Priscilla’s emotions had been pulled taut all morning, and she had just about had enough of this. Hearing Charles was no longer engaged, hoping it had been broken for her, realizing her selfishness, discovering her own fortune was five times what she had expected, knowing she would have to beg Miss Lloyd to forgive Charles for breaking their engagement – and now hearing that it had been she who had broken it, and Miss Ashbrooke thought Charles worthless?
“Charles is not bookish, certainly,” she said, fire in her words, “but he is honorable, kind, and handsome! He is everything any young lady would wish to find in her future husband, and…and he makes me laugh. He makes me feel safe, cared for, and that was before – I mean, he is the best person I know! Miss Lloyd, he was so honorable that he decided to marry you despite the fact that…”
Her voice trailed away. This was not, perhaps, the best way to defend Charles after all.
“I know no ill of him,” she said finally. “I have known him all my life, and he has never done anything of which I was ashamed.”
Miss Ashbrooke was smiling now, and it was a knowing smile that made Priscilla think most unladylike thoughts about pins and hot needles. “Why, with a passionate defense like that, one would almost think you were in love with him yourself.”
Miss Lloyd smiled. “Why, she is, of course.”
Heat rushed through Priscilla’s body. “What – no, I…Charles and I have…I do not think that…” Her words eventually trailed into silence. “Is there any point in attempting to deny it? Yes, I love him. More than anything. More than my very life, but that is not important.”
“Oh, I think it is,” Miss Lloyd said quietly.
She looked so calm despite her engagement ending mere days before her wedding, and Priscilla found herself irrationally annoyed at the woman.
“And why is that?” she snapped.
“Because that was exactly what he needed to hear.”
Priscilla’s blood, hot and furious, froze that very second. She shifted in her chair, slowly turning to look behind her.
It had not been a footman who had entered just as she had started to speak about Charles.
It was Charles himself.
Chapter Nineteen
Charles stared. The whole world had stopped, so how was it possible that his heart was still beating? Why was his pulse throbbing in his hands, beating in his ears?
Nothing else moved. Nothing else made a sound.
Is it possible? He could not take his eyes away from Priscilla, whose words still echoed in his mind.
“Charles is not bookish, certainly, but he is honorable, kind, and handsome! He is everything any young lady would wish to find in her future husband, and…and he makes me laugh.”
Had she meant it? Where had those words come from, spoken so fiercely in his defense?
Miss Lloyd and Miss Ashbrooke were watching him closely, but they faded into the background as he looked at Priscilla. She had spoken up for him when all he had done was confuse her, tempt her with the perfect future, and then tear it away.
“Is there any point in attempting to deny it? Yes, I…I love him. More than anything. More than my very life, but that is not important.”
She loved him. More than that, she knew him; knew all his faults, failures, mistakes, and yet still chose to love him.
Despite everything that had happened. Despite all he had done to her. Despite how he had hurt her, how he had not trusted in her, or believed that together, they could face anything.
She loved him, still.
There was a cough. The sound cracked the world, and Charles blinked. The room came into focus, and so did Miss Ashbrooke’s knowing smile and Miss Lloyd’s beaming joy.
Between them was Priscilla. Her bonnet was askew, she was only wearing one earbob, and there was shock on her beautiful face. She was everything he wanted. Everything.
He cleared his throat, unsure whether the words he wanted to speak would make sense. How could he possibly put his emotions, swirling and conflicting as they were, into sentences?
“Wh-what?” was all he managed on a first attempt. After clearing his throat again, he spoke distinctly. “What are you doing here?”
Priscilla appeared to be just as surprised to see him. “You – here?”
Before Charles could answer or receive an answer himself, Frances spoke. “You know, Priscilla, our conversation at the Donal wedding gave me much to think about.”
Priscilla’s head turned. “It did?”
Frances nodded. “I realized that simply marrying Charles – Your Grace, I mean – because it had been agreed between our mothers was foolish. Nay, barbaric. This is England! We hardly live in the time of savages, and it is down to us to decide our fates. And so I wrote to Miss Ashbrooke.”
Charles looked at the matchmaker. “You did?”
What on earth was his mother going to say about all of this? He could not imagine that she was going to be pleased that the family fortunes were no longer to be rescued.
“She did,” Miss Ashbrooke nodded. “After speaking with Miss Lloyd, and speaking with Miss Seton, too, though she probably was not aware of my purpose –”
“Morgan and Fenning! Turning up for all that cake and nonsense!” Priscilla looked outraged. “Were you…you were spying on me!”
“Now, spying is such a harsh word,” said Miss Ashbrooke, seating herself beside Miss Lloyd. “’Tis a very unladylike term, and I have no wish to hear you say it again. I was speaking with you and working to ascertain your true feelings. They became clear to me at once.”
Charles watched as Priscilla’s cheeks pinked. “They did?”
Frances smiled. “Why, Miss Seton, after we agreed to a rivalry so you could win His Grace’s heart, it was very obvious to me that there was little point in
