“I actually could not agree more,” Bridgitte declared, dropping her arms and clutching her hands together. “I do not suppose you have any particular gentleman in mind?”
Priscilla pondered why her sister’s usually sharp tongue was so dulled, but it was nice. Priscilla had tried many times to bond with her younger sister, but had failed miserably to find some common ground. Perhaps this Season would finally prove to be such a thing for them.
She was just about to answer her sister when she cast her eyes away from her sister and her vision landed on two gentlemen who were talking across the room. There was an older man, but it was the younger man who drew Priscilla’s eye. There was something about him.
“Priscilla,” Bridgitte said with irritation. “What are you looking at that is so fascinating?”
Her eyes went to Bridgitte as a blush dusted her cheeks. “I thought I saw someone I recognised, but I was mistaken.” She did not know truly why she lied. Perhaps it was embarrassment, or just maybe it was an urge to keep the dashing man to herself for the moment. Her charming sister would certainly have no trouble shifting the gentleman’s gaze to herself, and Priscilla wanted to live in the fantasy that he was hers alone for the time being.
Bridgitte did not look thoroughly convinced but she seemed to not have noticed what had caught Priscilla’s eyes, much to Priscilla’s relief. Priscilla cleared her throat. “I have no particular gentleman in mind, no.” She gave her sister a smile. “Have you narrowed down your choices?”
A light, airy laugh escaped Bridgitte. She lifted a delicate, gloved hand to her lips in a gesture sweetly refined by years of practice in front of her vanity mirror. Priscilla had seen Bridgitte do so since they were children.
“You make it sound as if I have the whole of the county at my beck and call, Priss.” Bridgitte shook her head, a smile lingering on her lips. “Yet, I do have a few ideas.”
Priscilla cocked an eyebrow, in much the way their father did. “A few?”
“I do agree that we should start taking this opportunity seriously, but there is no need to rush into such a formidable decision.” Bridgitte gave Priscilla a look that asked if she was going to challenge the logic of that statement.
With a sigh, Priscilla turned her attention back to the room. A gentleman approached and Priscilla gave him only a passing glance. He was not here after her. Sure enough, the young man stopped in front of Bridgitte and gave her a bow.
“May have the honor of this dance?” The young man extended his hand toward Bridgitte, hope beaming from his youthful face.
Bridgitte must have been feeling generous, as she usually turned down the first man who approached her each dance. This time she accepted with a gentle smile and put her hand in his. “That sounds splendid,” Bridgitte breathed like a ray of sunshine and the young man’s face lit up as if he had won some prize.
Priscilla lost interest in her sister’s escapades. Her eyes went back to where she had seen the handsome man. He was nowhere to be seen, however. Priscilla felt her heart grow heavy.
It was a silly thing, yet there it was all the same. Her heart longed to see the young man yet again. She caught a flash of dark brown hair and her lips quirked up into a smile.
There he was talking with some other men. Priscilla felt the rush of blood in her veins and then her heart skipped a beat as his brown eyes met her own blue gaze. She had always felt quite ordinary, but caught in his gaze she felt beautiful.
Priscilla looked away out of a sense of self-preservation. She put a hand on her chest. This was the oddest sensation. Was this how women fell into ill-repute?
She should not have been staring at him so. That he had caught her was too much to think about it. Yet, she had felt no embarrassment when their gazes had connected.
Priscilla turned on her heel and went to talk with a group of ladies that she recognised while staunchly pushing down the urge to look back over at the brown-haired man. Was he still looking? The question nagged at her.
She conversed with friends and acquaintances. She even managed to forget about her mystery man for a time. Then, it happened that her gaze shifted across the shoulder of one of her companions and she found a most perplexing sight.
The brown-haired man was standing across the room talking with a merchant that Priscilla was sure she knew, but the man’s name evaded her. His conversation was not what was peculiar, however. The strange part was that he had been looking at her, or at least in her direction. Had he been watching her?
The man, seeing that he was caught in his reverie, looked away. A smile spread over Priscilla’s face as she turned her attention back to her companions. Perhaps finding a suitable husband would not be such a trying affair, after all?
(Present – June)
The tailoring shop owned by Miss Rowles was well known as the place to go for a beautiful dress. Priscilla was not disappointed when she came to Miss Rowles with her expectations about a wedding dress. Her maid tugged the dress and Priscilla laughed as the maid synched her up into the wedding dress.
“I think you will be safely locked away in this until your husband sees fit to release you,” Gwen, her maid, said with a smile in the mirror.
Priscilla had to agree. “Yes, I do not think I shall be able to free myself of it.”
“Best not go running off then,” Gwen teased. The maid’s plump, freckled cheeks made dimples as she grinned.
The idea of running away was not one that Priscilla had entertained. She gave Gwen a smile. “The very idea of Morton heiress running away from her duties is enough to call down the wrath of my whole family line.”
“I think his Lordship did a fine job arranging your marriage,” Gwen said as if the words needed to be spoken.
Priscilla gave a light shrug. “Philip is a good man.”
“And a duke,” Gwen added, not that Priscilla needed reminding. Bridgitte had been a bit put out when their father, the Earl of Chaplin, had announced that Philip would marry Priscilla.
Of course, Priscilla had been just as surprised. She had danced with, and spoke with, Philip, yes. Yet how could she view the man as anything but the boy she had grown up with?
She thought of Philip, his gentle reassurances that things would work out just fine. “Just you wait and see,” as he always said.
Priscilla frowned at her hair in the mirror’s reflection. “Do you think I should have my hair up for the wedding?”
“Oh, yes,” Gwen enthused. “Perhaps with some flowers?”
Priscilla liked that idea. “It might compliment the simpleness of my dress.” She looked down at her cream-colored dress. “You do not think it is too simple, do you?”
“I think it is perfect for you, Miss.” Gwen brought Priscilla’s hair up in a twist. “Oh my, you will look like a princess.”
“I do not know about that, but I know you will have me looking my best.” Priscilla frowned as a thought crossed her mind. “What if Philip did not get the date that I requested?”
Gwen giggled. “I think he would have said something about that.”
“You are probably right. I just am too used to worrying,” Priscilla said as she smoothed the silken skirt down.
Priscilla felt Gwen’s hand on her arm and she looked around at her maid. “I do not know a bride alive that wasn’t worried over every little thing before her wedding. I think that’s just how God made women. We worry.”
Gwen’s words brought a smile to Priscilla’s face. She nodded and looked back at herself in the mirror. “I suppose that is just the way of things.”
“And a good thing too. With marriage and children come lots of worries,” Gwen said.
Her words made Priscilla look around at her again. “I forget sometimes that you are married. I shall lean upon you heavily.”
“Good thing that I was made to bear weight,” Gwen replied with a wink. “I am always at your side, Miss. I trust in His Grace’s good intentions to keep you safe.”
Priscilla agreed with a nod of her head. �
��I think the tailor has done a fine job,” Priscilla said, as she really did not know what else to say.
Gwen gave the dress a good once over. “Mmhmm. It looks like she knows her stitching. Shall I help you get back out of it?”
“I would appreciate it,” Priscilla replied with a chuckle. “I would hate to tear it trying to get out of it.”
Gwen whispered, “Mustn’t take away His Grace’s fun.”
Priscilla gave a half-hearted laugh. Gwen did not seem to notice and Priscilla felt relief for that. The maid hummed a little song that Priscilla did not recognise as she worked to free Priscilla of the dress’ bondage.
Once she was free and carefully made modest again, Priscilla felt better. The wedding was not far off, and yet it did not feel real. She hoped it became more so, but everything seemed so distant.
Gwen carried on as if Priscilla were paying rapt attention. It felt nice to not have to respond. Priscilla could merely nod along with the maid and Gwen kept up a constant flow of chatter.
While Gwen rambled on Priscilla’s mind wandered. It felt odd to hear Philip referred to as His Grace. That had always been Philip’s father. Philip was just Philip.
Priscilla found it very hard to rationalise that the scrawny scamp she ran through fields with as a child was now the tall, handsome duke she was destined to marry. Was that not the perfect start to one of those dreamy romantic poems that her governess read all the time? Yet there was no romance between them.
He was kind, considerate, cordial even. Yet Priscilla could only look upon him with warm thoughts of friendship. There were no breath-stealing moments or furtive glances.
“Do you think His Grace will come to call upon you this evening?” Gwen’s question brought Priscilla back from her mind wandering.
Her brows wrinkled as she thought about that. “It is likely. He said that he would be back from his outing and he seemed eager to stop by.”
“Of course he is,” Gwen said with a grin. “Shall you bring the dress with you now or have it delivered?”
Priscilla had always been a bit clumsy. “I think I shall let the tailor deliver it. There was that stitch that was loose, after all.”
“Right,” Gwen said as she nodded her head. “I had forgotten about that completely, what with you looking so bedazzling in it.”
Priscilla waved off Gwen’s foolishness. Her mother did not like how informal Gwen was at times to Priscilla, but there was only a few years difference between them. Priscilla thought of Gwen as a friend. They had known each other for years and Gwen had a lot more life experience than Priscilla. She was a natural ally in these strange times.
“Gwen,” Priscilla said in low voice. “Did you love your husband before you were married?”
Gwen hung the wedding dress carefully on the hook by the door before she turned around to eye Priscilla with amusement. “I didn’t even know him, Miss.”
“Surely you jest,” Priscilla said, trying to imagine what that would be like.
Gwen shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “Well, I suppose I did meet him a few times beforehand. Mind you, I had no say in the matter whatsoever.”
“I have heard of that many times. We had a cousin whose father married her off quite suddenly. Took us all quite by surprise. He had seemed a reasonable fellow before that.” Priscilla frowned as she remembered how she had heard the news and then her cousin had simply been married.
Gwen nodded. “Parents always want to make a good life for their child. Just like me, they always think they know best. It’s why Fred wanted me to leave my work as a maid. As if we could survive on just what he brings in from the factory.”
Priscilla did not like to think about it all. She drew in a breath before she ventured, “But you grew to love your husband?”
“Oh, yes, Fred is a fine chap,” Gwen said with a content smile as if she were remembering something fond and warm.
Priscilla smiled at the look of affection on Gwen’s face. It made her feel better to know that love could grow out of such a beginning as Gwen and her Fred must have had. She noticed Gwen watching her a bit and she gave Gwen a curious look.
Gwen had a twinkle in her eye that made Priscilla uneasy. “You got the cold feet, haven’t ye?”
“Is that what this is?” Priscilla puzzled over the question. “I do not suppose I know what it feels like so I cannot say.”
Gwen giggled. “It feels like you might be about to step off into a deep hole, one you don’t see.”
“Maybe,” Priscilla replied honestly. “What if I do not love him as I should?”
Gwen pushed her lips out as she pondered Priscilla’s question. “What is the right way to love a man?” Gwen shook her head. “What is it that truly bothers you about it all?”
“I have known His Grace for all my life. I do not know how to suddenly see him any differently just because Mother and Father have decided that it is time we made a life together.”
An understanding hum escaped Gwen. She gave Priscilla look of compassion. “It might be a true gift to marry a man you know so well. You will have no fear of the unknown with him. Why, true friendship can blossom into a fine rose.”
“I do hope that is the case,” Priscilla whispered. “I feel foolish that I worry so, yet—”
“Yet, you cannot help it,” Gwen said as she laid her hand on Priscilla’s shoulder. “Oh Miss, I wish I could quiet your worries, but they are natural. Every woman feels such things sometimes.”
Priscilla knew that what Gwen said held truth, but this did not quiet the nagging thought that things were not exactly right. “You are right.”
***
Doctor George Rowley met his patients in many places that were slightly less savory than he would have liked. Today was a pleasant change from sour-smelling bedrooms. He was checking on Timothy Henderson, the youngest son of the seamstress that lived at the corner of Elm and Arlington Roads.
Mrs. Henderson’s house smelled of lemons from her vigorous cleaning. George had told the woman of the usefulness of such things to combat the foulness of the diseases that tormented her youngest son. The lemon-scented breeze wafted through pristine white lace curtains that lifted with its touch as George warmed his stethoscope.
George gave the boy a smile as he put the end of the stethoscope against Tim’s chest. “Big breath, Timmy,” George said as he keened his ears to listen for the tell-tale wheeze and rattle of pneumonia that had developed in the child’s lungs after a prolonged battle with a vicious cold.
Tim drew in a breath and let it out slowly. The child’s eyes were wide with dread. George knew that he hated the medicine and probably hated even more that George had insisted on bed rest for him. No doubt the child was wondering what sort of foul torment George had for him today.
After a couple more breaths George removed his stethoscope and slung it around his neck like a garish scarf. “Mrs. Henderson, I do believe that Timmy here has earned himself some time out of this bed.”
No sooner had George said the words than Tim let out a triumphant, “Yahoo!”
George raised a hand to halt the boy who was already half out of the bed. “Easy does it,” George warned. He turned toward Mrs. Henderson who held her hands clasped together as if holding herself back from celebrating as well. George told her, “Make sure he plays outside when it is not too hot. We do not want to strain his lungs. And make sure he takes frequent rests.”
Mrs. Henderson bobbed her head. “Whatever you say, Doctor Rowley.”
A Ravishing Beauty in Disguise: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 30
