Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret

by Christine Merrill

  ‘You have no reason to be,’ she said, trying not to look into his eyes.

  ‘It would be so with any man,’ he said. ‘Whenever you dance with another, I want to snatch you out of the arms of your partner, spirit you away and keep you for myself.’ His tone was different, not the ironic detached man she was accustomed to, but that of a passionate lover. At one time, she’d have enjoyed toying with him, trying to inflame him to more and more ludicrous declarations of devotion, but now she laid a comforting hand against his cheek.

  ‘But Gervaise is the worst,’ he admitted, cradling the hand she offered, stroking it and whispering the words into her palm. ‘That he ever touched you? I ache with the thought. And that he hurt you?’ The hand on her shoulder tightened ever so slightly to draw her even nearer. ‘It would be easier if he had made you happy. But tonight, I would die if I could erase the hurt from your mind. Or he should. I would gladly kill him.’

  ‘You do not fight. You said so yourself.’

  ‘But I will if you wish me to.’

  ‘Do not.’ She wrapped her other arm around one of his and buried her face against the lapel of his coat, not caring who might see them.

  ‘Because you care for him?’

  ‘I care for you. For your safety. And for your reputation. I beg you again, do not take that risk on my account.’

  He dipped his head. ‘Very well, then. As you command.’

  ‘And that is why I will not marry you, you know.’ She gave a small bitter laugh and pulled away from him as he kissed the top of her head. ‘Because I care for you. You do not need to be saddled with my disgrace.’

  ‘It is no burden,’ he said.

  ‘You say that now, but admit the truth to me. When you saw me with Gervaise, you doubted. And that was just the first time. Now that she has found him, I expect Char Deveril to keep trotting out Gervaise for the express purpose of embarrassing me. In the future, your doubts and embarrassment are likely to grow. It is better to end this now, I think, while we can still remember the happiness.’

  ‘I doubted,’ he said grudgingly, ‘but I did not ask for my freedom. I needed time.’

  ‘Says the man who must rush through everything,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘Just as you will run away at the first sign of trouble,’ he accused. ‘I could have accepted it, if you’d told me to go hang for my lack of faith in you. I certainly deserved it. I was despicable. Instead, you sent me that mewling note, full of self-pity and cowardice. You took all the blame for what has happened upon yourself.’

  ‘Because it is all my fault,’ she argued.

  ‘It is not,’ he said firmly. ‘But it appears so, because you keep apologising.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, then hurriedly snapped her mouth shut, surprised at how quickly she had affirmed his argument.

  His eyes narrowed, clearly angry. And so close, it was a daunting sight. But she knew no real harm would come to her. It was all frustration, and some of it was for her own benefit. ‘Perhaps, in the end, you will run from me. But I will not let you run from this.’ He reached out and touched her gently on the arm. She remembered every touch he had ever given her and a sweet, sad longing rose inside her.

  ‘The elopement was a scandal of your own making,’ he said softly.

  ‘Because I was young and foolish,’ she agreed.

  ‘But you are older and wiser now,’ he said firmly. ‘What happened when you were with Gervaise was proof that he was no gentleman. He should have treated you with kindness. He could have cherished you, like the treasure that you are.’

  As you have done. She felt a wave of gratitude towards the man who stood before her. What had happened on the road to Scotland could have been wonderful. It could have been a wicked, but cherished memory. It could have been like her stolen moments with Robert.

  And it was not. When she thought of Gervaise, she felt nothing but pain and embarrassment and shame. Yet she had performed the same act and more with Robert. And she would gladly do it again, married or not, without a care to who knew of it.

  ‘It will follow you for the rest of your life, if you let it. Or it can end tonight.’ As always, his words were seductive.

  Her heart was as eager as ever to give in to him. ‘And just how do I make it stop?’

  ‘Silence will not be enough and I was wrong to encourage it in you. You must do something to prove that you are not bothered by this. Only then will people stop taking notice.’

  She did not want to waste time in the ballroom with Gervaise, or anyone else. She swayed to be closer to him, barely able to concentrate. ‘They will cut me from their social circles.’

  ‘They were doing that already. Better to have it based on fact rather than on rumours. Do you prefer to be a disgraced coward, or brave but unwise? Tonight, you must choose.’ He let go of her hand. And despicable as he was being, he was right.

  She remembered all the times he had wondered about her strength of character. And how, each time he had, she had run. Then, after giving herself to him, and promising him her life, she had run again.

  Yet, here he was. Warm. Stable. And offering her yet one more chance, if she were brave enough to take it. ‘Will you escort me back into the ballroom, then?’

  ‘With our engagement broken, are you not afraid it will give the wrong impression?’ He was not taking her back so easily as that. She did not think she would have to beg for her place at his side. But her heart still cringed a little at the memory of how it had been the last time they’d been together.

  ‘You are probably right.’ She glanced down at herself. ‘Considering the gown I have chosen, perhaps people will think you are taking a mistress.’

  ‘That is a capital idea. I have been spurned recently. My heart is still tender from it. Perhaps I should take a lover.’

  She gave him a sidelong glance, as unsure as ever as to whether he joked or was serious. ‘We will discuss it later. But for now, do you still have the flask of brandy in your pocket? If I mean to have courage, I had best get it from somewhere.’

  His expression hadn’t changed. But she had the impression he was smiling at her as he reached into his pocket and offered her a drink.

  She took it, letting it burn into her, and wondering what the world would think if it got close enough to smell spirits on her breath. She handed it back to Robert. ‘Very well, then.’ She glanced into the mirror on the wall of the hallway, staring down the reflection until the young lady there found her composure. ‘Back to the ballroom it is.’ She glanced back at the duke, low and through her lashes in a way that she was sure he would like. ‘If you are lucky, Robert, perhaps I shall save you a dance.’ Then she turned and swept down the hallway, as though she could chase all hindrances away with a flip of her skirt.

  Chapter Twenty

  Priss re-entered the ballroom, as though nothing had happened. If Reighland had followed, she did not know. Though he had walked arm in arm with her for the first few steps on the return journey, at some point he had released her, like a boy sailing a toy boat out on to a troubled pond. He meant to watch her, she was sure, to see how she might do without him.

  He was right. For all her grand thoughts about being a woman and not a girl, she had shown no real courage of her own. While it might be nice to think that a powerful marriage could set everything to rights again, she would need to play some part in the rebuilding of her own reputation. If she wished to be his wife, or any other man’s, it would be better if she brought some backbone to the marriage.

  As she stepped forwards, once again she felt the other ladies withdraw. Inside her, the girl that she had been recoiled as well.

  And once again she remembered her father. His plan in any situation, whether social or political, was to attack first and hit hard. Because of this, society feared
him all out of proportion to his actual worth. She thought of the mud in her slippers, the ruined gown and the miserable head cold that had come along with the shame of banishment. She had learned a hard lesson on her worth in the family and the danger of challenging him.

  Now she could teach a similar lesson to those who threatened her. She glanced around the room, choosing her targets with care. The brandy warmed her blood, making her reckless. Or perhaps that was the warmth she felt from the eyes of the only man she truly cared about, watching her from somewhere in the room.

  No one else matters, she repeated to herself. What could they possibly do that would be worse than losing Robert? Everything that he had said and done from the very beginning proved to her that once she had it, she would not lose his love.

  But only if she was brave enough to accept it.

  ‘Lady Priscilla, may I have the next dance?’ The Earl of Folbroke was standing just beside her, smiling pleasantly.

  ‘Are you sure you are speaking to the right person, my lord? Your choice in me for a partner does not seem to be a wise one.’

  He adjusted his gaze carefully, following the sound of her voice so that he might appear to be looking directly at her. ‘If there is some problem with it, I cannot tell what it might be.’ Then he pretended to look around the room for the source of her concern. ‘I see nothing amiss.’

  She could not help it. She giggled. ‘Thank you, my lord, for coming to put me in a good humour again. I feel distinctly unwelcome this evening.’

  ‘But you will always have true friends,’ he assured her. ‘Myself. My wife. And your sister and her husband, of course.’

  ‘I worry that I am a burden upon Mr Hendricks,’ she admitted. ‘He has ambitions, after all. Such an association might be difficult for him.’

  ‘You will find that his sense of justice far outweighs his aspirations. He will not abandon you. And now, the dance I requested?’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  He gave her a series of sotto voce instructions on how best to help him, so that he might lead her through the set without bumping in to the other dancers. They proceeded, nearly without incident. When his blindness caused a difficulty, he took it in good humour, and made apologies so self-deprecating that the other parties could not possibly be annoyed. As the music ended, she whispered directions to him so that they might end where she most needed to be: in the place where she might do the most damage. And then she thanked him, ‘I swear, my lord, you are quite the best partner I have had in some time.’

  ‘Even better than Gerard Gervaise? He is here this evening, you know. Or did you arrive together?’ Charlotte Deveril inserted herself into the conversation without invitation, just as Priss had known she would. She was smiling, as though whatever response Priss might give would be a welcome treat.

  ‘Gervaise? Here?’ She turned to Char and blinked her eyes in a way that would make them seem larger, bluer and more guileless than she had managed in quite some time. ‘For the sake of his future partners, I would hope not. I already know him better than I wish to. And I must say, in all confidence, he is not much of a dancer.’

  That had done the trick. She heard a snicker from a nearby widow and felt the mob shift as someone went off to tell someone else of Gervaise’s inadequacy. Char’s expression turned so bitter that her lips nearly sucked back into her head. ‘You are shameless, you know that, don’t you? To come into my parents’ home and make light of your disgrace.’

  ‘Why, Char, I have no idea what you mean,’ she said, still playing the innocent. ‘I was invited into your house. Apparently, so was Gervaise. Although I cannot think, for the life of me, why you or your mother would allow such a disreputable fellow to come here. Has he been giving you lessons as well?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Char said, her cheeks reddening more with anger than embarrassment. ‘You notice I have invited Reighland as well. After his recent unfortunate mistake, he is once again the most eligible bachelor in London.’

  ‘Is that the meaning of this?’ Priss gave a merry laugh. ‘I suppose you think, after our recent contretemps, he is fair game. It is too soon to count your chickens, dear Charlotte. There has been no notice in The Times to mark the end of our engagement. Until you see one, poor Reighland is quite under my thumb.’

  Folbroke let out a laugh, but the noise Char was making reminded Priss of nothing less than a spitting cat. When she could find words again she said under her breath, ‘We shall see, at the end of the evening, whether you are so confident of your place in society. Gervaise will dog your every step from here until the last trump. It will be quite embarrassing, should he arrive at the church with an impediment, will it not?’

  ‘And just how did Gervaise find the nerve to come back to London?’ Priss said, with a smile. ‘Could he have had help?’

  There was a slight, nervous flicker in Char’s eyes. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

  ‘And I have no idea why I ever called you friend,’ Priss said, shaking her head. ‘I must apologise to my sister for being such a ninny. It must have pained her greatly to put up with you. But I must put your mind at rest on one thing. Gervaise would have no reason to offer impediment to any marriage. It is not as if he can cry bigamy, for we never managed to cross the border.’

  Char was quite without speech now, managing nothing more than an unladylike shriek of fury.

  Priss gave a casual brush to her skirts. ‘You poor thing. You sound quite undone. Perhaps you should attend to your other guests. I would not want to keep you from them.’

  As her hostess stalked off, Folbroke whispered, ‘Masterfully done, my dear.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ In truth, the last battle had made her want to sink through the floor and it was just the first of many she would have to fight. ‘This was all much easier last Season, when I was merely playing at being wicked. The stakes are much higher now.’

  ‘But, Lady Priscilla, if one has fallen from grace, the ton is equally fascinated by one’s resurrection.’ He looked off into the distance for a moment, then said, ‘While I have your most charming attention, there is one other matter with which you might help me.’

  ‘Anything, my lord.’

  ‘I have come into possession of a misplaced piece of jewellery that must be returned to its rightful owner. I am sure some lady is distraught at the loss of it. Perhaps you can help me reunite the two.’ He fished in his pocket for a moment and offered an open palm.

  The Reighland betrothal ring.

  It might have been possible that Robert had lost it, only to have it found and pocketed by a blind man. But it was far more likely that he had given it to a friend so that it might be returned discreetly, before anyone commented on the absence.

  Priss closed her open mouth and favoured Folbroke with a smile that was wasted on him and a coo of delight that was easily overheard by everyone around them. ‘Thank you, my lord. It is my ring and a gift from Robert.’ She touched his wrist so that he might find her hand and slip it on over her glove. ‘It is rather large, you see. And sometimes it falls from its place without my noticing.’

  ‘You had best be more careful with it in the future. Tell Reighland to get it properly sized for you and I will say nothing of how I found it.’ For a man who wished to say nothing, he was saying it rather loudly, and a nearby matron was all but taking notes on the story. It was quite likely that tomorrow’s paper would have a carefully coded account of a future duchess’s lost-and-found jewelry.

  ‘And now,’ he said, ‘if you might direct me toward my wife, it is almost time to go into dinner.’ She gave him a touch on the arm and a gentle direction.

  Dinner. How had she not thought of that? She glanced around hurriedly to see if Robert was nearby, that he might escort her into the dining room. But though she was once again wearing his ring, he was stand
ing at the side of Charlotte, in close conversation with her.

  Was this some final slight on his part, to pay her back for her carelessness? She held her breath and waited. And watched as he turned rather suddenly and spoke to Char’s aunt, offering his arm to the dowager with a courtly bow. Char was left standing alone, clearly piqued. To hide her confusion, she grabbed the arm of a rather confused young man who could not manage to get out of the way quickly enough.

  ‘Eet seems we are thrown together again. Clearly eet eez a sign that fate favours mee. May I offer you my arm, Priscilla?’

  Dear Lord, it was Gervaise again. And if possible, his French accent had grown worse with the passage of time. How was she to get rid of him without being rude? But that had been her problem at the last ball. A desire to avoid a scene had resulted in her going off with a person she loathed and creating an even greater scandal.

  Tonight, she turned to him and gave him one final scathing glance. ‘No, Gervaise, I think not. That would require me to touch you. And I am recently bathed and have no wish to spoil the feeling of cleanliness with such contact. In fact, on looking at you tonight, I cannot imagine what possessed me to share intimacy with you in the first place.’

  ‘But you must,’ he said, looking at her in surprise, then at the dining-room door. ‘Azz you can see, there are no other gentlemen willing to have you.’

  Looking around, it did appear that the few men she knew who might give her aid had already disappeared from the room. She was left with the choice of Gervaise or nothing.

  ‘Then I shall have to go alone,’ she said, and before she lost her nerve she proceeded through the doors of the dining room, unescorted, to search out her seat.

  * * *

  Out of the corner of his eye, Robert saw Priscilla’s look of horror at the approach of her old lover and had to force himself not to rush to her rescue. She would never learn to manage if he saved her from every embarrassment. Still, it felt as if he had thrown her into deep water, only to see if she could swim.