Page 26 of Marrying a Marquess (Widows of Mayfair #3)

“My dear boy. You are not making sense. Tell me the real issue.”

He dug his hands into his hair. “I do not forget myself with Grace. She doesn’t make me lose my mind,” he huffed.

“Priscilla... she makes me forget everything. She is demanding and annoying. She speaks her mind and refuses to let me hide within myself. She sees things in me I don’t want anyone to see.

She thinks she knows me, but she doesn’t.

No one knows me. I keep my true self hidden deep inside.

Not even I know how to find the real me. ”

“Nicholas,” his mother whispered. He leaned back against the squabs and forced himself to look her in the eyes.

“What? ”

“Are you truly in that much pain that you hide yourself from everyone, including yourself?” Nick was shocked to see tears streaming down his mother’s cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry. Forgive me.”

“Forgive you? I should be asking for your forgiveness. How could I not see the pain you struggle with? You are my son; I should’ve noticed. You have always kept your mind and feelings to yourself. But to feel cut off from emotions completely, that must be lonely for you.”

“In a way, it is. I never had real friends until I tried to court Lady Langford. Blackstone, Langford, and Caldwell are the only friends I have now, and yet, I am still on the outside looking in most of the time. Those three grew up together since their first days at Eton.”

“Did you know them then?”

“I’m four years older than them and only attended one year. So the answer is no.” And normally Nick did everything in his power never to think of Eton and what had become of him there. What someone had tried to do to him.

“Well, I’m glad you tried to court Lady Langford. At the very least, you now have friends,” his mother said. “And from what I can tell, Lord and Lady Langford don’t hold anything against you.”

“Of course not, because I never had any chance of marrying Lady Langford.”

“Let’s discuss Lady Grace and Priscilla. Why do you fight your feelings concerning Priscilla?”

Perhaps he didn’t hide his feelings as well as he thought. “I believe I just explained it. Weren’t you listening?”

“Yes, I was. But there must be more to it.”

“Do you know I sometimes have nightmares from when she was ten and announced proudly that she was going to marry me and the fit she threw when I told her I didn’t think so?” He laughed aloud even though it wasn’t a laughing matter.

His mother laughed as well. “I remember that day. She did throw such a fit. Stomping and screaming. She knew her mind even at the young age of ten.”

He paused, then said quietly, “If I marry Lady Grace, will I feel guilty for the rest of my life.”

“Guilty why?” his mother asked. “Guilty because you married her, or guilty because you love another? If you choose to marry Grace, I’m quite convinced your marriage will be whatever you put into it, Lady Grace would never complain because that isn’t who she is.

However, will you be happy letting the great love of your life get away because she makes you feel too much?

Can you stand by and let another man, Baron Latham perhaps, call her his?

Can you watch him marry her and get her with heirs that are not yours? ”

He groaned, “Thanks for putting those visions in my head.”

“If those visions bother you so much, perhaps you should revisit your proposal to Lady Grace. The carriage stopped several minutes ago—we should get out,” his mother said, wiping away the remnants of her tears.

“I suppose, although I would give anything to be anywhere other than Avery Manor.” Nick exited the coach and prepared himself for a difficult night ahead.

“I do so wonder if you will ever grow up, my dear boy,” his mother said as she took his offered hand and alighted from the coach.

“Not if I can help it.”

Berkley opened the door as they approached and relieved them of their outer garments. “Please make your way to the green parlor. The duke and duchess await your presence there.”

It was not lost on Nick that Lady Priscilla’s name was left out.

Was she not attending this evening? Was she out with Latham?

He refused to acknowledge the jealousy coiling up inside him at the thought of her with Latham.

Perhaps if she courted anyone but Latham, he could live with it, but he had never cared for the man and never would.

Something was not right with him. He was hiding something. Nick was convinced of it.

“Nicholas, Rose,” Duchess Avery said. “Let us go into the dining room. Dinner is ready.”

“Thank you,” Nick said. His heart sank as he entered, scanned the table, and saw four place settings. So she really wasn’t attending.

Before he could inquire over her whereabouts, the duchess said, “Lady Priscilla is not joining us. She is under the weather.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious?” his mother asked with a glance in his direction.

“No. Not at all.” She motioned to the chairs. “Please sit.”

Course after course came and went, and Nick wished he could go up and see Priscilla.

He needed to know if she was ill. The usual conversation went around the table, and he blocked it out as his thoughts intruded.

Was she faking illness to avoid him? Was she at another engagement, and they’d used sickness as an excuse?

Then he scolded himself. Why should he care if he was proposing to Lady Grace?

Poor Lady Grace. He had been neglectful of her lately.

She would be most flabbergasted at his proposal. He must visit her tomorrow.

It was challenging to keep up with his emotional ups and downs. Even though he was so very thankful the gossip from seven years ago had gone away, sometimes he wished for the peace and solitude he’d had due to those whispers.

If he had been asked immediately after dinner what he’d eaten, he could not have answered.

He picked up his utensils and ate without tasting or really seeing the food.

Before he knew it, they were retiring to the parlor, and he wondered how he would survive the rest of the evening.

Hopefully, his mother would request that they leave soon.

And per usual, the duke excused himself and left.

No doubt to hide in his study, drinking his port or brandy in silence. How Nick envied him.

Nick stood at a window, looking out into the darkness, and sipped his port while the ladies talked. They talked constantly while in each other’s company, and Nick could not fathom how they never ran out of things to say.

“Would it be an imposition if I visited the library?” he asked the duchess.

“Not at all, Nicholas. You know where it is.”

He bowed. “Thank you.” He went down the hall to the library and, to his surprise, found a fire glowing in the hearth. He sat in a chair close to the fireplace and took a sip of his port, nearly spitting it out when he noticed Priscilla looking at him from across the room.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were sick.”

She blushed and crossed the room. Her hair was loose and she was dressed in a simple cream dress.

She sat in the chair beside his. “I was feeling ill, but I am better now and didn’t want to stay in my chambers anymore.

” She paused and looked at him. “I thought you and your mother had left.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Obviously, I was mistaken.”

He raised his brows. “Obviously.”

“Are you leaving soon?”

“Do you wish to be rid of me?”

“You left before we could talk this morning.” She sounded hurt, and he hated that.

“I’m sorry. I should never have come in the first place, and I figured if I left before you awoke, it would spare both of us from an awkward conversation.”

“Why would it be awkward? Nothing happened between us.”

Oh, how he wished something had. Not that he could have done much in the state he was in. He hadn’t been that drunk in forever. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be. Unless you often find men in your chambers in the middle of the night.”

She giggled. “Hardly. You would be the first.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” And by the way his body reacted, it was indeed a relief to know Latham had never snuck into her rooms at night.

“I have something to share,” she said, her cheeks again infused by the color pink. “Latham proposed today.”

He downed his glass of port, wishing it were something more potent, and breathed through the pain piercing his chest. “Are congratulations in order?”

She clasped and unclasped her hands several times. “Not exactly.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Just what I said. I haven’t decided what my answer will be.”

“Oh.” The pain eased up a tad. “If you truly want to marry him, wouldn’t you know already?”

More hand clasping. She stood and went to the sideboard across the room.

He couldn’t see what she was doing until she turned around, holding two glasses of amber liquid.

She strolled his way, and he noticed her feet were bare and peeking out beneath her skirts.

She handed him a glass. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind having a brandy with me. ”

“Not at all.” They have known each other a long time, but he never knew she indulged in brandy.

“Don’t look at me like that. Women enjoy brandy now and then.”

“Forgive me.”

*

They sat silently while they sipped their brandy, and Priscilla wondered what Nick was thinking.

He had seemed surprised to see her up and about.

Had he really fallen for Mother’s excuse and believed she’d taken ill?

Did he not realize that women could manipulate things and men as they pleased?

He should—Lady Hollingsworth and her mother were masters at it.

Perhaps one day, she would join their ranks.

“Tell me more about Latham’s proposal.”

“If you must know, I requested time to think on it.”

“I’m planning on proposing to Lady Grace.”

A buzzing sound in her ears deafened her.

Had she heard him correctly? She swallowed the tears clogging her throat, stiffened her spine, and downed the glass of brandy vibrating in her hands.

“Congratulations. She is lovely.” What else could she say without yelling and screaming at the top of her lungs?

Could he not hear her heart cracking in two?

Because it was the loudest sound she’d ever heard.

“Don’t congratulate me. I haven’t asked yet, and she hasn’t accepted. I’ve barely spent any time with her. I think she’ll be so shocked she’ll faint dead away. I’m truly terrible at courting.”

“She will accept. She would be a fool not to.” And she had first-hand knowledge of what being a fool entailed. She was at the top of the list. “Would you care for more?”

He held out his glass. “Please.”

She took her time at the sideboard, hoping to mask her feelings when she rejoined him.

It wasn’t easy. Ever since the night in the Trowbridge gardens, her heart was near to bursting with feelings for him.

She could hardly contain them. And her tells, as he called them, would give her feelings away to him.

All he had to do was look into her eyes, and he would see bright red hearts.

She was sure of it. Never mind that she told him she loved him last night at the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled and schooled her features.

She needed to project boredom and indifference.

It was more difficult than she thought because she was dying inside.

After handing over Nick’s glass, she sat again and sipped her brandy, enjoying the slow burn.

Perhaps it would burn her love for him right out of her.

“When is this proposal taking place?”

“Soon.” He paused and stared into his glass. “Have you done any more volunteer work with the Ladies’ Society of Mayfair?”

She doubted he was interested in her charity work.

More likely he just preferred a change in topic.

Well, so did she. “I helped Emmeline hand out donations recently. The recipients were very appreciative. I didn’t know what to expect.

They are people, such as us, but born and living in deplorable conditions with no hope of improving their lot in life.

It’s sad. It made me appreciate my life as the daughter of a duke. ”

“Yes. You are fortunate to have been born an aristocrat, and so am I,” he said.

She finished the rest of her drink and stood. “I should return to my chambers before Mother or Father find me here after begging off dinner.”

Nick also stood, took the glass from her hand, walked to the sideboard, and placed both on a tray. “One moment, please.”

Her eyes were riveted to his intense brown ones as he walked toward her.

Swaggered really. The man could certainly swagger.

He stood close enough that she could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

His hand reached out, cupping her cheek gently.

The light touch made her melt inside. She wanted to tilt her head into his hand and get as close as possible.

“I want to say a proper goodnight. It may be the last time.”

As she opened her mouth to speak, his mouth fused with hers.

All she could think was that he devoured her every breath.

Her hands wrapped around his neck, and she curled into his body.

His hands, now around her waist, pulled her tight against him even more, melding them together until they became one.

This. This was what she wanted, what she craved.

She could not imagine living without this.

She broke the kiss, turned and hurried from the room, ignoring Nick calling out her name.

She needed the privacy of her chambers because her chest heaved, trying to release great sobs of despair.

Tears were already rolling down her cheeks.

She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her shatter.

He knew he was breaking her heart. He didn’t need to witness it.

Once in her room, she flopped onto her bed, face down, hugged her pillow, and sobbed into it, hoping no one could hear her. She did not want to explain to her mother why she was in such a state.