And now he was forced into the same position.
What choice did he have? If Mary had lived, bless her, perhaps she could have married well to a gentleman willing to lend him the money.
No, he was faced with absolutely no choice. He would have to marry Miss Lloyd.
Charles felt sick to his stomach. What a cad he was. He was the worst kind of gentleman, throwing promises out that he could never keep to.
What had he done?
“I…I meant what I said. I will break my engagement.”
If he had known then what he knew now…he would certainly never have told her that, let alone made love to Priscilla.
He had to tell her. She could not continue thinking he was going to propose to her once he had broken his engagement to Miss Lloyd. It would be the most difficult conversation of his life.
Perhaps, and his heart twisted at the very thought, he could avoid her for a few more days. Allow distance to grow, emotions to settle…
What was he thinking? Priscilla was hardly going to forget about him.
The wedding – his wedding – was ten days away. She needed to know that he was going through with it, even if it was the end of their friendship.
But how could he live without her?
“That is a rather serious face,” said a voice behind him.
Charles almost spilled port all down himself, ruining a very expensive shirt. He knew that voice.
Priscilla was removing her bonnet and placing the ribbons inside it with a look of cheerful mischief on her face.
“H-How did you – did Hodges not see you?”
“Of course not,” Priscilla said airily, removing her spencer jacket and placing it with her bonnet on an armchair. “I wished to see you, and no butler was going to get in my way to stop me.”
The words were spoken in jest, a joyful tilt to her voice, and she smiled as she stepped around the room and stood before the fire.
Her words tore at his very soul. Was he going to let a money concern destroy his happiness? Their happiness? The best happiness he had ever known?
The letter from the banker was still in his hand. Echoes of the conversations he had had earlier that day repeated through his mind.
“Quite a serious amount of debt, Your Grace.”
“We assumed you knew, or we would have alerted you to the danger years ago…”
“…mortgage payments exceed value of the property…”
“Without an advantageous marriage, Your Grace, we cannot see…”
It was not a small amount of money. He was risking the loss of their southern seat, the dignity and honor of the Orrinshire name, and he would be pulling the whole family name down with him if he did not do something to restore its fortunes.
His grandfather and father may have chosen selfishness, but he could not. He would not allow their mistakes to ruin him.
What a shame he could not work for a living. The thought put a wry smile on his face. There were plenty of bluestockings he had met in Oxford who had argued the only choice they had was to marry a fortune. They wished to work, to earn their own living, beholden to no one.
Wasn’t he in that same position?
Priscilla turned to face him, the fire warming her back. “You look miserable, Charles.”
“You cannot stay too long,” he snapped, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. “It is late.”
“Late?” She glanced at the clock, which now showed it was five past ten. “’Tis not so late, not when I am in such good company and home is but a fifteen-minute walk away.”
“I am very busy,” Charles said desperately. Anything to remove her from his presence. Every minute she stayed here, his resolution to marry Miss Lloyd faltered.
Priscilla frowned, that crease he knew so well appearing in her brow. “Busy? You are just sitting there, reading…what are you reading?”
Charles hastily started pulling all the letters together. “You would not understand,” he said frantically. “It is just paperwork, letters, numbers…”
His voice trailed off as he shoved all the letters under a cushion, his insides cringing. Was this how his father had dealt with financial matters? Just pushed them away, out of sight and out of mind?
Priscilla sat beside him on the cleared space on the settee. “I may not understand now,” she said softly, “that is true. But I will. I am going to be your wife, after all, so I will need to learn how to look after the estate with you.”
Her words, innocently spoken, felt like a dagger in his side. Charles knew in his heart she had meant nothing by it – just pure excitement about their nuptials.
“I do not need any help,” he barked, heat rising in his chest. He knew what he had to say, but how could he possibly explain? “Priscilla, I –”
“Not need any help? Now that is nonsense, a wife is there to support her husband,” Priscilla said calmly, but her face still looked concerned.
Charles breathed deeply. “You are not my wife, Priscilla.”
It was not the best introduction to the topic, but it was the best he could do in the circumstances.
She laughed. “Well, no, not at the moment. But I will be soon.”
He said nothing, his gaze drifting to the fire. It was easier to stare into the flames than look at Priscilla.
Her voice was firmer as she said, “We will be married, won’t we, Charles?”
He sighed heavily. Every inch of him wanted to run, but that was the coward’s way out. He had to face her. Even if it was killing him inside.
Rising to his feet, he walked over to the fireplace, putting a hand on the cooling marble of the mantelpiece.
“I…” he started, still not looking at her. How could he look into her blue eyes and say what he had to say?
“Charles?”
“Priscilla, I cannot do it,” he managed. “I cannot do it, and I thought I could, but I can’t.”
The words echoed around the room. There. It was done. The worst was over.
“What? What
