Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret
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Now, those same men and their wives feared him, because they feared the title. If they realised that Reighland was just a thin veil over his old self, they would know how much power they still held. And it would all begin again.
So he glared and felt the crowd tremble at the possibility of his disapproval. It was better that they were kept off balance and at a distance, as they had been since his arrival in London. It meant he had made no friends, but neither had he any real enemies.
And until recently, tonight had been going according to course. Though she might sneer at his manners tomorrow, tonight the hostess was fawning over him, desperate to keep his favour. Several young ladies had been nudged into his path by their mamas, rather like birds forced from the nest into the mouth of a waiting cat. And just like those birds, they had been, to the last, wide-eyed, gawky and rather stupid. He had done the nice, of course, danced with them and fetched several glasses of lemonade, which allowed him to avoid adding his own dull wits to theirs.
Then he had spotted his supposed intended, just as he had hoped to. Hendricks had been right, the girl was a prime article. Pretty enough to put the others in the shade.
Or shadow. For there could not exactly be shade, could there, if the sun had set?
He brooded on that for a moment, then returned to the matter at hand.
The beautiful Lady Priscilla had seen through him in an instant. Apparently, she was not impressed by the farmer with the strawberry-leaf coronet.
In response, he’d been instantly attracted to her. But it was obvious that the sentiment would not be easily returned. Perhaps that was why he found her so fascinating. Of the three or four likely candidates he had found for his duchess, she might not be the prettiest in London. Close, perhaps. He almost preferred the dark good looks of Charlotte Deveril, despite that girl’s lack of a titled father.
Lady Priscilla was an earl’s daughter, with connections equal to two of the other girls he favoured. And her reputation …
There were rumours. When he’d questioned friends, no one had had the nerve to speak directly of the flaw. But he was sure it existed, if her own brother-in-law could not manage unequivocal approval of her. Even without the presence of Mrs Hendricks, he’d had to give a more-than-gentle hint to tonight’s hostess that he wished the presence of both Benbridge and his family. He had been informed that the new Lady Benbridge would be welcome, of course. But there had been something in the tone of the discussion that implied everyone would just as soon forget that there was a Lady Priscilla.
Perhaps it was that they knew she would misbehave in his presence. She did not offer shy and hopeful glances through her eyelashes. She did not flatter. She did not hang upon his every word, no matter how fatuous. She would not pretend one thing to his face, only to talk behind his back.
What she felt for him was plain and undisguised dislike. And it was directed to the duke and not the man inside. She refused to agree with him, in even the slightest details of his speech. She wanted no part of him and did not bother to hide it.
Therefore, she was the only one worth having. Whatever she might be, she did not bore him. And if he could win such a proud creature for himself he would know that the past was finally dead. Once Priscilla was married, whatever small scandal lay in her past would be forgotten. His wife would be beautiful, well bred and the envy of the ton. He would give her free rein in wardrobe and entertaining. Their house would be a show place and the feigned respect of his peers would become real.
But it was still a surprise to find that the most perfect woman in London was dead set against marrying above her station. Perhaps, a year ago, when he was a not particularly humble horse trader, she’d have courted him, just to spite her father. Or perhaps not. It would take time to find the full reason for her contrary behaviour, but he was willing to be patient.
Her distaste of riding was another problem. What was he to do with a woman who did not like horses? Granted, he had escorted two of his final four candidates down Rotten Row just this week. In the saddle, they were mediocre at best, sitting their beasts like toads on a jossing block. It had pained him to watch.
At least, when he could persuade the Benbridge girl to take to a mount, she would have no bad habits that needed to be broken. He could teach her not to fear and eventually she would enjoy it. He imagined her fighting every step of the way. The thought excited him, for sometimes it was the most spirited mare that made for the best ride.
Then he reminded himself, yet again, that women were not horses. Life would be easier if they were. He could not exactly break her spirit with a rough bit and a whip. But it would be better to have to argue and cajole for every compromise than to have a woman with no spirit to break.
The combination of riding and spirited women made him smile into his glass and take a long savouring drink. He had not expected to feel the low heat he was feeling for the woman he had met tonight. He had imagined the getting of an heir to be a momentary pleasure, surrounded by a lifetime of awkwardness and frigid courtesy. At best they would develop a fondness for each other. But suppose there could be passion as well?
Then it would be better if it were mutual desire, he reminded himself. He already knew the foolish course he was likely to take. He would do well to remember, before it was too late, that a passionate dislike from his spouse might make him long for the frosty indifference he was avoiding now.
And here was her father, eager to know how the dance had gone, but too subtle to ask directly. If Robert did not acknowledge him, the man would be hanging about all night, waiting for an opportunity to speak. ‘Benbridge,’ he said. ‘A word, please.’
‘Of course, your Grace.’ The old earl looked at him speculatively and it reminded him, as always, of a stallion he’d had that would give the impression of docility, only to bite suddenly at the hand that held the apple. Reighland held precedence and they both knew it. But Benbridge thought in his heart that he was the superior and would show him that, if he could find a way.
‘I have had the opportunity to speak with your daughter, and have found her to be …’
Fractious, ungrateful, uninterested and bad tempered.
‘… quite charming. She is most lovely as well. May I have your permission to pay further visits upon her, with the object of a possible match?’
‘Certainly, your Grace.’ Benbridge gave only a slight lowering of the head, as though the honour were equal.
‘The girl would have to be interested as well,’ Robert reminded him. ‘I would not wish to press my suit upon her, if she were otherwise engaged.’ Despite her objections, it would make the most sense if she was pining for another.
‘She is not so promised,’ Benbridge said firmly. ‘Even if she had plans in that direction, I would forbid all but the most appropriate match for her. After the misfortune of her sister …’ There was a slight narrowing of the eyes and an even slighter twitch of the cheek to show what he thought of his other daughter’s marriage. ‘Priscilla will not reject you, your Grace. She would not dare.’
For a moment, Robert felt quite sorry for the girl. He wanted to pursue her, but his slightest interest was seen by her father as tantamount to an accepted offer. No wonder she refused to show him partiality.
‘I must see her again, so that we might decide if we suit each other.’ The earl might not care, but Robert would much prefer a wife who could at least tolerate him.
‘Of course,’ the earl replied, with just the slightest touch of obsequiousness. Then he stared across the room at his daughter, as though deciding on the best way to bully her into good behaviour to secure the proposal.
Silently, Robert damned him for his overconfidence. At the very least he would meet with the girl again and press the advantages of marrying a man who was not only rich and titled, but well on his way to being fond of her—and warn her of the danger of disobeying such an unaffectionate father.
Chapter Three
‘Priscilla, you have a visitor.’
No, she hadn’t. For whom that she actually wished to see would be likely to make a call? Her old friends had cast her off quick enough, after her fall from grace. The sister she longed to see had been banned from the house. And she had gone out of her way to do nothing on the previous evening to warrant a call.
But rather than scolding her for her rudeness during the ride home, both her father and Veronica had seemed inordinately pleased with the turn events had taken. It was as though they’d shared some bit of information between them that she was not privy to.
Please do not let it be the duke. Because what would she do with the man, should he persist? ‘Tell whoever it is that I am indisposed.’
Her bedroom door opened and Veronica poked in her head. ‘I certainly will not. Reighland is in the sitting room, and you are going to see him.’ She crossed the room, seized Priss by the arm and pulled her to her feet, brushing the wrinkles from her gown and smoothing a hand over her hair to rearrange the flattened curls.
‘I am not prepared. I do not wish to see him.’ And I do not wish to marry him. She doubted pleading with Ronnie would help, but neither would it hurt.
‘You are unprepared because you spend your days hiding in bed with your Minerva novels, feigning illness to avoid company. Now come downstairs.’
‘Send him away.’
‘I certainly will not.’ Ronnie was pushing her out into the hall and put a firm hand in her back to hurry her along. ‘If you mean to put him off, you must do it yourself. And if you do, you will suffer the consequences for it. Your father will not be pleased.’ She said it in a dark tone to remind her that there were worse things awaiting her than social ostracism, should she fail.
Priss gave her a mutinous look. ‘Do not be so melodramatic. Father will do nothing worse to me than shout and sulk, as he has done the whole of my life. Perhaps he will banish me from the house, as he did Dru. Although how that is a punishment, I do not know. It is clear to all of London that she is the better for it.’
‘It is not your father who should worry you, dear,’ Ronnie replied, voice cold and venomous. ‘You should know, after spending several months under the same roof with me, I will be far less forgiving. If you will not go to the duke, I will bring him to you and lock the bedroom door behind him until the matter is settled.’
The image of being so trapped with such a forbidding man made Priss a little sick, and she thanked the fates that she had not been caught en déshabillé today. While her father might view this as an alliance with a powerful man, she had no doubt that Ronnie would engineer her total disgrace with any man available, simply to have her out of the house. The woman was all but thrusting her through the door of the salon where her guest awaited.
But she showed no sign of following. Priss grabbed her arm, trying to pull her into the room as well. ‘You are going to sit with us, of course,’ she said hopefully. ‘For surely a chaperon—’
‘He is a duke,’ the other woman whispered. ‘He does not require a chaperon.’
‘It is not for him,’ Priss snapped back, embarrassed that the duke could likely overhear this interchange, for he was scant feet across the room. Could they not at least pretend that she had some honour left?
‘You were happy enough to escape the care of your sister, while she was still here. It makes no sense, a year later, that you are having a fit of the vapours over a few minutes alone with a man.’ Her stepmother pushed harder. ‘He is a duke. He wishes to speak to you alone. Benbridge said he was most specific on that point. I do not mean to be the one to argue.’
‘My father is allowing this?’ Priss felt another small bit of her world crumbling. She had received continual signs from Ronnie that her presence was an inconvenience. But usually Papa was more subtle with his displeasure.
‘Your father thinks that Reighland is an excellent catch. He is amenable to certain laxities if it smoothes the way for an offer.’
‘But what if Reighland is not as honourable as he seems? What if he takes advantage?’ Priss whispered back, directly into Veronica’s ear.
The other woman’s eyes narrowed and she pulled her head away. ‘Do not play the sweet-and-innocent miss with me, Priscilla. If he takes advantage, then you are to do as he says and come to me afterwards. We will tell your father of it and the duke will be forced to offer with no more nonsense. But whatever you do, do not ruin the opportunity, for I doubt you will have a better one.’
Priss’s heart sank. It was plain what her father expected of her. Society expected it as well. But knowing what she did, she could not imagine how she would manage it. If Reighland offered today, she would have to say no. The skies might open and hell might rain down on her if she disobeyed, but then perhaps Papa would see she was in earnest and she would have some peace. She disentangled herself from Ronnie and glanced into the mirror on the hall wall, touching her hair and straightening her skirts. Then she turned and went into the salon, where Reighland awaited her.
The footman announced her and she waved him away with a flick of her hand, trying not to flinch as she heard the door closing behind her. She focused all her attention on the man in front of her, muttering, ‘Your Grace’, and dropping a curtsy letting her eyes travel up from the floor until they met his face.
And it was such a long way for her gaze to travel. He was well over six feet. She noticed the sprinkling of dark hair on the backs of his hands and up his wrists, disappearing into his shirt cuffs. It made her wonder what the rest of him would be like, without his clothes.
She quickly stifled the thought, for it only made her more frightened. There was a harmony to him, as though nature had sought to make an animal both intimidating and powerful. In the bedroom he would be just as large as he had been in the ballroom.
‘Please, Lady Priscilla, if we are to be friends, let us not stand on ceremony. You must call me Robert.’ His voice matched the rest of him. Deep, growling, with just a taste of a rasp that made the hairs on her neck stand to attention.
He was examining her now, top to bottom, as she had him. There was no hint of lust in it, which was just as well. If she’d thought that that was the first thing on his mind, she’d probably have run from the room in terror. This was more clinical, as though he was wondering about sound teeth, good wind and strong limbs.
But the desire that she use his first name was a very bad sign.
‘Has your father explained the purpose for my visit?’
‘No, your Grace,’ she said, avoiding the offered intimacy. ‘But I am not so dim that I cannot guess it.’
‘And what say you to it?’
She searched her mind for a response that did not use the word that came most easily to mind: trapped. ‘I thought I made it clear to you yesterday evening.’
He gave her the same blank look as he had on the previous evening. ‘You merely said you would not be agreeing with me. I do not see that as an impediment to matrimony.’ No talk of wooing at all. The man did like to cut to the chase.
He thought for a moment. ‘You would have to agree at the altar, of course. But after that …’
Was he joking? It almost seemed that he might be. But his expression was so closed that it was impossible to tell. ‘Are you sure you are quite sane?’ she asked. For madness was the only other explanation.
‘Is it necessary to be so?’ he asked innocently. ‘I was given to understand that my title was hereditary. From what I have seen of others in the peerage, you are the only one concerned with my sanity. If you mean to ask next if I am stupid, I will admit that I am not as quick as some. But in my brief stay in London, I have found many who were greater dullards.’
He was joking, then. But did he expect her to laugh? He seemed most sober. Perhaps he was seeking a mate who would be amused by him. More likely, she would be the butt of the joke, once he knew her better. His dry comments would seem innocent enough when he spoke them in public, but she would know the true meaning and would be left burning with shame.
And she could not abide a lifetime of that. ‘May I be frank with you, your Grace?’
‘It shall be an exciting change from the hesitant sentiments you have thus far expressed.’
‘My rejection is not against you, personally,’ she lied. ‘It is only that I do not wish to submit easily to marrying any titled man that my father might choose.’
He gave her a sad smile. ‘Then I fear you will submit with difficulty. With force, if necessary.’
Was this meant to be a threat? She would receive no help from Veronica, should he choose to make good on it. Priss felt another rising tide of panic. ‘Do you mean to force me, then?’
‘I shall not have to. Your father seems quite sure of your co-operation, no matter what you might say. You know better than I what he is capable of.’
Maybe it had been a warning, then. But her obvious difficulties had not bothered him enough to give him a distaste for a union with the family. ‘And you would accept a wife who was so unwilling.’
‘Benbridge will see you bound to someone, this Season. If you hold any choice in contempt, then you could do worse than to take me, should you be obligated to marry.’
Papa could not drag her screaming to the altar, but he was crafty, and Ronnie even more so. They had ways that she could not comprehend. The duke was right. There could well be worse choices. Her dislike of this particular man was not as instantaneous as she’d expected. But the size of him was simply too intimidating, and time was not likely to change it. ‘You are no better than he is, if you care so little about how I come to you.’
‘But I am hoping that you might come to think of me as the lesser of two, or more, evils,’ he said, still without smiling. ‘The devil you know, rather than the devil you don’t. Personally, once I am set upon a course, I do not intend to take no for an answer. And I am set on having you.’
She stared back, planning her next move. If he would not let her cry off, then she would have to work harder to give him a distaste of her. She smiled back at him, with a suddenness and brilliance he would know was false. ‘I am happy to be given the opportunity for such an advantageous match.’
He snorted. ‘Are you, really? You did not look it a moment ago.’ He was examining her again. ‘But I believe the last half of the statement. This will be an advantageous match. From your side, at least’
She bit back a furious retort. He was correct, after all. It was simply rude of him to mention the fact.
‘I am recently come to the title, of course,’ he said, with humbleness that was as false as her smile. ‘I did not expect it. The old duke’s heir died within the same year as his father, my father already having passed …’
‘It matters not to me how you came to be a duke,’ she said, still half-hoping her bluntness would put him off. ‘It only matters that you are one at the time of offering. Beyond that, I have little interest in you.’ She tried to look eager at the notion of such a prestigious match. Perhaps he would not want a title hunter.
He was staring at her again, thoughtfully. ‘Considering your pedigree, it should be advantageous to the man involved as well. You are young, beautiful and well born. Why are you not married already, I wonder? For how could any man resist such a sweet and amenable nature?’
‘Perhaps I was waiting for you, your Grace.’ She dropped her smile, making no effort to hide her contempt.
‘Or perhaps the rumours I hear are true and you have dishonoured yourself.’
‘Who …?’ The word had escaped before she could marshal a denial. But she had experienced a moment’s uncontrollable fear that, somewhere Dru had been that she had not, the ugly truth of it all had escaped and that now her happily married sister was laughing at her expense.
‘Who told me? Why, you did, just now.’ He was smiling in triumph. ‘It is commonly known that the younger daughter of the Earl of Benbridge no longer goes about in society because of the presence of the elder. But I assumed there would be more to it than that. And I was correct.’
Success at last, though it came with a sick feeling in her stomach and the wish that it had come any way but this. She had finally managed to ruin everything. Father would be furious if this opportunity slipped through her fingers. It would serve him right, for pushing this upon her. ‘You have guessed correctly, your Grace. And now I assume that this interview is at an end.’ She gestured towards the door.
‘On the contrary,’ he replied. ‘You have much more to tell me before I depart from here. Does the sad state of your reputation have anything to do with your family’s willingness that we might meet alone?’
‘There is no reason that we should not,’ she replied. ‘He expects that you will offer for me, not rape me on the divan in the lounge.’
If her frankness startled him, it did not show. ‘And what if I did?’
‘Then I would cry to my father and he would demand that you marry me.’
‘As you might at any rate,’ he pointed out. ‘The door is closed and we are alone. Should you wish to tell tales about my behaviour, I would have no evidence to refute them.’
‘Perhaps I would if I wished to trap you into marriage,’ she snapped. ‘It is you who have come to me and not the other way round. I never gave you any reason to think I wished a union. If your intentions are not in that direction, then, as I said before, you had best leave.’
He ignored the door and looked her up and down again, walking slowly around her, so as to view her from all angles. Then he spoke. ‘Truth now. I will not tell your father, if that is what you fear. You have my word. Is there another, perhaps someone inferior to me, that you might prefer?’
‘Would it matter?’ she asked in exasperation. ‘Between the two of you, you and my father seem to have settled the matter.’
‘It might,’ Reighland said, after a moment. ‘And you did not answer my question.’
‘If we are taking my opinions into account at this late date, then I shall tell you again: there is no other. All the same, I prefer to remain unmarried. Even if I sought marriage, it would not be with you. We do not suit. I thought I made that clear to you, when we danced.’
‘I see.’ He was staring at her again, appraising. ‘You do not wish to leave the loving bosom of your family.’
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. ‘Of course I do. There is a dower house on the property in Cornwall that stands empty. And land further north where I might stay with my mother’s sister. Perhaps I could go to Scotland. Any of those would do for a genteel spinsterhood. That is all I seek for myself.’
‘Then I am sorry to disappoint you. As I said before, your father has no intention of allowing that. You will be married. If not to me, then to some other. Since you have no concrete objections, other than an illogical dislike of me, I will speak to your father. We will formalise this arrangement by the end of the month.’
Arrangement. Was that all it was to him? She had known when it came time to marry that there would be no love match. But she had not thought it would be quite so passionless as this. And so she blurted, before he could leave, ‘If you mean to go ahead with this, then you had best know the whole truth, so that you do not reproach me with it on our wedding night. I am no longer innocent.’ She would pay the price for her honesty, she was sure. The duke would storm out and tell her father. Then she would get a long lecture from Benbridge and his new wife about her stupidity in disobeying their orders and casting aside the only match they had been able to make for her.