spend his life with her, remaining faithful to that marriage. When she opted for employment as a governess, Priscilla knew that she had made it extremely unlikely that she would ever find such a man. As a governess, her chance of contracting an eligible marriage was essentially nil. The Viscount’s offer was a fluke that was unlikely to ever occur again.
But when she became a governess, Priscilla had not yet experienced the touch of a man. If she was never to marry, did it follow that she would never again experience that intoxicating touch?
“No,” Priscilla said aloud. “If I do not marry, then why should I not act as I choose?” An unmarried woman was supposed to remain chaste and untouched, a prospect that when contrasted with the sensations she had experienced seemed cold and unattractive. Her desire to experience them again was stronger than any wish to preserve her virtue for an empty lifetime.
“Yes,” she thought to herself with a surge of excitement. “I will attend the house party with the Hartfields, and, at least for now, keep my own counsel about Lord Hillaire’s offer.”
#
Carolyn slit open the last of the letters delivered by that morning’s post. She spread the crinkly paper open and quickly perused the contents.
“Well?” Richard asked anxiously. His usually high
color was accentuated by concern. It had been several months since his sister had fled her home, and barring a brief note weeks earlier, they had no further correspondence from her. “Well?” he repeated. “Is she with my great-uncle?”
“No!” Carolyn exclaimed, in a voice of disbelief. “Where on earth can that tiresome girl be? Of course I was unable to ask directly in my letter, but your uncle speaks of holding a hunting-party, and attending a house party over Christmas, but nothing of Priscilla. I made sure she would have gone there.”
“Where else could she have gone?” Richard exclaimed in concern. “She is not with her friend, Theodora; she is not with my uncle. I can think of no other home she could have fled to”
“Perhaps she did indeed seek a position somewhere as a cook or chamber maid,” Carolyn suggested. “Or a governess. She fancies herself a scholar, it would be within her conceit to assume she could instruct.”
“Carolyn, my love,” Richard looked at his wife tentatively. “Perhaps if we inserted a notice into the papers. Saying that if a certain person returned to her home in Berkshire, that all would be forgiven and no marriage offers pursued?”
“Richard,” Carolyn shrilled. “We must begin as we mean to go on. When and if Priscilla returns she will wed Sir Harry. It has taken all my diplomacy to ensure that he still wants to marry the little idiot. And with no knowledge of where she has been or what she has been doing, marriage may be the only way to regain her respectability.”
Richard tutted at this description of his sister. “Maybe we pushed too hard,” he hazarded. “I mean, she’s no trouble. What harm would it do to let her continue here as she has been doing?” He caught sight of his wife’s expression and got no further. As she patted the front of her bodice meaningfully, he shook his head. “No,” he mumbled sadly. “Of course not, my dear. I had forgotten your wishes.”
“That’s better,” Carolyn agreed. “The season will be in full swing in another month. We will travel to London and I’m sure we’ll pick up her trail there.”
