Priscilla shook her head mutely. There was something so wildly intimate about being in this room with him after dark and….
Without saying a word, she held out the book. Where had her tongue disappeared to?
Charles sat up properly now, his hair tousled, and leaned forward to take the book. Priscilla was careful to position her fingers so it was almost impossible for their hands to touch.
“And to think, I never even noticed that it was missing!” Charles opened the cover and examined the title page. “Goodness, and who knows how long it would have taken before I noticed.”
Priscilla nodded, tongue still mute. What had she been thinking? All afternoon, she had planned the perfect speech, explained everything to him in a way he would understand, perhaps even agree with.
She could not admit anything to Charles. She could not tell him how she felt, reveal to him the secret inner workings of her heart.
What if he laughed at her? Thought less of her? What if he demanded their friendship came to an end?
Priscilla swallowed down the panic and instead said, “Well, you have the book back safely. I will go home now. Goodnight, Charles.”
She almost made it to the door before he spoke, leaning over the settee with a smile.
“Don’t be silly, Priscilla. Come and sit down, have a nightcap with me before you go back out there in the rain. It sounds horrid, to tell the truth.”
Her hand was on the handle, but she hesitated. “I should not be drinking with a gentleman, not really.”
“You’re not,” said Charles. “You’re drinking with me.”
Everything in her bones told her to go home. She was alone here. Society would not care if they were friends. No, society would call her a ruined woman if caught with a gentleman so indecorously dressed.
“Just one drink then,” she relented. “Or I shall be unable to walk straight on the path home!”
Returning to the fire, she sat on the same settee Charles immediately vacated. He had moved to the drinks cabinet, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of sherry.
“You know, everything has been a bit strange recently,” he said nonchalantly.
Priscilla attempted to match his demeanor. “Oh?”
He poured a small amount of sherry into one glass and a much larger portion into the second. “Yes. I mean, since the engagement. It has all been a little…odd.”
“Has it?”
Charles put the bottle away and walked over to pass her the sherry.
“Yes,” he said, sitting down next to her with his own glass. “I hope…well, that things will go back to the way they were before. After the wedding, I mean.”
Priscilla brought the sherry glass to her lips and took a large gulp of the scalding liquid. It was the sherry, she thought afterward. She could think of no other reason why she said it.
“No. Nothing will be the same again.”
Charles frowned. “Well, I suppose not, but we will still be friends. We will still see each other regularly, I expect. In town and things.”
Pulse roaring in her ears, Priscilla’s whole body seemed taut, like a tightrope waiting for someone to attempt a great distance. If she did not speak now, she would regret it, perhaps for the rest of her life.
“Do you not see how impossible that will be?” she said, taking another sip of her sherry. “I mean…Charles. You will be a married man. You will not just be able to see me whenever you like!”
It was evident by the look on his face that this was not something he had considered. A frown crept over his face, and he took a large gulp of his drink without saying anything.
Priscilla looked down at her own glass. It was almost empty. It had hardly been half full when Charles had passed it to her, but if she were going to continue, she would need a little Dutch courage.
Tipping the glass back and finishing the last of the amber liquid, she put it down on a table and looked directly at the man she loved.
“Charles,” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “I have something to confess to you.”
The words were out before she could stop them, and regret poured through her body.
Heady sherry, sheer panic, and the intoxication of his presence had forced those words from her lips. But now they were said, and she could not take them back.
Even if she wanted to.
Charles leaned toward her. “Confession? I hope this is not another book theft, Priscilla, because my library only has so many.”
Priscilla swallowed before replying. Was this the right time? There could be no better, that was certain, but that did not make it right. Was she mad to even be considering this at all?
Looking at him melted away all her concerns. She could not play games anymore. Arriving at his engagement picnic dressed to take attention away from the bride was one thing, but she could have been seriously injured if that bull had lurched the wrong way.
She could not put herself in harm’s way just to attract his attention anymore. She may be rivaling Miss Frances Lloyd for his heart, but if she were to feel any pleasure in the prize, she would have to win Charles in a fair fight.
Priscilla took a deep breath. “I had a conversation with Miss Lloyd. At the Donal wedding.”
The interest which had sparked in Charles’ eyes died away. “Oh, yes. Miss Lloyd.”
It was still possible to escape this conversation without revealing all, but Priscilla knew this was it. This was the moment. “And ever since then, I have been…been trying to rival her.”
Charles frowned, taking another sip of the sherry. “Rival? I don’t understand.”
Heartily wishing that she had not drunk the entire glass of sherry, Priscilla tried to think straight. Charles’s presence was more than enough to confuse her at the best of times, but now she needed all her concentration. She had to get this right.
“The picnic, the ball, your friend Lord Westray, the bull…Charles, I have been trying to get your attention.” He still looked
