is still grieving for his family.’ But though the new Reighland wore unrelieved black for the boy who had been his predecessor, his mourning did not extend to a complete withdrawal from society if he was attending parties all over London.
‘On the contrary. Rumours say that he is on the hunt and means to return to his lands properly wed by the end of the session. He has seen the results of waiting too long to get an heir, with his uncle dying of age while the heir was still so young and vulnerable. The Reighland holdings are too remote to see much society. It makes sense to him to choose a bride while he is at market.’
‘Inadequate breeding stock in the north, I suppose,’ Priscilla said. There were rumours that the duke had been much better with horses than he had with people, and that his Grace’s general gracelessness extended to his doings with the fair sex. But for all of that, he was still a duke and much could be forgiven—especially by one who was eager to marry.
He seemed just the sort of man her father would choose for her. One with little else to recommend him other than rank. As she glanced at him from across the room, she had to admit that there was nothing about him that she imagined would make for an easy husband. He did not need the title to intimidate her. He was an exceptionally large man with broad shoulders, bulging muscles and large hands. His thick black hair hung low over his face, which had matching heavy brows. The slight shadow on his jaw meant his valet would have to keep a razor sharp and ready more than once a day. If he would at least smile, she might have thought him jolly, but his looks were as dark as his coat.
The simpering virgins that surrounded him were dwarfed in comparison. But it was a mob and, thank the gods, she would be lost in it. Perhaps her father was wrong about the understanding they had. Priss could be just another face in the crowd. The introduction could pass out of his memory as quickly as it had entered and she could return home to her room.
‘Make some effort to distinguish yourself …’ Veronica prodded her again ‘… or I shall speak for you.’
That would be even more embarrassing than being forced upon the man by her father. ‘Very well, then,’ Priss said, with a grim smile. If Benbridge and Ronnie were so eager for her to make this a memorable evening, she would give them what they wanted in spades. It would be so unforgettable that they would have no choice but to remove her from town to avoid further embarrassment.
And so she was brought before the estimable Duke of Reighland, who was even larger up close than he had seemed from a distance. She was glad that this would be her only meeting with him, for prolonged contact would be quite terrifying. She kept her head bowed as she heard Ronnie speaking to the host and hostess, who then turned to their guest and offered to present Lady Benbridge and Lady Priscilla.
Reighland’s voice boomed down at the top of her head. ‘How do you do?’
She heard Veronica’s melodious, ‘Very well, thank you, your Grace.’
Priscilla made her deepest, most perfect curtsy, offered her hand and then, looking up into the face of the man, smiled and whickered like a horse.
There was a stunned silence. But she did not need words to know what Veronica was thinking. The horror emanating from her was so close to palpable that Priss was surprised she had not already turned and shouted for Father to summon the carriage. They would make a hasty retreat and she could expect the lecture to continue nonstop until such time as they had a mind to remove her from the house.
No one moved. It was as though they could not dare breathe. And now that she had created the situation, she was unsure how to get out of it. Judging by his looks, she had expected immediate outrage and an angry outburst from the duke. He might even be moved to shout at her and storm from the room.
It would not matter. She had been shouted at by experts, now that her poor sister was no longer in the house to take the brunt of Father’s temper. What could this stranger possibly say that would hurt her?
But Reighland was staring at her with no change of expression and an unusual degree of focus. She felt the slightest upward tug on the hand he held to move her out of her curtsy to stand properly before him. She did not need Veronica’s advice to straighten her spine for she needed every last vertebra to hold her own against the tower of manhood in front of her.
At last he spoke. ‘Lady Priscilla, may I have the next waltz?’
If he wished to upbraid her for her manners, he could do it in company and not by hauling her around the dance floor and trapping her in his arms for the scolding. ‘I am sorry, but I believe I am promised.’
‘How unfortunate for the gentleman. When he sees that you are dancing with me, I am sure he will understand.’ He cocked an ear towards the musicians. ‘It seems they are beginning. We had best go to the floor. If you will excuse us, Lady Benbridge?’
And so she was headed for the dance floor with the Duke of Reighland. She had little choice in the matter, unless she wanted to have a tug of war over her own evening glove. His grip on her arm was gentle, but immovable.
And now they were dancing. He was neither good nor bad at the simple step. She did not fear that he would tread upon her toes. But neither did she feel any pleasure in the way he danced. He approached the waltz with a passionless and mechanical precision, as though it were something to be conquered more than enjoyed.
‘Are you having a pleasant evening?’ he asked.
‘Until recently,’ she said.
‘Strange,’ he said, staring past her. ‘I’d have said just the opposite, if you had asked me. It has suddenly become most diverting compared to other recent entertainments.’
‘I would not know,’ she said, ‘for I have not attended any.’
‘I understand that,’ he said. ‘It is because of your sister’s recent good fortune. I met her last evening at the Folbroke rout.’
Now she had to struggle to remain blasé. He had seen Silly. She must remember to think of Silly as Dru, just as Drusilla’s friends did. Dru had many of those now and not just a little sister to tease her with nicknames. It had been months since the last time they had been in the same room together. But then they had not spoken and stayed on opposite ends of a ballroom that might as well have been an ocean. Priss had been forced by Veronica to cut her own sister dead.
If Ronnie got wind of it, she would snap this tenuous thread of communication, even if the man offering it was a duke. Priss replied to Reighland’s news with a single, ‘Oh.’ It hardly summed up the extent of her feelings. She wanted to pull him to the side of the floor and interrogate him until she had gleaned every last detail of his exchange with Dru and could recall them as clearly as if she had been there herself.
But the dance could not go on for ever and she did not want to give the man reason to speak. She would have to do without.
He had noticed her silence. ‘It surprises me to find you so uninterested. Mrs Hendricks was most eager for any news of you. Do you find yourself jealous on her account?’
‘Certainly not. It is about time that Drusilla had the chance to be happy.’ She looked longingly back at the wallflowers, wishing she was amongst them. Perhaps one of them had been at the Folbrokes’ party and could give her the information she craved. ‘It seems I am out of practice in social settings.’ She glared up at him. ‘I do not remember the conversation being quite so rude, when last I waltzed.’ He would let her go now. That had been a direct insult and he could hardly ignore it.
But
