Miss Worsley. That broken engaged had hung over her like a cloud, and her rebellious nature meant she was unlikely to permit a gentleman to attempt to court her.
Miss Lymington. Priscilla smiled into her teacup as she drained it. She had become so infatuated with the idea of marrying royalty, and if nobility could not be found, well, her thirty thousand pounds had given her airs she had not been bred to. It was unlikely she would find a gentleman worthy enough for her.
And then there was herself. All four of them, now Priscilla came to think about it, were unlikely to be brides any time soon.
Perhaps the only way they would experience a wedding was vicariously – through their conversation of others.
Her armchair was comfortable, and her tea sweet as she allowed the conversation to wash over her.
She would never marry. She had wanted Charles, and now she could not have him. She could not comprehend the idea of marrying another.
The very idea she could stand at the altar with another gentleman, take vows, lie in bed with him…
It was an utterly ridiculous thought.
“Miss Seton, are you quite well?”
Priscilla blinked and saw Miss Lymginton looked concerned.
“Quite well, I thank you,” Priscilla said as calmly as she could manage. “I was just wondering whether I could have another slice of your excellent cake.”
Miss Worsley shrugged. “Help yourself, you know you can. Cake has little interest for me.”
Priscilla reached for another slice and placed her teacup on the table. It would never do to accidentally destroy one of the guest set.
“Have…have any of you heard the latest rumors about Miss Emma Tilbury?” Miss Darby spoke quietly, for once, and with a nervous look around her. It was not seemly to discuss Miss Tilbury in public, but they were in private.
Still, thought Priscilla. It was a daring move for the newest to their party.
“What is the latest you have heard?” asked Miss Worsley, throwing her legs over her armchair to get more comfortable.
Miss Darby looked startled at the movement, but then, it was Miss Worsley’s home. She could do what she liked and always did.
“I heard she was very low on funds and struggling to pay for her rooms,” said Miss Darby, almost in a whisper.
There were murmurs around the room, all on a general theme of how sad it was for a woman to be brought so low.
Priscilla swallowed a mouthful of cake. It was a bit of a mystery to her; she had not heard any rumors about Miss Tilbury, but then she had moved about in society so little over the past few weeks.
The last time she had seen Miss Tilbury…why, it must have been at Almack’s, almost three months ago. Beautiful and charming, she seemed a little tired, but that was to be expected as the mistress to the Earl of Marnmouth…
“One would think that a woman like that,” Priscilla said quietly, surprised at her own words, “would be able to make her own way in life.”
“Well, I heard the Earl of Marnmouth has thrown her aside and is looking for a new mistress,” Miss Worsley said triumphantly.
There were shocked gasps from the ladies.
“A new one?” Miss Darby looked astounded. “But I thought – he and Miss Tilbury have had an understanding for years!”
Miss Worsley nodded with a knowing smile. “And that is rather the problem, is it not? I mean, none of us keep our charms forever, and Miss Tilbury has been with the earl – what is it, five years?”
Priscilla sighed heavily. “What a terrible place the world is, that five years is enough to get one’s pleasure from a woman and then, with no compunction, throw her aside.” Her cheeks heated as all three friends stared. “Well, I think it is a crying shame,” she said, a little more strongly. “What would the world come to if husbands could do such a thing?”
“Ah, but they cannot,” said Miss Lymington with a certain amount of satisfaction. “No, husbands are forced to care for their wives, especially if they bring a little fortune with them –”
“Or a big fortune, like yours!” teased Miss Worsley.
Miss Darby laughed. “You know, I am surprised you are here with us, Miss Lymington, when there are so many eligible young gentlemen circling you!”
Miss Lymington attempted to look affronted, but it was clear to Priscilla that she was pleased with the description.
“I heard Miss Ashbrooke has been stalking around looking for more eligible young ladies,” said Miss Worsley with a wicked grin. “Perhaps your mama should write to her and see which titled gentlemen she has on her books!”
All four of them laughed. Priscilla could not forget her most recent conversation with the matchmaker.
“I am always in desperate need of ladies, of course – never enough ladies in town!”
Miss Darby’s eyes were bright as she said, “Well, I would take that as a sign, her business is going well if she has run out of ladies!”
There was more laughter in the room, and she looked genuinely gratified to have contributed to the laughter.
Miss Lymington leaned forward to place her own teacup on the side table between herself and Priscilla. “’Tis strange, to think that someone like Miss Ashbrooke who has no personal knowledge of marriage can simply choose two people, a gentleman and a lady, completely secure in the knowledge that the marriage will work.”
Was there something wistful in her tones? Priscilla could hardly make it out, but there was definitely something strange in her voice.
“I think it is more like an arranged marriage,” said Miss Worsley dismissively, “and there are plenty of those in society, ’tis just we rarely hear about them. Miss Ashbrooke certainly knows how to make a happy couple. You hardly ever see hers living apart, do you?”
Priscilla’s heart lurched at the mention of arranged marriages.
Charles. If only she had known how she felt about Charles, knew she loved
