“You know, I believe you are correct. I love you, Charles, but I will not…I do not want to be treated like… I do deserve better. Good night, Charles.”
He swallowed. “Walk with me, Priscilla. It cannot hurt.”
She glared. “Five minutes. Then I arrive at the Tanners.”
There was a basket on her arm with a cloth covering its contents.
“The Tanners,” Charles said, desperate for something to say as they walked down the pavement, Priscilla leaning as close as she could to the wall. “I was not aware that they were in need.”
“Young Benjamin Tanner’s wife is confined, her baby due any day now, and she has not been well,” Priscilla said stiffly. She did not look at him as she spoke, her gaze instead affixed to the pavement. “I have brought a little broth, some bacon, some smelling salts, just a few things. And then there are the Smiths, two doors down. Their youngest is…”
Charles allowed the words to wash over him as they walked down the street. She was not smiling, and neither was he. He felt wretched, for he wanted to touch her so badly that when they turned a corner, he had to be careful not to brush against her arm.
He could not have her. He had made that abundantly clear.
So why was he desperate to touch her, crush her against the wall, take her in his arms and –
“ – and then I will return home.” Priscilla glared as her speech came to an end. “And what are you doing in the village?”
They were passing the conker tree, and the street in both directions was deserted. Charles stopped in his tracks.
“I…” His mouth was open, and he knew he had to speak, but no words came to him. How could he possibly explain all he was feeling, the regret he had for bedding her without considering the consequences… “We should never have done it.”
It was the thought uppermost in his mind, but all the thoughts around it, the pain he felt for betraying her, the desperation to touch her again, the torment that he would never make love to her in the future…none of those could be expressed. He did not have the words.
Priscilla was staring, her mouth now open, and she placed her basket onto the ground before speaking. “You regret…you regret our – that we made love?”
Charles wanted to say, “Of course not!”
But he hesitated. What was he doing? This whole encounter had been orchestrated by him, on a day when he should have been with his fiancée – Miss Lloyd, damn her – and what was he doing?
Nothing good, that was certain. He was losing control with every moment, and if he waited much longer, he would push her against the old bark of the tree and kiss her in desperation.
He had been foolish to do this. He had been wrong, and now there was only one way, perhaps, to break this connection for good. It would take every ounce of his courage, but perhaps this would give Priscilla the freedom to forget about him and…well. Find another.
The thought was repellant to him, but if it broke their connection…
“Yes,” he said, hating every syllable of his lie. “Yes, I wish…I wish we had never done it.”
Her face twisted in a pure expression of heartbreak, but then she found her equilibrium, and her face was quite blank.
Damn you, Charles raged at himself. The only thought that kept him from striding away and abandoning her in the street was that this falsehood was for her sake. She needed to break free from him.
Priscilla swallowed. “Well, that…that is a terrible thing to hear you say when that meant so much to me.”
Her voice was low, despite no one else being on the road, and Charles caught every painful word.
What kind of monster was he? Stuck with a woman he did not love and another before him that he would literally die for.
And that was the point, wasn’t it? Rather than lie down and die for her, he was going to sacrifice every waking day of his life for her. She would never know how much he wanted this to be different – but it could not be. He had to do what was right for the Orrinshire name. As he spent his days married to a woman he did not love, Priscilla would, with luck, find another. He had to be man enough to let her go.
“One day,” he said quietly, “you will find another gentleman – meet someone who…”
“Do not speak another word,” Priscilla said curtly.
Charles was silenced, and not a moment too soon. The very idea of Priscilla falling in love with another gentleman, kissing him, allowing herself to…
It made him want to be sick, but he had to push his point home. He would not be the reason that Priscilla pined away.
“You will,” he said more firmly than he felt, “and you will love him just as much as me, if…if not more.”
Priscilla stared into his eyes. “Is that what you think will happen with Frances? Eventually, you will love her as you love me now? Maybe more?”
The thought, foolishly, had never occurred to him. His marriage to Miss Lloyd – a marriage that would occur in less than a week – would involve…well—making love.
He almost snorted at the very thought. Make love to Miss Lloyd? They would have children. The Orrinshire line must continue. But the idea that it would approach anything like the passion and pleasure he had shared with Priscilla…no, it was not possible.
A breeze rushed through the golden leaves of the conker tree, and a few fell to the ground.
Autumn. The end of summer. The end of joy.
“I will have to,” he said aloud. “I will have to learn to love Miss Lloyd, and you will learn to love another.”
A strange look passed over Priscilla’s face, like a shadow. “Well, I think you should know that Frances – Miss Lloyd, I mean – does not
