me be seen in the company of Drusilla, you can hardly blame me for staying home. The hostesses know that if they lose her favour, they lose the Countess of Folbroke, and possibly Anneslea as well. My sister has become quite the social butterfly since her marriage.’
‘Her marriage to a nothing,’ her father announced. ‘And without my blessing.’
‘Do not be jealous of your sister, Priscilla. It does you no credit.’ Father’s new wife, Veronica, seemed to think it was her place to act as a sage adviser to her stepdaughter on all womanly graces. After their brief time together, Priss found the idea that Ronnie had a store of accrued wisdom faintly ridiculous.
In any case, her statements about Dru were not so much a sign of jealousy as a simple statement of fact. Since the marriage to Hendricks, her father had forced the ton to choose a side. And after only a little thought, they had chosen Dru’s. Priss’s own scandalous behaviour, last summer, had put the last nail in the coffin of her social life and the trickle of remaining invitations had dried up almost completely. ‘I am not jealous, Ronnie. I am happy that Dru has finally got the Season she deserves, even if it has come too late to get her a rich and powerful husband.’
‘Bah.’ It was the noise that her father often made, when confronted with the stupidity of his actions. If he had given her a Season, Dru would now be married to the man of his choosing. Then he would be satisfied. And poor Dru would have managed to be content, instead of as gloriously happy as rumours made her out to be.
Benbridge brightened as he dismissed all thoughts of the absent Drusilla and focused his attention on Priss. ‘We will show her the error of her ways, girl. In a month or two you shall be married at St. George’s and all the town shall wish for an invitation. You may pick and choose who you like and devil take the rest.’
At one time the thought of delivering slights and nods and setting pace for the fashionable world might have interested her. Now that she had been on the receiving end of it, she’d lost her taste for gossip. At the moment, there was only one person in this imaginary wedding that she really cared about. But she was almost afraid to ask about him.
‘I am more interested in the groom than the guest list. Who have you chosen for me?’
‘Reighland. That freshly acquired title has made him something of a nine-days’ wonder. When you capture his attention, it will be a coup.’
She racked her brain, sorting through the guests at the few parties she had attended in recent months. Had she seen him? Had he been there? Had he seen her? She could find no memory of him. ‘And why would he have me?’
‘I have spoken to him on the subject. I need an ally in the bill that I am presenting. He is a logical choice. But he has been quite standoffish. When he expressed a half-hearted desire to marry, I informed him that I had an eligible daughter. It was the first overture in what I hope will be a long and fruitful alliance.’
When Benbridge said fruitful, he thought of nothing more than bills and laws. There was no mention of the other fruits that might result in marrying his daughter off to a stranger—nor the acts she would have to perform to achieve them. ‘How nice for you,’ Priscilla said weakly. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall retire to my room for the morning. I am feeling quite tired.’
‘It is nearly noon, Priscilla. Too late to be asleep, and far too early to retire for the day.’ Veronica was eyeing her critically.
Priss searched for an excuse that might meet with the woman’s approval, yet allow her to be alone with her thoughts. ‘I mean to spend an hour in prayer.’
Veronica took another sip of her coffee. ‘Very well then. It is not as if your character does not need reforming. But remember, too much piety is unbecoming in a girl. I have no objections, as long as you have recovered from the effects by evening and are attired in your newest gown. We will be attending a ball at Anneslea’s and you will be meeting your husband-to-be.’
Tonight, already. That left her only a few hours to find a way out of her father’s plans for her. It seemed she would be praying for deliverance.
A few hours later, Lady Priscilla Roleston surveyed the ballroom and wondered if Veronica might have been right about the dangers of prayer and solitude. She felt for all the world like a girl on her first come out. Her gown was fashionable and she’d been assured that it flattered her. But the neckline, which had been acceptable when she’d ordered it, now felt exposing to the point of immodesty. People would stare.
At one time, she would have welcomed the attention that a daring dress would bring her. Now, she just wanted to be left alone.
But it seemed that was to be a hopeless wish. Her father’s mind had been set on the subject of the impending introduction. No amount of feigned megrims or foot dragging had had any effect on him or his new wife.
And that was the best she could manage, really, when thinking of Ronnie. Although the woman had attempted to force Priss into calling her ‘Mother’ their ages were close enough to make the idea laughable. Even the word ‘stepmother’ was a struggle. She did not wish a female parent of any variety, though Papa had claimed that it was out of concern for her that he had married again so late in life. She needed a chaperon and wise guidance.
Perhaps he was right. At barely one and twenty, Priss expected her character was fully formed, for better or worse. But if she had wished to use her youth and good looks to capture the attentions of a foolish, old peer, she could not think of a better teacher than the new Lady Benbridge.
Since Priss heartily wished to remain unmarried, Ronnie was proving to be more hindrance than help. She must hope that the Duke of Reighland, whoever he might be, was not as willing to take a pig in a poke as her father expected.
‘Straighten your shoulders, Priscilla. We cannot have you slouching tonight. You must put your best foot forwards. And smile.’ Veronica prodded her in the back with her fan, trying to force her to straighten.
Priss took care to let no emotion show on her face as they approached the knot of people in the corner of the room. Why should she bother being nice, just to please whomever Father had chosen as the latest candidate for her hand? Considering the men he had threatened her with over the years, she had very good reasons not to encourage an attraction.
But she straightened her shoulders, just a little. The continual effort of hunching, trying to seem a little less than she was, was both taxing and painful.
Veronica surveyed her appearance with a frown. ‘I suppose it will have to do. Now come along. We are to be presented to the guest of honour. It is rare for an eligible peer to come to London, almost out of nowhere, right at the height of the Season.’
‘Which means he will be surrounded by girls,’ she said to Ronnie, trying to dash her hopes. ‘There is no reason he should choose me from amongst them. Or be thinking of marriage at all. I am sure he has other things on his mind. Parliament, for example. No amount of good posture and manners on my part will make an impression.’
‘Nonsense. Benbridge assures me that he is practically in awe of his own title and enjoys the attention immensely. How can he not? He never in a million years expected to be more than a gentleman farmer. Suddenly, his father, cousin and uncle are all dead in the space of a year. And here he is. It really is the most tragic thing.’ But Veronica grinned as she said it, all but salivating at the thought of such an eligible, yet so naïve, a peer.
‘Yes,’ Priscilla said firmly. ‘It is tragic. Devastating, in fact. His cousin was barely three
